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zarry-fics · 3 months

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Uma quente reconciliação | Harry Styles

AVISOS: +18, conteúdo adulto, brigas, possível linguagem agressiva. Harry não é famoso nesta narrativa.

N/A: Olá, queridas. Atualizando o blog com esse imagine fresquinho que escrevi há pouco tempo. já faz um tempo que busco escrever algo assim, mas estava passando por um bloqueio terrível, mas agora tudo parece ter voltado ao normal. me desculpem a demora, e espero que vcs gostem disso aqui. me perdoem qualquer erro. curtam, comentem, rebloguem para me ajudar e se quiserem, podem mandar asks falando sobre, ou até mesmo sugestões que eu vou estar respondendo assim que possível. gratidão a todas que estão relendo os imagines postados e até as poucas que estão comentando. vocês são incríveis! Gratidão pelo apoio de sempre. 💗

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No início de nosso relacionamento, Harry já era um homem muito ocupado com seus negócios. Ele sempre fora do tipo "viciado" em trabalho, já se esforçava muito para tornar a sua empresa reconhecida como é hoje. Então, meio que eu já me envolvi com ele sabendo que não seria fácil.

Não vou negar que tivemos algumas discussões por ele não ter tempo para mim no namoro. Mas eu não podia lhe cobrar muito, já que não éramos casados. E para ser sincera, eu não achei que fôssemos durar. Eu sempre gostei muito do Harry, me apaixonei de verdade principalmente depois de nosso convivência e ter lhe conhecido como o homem que ele foi (e é até hoje para mim). Era diferente estar num relacionamento com ele... Quando tinha tempo, ele se mostrava ser completamente diferente do que aparentava quando não éramos nada mais, nada menos que completos desconhecidos.

Por isso mesmo que quando veio o pedido de casamento, eu fiquei abismada. Harry pediu para casar comigo e aquela foi a notícia mais chocante que recebi na época. Eu imaginava que não duraríamos, porque, convenhamos, eu sou uma mulher extremamente carente. Tenho as minhas necessidades. E como Harry quase não tinha tempo nem para respirar, eu imaginei que ele terminaria uma hora ou outra, depois de entender que eu não era o tipo de mulher que ele precisava e estava procurando.

Eu aceitei me casar com ele. De coração aberto. Mesmo sabendo que ele sempre priorizou o trabalho. Mas, de alguma forma, eu comecei a acreditar que ele mudaria, que uma hora ou outra iria perceber que aquela rotina não faria bem para o nosso relacionamento.

Entretanto, não foi exatamente isso o que aconteceu.

E essa foi a razão que, há uma semana atrás, nos levou a uma discussão severa. Não somente por ele ser um viciado em trabalho, mas porque de uns tempos para cá, depois de um colega de seu trabalho ter tido seu primeiro filho, Harry vem falando muito nisso. Ele fantasia vários cenários com um bebê em seus braços, até me disse que eu ficaria linda grávida, carregando um filho dele em meu ventre.

O que não é completamente diferente dos meus pensamentos, até porque eu também quero ser mãe. Sempre quis. Mas não nessas circunstâncias... Poxa, Harry não tem tempo nem para mim, imagina para uma criança! O problema não é ele querer ter um filho, e sim o tempo que ele não me dá. Harry não me prioriza no nosso relacionamento (essa conclusão me dói muito a ser feita, mas é a mais pura verdade. Não adianta mentir para mim mesma), e ainda pensa em ser pai? Pelo amor de Deus.

Eu fiquei muito brava e me descontrolei.

Surtei horrores e disse a ele coisas que não vou me arrepender, pois não são mentiras. São verdades. Ele também ficou muito bravo e revidou, o que resultou na nossa briga e no fato de não estarmos nos falando há dias. Óbvio que eu estou com vontade de voltar a falar com ele, mas confesso que meu orgulho não me permite fazer tal coisa. Me dói muito ver o meu marido transitando pela casa e não me dando a mínima atenção, e uma maneira de me distrair dessa realidade é trabalhando também, mas a diferença entre nós dois é que eu trabalho de casa e dou a ele o meu tempo.

Achei que nos falaríamos antes da festa que ocorrerá na sede da empresa dele. Eu já tinha confirmado a minha presença, uma vez que é super importante aparecer ao lado dele lá. Há dois ou três dias estou em dúvida se realmente compareço à essa festa, mas até mesmo o Harry não comentou nada sobre, o que me deixa muito, mas muito triste.

Talvez eu esteja esperando que ele seja o primeiro a falar comigo, mas ao que parece, ele é tão orgulhoso quanto eu sou. O que, caso persista, pode acabar com o nosso relacionamento.

Harry continuou sem falar comigo. Passaram-se uma, duas, três horas antes da festa e quando chegou em certo momento, ele simplesmente saiu sem dizer uma palavra sobre.

Fiquei muito revoltada. E ao receber a visita de Katherine, uma velha amiga, ouvi-a comentar que se eu quisesse meu casamento de pé, deveria engolir o meu orgulho e dar o primeiro passo para a nossa reconciliação. Até porque eu fui grossa com Harry; entendo que ele é um babaca viciado em trabalho, mas talvez eu pudesse ter sido mais gentil nas minhas palavras, sem desvalorizar os sonhos do meu marido.

As palavras dela ecoaram na minha mente por bastante tempo, até que eu não consegui conter a mim mesma e simplesmente tomei a decisão de ir ao encontro do Harry. A minha presença seria muito importante, eu precisava estar ao lado do meu marido numa festividade como esta.

Escolhi um vestido na cor vermelha que, por sinal, é uma das cores preferidas do Harry. Ele nunca me disse isso, mas percebo pela forma como me olha quando eu uso essa cor, em qualquer momento. A peça uma fenda na coxa, o que deixa em evidência a torneamento da mesma; ao mesmo tempo, algumas tiras nas costas que são um charme.

Tomei um bom banho, fiz uma maquiagem que evidenciasse os meus olhos e coloquei o vestido. Como penteado, fiz cachos na ponta e lhe dei um pouco mais de volume. Ao terminar, me olhei no espelho e muito me agradou a imagem refletida nele; mas meu coração não abandona a triste sensação de estar sem falar com o Harry.

Odeio quando estamos assim. Mesmo que ele tenha agido por onde estivéssemos dessa forma, eu odeio ficar longe dele. Confesso que senti muito a falta dos seus braços me aquecendo à noite, porque eu mesma optei por dormir no quarto de hóspedes para não ter que dividir a cama com ele. Essa decisão, obviamente, eu tomei quando ainda estava muito, mas muito brava mas não me orgulho nada do que fiz.

Ambos erramos, mas hoje eu estou disposta a consertar as coisas.

Ao sair de casa, o motorista do meu marido já estava por ali e aceitou me levar até a empresa dele. Meu coração palpitava cada vez mais rápido, a medida que eu percebia que já estava chegando; minhas mãos suavam de uma maneira irritante, mas tentei manter a calma.

── Quer que eu te acompanhe até lá dentro, sra. Styles?

Tom indagou, muito educado. Eu olhei para a porta e vi os seguranças fazendo o seu trabalho, além do fluxo de convidados que estavam entrando e saindo dali. Eu queria ter coragem o suficiente para entrar sozinha, mas aceitei de bom grado a ajuda do motorista.

Ele estendeu seu braço para que eu me apoiasse e assim o fiz. Juntos, passamos pelas grandes portas. Cumprimentei os seguranças e eles até acenaram, surpresos por me verem ali.

Não pude deixar de perceber também a maneira como Diego, um deles, me encarou. Seus olhos me analisaram de cima a baixo e um meio sorriso pintou os seus lábios. Isso me deixou muito nervosa e sem graça, por esta razão tentei fingir que não notei que o descarado estava me secando cinicamente.

── Tudo bem, senhora? ── perguntou Tom, uma vez que estávamos dentro.

Olhei em volta e senti o peso de muitos olhares sobre mim. Minhas bochechas começaram a pegar fogo, e eu abaixei a cabeça, respirando fundo para tentar relaxar. ── Sim, Tom. Muito obrigada por vir até aqui. ── eu sorri minimamente para o rapaz que só assentiu, se retirando.

Nunca gostei de chamar a atenção, mas o destino cruzou o meu caminho ao de um homem que mesmo que queira, não consegue não chamar atenção de ninguém. Seja por sua beleza, ou postura. Irônico, não?

Caminhei alguns poucos metros em direção ao bar para tomar alguma coisa que me deixasse mais à vontade. Meu marido ainda não tinha aparecido no meu campo de visão, mas eu sei muito bem que será só uma questão de tempo até ele descobrir que estou aqui. As pessoas comentam muito.

Peguei uma taça de champanhe e tomei um longo gole, pegando uma outra logo em seguida. Estou muito inquieta, por isso meus olhos não param de voar por entre todos os corpos aqui presentes; porque quem eu espero ver é o meu marido, e não consigo. Onde será que ele está?

── Sra. Styles! Que prazer tê-la aqui! ── ouvi a voz do Sr. Hoffmann, um grande aliado do pai de Harry, mas não dele em si. O homem é muito bonito e desperta os ciúmes de meu marido.

Ele nunca falou nada sobre Apolo para mim, mas eu sei que não se sente confortável quando está perto de mim. Talvez já tenha notado os flertes nada discretos que este cínico lança a mim.

Mas o que me chamou a atenção foi ele ter me chamado de “Sra. Styles”. Ele nunca fez isso! Talvez esteja, de alguma forma, debochando da situação. ── Olá, Apolo. Te digo o mesmo! ── menti, obviamente. Mas não tirei o sorriso do meu rosto. ── Já faz um tempo que não te vejo. Estava fora da Inglaterra? ── indaguei não por interesse, mas para puxar assunto e não ficar somente aqui parada feito um poste enquanto meu marido está sei lá aonde.

Apolo abriu um sorriso e passou os olhos pela minha boca antes de responder: ── Por que o interesse repentino? Estava com saudades, querida? ── ele deu um passo a mais na minha direção e eu arregalei os olhos, completamente assustada porque por um momento, eu juro que achei que ele me beijaria.

── Não, eu só estava curiosa. Porque você ainda trabalha nesta empresa, Sr. Hoffmann. ── tentei me corrigir, porque não quero que ele pense errado sobre mim.

── Ah, não precisa fingir. Vi nos seus olhos que, de fato, estava com saudades. Por que só não admite? ── ele agarrou o meu pulso e fez menção de me puxar para mais perto, mas eu continuava me afastando.

── Apolo, eu-

── Acho melhor você tirar as mãos da minha mulher. Isso se não quiser ficar sem elas, Hoffmann. ── a voz do Harry irradiou o nosso "diálogo", o que fez com que ambos olhássemos na sua direção.

Confesso que meu coração quase parou de bater. Harry está vestindo um terno completamente preto e seus cabelos estão incrivelmente bem arrumados. Além do cheiro do perfume dele que eu poderia sentir há quilômetros de distância.

Apolo deu uma gargalhada e, antes de largar a minha mão, beijou a costa dela, mandando uma piscadela para mim. ── Ora, Harry. Não seja tão ciumento... Eu só estava cumprimentando a sua esposa, ela está maravilhosamente bela esta noite. Você tem que admitir.

── Se afaste dela, caralho. Eu estou ordenando! ── Harry murmurou de maneira rígida, se aproximando de mim rapidamente e me afastando do homem à nossa frente. Ele me pôs atrás de seu corpo e agarrou a minha mão, apertando-a sutilmente. ── Nunca mais se aproxime dela de novo. Se você fizer isso, garanto que o meu respeito e consideração pelo meu pai não me impedirão de te jogar no olho da rua. ── ameaçou-o, que ergueu o queixo e se aproximou dele, meio que o desafiando.

── Você não seria capaz. Trabalho nesta empresa há anos!

Em resposta, meu marido riu.

── Você acha mesmo? Pois então me desafie! Chegue perto da S/N mais uma vez e eu te chuto do último andar deste prédio, só pra me certificar que você não estará vivo ao alcançar o chão.

Ditas essas palavras, ele me afastou de Apolo e eu não me atrevi a dizer uma palavra, até porque estava processando tudo o que ele disse. Nunca vi o Harry dessa maneira, nunca o ouvi dizendo palavras tão duras.

Pelo menos ele nunca agiu assim comigo.

Caminhamos juntos até o elevador e eu notei quando meu marido pressionou o botão que nos levaria ao último andar, onde fica o seu escritório. Engoli a seco. ── O que está fazendo, Harry? ── eu perguntei, sem entender o que está acontecendo.

