but in the end she was tired of waiting for the fool so she showed up on his doorstep

Not Meant To Be.

A Shawn Mendes Imagine.

Requested: No.

Author’s Note: Okay lmao this is actually a repost bc I’d deleted this because it sucks and I edited it a bit given that Shawn had moved to his condo etc, and mostly because some things didn’t make sense lol. So here’s the very first imagine I’d written about this guy we call Shawn Mendes. One more time you’ll note that some terms in italics aren’t translated, some were intentional (at the beginning the y/n was meant to come from the UK, but I had to change because of the French I couldn’t translate rip), others not because there are precisely some expressions I couldn’t translate in English (I don’t know the equivalents in English). In conclusion, I know that I’ve probably misconjugated a lot but I don’t care I’ve never really understood how to use the tenses in English lol.

WordCount : 2,551


Tuesday, August 15th. Half past eleven.

The living-room was very lit, thanks to the brilliant sun of the day outside. It warmed the room, with each sun’s ray passing through the windows.

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“Damn professional” - h.s. Part 1

Surprise I’m back.

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—–

It started out simple enough. Neighbors usually become friends. And considering Harry has a nasty habit of bringing women back to his apartment, only to skip out on them the very next morning before they wake up, Y/N’s apartment across the hall was his best bet.

He’d been kind of skeptic moving into the swank London apartment building, especially knowing that someone lived just across the hall from him. But having a house at this age, especially when he had no one to share it with, just seemed ridiculous. And so he decided on a lavish apartment instead. His agent had told him that the girl the hall was hardly ever around anyway, and that had sold him. 

But lucky for him, she was always there in the morning - just when he needed her. 

It was at the point where Harry just had a key to Y/N’s flat now. Not that she minded much either. What would one of the wealthiest men in the world want with any of her trinkets anyway? She highly doubted he would steal anything, except her food which he seemed to take quite often. 

It was rather early on a Sunday when Harry quickly slinked into Y/N’s warm and bright apartment, brimming with sunshine from the wall of windows overlooking the London landscape. His sudden entrance alerted her gaze from behind the kitchen bar, a magazine spread out before her as her hands warmed on a mug of warm chai. 

“Morning,” she said, a small smirk adorning her face as she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. 

Harry closed his eyes, running a hand over his face as he leaned against her door. His face tired, his short hair a mess, and his pajama pants hanging low on his hips. 

“G’mornin,” he mumbled, standing up fully and stalking over to the kitchen where he opened Y/N’s fridge to grab the milk, reaching above on the top cabinet to grab the Cheerio’s box marked “H” in a big black Sharpie mark. 

“Rough night?” Y/N asked, handing Harry a spoon as he sat down at a stool across from where she was standing, flipping through the magazine.

“It was good … I think.”

“What’s her name this time?”

“I believe it was Elizabeth,” Harry yawned and struggling to open the new cereal box without spilling cereal everywhere. “At least that’s what I wrote on the note asking she please leave before my cleaning lady gets in.”

“Oh, did you get a cleaning lady?” Y/N looked up, taking another sip from her mug.

“No,” Harry shook his head, “But I just wrote that my cleaning lady needs everyone gone by ten so she can do a deep clean. That sounds like a reasonable excuse to get her out, right?”

Y/N raised her arm to look at her watch. “Yeah. That gives her another good two hours.”

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