── Precisamos conversar.

Ao entrarmos na sala dele, eu fiquei muito mais tensa. ── Olha, Harry... Eu não vim aqui para brigar com você. Eu só queria-

── Eu não quero brigar com você, S/N. ── ele me interrompeu, justificando-se.

── Ah, não? ── fiquei até surpresa depois de ouvir tais palavras.

── Não. Eu só quero me desculpar com você, porque... Porque eu sei que errei. Não deveria ter te negligenciado. Eu sei que estou sendo um péssimo marido ultimamente e acredite, não me orgulho disso. Mas você sabe muito bem que eu tenho estado aflito com todos os problemas que estão me cercando nesta empresa nos últimos meses. A demissão em massa que sofremos me angustia até hoje porque ainda não conseguimos repor os funcionários que foram demitidos, está tudo uma correria. ── ele explicou tudo de maneira rápida e objetiva, me olhando nos olhos. ── Me perdoa, S/N. Eu sei que tenho sido injusto com você, e fui um grande idiota depois de propor a você filhos, mesmo sabendo que não tenho tempo para você.

── Harry....

── Não estou bem em ficar sem falar com você, mas porra, eu estava muito envergonhado. Com medo de que você possa encontrar alguém melhor, alguém como o Apolo por exemplo. Eu sei que aquele babaca é obcecado por você desde que pôs os olhos em ti, mas-

Quando o ouvi falar isso, eu neguei com a cabeça e me aproximei dele, com bastante cuidado. Harry está encostado na borda de sua mesa, e quando cheguei bem perto, coloquei as mãos no rosto dele e sorri minimamente. Sentir o calor do seu corpo no meu fez eu me sentir a droga de uma adolescente. Só então eu percebi o quanto senti falta deste homem. ── Não diga besteiras, Harry. Não fale uma bobagem dessas porque eu não quero o Apolo, não quero ninguém! Eu quero você, meu amor. ── disse baixo, sem desviar nossos olhares. ── Eu não quero estar com ninguém que não seja você. Foda-se esta droga de homem e a obsessão dele, aquele cretino não é e nunca será você.

Seus olhos brilharam ao me ouvir falar. Meu sorriso aumentou muito mais, e eu coloquei as minhas mãos em seu cabelo, o acariciando. ── Eu amo você, Harry. E quero passar o resto da minha vida do seu lado. Quando aceitei me casar com você, eu sabia que não seria fácil. Mas eu estou disposta a-

Não consegui ao menos terminar de falar, porque ele grudou nossos lábios num beijo completamente inesperado. Sua mão imediatamente foi de encontro a minha bunda e apertou com muita força, o que me fez arfar. ── Eu prometo que vou ser melhor daqui pra frente, amor. Prometo. Mesmo que esta droga de empresa esteja caindo aos pedaços, eu não vou mais te deixar de lado. Nunca!

Essa frase soou mais como uma promessa, uma promessa que me fez bambeou as minhas pernas.

Não consegui não ouvir aquilo e não o beijar mais uma vez. Enrosquei meus dedos em seus cabelos e os puxei com um pouco de força, ouvindo um gemido baixo vindo dos lábios do meu marido. Ele explorava o meu corpo sem qualquer pudor, suas mãos viajavam pelos vários extremos de mim, até que chegaram às tiras do vestido; ele as puxou, o que fez com que se desatassem e o vestido afrouxasse ao meu redor. ── Harry... O que você... ── tentei fazer alguma pergunta coerente, mas minha respiração desregulada só me fez parecer desesperada por ele.

E eu confesso... Talvez eu de fato esteja.

── O quê? ── perguntou ele, passando seus beijos para meu pescoço, deixando mordidas e selinhos por toda a extensão de minha pele. Essa atitude arrepiou o meu corpo inteiro, eu cheguei a tremer nos braços dele.

── Nós não podemos fazer isso aqui, eu-

Meu lado racional estava dando as caras, porque eu sabia que sentiriam a nossa falta, até porque o meu marido é o centro de tudo o que está acontecendo hoje. Mas Harry não se importa nem um pouco. Ele só sorriu e mordeu suavemente o meu lábio inferior..── Foda-se. Eu sou o dono dessa porra, faço o que quiser aqui. E se eu quero comer a minha linda esposa no meu escritório de novo, farei isso!

Quando ele falou isso, não restaram mais dúvidas: vamos foder aqui mesmo. E se ele não se importa, tampouco eu me importarei.

Estava ansiosa para tê-lo dentro de mim, mas queria brincar um pouco. Até porque faz tempo que não nos tocamos desse jeito, eu queria aproveitar. Abri o zíper da sua calça e puxei o botão, a empurrando para baixo junto com sua boxer; dessa forma, Harry ficou nú diante dos meus olhos. E eu não deixaria de encarar a sua deliciosa ereção, senti muita água na boca e quando pensei que poderia me ajoelhar e fazer o que sei de melhor, ele inverteu as nossas posições e me colocou sentada na sua mesa, que estava limpa, não havia nada a ser jogado no chão.

── Quero tanto sentir você na minha cara. Não sabe o quanto isso me fez falta, meu amor!

Ele meio que me jogou sobre a mesa e arrancou o vestido do meu corpo, jogando-o num canto qualquer. Meus olhos triplicaram de tamanho quando ele abriu as minhas pernas e deu início a uma série de carícias em meu clitóris, o que enviou choques elétricos por toda a minha corrente sanguínea. Gemi baixo em resposta, me contorcendo de tanto desejo. ── Porra, amor... Não me provoca, 'tô com tanto tesão, eu-

Sentia algum ponto em meu corpo doer tamanha a vontade que eu estava sentindo. Mas tudo o que Harry fez foi sorrir e me beijar a parte interna de minhas coxas, distribuindo algumas carícias naquela região; só acariciava suavemente o verdadeiro ponto onde deveria dar atenção. Ele queria me provocar o máximo que pudesse, mas eu não aguentaria. ── Harry, por favor! ── novamente me vi implorando, tentando me mover o máximo que podia para tentar induzí-lo a me tocar, mas tudo o que o bastardinho fez foi me imobilizar, me mantendo imóvel.

── Seja mais discreta, querida. Não vai querer que ouçam a gente aqui, hm?

O tom dessa pergunta foi totalmente debochado. Ele estava claramente se divertindo com a situação. De tanto eu implorar, ele levou seus lábios ao meu desejo e então, quase me fez gritar quando começou a me chupar de maneira ímpar, o que me fez delirar. Eu agarrei os cabelos dele e abri mais as minhas pernas, sentindo meu corpo inteiro pegar fogo, quando somada à sua língua que já trabalha a divinamente para me dar prazer, seus dedos foram introduzidos em mim e escorregaram com muita facilidade.

Harry não parou. Ele continuou e aumentou cada vez mais as suas investidas, sua língua deslizava por toda a extensão da minha vulva, seus dedos faziam mágica dentro de mim. A junção dessas ações me levariam à loucura, me perguntei diversas vezes como fiquei tanto tempo sem aquilo, como pude não sentir tanta falta disso. ── Harry! ── eu clamei por ele, e mesmo que tentasse ser discreta, era quase impossível.

Jogava meu quadril por diversas vezes em seu rosto, mas ele não me parou. Estava me sentindo tão bem que sequer parecia real, e cada vez que eu implorava por ele, gritava o seu nome, sentia como se fosse explodir. ── Porra, amor! Não para, por favor, por favor.... ── eu pedi no meio do meu desespero, empurrando cada vez mais a sua cabeça para o meio de minhas pernas. A sensação de êxtase só aumentava cada vez mais, eu sentia que estava chegando muito perto de um orgasmo.

Mas o maldito foi diminuindo a intensidade do que fazia, até que parou completamente e quando voltou a se erguer, olhei para o rosto dele e quase gozei mediante a magnitude da sua beleza. Seus lábios estavam vermelhos, assim como suas bochechas (estas estavam meio rosadas, somente). Ele abriu um lindo sorriso cínico, que é quase como se me dissesse — silenciosamente: "Vou te quebrar inteira agora".

E, porra, se esse canalha não me fizesse perder a força das pernas por pelo menos alguns segundos antes de sairmos daqui, eu com certeza permaneço sem falar com ele por um tempo. ── Por que você parou? ── eu perguntei, baixo e sem estruturas, porque sei exatamente o que vem agora.

── Eu quero foder você. Agora. ── me respondeu simplesmente, e grudou os nossos corpos, depois de me puxar pelas mãos para que eu voltasse a ficar sentada. Meus seios estavam descobertos e eu o vi encará-los como se fosse um animal faminto e dessa mesma forma, ele os abocanhou; enquanto chupava um, acariciava o outro e eu só conseguia sentir a minha buceta pingando cada vez mais, pulsando dolorosamente, o que me fazia choramingar e implorar para que ele me foda de uma vez. Sinto que se não fizer isso, eu vou morrer.

Me estiquei para tocar seu pau, sentindo-o rígido sob meus dedos. Comecei então a massageá-lo, esfregando meus dedos na sua ponta, intercalando entre movimentos que já sei que o excitam muito. E a sua resposta foi sugar com um pouco mais de força o meu peito; isso me fez gemer um "ah" meio doloroso, mas não me atrevi a pedir para ele parar porque estava muito gostoso. ── Amor... ── eu gemi baixinho, grudando ainda mais os nossos corpos, o trazendo para mais perto com as minhas pernas.

Inesperadamente, Harry me agarrou e me levou até a parede mais próxima, me jogando contra ela e dando uma sugada muito forte no meu pescoço, o que fez com que a pele ardesse. Eu gritei, mas não de dor; sabia que podiam ouvir a gente aqui, mas não conseguia pensar em mais nada que não fosse o pau dele entrando dentro de mim.

Harry aproximou seus lábios do meu ouvido, e, depois de lamber copiosamente a cartilagem desta última (me levando ainda mais à loucura). ── Coloca dentro. ── ele ordenou, e logo após isso se afastou para olhar em meus olhos. Ele sabia que aquelas palavras teriam um grande impacto dentro de mim.

Eu não ousei contestá-lo. Até porque o tesão que eu senti em ouvir ele me fazendo aquele pedido, seria capaz de me fazer desmaiar. Harry nunca falou aquilo, mas eu gostei; por isso mesmo o peguei e alinhei onde deveria estar, e não demorou para que ele empurrasse para dentro, arrancando suspiros roucos de nós dois. ── Caralho. ── eu resmunguei, tomada pelo prazer que essa ação me trouxe.

── Porra, eu... S/N. ── não demorou três segundos para que ele começasse a me foder, exatamente do jeitinho que sempre fez. Gemidos escapavam de meus lábios sem que eu os pudesse controlar; ao menos conseguia manter meus olhos abertos. Mas Harry odeia isso, ele sempre gosta de manter o contato visual em nossas fodas e dessa vez não seria diferente. ── Eu quero que você olhe pra mim, caralho!

Ele rosnou próximo do meu rosto e rapidamente eu abri os olhos, olhando diretamente para o seu par de esmeraldas, geralmente tão brilhantes mas não dessa vez. Seus olhos estavam escuros, e eu não prestei atenção somente nesses detalhes. Também vi que sua mandíbula estava travada e o suor já se fazia presente em algumas áreas de seu pescoço.

Eu fiquei ainda mais louca por ele. Se é que isso é possível.

── Harry, meu amor... Eu não- ── tentei avisar a ele que não conseguiria manter meus olhos abertos, mas não consegui falar nada. Ao contrário disso, olhei na direção do quadril dele, e a visão de vê-lo batendo contra o meu, a visão dos seus pêlos que ainda estão bem curtos (crescendo); gemi mais alto, agarrando-o pelos ombros e mantendo-nos dessa forma.

Estávamos tão unidos que eu sentia seu coração batendo, e estava tão, mas tão rápido. ── Não vou aguentar por muito tempo, Hazz. ── me justifiquei, até porque já estava deveras sensível pelo oral divino que ele me fez.

Bem como eu imaginava, ele não se importou. Muito pelo contrário, aumentou ainda mais as suas investidas e ainda gemia baixo no meu ouvido, ao mesmo tempo arfando. Ele grunhia de forma discreta, ao contrário de mim; somente eu devo escutá-lo dessa maneira. E isso é tão excitante quanto nosso sexo em si. ── Eu sei que você aguenta, amor. Você aguenta sim! ── rebateu, e novamente mudamos de lugar. Harry me levou para o sofá no canto da sala e me jogou ali, assumindo a sua posição acima do meu corpo.

O barulho dos nossos corpos se fundindo podia ser ouvido em alto e bom som. Eu me preocuparia de ser ouvida quando acabássemos, não naquele momento. Harry estava me fodendo tão deliciosamente, e foi aumentando mais ainda a intensidade. Sabia que ele estava chegando no seu limite, assim como eu.

Queria gozar junto a ele, por isso mesmo levei minha mão ao meu clitóris, o estimulando de uma maneira não tão precisa, até porque meus dedos estão trêmulos. Mas Harry adorou a visão, percebi pela forma como ele sorriu ao me ver fazendo aquilo. ── Caralho, amor. Eu esqueci a porra da camisinha! ── ele murmurou desesperado, mas não conseguia parar. Era sempre assim quando fazíamos sexo sem a droga do preservativo.

Por que é sempre mais gostoso?

Mas dessa vez vai ser diferente. Assim como ele, eu sequer pensei nas consequências. ── Foda-se. Goza dentro de mim, amor! Por favor! ── falando isso, eu de fato implorei. Meus olhos até chegaram a lacrimejar, se Harry ousasse sair de dentro de mim eu com certeza o mataria.

Ele sabia que não seria a melhor coisa a se fazer, mas não ousou parar até que ambos chegássemos ao nosso limite. Assim que aconteceu, ele repousou seu corpo sobre o meu e suspirou, me agarrando com muita força. ── Amor, eu te amo tanto. Talvez não seja uma má ideia colocar um bebê dentro de você. ── ele disse baixo, com a voz sonolenta.

Revirei os olhos. Não ousei falar nada sobre isso, até porque agora a minha ficha estava caindo, estávamos uma tremenda bagunça, como voltaríamos sem notarem que estávamos transando?

Mesmo que sejamos casados há muito tempo, eu ainda sou muito tímida quanto à minha vida intima com meu marido.

Comentei brevemente sobre o assunto com Harry, mas ao contrário de mim, ele não se importou. Muito pelo contrário. Agarrar um dos meus peitos e massageá-lo entre os dedos estava o distraindo completamente, de modo que só me mandou um: ── Ah, foda-se. Quem não transa hoje em dia? Se não gostarem, não posso fazer nada! ── como resposta.

Ok. Talvez isso tenha sido bastante reconfortante para mim.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

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mundodafantasia1d · 6 months

Text

Champagne Problems

Harry olhou para a mulher no banco do passageiro, ela olhava pela janela.

- Olho na estrada, Styles - ela sorriu sem olhar para ele.

- Desculpa - ele voltou a atenção para a estrada à sua frente.

- Falta muito para chegarmos?

- Não, estamos quase chegando.

- Sua mãe não ficou muito chateada por termos decidido ficar no hotel, ficou?

- Ela falou por um bom tempo mas entendeu que seria melhor assim, ela e a Gemma estão tão ocupadas com esse casamento.

- Não quero nem imaginar o trabalho que elas estão tendo - (s/n) comentou, se arrepiando só de pensar.

Gemma, irmã de Harry, se casaria nesse fim de semana e essa era a razão pela qual estavam indo para a cidade natal de seu namorado. Eles optaram por ficar em um hotel, (s/n) queria evitar a confusão do casamento. Ela nunca gostou de casamentos, mas com certeza gostaria da festa.

Chegaram ao hotel no fim da tarde, arrumaram suas coisas e foram para o jantar de ensaio do casamento, Harry seria padrinho. Foi uma noite até agradável, tirando o fato de que seu namorado desapareceu e voltou dizendo que só tinha ido ao banheiro mas sua cara de quem tava aprontando o acusou, mas ela deixou para lá quando sua sogra perguntou sobre seu vestido.

(S/n) teve que admitir, o casamento foi lindo. Gemma estava deslumbrante em seu vestido branco, (s/n) sempre achou brega mas a cunhada estava irradiando uma luz linda. Todos pareciam tão felizes por Gemma e Michal e era possível sentir o amor dos dois emanar deles. (S/n) podia não gostar de casamentos e com certeza não queria se casar nunca, mas não era insensível à felicidade deles.

E Harry estava tão feliz pela irmã, e ela amava ver Harry feliz. Eles dançavam em meio a risadas e (s/n) pensou que a noite estava impressionantemente agradável.

Até o momento em que a música parou e Gemma entregou o microfone para Harry. Ele parecia nervoso, suas mãos estavam suadas, ele segurava sua mão e sorriu para ela antes de dizer:

- Antes de mais nada eu tenho que dar os créditos a Gemma que teve a ideia, você sabe que essas pessoas aqui são as mais importantes da minha vida e eu estou muito feliz por elas poderem presenciar esse momento - (s/n) ficou pálida na mesma hora e mentalmente implorou para que não fosse o que ela pensava que seria - Vou contar uma história, em uma manhã de terça feira, eu fui para a academia, treinei como sempre faço nas minhas folgas e quando estava saindo vi essa linda mulher na recepção da academia, usando roupas de ginástica, cabelo amarrado e com esse sorriso lindo que ela tem, sendo extremamente educada enquanto soletrava seu nome para a recepcionista - as pessoas ao redor riram, mas ela estava paralisada - Nunca vou esquecer esse dia, porque foi nele em que conheci a mulher com quem quero viver minha vida, cada minuto ao seu lado tem sido um sonho e eu nunca tive tanta certeza de algo na minha vida, como tenho de que você é o amor da minha vida, por isso eu tenho uma pergunta pra fazer - ele tirou uma caixinha do bolso e se ajoelhou, ela entrou em pânico - (S/n), você aceita se casar comigo?

Podia ouvir os sussurros das pessoas ao redor, as reações de surpresa, os gritos de sim, mas tudo isso parecia tão distante para ela. Não soube ao certo quanto tempo ficou parada sem esboçar qualquer reação.

- Posso colocar o anel da minha mãe no seu dedo? - Harry perguntou após um tempo já com o anel próximo ao seu dedo, mas ela puxou a mão imediatamente.

- Não - sussurrou.

- O que? - ele perguntou.

- Desculpa - sua voz não passava de um sussurro.

- (S/n), eu não estou entendendo.

- Eu não quero me casar - ela deixou as palavras escaparem, rápida e atrapalhadamente, com os olhos fechados, pois não aguentaria olhar em seu rosto agora.

- Você está negando meu pedido? - ele se levantou.

- Estou - depois de alguns segundos ela abriu os olhos e viu a dor em seu rosto, ele respirou fundo.

- Ela não quer se casar comigo - ele disse para as pessoas ao redor que reagiram surpresas.

Ela não conseguia mais ficar lá, foi se afastando enquanto o via lá parado, a mão com a caixa do anel no bolso, o olhar triste.

- Ela teria sido uma noiva tão adorável, que pena que ela não tem uma cabeça boa - ouviu a tia de Harry comentar.

Gemma espirrou e deixou a garrafa de champanhe que segurava cair, não iriam precisar dela de todo jeito, ninguém estava comemorando, nenhuma multidão de amigos estava aplaudindo, os céticos da cidade natal de Harry chamaram isso de problemas com champanhe.

Então ela foi embora.

Harry não foi para o hotel naquela noite e quando ela tentou ligar para ele na manhã seguinte, ele não atendeu. No dia seguinte, a mãe dele apareceu para pegar as coisas dele, ela tentou falar com a sogra que não quis a escutar.

- Anne, por favor... - ela a interrompeu.

- Eu não quero escutar (s/n), você magoou muito o Harry, em frente de todas as pessoas importantes para ele, não esperava isso de você.

- Se você puder me deixar explicar.

- Não é a mim que você deve explicações, é ao Harry, ele está na casa de vocês, se você o ama de verdade sugiro ter uma explicação muito boa para o que fez.

Sozinha, ela decidiu reservar o trem noturno, assim ela poderia sentar lá com sua dor, multidões movimentadas ou pessoas dormindo silenciosas, não tinha certeza do que era pior.

Chegou na casa em que vivia com Harry, não sabia se conseguiria encará-lo mas precisava tentar. Ele estava na sala, no escuro, com uma taça de champanhe na mão.

- Harry - ela o chamou mas ele não a olhou. - Eu deixei sua mão cair, eu sei que te machuquei, eu juro que meu coração despedaçou quando te deixei lá, parado, desanimado, o anel da sua mãe no bolso. Seu coração era de vidro e eu deixei cair. Eu sinto muito por isso.

- Desculpas esfarrapadas é tudo o que você tem? - a voz dele era baixa e rouca e ele não a olhou. - Palavras bonitas não vão amenizar a dor.

- Olha, eu agradeço pelo que você fez, você tinha um discurso e eu deixei você sem palavras, mas...

- Chega - ela se assustou com o grito dele - É você que tem um discurso aqui, aposto que veio pensando nele o caminho todo, pegou o trem noturno, evitou multidões porque sabe que agora todos falam disso, do papel ridículo que passei - ele se levantou e finalmente a encarou. - O amor escorregou além do seu alcance, se você tiver uma boa razão fala agora porque é a última chance de salvá-lo.

- Eu não poderia dar uma razão.

- Então vai, arrume suas coisas.

Ele a deixou sozinha e ela desabou. Horas depois ela chegou a um dormitório onde seria seu lar até colocar sua vida de volta nos trilhos, se isso fosse possível sem ele.

“Este dormitório já foi um hospício” estava escrito em um canto da parede.

- Bem, é feito para mim - ela riu sem graça, e o riso foi se transformando em choro. Até que dormiu.

No dia seguinte, todos noticiavam que Harry foi visto no aeroporto deixando o país, ela havia o perdido.

Era uma noite fria, algumas semanas depois de ter perdido o homem que amava, ela continuava no dormitório porque não tinha mais forças para seguir em frente, havia o magoado e tudo que merecia por isso era aquele pequeno quarto que já foi um hospício.

Ouviu batidas na porta e se surpreendeu ao ver Harry parado bem ali. Eles não disseram nada, ela apenas deu passagem para ele, que entrou. Depois de se encararem por um tempo, ele respirou fundo.

- Sinto sua falta - ele disse por fim.

- Eu sinto sua falta também, Harry.

- Por que? Só me responde por que, por favor - ele implorou.

- Harry, eu não vou me casar, desculpa por te machucar, eu me odeio por isso, sei que essa decisão te causa dor mas você vai encontrar a coisa real invés disso, ela vai consertar sua tapeçaria que eu rasguei e vai segurar sua mão enquanto dança, nunca vai te deixar lá parado e desanimado, como eu fiz e você não vai nem se lembrar de todos os meus problemas com champanhe.

Ele pegou sua carteira do bolso, a abriu e tirou a foto de (s/n) que ficava ali.

- Eu nunca vou te esquecer, essa foto está sempre comigo porque é uma representação física do que está no meu coração, você.

- Harry - ela não disse nada mais do que o nome dele.

- Eu sei que você me ama, então por quê?

- Pelo dinheiro, pelo show, pelo que quiser acreditar, só por favor, não insista, eu já dei minha resposta.

Aquela foi a última vez que se viram.

Até que se encontraram novamente, um anos depois, na academia em que se conheceram. Ela o viu falando com a mesma recepcionista, viu quando ele pegou a carteira e a abriu para pegar o cartão e viu uma pequena polaroid cair, ele se abaixou para pegar e quando os olhos dele se levantaram encontraram os dela. Se encararam por um tempo, então ele levantou a polaroid mostrando sua foto, ela sorriu.

- Posso te convidar para um café? - ele perguntou e ela concordou.

Na cafeteria próxima à academia, eles ficaram em silêncio com os sentimentos gritando.

- Você continua linda.

- Posso dizer o mesmo de você.

Os dois pareciam constrangidos, a situação toda era desconcertante e tinha muitos sentimentos no ar.

- Eu nunca estive pronta, então eu assisti você partir - ela finalmente falou. - Às vezes você simplesmente não sabe a resposta até que alguém esteja de joelhos te perguntando.

- Não foi a resposta que eu queria ter ouvido.

- Demorou mais do que eu queria pra entender que a resposta para aquela pergunta vinda de você deveria ter sido sim, eu passei tanto tempo odiando a ideia do casamento, sempre quis ser independente até conhecer você e me apaixonar perdidamente, eu disse para mim mesma que estava tudo bem - ela riu sem graça. - Naquele dia, sua tia disse: Ela teria sido uma noiva tão adorável, que pena que ela não tem uma cabeça boa - os dois riram. - Ela não estava errada. Eu tenho traumas, Harry. O casamento dos meus pais foi o pior que podia ser, eu era só uma criança e estava escondida no closet tentando evitar os gritos, todas aquelas brigas e o ódio que eles sentem um pelo outro até hoje acabou com qualquer resquício de sentimento bom que eles um dia tiveram um pelo outro, o casamento acabou com o respeito que tinham e eu jurei pra mim mesma, no escuro daquele closet, que eu nunca me casaria - lágrimas escorriam pelo rosto dela. - Eu entrei em pânico, Harry, eu não queria que o que tínhamos acabasse, não queria que nosso amor virasse ódio.

- Isso nunca aconteceria, o amor que sinto por você é maior e mais intenso do que qualquer sentimento e mesmo depois de você ter partido meu coração, eu não consegui te odiar, eu tentei mas tudo que sinto por você é amor. - ela sabia que era verdade, pois podia ver em seus olhos.

- Eu fui uma idiota, como eu pude achar que nosso amor não era forte?

- Sim, você foi - ele riu - mas ainda dá tempo de consertar, eu ainda quero passar o resto da minha vida com você.

- O anel da sua mãe ainda está com você?

Ele se levantou, estendeu a mão para ela que a pegou e a levou para fora dali até o estacionamento da academia, onde o carro dele se encontrava. Ela esperou enquanto ele procurava algo lá dentro. Harry encontrou o que procurava, parou em frente a (s/n) se ajoelhou e a mostrou o anel de sua mãe.

- Você aceita se casar comigo, meu amor?

- Sim - ela respondeu com um sorriso enorme no rosto.

Ele colocou o anel em seu dedo, serviu perfeitamente, ele se levantou e a pegou em seus braços.

- Eu te amo (s/n) e sempre vou te amar, eu prometo que nunca vou te odiar ou deixar de te amar, não vou deixar nada estragar nosso casamento, será eterno.

- Eu te amo, Harry e vou te amar para sempre.

E eles finalmente se beijaram.

#imagines #one direction #imagines one direction #harry styles #imagine harry styles #taylor swift

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dontworrysunflower · 2 years

Text

Groom’s Sister | h.s.

a/n: we all know that one video that came out a while ago when harry said he wanted to marry the grooms sister and since then i couldn’t get it out of my head. so here we are. and i’m proud to say that the over 1k came naturally, i didn’t have to force it and thank you @watchmegetobsessed for helping me with the ending i literally couldn’t have done it without you! please be nice it’s been a while since i’ve written.

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol (?), some curse words maybe, horribly written mutual pining

word count: 4.6k

masterlist

enjoy!! reblogs are appreciated!!

If Harry was being honest, he didn’t want to go to this wedding. He had just gotten back from a world tour, and the last thing he wanted was to be around people. He didn’t want to be around drunk people, tired people or happy people. Especially not people in love.

His last relationship ended a while ago, but he didn’t have the time to grieve over the loss of it because he was in a new city every day. He had a routine: wake up, eat, rehearse, eat again, play, sleep. The relationship didn’t bring him any new inspiration for a new project either, so he was kind of in a slump.

Truly, Harry was going to the wedding for one specific reason, and one reason only.

Her.

He would never admit it outloud, he can barely admit it to himself, but he’s had a crush on her since he first met her all those years ago.

There was one set back though. She was his friend's sister.

And he knew it was like a rule, a universal rule that siblings were off limits, no matter how close you are.

But God, everything about her intrigued him. She always kept him on his toes, and the blush on his cheeks was permanent when he was around her.

So granted, when he got an invitation to his friends–her brother– wedding a couple months back, he checked off the will attend box for the sole reason of seeing her again.

They got along, but he didn’t have the privilege of calling her his friend.

He could usually charm a girl with ease, no problem. But she gave him those butterflies everyone talks about. She gives him that cheesy rom-com feeling. He grew nervous every time she would go in for a hug, and he would overanalyze her touch on his shoulder when she pulled away or when she squeezed past him in a crowd. And she was so funny, he full-on belly laughed when he was around her. He was borderline tipsy each time they saw each other, but she was a full time comedian around him.

He never thought it could go any further than a high school crush, and it still can’t. But he would be damned if he didn’t try.

The ceremony was at noon, arguably the hottest time of the day and of course they had to get married outside. Regardless, after a slow morning and a shower, he got dressed in a plain black suit.

Harry grabbed his stuff lazily before heading out the door, unlocking his car and headed towards the dreaded ceremony. He’s doing this for her.

How pathetic.

•••

He cleared his throat awkwardly as he leisured around the venue, trying his best to ignore the burning stares and the hushed whispers. He admired the gold embellishments woven into the ivy covered walls of the house. The ceremony was taking place in the patio, where tan chairs were already in rows, facing a gazebo decorated with white tulle and purple tulips. There was a band on one side of the gazebo, and drinks and finger food were set up on the other side.

He could use a drink.

“Is that Harry Styles?” He heard as he walked past a group to get to the refreshment table. He hung his head low, not wanting to draw attention to himself as he grabbed a flute of mimosa. “He’s friends with the groom, I heard.” The group continued on their not so quiet gossip.

He stood awkwardly against the wall with overgrown greenery, sipping at his drink, letting his breath fog up the skinny glass. He pulled out his phone, typing away at texts and emails so he doesn’t seem boring to the people around him, even though answering emails is boring.

He gets even more uncomfortable when the band starts playing a classical rendition of Adore You, his foot tapping anxiously at the foliage under him, pleading for it to swallow him whole.

This was a mistake.

He shouldn't have come. He could be comfortable in his own home, in his own bed, but no. He had to have his own plan for this event, a plan that could ultimately blow up in his face. He dressed up in this expensive suit for what? Just because of this stupid crush on-

“Harry?”

Nevermind.

All his complaints were thrown out the window when he looked up and saw her. She was more beautiful than he remembered.

“YN, hi.” He spoke softly, a smile tugging on his bubble gum colored lips as he looked at her. Like really looked at her.

Her sage colored dress fell at her feet, the silk fabric hugging her hips and flowing down her legs. The best part though, were the straps falling on her biceps, leaving her neck and shoulders bare. He could imagine dancing with her and teasing her skin with his lips, his nose buried in her neck and taking in her scent. He knew she was a bridesmaid, he’s seen other women around wearing the same dress, but God, the dress was made just for her.

“How are you?” She asked excitedly as she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. She squeezed him in their embrace, swinging them side to side making his chuckle into her ear. She smelled really good.

Get a grip, Styles.

“It’s been a while, huh?” She spoke as she pulled away, and Harry nearly whined at the loss.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” He nervously tapped his fingernails against his glass.

There’s a pause between them, his eyes trained on her face and taking in her beauty. She raises her brows expectantly, her smile widening. “Well? I know you’ve been busy! Tell me about the tour.” She exclaims, maneuvering to stand next to him, her arms pressed against his.

“Oh,” he chuckles nervously and looks down at his feet. “It was good, very fun. I leave for New York in a couple of weeks.” He’s usually excited about his next stops for tour, but when he’s telling her he’s leaving soon it makes him want to cancel everything on his schedule and go into hiding with her.

“Wow, sounds exciting. Maybe I’ll have to go see you. See what the hype’s all about.” She nudged his shoulder, letting a giggle leave her lips and travel down his spine.

He laughs along with her. “Just say the word and I’ll get you some seats.” He feels the urge to turn to her and wink, but he stops himself.

“Good.” Her voice was low and almost sultry, and he could almost feel her get impossibly closer to him.

He didn’t want to get his hopes up.

“You excited? For your brother I mean.” He turns to her at his question, his eyes lingering on the shape of her lips before looking into her eyes.

She inhales before speaking. “Oh yeah, I’m really happy for him. Marinna is great too.” She exhales as she speaks, her shoulders lowering slowly as she lets out the air.

He nods at her answer. “I’ve only met her a couple of times, but they seem great together. I know Brian’s smitten for her though.” He joked, remembering all the times he hung out with Brian and how he just wouldn’t shut up about his future wife.

Harry was actually the first person to know that Brian was going to propose. Brian had called him in a frantic state, rambling on about rings and Marinna and the color white. Harry could barely understand him, and when he got him to calm down–ten minutes into the call–he smiled with pride when Brian admitted to finding the perfect ring. Harry hoped to find someone that made him act like Brian. He also hoped that someone was the person next to him.

Brian’s sister.

She lets out a chuckle. “Oh God yeah, he doesn’t shut up about her. It’s quite annoying actually.”

There’s a small fit of laughter between them, leaning into each other to suppress the noise and to not give people a reason to look at them. Her hand comes up to cover her mouth, the corners of her lips finding their way from being hidden. Her eyes are shut, blinding him with her glowy makeup, happy wrinkles appearing on the sides of her eyes. He wished he could kiss them.

Someone stands at the entry to the backyard, the white doors open to the inside of the house, giving the ceremony a better flow of the space. “Esteemed guests, please find your seats.”

They catch their breaths at the announcement, her hand falling back to her side. When her arm relaxes next to him, his fingers start to tingle because her hand is right there, touching his. His hand is burning, aching to wrap around hers but he knows he can’t. She’s his friend's sister. But he feels her pinky rub at his, and he could be completely overanalyzing it, but he can feel it in his chest that he just isn’t.

Before he can fully tug at her finger, she pushes off the wall with a sigh. Her hands smooth over her dress, getting rid of any dirt that could have set into the fabric. “Guess that’s my cue.” She turns to him fully, her neck and cheeks heating up from their fit of laughter.

She gives him a little wave before turning towards the doors, taking careful steps on her strappy heels. He sends her a lazy, lovesick wave (that she can’t even see). He just watches her. He hopes no onlookers think he’s creepy, but how could he not admire her.

He catches his stare just before she turns back to him, her manicured fingers picking at each other before she opens her mouth. “You’ll be at the reception, right?” She smiled sweetly at him. All he can do is nod. “I’ll see you there.” She turns again, heading farther away from him.

“Hey YN!” He exclaims, a little too loud for his taste, but it gets her attention. She’s at the door, her mouth open slightly, awaiting what he has to say.

“You look beautiful.” He showcases his dimples at her, hoping he can get some sort of affection across.

Her breath hitches in her throat, but he doesn’t need to know that. She sends him a small smile, mouthing a thank you before disappearing into the house.

He chugs the rest of his mimosa.

•••

He is sitting near the back and right next to the aisle, an older couple taking the seats next to him. He twirls his initial rings in anticipation, waiting for the moment he sees her again.

Oh yeah, and for the union of two people in love. He’s there for them too.

He’s zoning out, focusing his eyes on nothing in front of him when the officiant motions for everyone to sit. The band plays at a smooth rhythm as Brian appears at the doorway, his parents on either side of him, their hands in his. They walk slowly down the white path, their intertwined hands squeezing each other as they make it to the gazebo. Brian hugs his parents tightly as they kiss him on the cheek and let him up on the gazebo and take their seats in the front.

Harry pays more attention now as he watches the bridesmaids and groomsmen walk in, waiting for her to encompass his senses again. Surprisingly enough, she became even more beautiful in the ten minutes they didn’t see each other after their conversation.

She walks slowly on her skinny heels, her right arm locked with the groomsman beside her, her fingers holding the neck of the bouquet. The light colors of the flowers compliment her dress and the overall ambiance of the ceremony, but the beauty of the flowers couldn’t take away from the vision that is her. His cheeks hurt from smiling so wide and he was blinking so slowly as if he’s drunk, but he only had one mimosa. Her eyes catch his when she walks past him and a smile teases her lips. Harry’s sure that the look on his face could be easily deciphered, but when he looks at her, he’s not quite sure what’s behind those eyes. She’s already at the altar by the time he regains composure, and by that time everyone is standing up to welcome the bride.

She looked beautiful, everyone in the crowds had a fond smile on their faces as she made her way past them, but nothing ever compares to the groom's face. Brian was biting his quivering bottom lip, his eyes turning glassy as he went down a step to take Marinna’s hand. She kisses her parents cheeks before letting Brian’s hand to envelop hers. He quickly wipes at his cheeks with other hand and bends down to kiss Marinna’s hand. The maid of honor takes the bouquet, letting Marinna get a hold of her dress and situate herself across Brian.

There are a lot of tears during the ceremony, Harry sheds a few himself, but he can’t help himself when he pans to YN every once in a while, watching her wipe tears and smile. The band plays upbeat music as everyone claps for the newlyweds as they kiss and strut down the aisle again with big smiles and a pep in their step.

He continues to clap softly as the rest of the wedding party leaves after them, admiring YN as she walks down with another man but it’s okay. It obviously means nothing, he knows that. That doesn't stop him from hoping it was him she was walking next to.

People cheered softly as they stepped away from the seats and made their way to the front, watching the newlyweds slide into a black convertible and drive off.

Harry whistles them off as someone comes up beside him, his spine immediately tingling and his shoulders broadening.

“So, how’d I do?” Her voice filled his senses.

He chuckles lightly as he stuffs his hands in his pants packets. “A plus on walking and standing there.”

She let out a giggle and looked down, hiding her smile. His hand aches to reach for her chin and have her showcase her smile, but he stops himself.

People start to disperse around them, heading to their vehicles. There’s just tree leaves swinging and the chittering of insects around them as she catches her breath.

“YN!” Someone calls behind them. They both turn to see her parents looking at them, their own hands intertwined.

“I guess I should go.”

Or don’t, he wants to say.

“I’ll see you at the reception, yeah?” She says as she steps away from him, a smile adorning her face.

All he could do was meekly nod and he watched her walk away with her parents.

••

Okay, he doesn’t have a plan.

The process of charming a potential partner usually comes easier to him, it’s almost second nature. He doesn’t have to think about it. He can smile and say some nice words. Compliment them and boom! Done.

He thought he could just ask her, compliment her–which he did, he pats himself on the back for that– give her a shy smile and that would be it.

But seeing her smile at the happy couple, clapping along with everyone and in that dress. He wished it came easier to him more than ever. He needed it now, but he melted at just the mention of her.

He’s fucked, basically.

The strobe lights hurt his eyes and the horribly picked music is making his ears bleed. He claps along with the rest of the guests as Brian and Marinna walk in, their hands joined.

He’s changed into something less formal and less eye-catching. His black suit made him stick out from the soft colored ceremony earlier in the day. A cream colored suit adorns his stature, his blue printed button up living up his look a little more.

Her seat was directly across from his, farther away in the wedding party tables but he had a great view of her.

He’s distracted from his view of her as the DJ announces the couple onto the dance floor. A soft ballad is playing behind his words as he introduces them to their first dance as a married couple.

Brian and Marinna look at each other lovingly as they wrap their arms around the other, her head resting on his shoulder, his on top of hers. They sway leisurely, focusing on each other's presence instead of the audience around them.

After the meaningful slow dances, the party is in full swing, kids running around while adults drink and dance.

Harry sits at his table silently, his head leaning to the side as his finger runs over the smooth glass base of his drink, a mundane look on his face as people around him celebrate.

His body shakes with a startle as someone roughly grabs at his shoulder, their fingers digging into his shoulder blade, shaking him out of his misery. His newly married friend pulls the chair out next to him and plops down with a guttural groan. “Styles!”

Harry gives him a tight lipped smile, his lips rolling into his mouth in a silent greeting.

Brian’s eyebrows furrow at his friend's attitude. “What’s up with you, mate?”

Harry rests his elbow on the covered table, his chin being supported on his closed fist. He shakes his head and pouts a frown then turns it into a faux smile. “Nothin’”

Brian’s eyes hold a drunken glassy look as he watches his friend and then around the room, stopping for a second to admire his wife dancing with her friends. “What? Do you wanna sing a song for us?”

A dry chuckle leaves Harry’s slightly chapped lips. “No, I don’t.” His slow gaze watches Brian take his champagne glass and gulp it down, then violently put the glass down on the table with a dull clink.

“I’m real happy, y’know?” Brian said after a few seconds of silence, his head turned toward the beautiful bride.

Harry gives him a small smile. “That's good. Congrats, by the way. I don’t think I said it earlier.” Brian nods in acknowledgment.

There’s a stillness between them again.

“I know.” Brian blurts out.

Harry’s face contorts in confusion. “Know what?”

Brian gives him a teasing smile and shoves his shoulder, sending the singer back a bit. “You have the hots for my sister.”

Harry’s eyes widen, his mouth opening and closing, trying to find the words for an excuse or denial. He stutters, his face flushing, turning red like the strobe lights flashing around the room.

“It’s okay, mate. If anything, I would rather she picked you than some other bloke who doesn’t deserve her.”

Harry’s eyes scan the room, finding her sitting at her table, diligently sipping at her sparkling drink, her eyes observing the space around them, but they don’t hold the same gleam like when she watched her brother get married, or when she talked to Harry.

He doesn’t even notice Brian getting up from his seat and joining his wife.

His manicured fingers pinch at his bottom lip in consideration, his other hand flexing and balling into a fist out of nervousness. His mind reels at the thought of getting up and asking her for a dance, or just getting the courage to talk to her again. It’s like his brain turns to mush at the mere thought of her, and he thinks at this point he’s waited too long to even show his interest in her, let alone actually do something about said interest.

But regardless, he gets up from his seat and picks up his refilled flute of alcohol–thank you, waiters–, taking a long sip of courage before walking around the crowded dance floor to get to her. On his way there though, he made eye contact with Brian, who was on the dance floor with his new wife. He seemed to send the singer a small smile and a curt nod. In those short seconds, Harry’s chest feels lighter and his head isn’t clouded with guilt.

The only reason he never pursued anything with YN–other than the fact that he can barely conjure up a full sentence around her– was because she was his friend's sister. Siblings were off limits, he thought. He knew he wouldn’t like it if one of his friends tried to get with his own sister. And now that he has his subtle approval, there’s a pep in his step.

He blows out his cheeks as he works up the courage, her figure becoming closer and closer. Before he realizes, he’s standing right behind her, his thumb playing with the rings on his fingers as he slurs out the next words.

“Hey there.”

Her movements were in slow motion, her shimmery eyes blinking slowly, her hair whipping around, and that same smile that makes him swoon grows on her face as she catches sight of him.

“I was wondering when you’d get up to talk to me.”

He bounces on the balls of his feet, shifting his weight from his toes to his heels. His head leaned down shyly, his precious locks falling in his face.

He looks around her, never looking her in the eyes because he’s scared that he’ll say something stupid at their eyes catching. His mouth hangs open, waiting for the thoughts in his brain to register into words. “Would you, uhm,” he takes a deep breath. “Would you like to dance?”

Smooth, Styles.

She chuckles at his timid request, her hand confidently taking his and dragging him to the dance floor as one song finishes and another begins.

Harry regains his composure, confidence surging through him as he repositions his hand in hers, taking it firmly while his other hand rests high on her hip.

His eyes catch hers and his hand squeezes hers as they sway, a blush coloring his cheeks as they just stare at each other. They don’t talk, but it's not uncomfortable, it’s pleasant. Like they can just coexist with each other and they’re satisfied with the touch of each other.

YN lets out a frustrated sigh with a roll of her eyes, her hand that was on his shoulder moving down to his hand by her waist and dragging down lower.

Oh.

Harry clears his throat, his eyes concentrating on anywhere but her.

He doesn’t know if it's because he’s a little tipsy, or because his mind is running with just thoughts of her her her, but his mouth moves faster than he can register and he’s blurting out words that should've been kept in the back of his mind.

“You don't have a boyfriend to dance with?”

Obviously not if she’s dancing with you, he thought, mentally slapping himself.

She swipes her tongue over her teeth, the corner of her mouth rising in a smirk because she knew exactly why he was asking. And God, he could fall on his knees and worship her right there in the middle of the dance floor.

“Well I wouldn’t be dancing with you if I did.” She said sassily, her head leaning to the side, over her shoulder, her lashes fluttering seductively. “Did you want me to have a boyfriend?”

“Depends on who it is.” He said without hesitation.

She hums and looks off to the side as they dance.

“I know who you’d like.” She said with a teasing smile playing on her lips.

Harry furrows his eyebrows. “Who?” His chest aches with a sudden jealousy.

“He’s sweet, kind of shy. He’s tall and has gorgeous hair-”

“Okay.” He says pointedly. “I think I get it.” There’s a silence between them. “You like that guy you walked with-”

He’s interrupted by a firm hit on his shoulder. She looks down to hide her smile and this time he doesn’t hesitate to lift her head up by her chin with his fingers. Her face falls at his action, her eyes softening and her smile relaxing.

They continue to sway as the song changes. They can’t tell if it's upbeat, but they do not care in the slightest. All they can hear, see, and feel is each other.

Her hand squeezes his shoulder, willing him to speak up.

A smile tugs at his lips nervously, his tongue pressing up to the roof of his mouth as he tries to conjure up his confession.

“I…I really, really like you.” He starts off.

And she beams. Her smile is brighter than he could imagine and her eyes glisten. Her finger nails dig into his suit jacket again, encouraging him to continue.

“I’ve just never done anything ‘cause you’re my friend's sister, and I didn’t want to cause anything between us, or between the two of you. I came because I wanted to finally tell you how I feel, but God you make me nervous.”

They erupt in tipsy giggles, their heads bowing forwards and lightly bumping into each other.

“You only came here for me?” She asked between breaths.

He just shrugs and looks to the side teasingly, pretending to avoid her gaze.

“How romantic.” She mocked with sarcasm, but her voice sounded sweet, making his insides turn.

She rolls her lips into her mouth, trying to suppress a smile. “I really like you too.”

His eyes linger on her lips, his lashes fluttering over his cheeks languidly. A smile peeks at his lips. “Yeah?”

She chuckles and nods. Her eyes fall to his lips.

“I guess you’re the reason I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Their noses brush as they lean closer to each other, their breaths mixing in between them as their lips linger on the other.

“Maybe I can change that.”

His lips encapsulate her bottom one, the corner of their lips teasing a smile, making it harder to kiss, but he couldn’t care in the slightest.

HIs hands leave her body to rest at her jaw, and hers hold him at his waist, his lips leaving hers to only deepen the kiss. Her nose grazes against his and she whimpers into his mouth, almost making his knees almost give out.

They pull away with lovesick smiles, his warm hands still holding her face close to his so he could absorb this moment a little better.

He pecks her lips one more time just to be sure that this moment was real, that he wasn’t dreaming. He pulls away, his lips splitting into a cheesing smile, his dimples on full display.

He feels her shudder in his hands, the silk fabric of her dress cooling his touch as he moves his hands to the expanse of her back.

He takes her hand and pushes her away slightly, bringing their intertwined hands above their heads and twirling her around, giggles erupting from both of them.

He squeezes her hip, pulling her back closer to him so their hearts are touching, swaying to the music.

She leans her head on his shoulder, her eyes closing, feeling warm in his embrace.

The night continues into early morning, strobe lights softening and people retreating. They dance together for the rest of the night–except for the five seconds she stepped away to take off her shoes–ignoring the knowing glances from her family and the dwindling noise around them.

The music has stopped, the DJ is long gone and the house lights illuminate the entire building. It’s just them wrapped in each other, and Harry can’t help but imagine them dancing just like that at their own wedding someday.

•••

ahhhhh okay please let me know what you think!! and please please reblog!!

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imagine-that-one-thing · 2 months

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Her majesty || The Re-Write

Snippet of “her Majesty” rewrite. I have absolutely loved re-writing this fanfic in my spare time and it has been one of my favourite secrets to keep, as I have changed the storyline. It has taken me quite a while to write the chapters I have, but I have throughly thought this process out. I’m still trying to figure out some details and plots but I’m ready to share a small snippet of what arose today. I’m not entirely sure I want to keep the title as “Her Majesty” or if I want to change the title to “Veil of Glass.” Feel free to let me know your thoughts and ideas!

Also, I adore the new portrayal of Anna and Harry. He’s soft but not too soft and she’s determined to stand on her own two feet and not have Harry save her every time she needs a saving grace.

Snippet of chapter 4

He walks back towards me, his steps deliberate, his gaze unwavering. Taking my hand in his, he speaks softly, his voice filled with a depth of emotion that tugs at my heartstrings, "If you want me to stay, tell me now."

It feels as though the tenderness of his voice is ripping me open to my core, forcing me to fall within his trans, and my turmoil threatens to boil over me.

A whirlwind of conflicting emotions swirls within me. I yearn for him to stay, to wrap me in his embrace and chase away the shadows of doubt. Yet, I hesitate, unable to articulate the tangled mess of thoughts and feelings that hold me back.

Caught between the desire to be strong and the fear of revealing my vulnerability, I falter. The words catch in my throat, a silent plea lingering on my lips, as I struggle to make sense of the tumultuous storm raging within me.

As I watch him step back, a wave of panic crashes over me, threatening to drown me in its suffocating embrace, breath my breath, slowly drowning me. I've always prided myself on standing strong, on never needing anyone to lean on. But now, in this moment of uncertainty, I feel the ground beneath me slipping away, leaving me teetering on the edge of an abyss I never knew existed.

What is going on? I’m suffocating on my own air.

Amidst the opulence of this royal court, where every move is scrutinized and every word is weighed, I've never felt more alone. The weight of my position, the burden of expectation, it all presses down on me, threatening to crush my lungs beneath its relentless force.

And yet, amidst the chaos of my own inner turmoil, one thought burns brighter than all the rest: the fear of losing him. Not to the monarchy, not to the whispers of court intrigue, but to the vast expanse of uncertainty that lies beyond these gilded walls. What if he walks away and never comes back? What if I'm left to face this world alone, with nothing but memories to keep me company? What a painful and sorrowful life that would be to live.

The answers elude me, slipping through my fingers like grains of sand, leaving me grasping at shadows in the dark. All I truly know is that I want him to stay tonight, to chase away the demons that haunt my dreams and soothe the ache that lingers in the depths of my soul. But I can't bring myself to ask him to put off his plans, whatever they may be, to sacrifice his own desires for the sake of my fleeting whim.

So I stand there, silent and still, my heart aching with a longing I dare not voice, as he waits for my answer, his eyes searching mine for a glimpse of the truth that lies buried beneath the surface of my stoic facade.

Finally, I find myself. I swallow hard and I shake my head, “I will be just fine,” I fake a smile, praying to the man upstairs that I can compose myself and keep my integrity intact. I am not going to stumble over my own emotions. “You’re going to miss your flight if you keep standing here waiting for me to break down, telling you that I need you to stay.”

He heavily sighs, aware that not only am I lying, but I am also telling the truth— a true paradox and conundrum of unknown, undesired emotions that I cannot piece together.

End chapter

I would like to add that I played around with an AI to help convey the emotions more effectively and to escalate the tone I was trying to persuade. I’m utterly impressed at how much it truely helped and how it guided the vision I had and helped articulate it into words. All of these chapters, I visually see in my head and sometimes it’s hard describing the exact emotion my characters are feeling or describing exactly what I see. Anyways, if you’ve managed to read this far, thank you! I hope you have liked my sudden sharing of a chapter I’ve kept hidden for over a year. Oops.

#harry styles imagines #one direction imagines #imagine one direction #harry styles fanfic #imagine harry styles #harry styles

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little-big-fan · 1 year

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Imagine com Harry Styles

Right time, right person

n/a: Alô alô graças a deux! Galera, sim, a cara nem treme de aparecer com mais um imagine do Harry. Parece que eu nem escrevo com os outros kkkkkk mas enfim, esse imagine é um pedido, espero que o Anony goste e vocês também! <3 Me digam o que acharam, e tenham uma ótima leitura!

Contagem de palavras: 2,707

Suspirei encarando a tela do telefone, o mais novo affair de Harry já estava em todas as redes de fofoca possíveis. Resmunguei e terminei de me arrumar, já estava com mais de meia hora de atraso. Pelo menos uma vez por mês, eu, Hilary, Luna e Claire nos encontrávamos, para colocar a fofoca em dia, ou apenas para tomar um vinho e rir de alguma coisa idiota. Aquela nossa “fuga” do mundo real era muito boa, e ajudava a encarar o próximo mês de convivência em nossos empregos. Todas nos conhecemos na faculdade há alguns anos, mesmo lugar onde conhecemos Harry, mesmo que ele não tivesse finalizado o primeiro semestre por conta da carreira musical em ascensão, fizemos uma amizade muito legal.

Harry era mais próximo de mim que das outras meninas, passávamos muito mais tempo juntos em seus dias de aula, e depois que ele fora embora, nossa amizade permaneceu a mesma. Sempre dávamos um jeito de manter contato, fosse por mensagens e ligações quando ele estava disponível ou até mesmo marcar de ir em uma mesma festa para nos vermos por algumas horinhas a mais. Cheguei no pub e logo vi a mesa das meninas, todas acompanhadas de suas bebidas e já riam de alguma coisa.

— Quem é vivo sempre aparece! — Luna disse se levantando para me apertar em um abraço. Ela havia precisado faltar na última reunião pois seu filho pequeno havia ficado doente, então já fazia algum tempo que eu não a via.

— Do que estão rindo? — Perguntei me sentando na cadeira vazia entre Hilary e Clair.

— Do beijo ridículo do Harry, óbvio! — Hilary disse com a mão escondendo a boca, como se fosse um segredo.

— Eu ainda acho que ele foi obrigado! — Claire disse após dar um gole na bebida transparente. — Harry beija muito melhor do que aquilo! — Senti meu estômago embolar. Era sempre aquilo, uma delas sempre trazia aquele assunto á tona: o fato de Harry ter ficado com todas elas. Foi em épocas diferentes, claro. Luna fora há alguns anos, ainda durante a faculdade, seu marido nem desconfiava. Claire foi durante um show dele, eu acabei os pegando no camarim. E Hilary, fora a última a ficar com Harry, apenas alguns meses atrás, em sua festa de aniversário.

— Com certeza. — Luna disse afastando a cabeleira loira, jogando para trás do ombro. — Nem parece o mesmo homem! Harry tem pegada, sabe muito bem o que faz… — Parou de falar para se abanar com a mão. Dei um sorriso amarelo para o garçom que se aproximou e deixou meu shot de tequila na mesa. Demonstrei com os dedos que gostaria de mais dois depois daquele. Fiz uma careta quando o líquido desceu queimando. Algumas das meninas riu, e voltei minha atenção para a conversa novamente.

— Ainda não acredito que você foi a única que nós que não ficou com ele, amiga. — Clair disse, colocando sua mão sob a minha em cima da mesa.

— Ah, eu não acho nada demais. — Menti. — Somos muito amigos para estragar assim.

— Amiga, muito pelo contrário, só ia melhorar. — Luna disse soltando uma risadinha.

Depois de mais alguns shots de Tequila, e um drink rosa que eu não fazia ideia do nome, marcamos a data da próxima reunião, dessa vez em alguma festa pois todas concordamos que precisávamos dançar. Cheguei em casa ainda sentindo meu corpo flutuar por conta da bebida. Depois de quase ficar presa do lado de fora, por ter uma dificuldade absurda para abrir a porta, entrei e me joguei no sofá enquanto me livrava dos saltos em algum lugar da sala. Resmunguei quando ouvi o som estridente do telefone, bufei e atendi sem ver quem era.

— Chegou bem? — Senti minha pele arrepiar ao reconhecer a voz rouca do outro lado. Olhei rapidamente para a tela do celular, a foto de Harry brilhava, e logo acima dela mostrava que já eram mais de duas horas da manhã.

— Cheguei sim. Como sabe que acabei de chegar? — Me sentei, tentando voltar à sobriedade para conversar com ele.

— Luna me avisou que você bebeu bastante tequila hoje. — Ele disse rindo pelo nariz, me fazendo revirar os olhos. — Desde que Joe nasceu ela parece mãe de todo mundo.

— Sim. — Suspirei.

— Tem plantão amanhã?

— Não. Na verdade me obrigaram a entrar de férias. — Resmunguei. Depois de dois anos trabalhando direto no hospital, e fazendo todos os plantões possíveis, a diretoria me obrigou a tirar três semanas de férias, que começam amanhã. Por isso, bebi tudo o que tinha vontade hoje.

— Sério? Quanto tempo você tem? — Ele perguntou em tom animado.

— Três semanas. — Resmunguei de novo.

— Não quer vir passar aqui em LA comigo? Tenho mais dois shows e depois uma semana inteira de folga.

— Não quero atrapalhar sua folga. — Falei baixinho. Na verdade a tentação de passar uma semana inteira com Harry era enorme, mas eu não conseguia deixar de ter o sentimento de que estaria atrapalhando seu merecido descanso. Além de claro, sua privacidade.

— Não vai atrapalhar nada, sua boba. — Eu podia ouvir o sorriso em sua voz.

— Tá bem. — Suspirei, fazendo drama. — Eu aceito. — Ri alto quando ele fez um som de comemoração. — Amanhã eu dou uma olhada nos voos para LA, agora estou bêbada demais para isso.

— Deixa que eu resolvo tudo. Só faz a mala e traga essa bunda gostosa para cá. — Não consegui conter o sorriso. Por mais que nunca tivéssemos tido nada, Harry sempre fazia algumas piadas de duplo sentido. O que as vezes me deixava ainda mais confusa sobre ele.

Depois de mais alguns minutos de ligação, desligamos. Tomei um banho, tirei a maquiagem e me joguei na cama, apagando em poucos segundos.

Acordei na manhã seguinte sentindo minha cabeça latejar como não fazia há anos, desde meu último porre. Tomei coragem para me levantar e fazer um café forte, que foi acompanhado por uma aspirina. No início da tarde, Harry me enviou uma mensagem, avisando que havia reservado um lugar em um voo apenas algumas horas mais tarde. Arrumei uma mala pequena muito rapidamente e me dirigi para o aeroporto.

Eram quase oito horas da noite quando pousamos. Peguei um taxi e me dirigi para o condomínio luxuoso onde Harry morava. Já havia ido lá algumas vezes, e minha entrada era liberada. Pedi uma pizza quando sabia que seu show deveria estar acabando, e fiquei esperando.

Harry entrou na sala carregando uma ecobag pendurada no pescoço, os cabelos úmidos estavam anormalmente soltos, provavelmente porque ele não queria ouvir mais um dos meus discursos sobre como sua presilha favorita era horrenda e ele ficava parecendo um cachorrinho de madame com ela. Levantei do sofá e corri até ele. Harry largou a bolsa no chão e me apertou em seus braços, tirando meus pés do chão.

— Não acredito que aceitou vir. — Falou ainda comigo no colo, seu rosto na curva do meu pescoço e a respiração quente fazendo meu coração dar um salto.

— Foi a bebida. — Provoquei quando ele me soltou, fazendo-o revirar os olhos.

— Sua mentirosa, eu sei que estava morrendo de saudade de mim! — Disse apertando a ponta do meu nariz entre dois dedos. O sorriso aberto fazendo meu coração pular tão alto que achei que pudesse sair fora do peito. Harry se afastou indo até o sofá, e abrindo a caixa de pizza na mesinha de centro.

— Isso é verdade, mas eu não queria atrapalhar seu descanso, você trabalha demais. — Falei me sentando ao seu lado, e pegando um pedaço de pizza.

— Você nunca me atrapalha, s/a. — Disse sorrindo, antes de encher a boca. — Se tivesse me dito antes, podia ter dado um jeito de conseguir mais uns dias de folga. — Falou depois de engolir.

— Uma semana é mais do que eu posso pedir do seu tempo, senhor pop estar famoso no mundo todo. — Falei tomando um gole de refrigerante enquanto ele colocava a língua para mim.

Os dias se passaram como se o tempo voasse, faltavam apenas dois dias para que eu fosse embora, e a partida iminente já estava me assolando. Eu adorava estar com Harry, ele era sempre muito atencioso e engraçado, me fazia esquecer qualquer tipo de problema, e sua companhia era sempre muito boa. Ele era facilmente uma das minhas pessoas favoritas. Talvez fosse a favorita, mas eu calava meu coração idiota toda vez que ele tinha vontade de gritar isso.

— Isso está uma delicia. — Harry disse com a boca cheia de macarrão. Era uma clara mentira. Nossa tentativa de cozinhar nosso próprio jantar foi um caos, a massa passou do ponto, a cebola do molho queimou e faltava um pouco de sal. Harry abriu uma garrafa de vinho, que já estava vazia no balcão da cozinha, e então abriu a segunda que estava à nossa frente. Estávamos os dois sentados no chão da sala com os pratos no colo e dividindo a garrafa, bebendo diretamente do gargalo, enquanto FRIENDS passava na televisão.

— Oh! Meus olhos, meus olhos! — Harry dizia junto de Phoebe, me fazendo rir alto.

— Posso fazer uma pergunta? — O moreno pausou o episódio e me encarou. — Deixa pra lá… — Falei levando a garrafa de vinho aos lábios. Talvez fosse melhor parar de beber.

— Agora eu quero saber. — Ele disse erguendo uma das sobrancelhas, e colocando seu prato na mesa a sua frente.

— Por que… — Comecei e então fiz uma careta. Aquela era uma péssima ideia. — Não, esquece.

— Fala logo, s/n. — Ele disse me encarando com as íris verdes que eu tinha certeza de que podiam me fazer derreter em algum momento. Harry ajeitou sua posição, ficando quase de frente para mim.

— Por que você nunca deu em cima de mim? — Falei de uma vez. Harry tossiu, como se tivesse se engasgado com algo, e então me encarou.

— Como?

— É só… uma dúvida. — Dei de ombros, fingindo estar descontraída, mas na realidade cada músculo do meu corpo estava tenso. — Sabe, você ficou com todas as minhas amigas, mas nunca chegou em mim…

— Eu… — Ele começou a falar, o rosto levemente mais corado pela bebida alcoólica.

— Eu sei, na verdade. — Falei rápido, rindo pelo nariz. — Eu sou uma DUFF.

— Uma o quê? — Ele perguntou confuso.

— Sabe, a amiga mais feinha do grupo, que os caras se aproximam para poder ficar com as outras.

— De onde você tirou uma merda dessas? — Ele disse rindo.

— De um filme. — Encarei meus pés, sentindo meu rosto aquecer.

— Está baseando a sua vida em um filme pra adolescentes? — Ele disse erguendo a sobrancelha mais uma vez, e eu me senti uma idiota. Não era para ter aberto a minha boca. Estava tudo tão perfeito, e eu tinha acabado de estragar com uma insegurança idiota. — Quer saber mesmo porque eu nunca dei em cima de você? — Ele perguntou em tom um pouco mais baixo, arrastando o corpo para perto de mim. Ergui meus olhos e encarei seu rosto bonito, sentindo minha pulsação muito acima do normal. Assenti com um movimento de cabeça, e Harry molhou os lábios com a língua antes de voltar a falar. — Porque eu sempre soube que no momento em que provasse um pouco mais de você não seria capaz de te largar nunca mais. Porque você merece um universo inteiro de atenção, muito mais do que eu posso te dar. Porque você assola todos os meus sonhos e as minhas fantasias. Porque você é uma médica brilhante e uma mulher melhor ainda. E principalmente porque eu não mereço sequer sonhar com uma pessoa tão incrível quanto você, s/n. — Suspirei, sentindo que em algum momento daquela fala minha respiração tivesse sumido. Harry proferiu cada palavra sem desviar os olhos dos meus, e meu corpo e coração reagiram a cada sílaba.

— Você não pode dizer uma coisa dessas e não esperar que eu te beije. — Falei baixinho. Harry estava muito perto, seu corpo um pouco torto. Me aproximei um pouco mais, tudo parecia em câmera lenta, poderia ser resultado do vinho, mas algo me dizia que era o efeito daquele homem sob mim. Inspirei o cheiro de perfume que exalava do seu pescoço, e vagarosamente aproximei nossos rostos. Harry encarava cada um dos meus movimentos com atenção, molhando os lábios mais uma vez. E então, fechei meus olhos e toquei sua boca com a minha.

Por alguns segundos ficamos daquela forma, e então, Harry ergueu as mãos, colocando-as em meu rosto e aprofundando o beijo. Era muito melhor do que em qualquer fantasia que já havia morado em meus pensamentos. Sua língua fazia movimentos lentos, explorando cada canto da minha boca. O gosto era de vinho e… Harry. Simplesmente incrível.

Ergui minhas mãos, levando uma até seu peito e a outra até sua nuca, puxando levemente os cabelos curtos, fazendo com que ele soltasse um suspiro.

Nos separamos sentindo falta de ar, ambos com a respiração acelerada. Encarei Harry com medo do que ele poderia dizer. Por alguns segundos pensei que fosse dizer que foi um erro, uma bobagem, mas não, ele abriu um sorriso lindo nos lábios levemente inchados e vermelhos, e então voltou a colar sua boca na minha, em diversos selinhos.

— Eu… — Ele respirou fundo, ainda sorrindo. — Sonhei tanto com isso. — Deu um beijinho no meu queixo, me fazendo sorrir. — Você não tem ideia.

— Tenho sim. — Falei mordendo o lábio inferior. — Desde que botei meus olhos em você. — Admiti. — Ficava me remoendo toda vez que alguma das meninas falava sobre você, sobre como você tem pegada, blá blá blá. — Falei revirando os olhos, sentindo minha língua arder com o ciúmes.

— Ah é? — Ele disse se aproximando mais uma vez. — E o que você achou?

— Acho que vou precisar provar mais um pouco para saber. — Sussurrei, e então senti sua boca colar na minha mais uma vez.

Se alguém me dissesse que no final da minha primeira semana de férias estaria totalmente rendida á Harry Styles, e que nós iríamos parecer dois adolescentes se agarrando em qualquer canto possível, eu diria que essa pessoa precisava de um encaminhamento psicológico. Mas essa era a minha realidade.

Havia voltado para casa assim que Harry embarcou para a Alemanha, segurando as lágrimas que queriam escapar, odiando ter que ficar longe. A verdade era que não havíamos denominado nossa relação, e que os últimos dias juntos foram incríveis, apenas me dando mais certeza de que estava apaixonada por aquele homem incrível.

Eu não queria impor nada a Harry, por mais que estivesse morrendo para saber o que aquela semana havia significado para ele, não tinha direito algum de questioná-lo.

Não faziam nem 24h que estávamos separados, e a saudade me assolava, me fazendo estar com um péssimo humor. Estava sentada na sala, trocando de canal pela milésima vez quando meu celular tocou, a foto de Harry brilhando me fez sorrir.

— Com saudade, love? — Suspirei, sentindo o frio na barriga costumeiro desde que ele me chamou daquela forma pela primeira vez.

— Morrendo. — Falei, automaticamente fazendo um beicinho.

— Eu também. Queria tanto você aqui. — Ele suspirou alto. — Assim que eu puder, quero ver você. Acho que vou morrer de saudade. — Ele disse em tom dramático, me fazendo rir. — Estou falando sério! Você é médica, deveria vir cuidar de mim! Sou um homem morrendo de saudade, posso sentir a vida se esvaindo do meu corpo. — Ele dizia cada vez mais baixo, me fazendo rir ainda mais.

— Eu amo tanto você. — Deixei escapar, automaticamente ficando tensa. Harry ficou em silêncio por longos segundos. Burra, burra, burra.

— Pega o seu passaporte, e entra no primeiro avião para Munique. — Ele disse sério.

— O quê?

— Eu quero que você pegue o primeiro avião pra cá.

— Por quê? — Perguntei hesitante, meu coração ainda batendo forte demais.

— Porque eu quero beijar essa sua boca linda e dizer que eu te amo olhando no fundo dos seus olhos. — Por alguns segundos, pude jurar que meu coração tinha parado. E então ele voltou a bater tão forte quanto antes.

Como na semana anterior, fiz uma mala correndo, contando os segundos para encontrar Harry mais uma vez.

Eu não sabia como faríamos que aquilo desse certo, nossa vida era de opostos. Eu fazia plantões intermináveis em um hospital, e ele passava semanas viajando o mundo inteiro. Eu não fazia ideia do que seria daqui para a frente. Mas tinha certeza de que faríamos dar certo. O caminho até aquele momento fora longo demais, nutrindo um amor que eu sequer fazia ideia ser tão forte.

Daria certo. Eu sei que daria.

#Harry styles #imagine #harry #lari #lary #harry styles imagine br #oneshot #imagine one direction #imagine harry styles #imagine harry styles br #onedirection #imagine one direction br #styles #imagine1d #imagines #cute

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nightstars5 · 10 months

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Capítulo 1

Harry Styles

Subo os pequenos degraus do jato e tento me forçar em ao menos parecer carismático com o piloto e sua equipe que me esperam no topo da entrada da aeronave para me cumprimentarem e se apresentarem, sorrisos exagerados e bajulações, nada do que eu já não esperava. Interrompendo mais um discurso de como “será um prazer ter Harry Styles à bordo e blá, blá...” agradeço pela atenção e finalmente entro me acomodando em um dos assentos.

Meu motorista, Thomas, se acomoda em umas das primeiras juntamente de mais dois seguranças e não demoram a acharem um baralho para jogarem e se distraírem durante o vôo.

Afrouxo minha gravata e relaxo na poltrona estofada, um suspiro pesado escapa de meus lábios e fecho meus olhos por alguns instantes. Sinto o jato decolar e aquele friozinho no estomago aparece e logo some, momentos depois, uma voz feminina me chama atenção.

— Me perdoe incomodá-lo sr. Styles... — abro meus olhos me deparando com a aeromoça.

Seus cabelo prezo em um coque baixo bem feito, lábios pintados de um batom vermelho escuro, seu sorriso completamente intencional e sua blusa com os primeiros botões abertos revelando demais, deixa em evidencia todas as suas verdadeiras intenções: ser fodida por mim.

— ... gostaria de uma taça de champanhe? Temos também algumas opções para degustar se preferir. — e seu olhar predador me diz que não é dos pratos nos cardápios que me entrega que ela se refere.

Estou exausto e tenso demais, um dia cheio e corrido com toda essa mudança me faz querer relaxar de qualquer forma, pretendia apenas dormir, mas com a faca e queijo na mão, por que não adicionar algo mais?

Dou meu melhor sorriso para Natasha, como está escrito em seu crachá, e respondo.

— Apenas um champanhe. Talvez queira degustar algo... depois. — dou uma piscada e ela sorri, me entregando a taça de champanhe, saindo logo em seguida rebolando sua bela bunda realçada pela sua saia vermelha.

Termino lentamente minha taça de espumante, às vezes trocando alguns olhares com a aeromoça oferecida que também servia meus funcionários, esperando apenas o momento certo para atacar.

E não demora até que eu a veja seguir para o banheiro no fundo do jato, me ponho de pé e Thomas desvia sua atenção do jogo olhando para mim pronto para me servir, apenas levanto minha mão para afirmar que está tudo bem e ajeito meu paletó, seguindo na mesma direção que Natasha.

Me recosto na lateral da porta até que ela a abre para sair e se assusta assim que me vê.

Ao menos sabe fingir bem.

— Sr. Styles, precisa de algo? — pergunta sendo a mais solicita das mulheres.

Não digo nenhuma palavra e apenas a empurro de volta para o espaço apertado fechando a porta.

— Não quero perder tempo, sabe o que quero que faça.

A loira sorri de uma forma diabólica, seus olhos escurecendo de excitação e suas mãos hábeis não demoram a se desfazerem do meu cinto e liberar meu pau já duro.

Ficando de joelhos em minha frente ela passa a língua entre os lábios e me põe na boca, chupando como se sua vida dependesse daquilo. Fecho meus olhos jogando a cabeça para trás sentindo a sensação deliciosa que cresce aos poucos. Seguro sua cabeça a instigando ir mais rápido, o calor sobe por minha espinha e não controlo meu quadril começando a foder sua boca, ela se engasga, mas não me impede de continuar, a afasto minimamente para que tome um pouco de folego e logo ela volta a me chupar, me fazendo chegar cada vez mais perto.

— Porra... — praguejo quando sinto que não aguento mais e finalmente gozo em sua boca.

Natasha engole tudo e passa seu polegar pelo canto da boca, seu sorriso é largo, como se tivesse feito seu melhor nesse boquete para me impressionar, foi ótimo, mas já tive melhores.

Me ajeito para voltar para meu assento e antes que eu abra a porta, me viro para a loira que ajeita seu cabelo em frente ao espelho.

— Bom trabalho. — dou um rápido beijo sobre seus lábios borrados e saio do cubículo.

///

Ao chegar em casa sou recebido por Joana, minha governanta. Uma mulher que beira seus 50 anos e que cuida da minha casa em Nova York melhor do que qualquer outra pessoa que eu poderia ter contratado na época e que de quebra acaba cuidando de mim, agora de forma definitiva.

— Como foi a viagem, sr. Styles? — pergunta me ajudando a tirar o paletó.

— Estou exausto, Joana. — suspiro — E morrendo de fome também. — sorrio como uma criança quando sinto o cheiro da comida deliciosa que deve estar sendo preparada.

— Sugiro que suba para um banho e desça para jantar, estará tudo pronto logo. — ela sorri e passa a mão por meu rosto — Que bom está de volta, querido.

— Digo o mesmo. — deixo um beijo em sua face enrugada e subo para o quarto.

///

Após um bom banho relaxante e jantar a melhor comida caseira que Joana sabe preparar como ninguém, finalmente me acomodo na cama com o meu notebook apoiado sobre minhas pernas esticadas enquanto verifico a agenda da semana enviada por minha assistente.

Meu celular vibra ao meu lado chamando minha atenção, pego o aparelho para verificar quem possa ser tão tarde e com uma risada fraca atendo.

— Sabia que iria esperar pelo momento mais apropriado para ligar. — digo ironizando.

— Vamos, Harry, não é como se já estivesse dormindo. — o homem resmunga do outro lado — Aposto minha parte na empresa em como está sentado em sua cama com a cara iluminada pela tela do seu computador.

— Acaba de perder sua parte, amigão. — brinco, rolando pelas páginas.

— Nem fodendo. — rio — Só queria desejar boa sorte nesse novo começo, meu amigo. É bom ter você por perto e finalmente agora poderemos assistir a todos os jogos!

— Obrigado, ainda tô me adaptando, mas não é nada que eu demore a me acostumar. Quinta dos rapazes?

— Quinta dos rapazes. — Augustos confirma — Agora vá dormir que amanhã teremos reunião logo cedo e quero estar disposto pra receber minhas filhas que chegarão também.

— Não me contou que estavam morando fora.

— E não estão. Enfim, amanhã conversamos melhor. Te espero na empresa.

— Até amanhã, meu amigo.

Olhando para tela do notebook, volto a revisar mais alguns documentos antes de finalmente desligá-lo e me deitar para dormir.

Eu estava em casa e estava feliz de certa forma, mas, ainda sim, parecia que algo ainda me fazia não me sentir completo, como se faltasse uma mínima coisa da qual eu não sabia dizer.

Que bobagem.

///

Acordo cedo como já de costume e tomando um rápido banho, me visto com uma calça moletom cinza e um casaco da mesma cor, calço meus tênis de corrida e pegando por meu celular e meu fone, saio para correr.

O ar puro e úmido das árvores entra por minhas narinas a cada respirar fundo que dou, renovando meus pulmões e me acalmando.

Ainda é muito cedo, mas há pessoas correndo sozinhas como eu ou com seus cachorros. Os pássaros cantam entre as árvores e alguns esquilos atravessam pelos caminhos do parque, é um momento calmo do meu dia, acordar cedo e sair para correr. Minha mente se esvazia e me permito relaxar por algumas horas antes de começar minha rotina tão cheia e corrida.

No caminho de volta para casa, paro em uma cafeteria e peço por um café forte, vou precisar bastante para o dia de hoje, cheio de reuniões e encontros com sócios, simpatias forçadas e...

Porra...

Meus pensamentos são interrompidos quando ao sair do lugar alguém se choca em meu corpo, fazendo o café cair e por tão pouco não derramar sobre mim me queimando.

— Droga, perdão. Eu sinto muito, a culpa foi toda minha e...

— É claro que foi sua. — digo ainda sem olhar para a desastrada — Eu não derramaria meu café de propósito.

Era só o que me faltava.

— Me desculpe, me deixe te pagar outro. — pede com um suspiro pesado, parecendo exausta.

Levanto minha cabeça para negar e lhe dar um sermão... Nossa!

Quão linda uma mulher consegue ser apenas com uma simples legging e um casaco moletom com certeza maior do que sua numeração?

Olhos de um verde tão singular que não havia visto nunca em outros olhos, sobrancelhas grossas, mas bem feitas, pele alva, livre de qualquer maquiagem, cabelos pretos, presos em um rabo de cavalo alto que deixa à vista mais do seu lindo rosto.

— Me dê um instante, eu busco outro par...

— N... — pigarreio limpando minha garganta que de repente parece seca — Não precisa, está tudo bem. — digo seco demais.

— Eu insisto.

— E eu torno a dizer que não precisa. Tenha um bom dia! — forço um mínimo sorriso e desvio do seu corpo pequeno, a deixando parada no mesmo lugar junto do meu café derramado.

Não me arrisco a olhar para trás, mas tenho certeza de que seus olhos confusos me acompanham até que eu vire a esquina.

O incidente de mais cedo some completamente da minha cabeça assim que adentro a empresa, cumprimento a todos e subo para o andar da minha sala.

— Bom dia, sr. Styles. Como vai? — Lyah, minha secretária pergunta assim que saio do elevador.

— Bom dia, Lyah. O que temos hoje? — pergunto passando pela ruiva que me acompanha assim que apanha a agenda sobre o balcão.

— Uma reunião em meia hora com os sócios da Industry LA, há alguns documentos que deixei em sua mesa que o senhor precisa revisar até o fim do dia antes da aprovação, é sobre o projeto de paisagismo urbano no Hilton. Às 16hs uma reunião online com os fornecedores e às 20hs jantar com o senhor Montanari na casa dele.

Deixo minha pasta sobre a mesa de cenho franzido sobre o último compromisso.

— Por que jantar na casa do Augustos está na agenda? — pergunto confuso, nunca marco na agenda meus programas pessoais.

— Ele me pediu para colocar, senhor. Disse que se não fizesse você arrumaria algum compromisso de trabalho para ocupar seu tempo até à meia noite.

— Velho filho da mãe. — balanço a cabeça com uma risada fraca — Obrigado, Lyah, me avise quando todos estiverem prontos para reunião.

— Sim, senhor. — ela sai fechando a porta atrás de si.

Desabotoou meu paletó e começo a ler os documentos deixados em minha mesa, fazendo anotações.

— Bom dia, meu amigo! — Augustos irrompe pela porta me tirando a atenção dos papéis em minhas mãos — Posso entrar? — pergunta já fechando a porta e vindo até mim.

— Como se já não tivesse entrado, não? — digo.

Nos cumprimentamos com um abraço apertado que me reconforta, senti falta desse velho que é muito além de só meu sócio nessa empresa.

— Acredito que Lyah já tenha te passado sua agenda. — cometa, se sentado na cadeira a minha frente.

— Não poderia você mesmo me chamar para o jantar em sua casa?

— Poderia, mas você inventaria alguma desculpa.

— Sabe que posso cancelar qualquer compromisso na minha agenda, né? Não é porque está lá que significa que vou seguir à risca.

— Você é o cara mais compromissado que conheço, Harry. Não aja como se eu não te conhecesse desde que usava fraldas. — diz relaxando sobre a cadeira.

E como eu poderia me esquecer? Augustus é como um segundo pai, que me acolheu na empresa se dedicando a me ensinar tudo e mais um pouco quando herdei após a morte do meu pai.

— Claro. — deixo uma risada escapar — Há algum motivo em especifico para o jantar ou só para matar a sua saudade de mim mesmo? — o provoco, vendo o homem dar uma risada e se levantar, seguindo até a máquina de café que fica mais ao canto da sala.

— Não se sinta tão importante, garoto. Minhas filhas chegaram hoje, quero matar a saudade delas, só te convidei para não se sentir excluído, filho. — diz ironicamente, me entregando uma xicara de café também.

E por um segundo me lembro de mais cedo, da garota linda e desastrada que me fez desperdiçar todo meu café.

— Ah, claro. Eu choraria no escuro do meu quarto. — reviro os olhos dando um gole em minha bebida extra forte.

Uma batida na porta chama nossa atenção e então Lyah aparece.

— Sr. Styles, Sr. Montanari, todos já estão prontos para reunião. — avisa.

— Certo, já estamos indo. — ela afirma e sai.

— Pronto para começar o dia, garoto? — Augustos pergunta, ajeitando seu paletó azul marinho.

Pego pelo meu pendurado nas costas da cadeira o vestindo e apanho a pasta sobre a mesa.

— Pronto!

Bem vindo ao primeiro capítulo de My Little Universe, espero que tenha gostado. Por favor, me deixe saber o que achou, a continuidade dessa história vai depender de você!

Até o próximo! ❤️

#harry styles #fic harry styles #imagine harry styles #imagine

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hissizbirisisblog · 11 months

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Özlüyorum seni durduramıyorum seni sevmeyi durduramıyorum...

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imagines-morangozaynberry · 2 years

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Imagine Harry Styles - Briga

Você chegou em casa ouvindo gritos e discussões, assustada adentrou rapidamente se chocando ao ver seu melhor amigo, Harry, pressionando seu namorado, Brad, contra a parede prestes ao o socar.

- NÃO FALE DELA ASSIM! - Antes de reagir contra aquilo você o ouve gritar desferindo um soco contra o outro homem.

- AH É, ACHA QUE ESSE SOQUINHO DE NADA VAI ME AFETAR EM QUÊ? - Seu namorado gritou levantando e partindo pra cima de Harry. - A S/N É MINHA CADELINHA, NUNCA ACREDITARIA EM VOCÊ!

- SEU INFELIZ, CALA ESSA BO... - Antes que Harry batesse de novo no homem que fingia te amar, você aparece na sala com os olhos cheios de lágrimas.

- Harry para... - Pede chorosa.

- Meu amor, esse maluco começou a me agredir do nada eu apenas revidei e... - Ele começou a tentar se defender mas você desferiu-o um tapa no rosto.

- Terminamos Brad, vá embora por favor. - Você caminha até a porta e a abre.

- Mas S/N...

- Não ouviu ela cara? Cai fora! - Harry rosna.

- Você vai se arrepender de ter terminado comigo... - Ao Brad sair você fecha a porta com força e desliza sobre a mesma arrasada.

- (Apelido) sinto muito, ele é um verdadeiro filho da... Puxa não fique assim, que tal um sorvete e um carinho? - Harry se ajoelha ao seu lado e abre os braços.

- Eu pedi pra você ficar longe dos meus relacionamentos Harry. - Murmurou se virando pra ele que abaixou o olhar envergonhado.

- Eu não me arrependo de ter estragado esse, ele mereceu... S/N você deveria ter visto as coisas horríveis que ele disse sobre você... Eu não consegui ficar quieto. - Disse soltando um suspiro cansado.

Você analisou o rosto dele, a boca e nariz que sangravam e engatinhou até o mesmo.

- Obrigada por me defender Hazzy. - Ele sorriu e te abraçou, fazendo enfim seu conforto voltar.

- Sempre irei te proteger (apelido). Nenhum desses caras vão te entender como eu, há coisas que só eu sei e eles jamais poderão descobrir como por exemplo, seu vício em cafés bem quentes ou como você gosta de filmes e abraços apertados... São pequenas coisas que para alguns desmerecem atenção mas pra mim... Eu daria atenção 25 horas por dia. - Começa a falar e você sorrir.

- Está doendo? - Você pergunta tocando levemente a bochecha dele para ver melhor os machucados.

- Não tanto quanto esse grito que quero soltar... S/N por favor não namore mais nenhum cara fútil... Você é minha melhor amiga, eu sei tudo sobre você e eu também sei que não quero mais te ver com nenhum babaca! É por isso que você deveria estar comigo. - Ele lança te deixando surpresa.

Seus olhos verdes cintilavam feito esmeraldas e então com delicadeza ele celou seus lábios aos dele.

#imagines1d #harry styles imagine #imagine harry styles #briga #cute #s/n #apelido

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stylesharrys · 3 months

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all that you are | part 1 [mafiarry]

authors note: okay it's here!! part one of this mini-series, it is a long one and there's lots of violence (and will be in all parts of this series), i will list all warnings so if you’re not comfortable reading, i totally understand!! if you are, grab yourself some snacks and get comfy cos you're in for a long ride! i really hope you guys love this series like i do <3 p.s. this used to be an oc fic, i have edited to make it reader instead, so if you come across any certain descriptions of the readers hair colour, skin etc. let me know as they were all supposed to be edited out!

word count: 19,592

warnings: mentions of blood and violence, sexual themes, mentions of r*pe, swearing, arranged marriage, mentions of alcohol and drug use

summary: y/n is thrown into her new life as harry’s wife, and harry has to learn and prepare himself to take over the new york famiglia.

Her tears have dried, though they still threaten to spill from her eyes. Eighteen is supposed to mean a party and your first sip of alcohol for a woman of the mafia.

Not for Y/N.

It’s an engagement party and her final social activity as a free woman. As if she could ever have been considered free. Women are never free. Only free for men to fuck and abuse whenever they please.

Y/N has never liked parties and she doesn’t exactly like people, either. Well, the only parties she’s ever attended are those of strict rules and professionalism and, maybe, being locked away your whole life does that to someone; makes you socially awkward and nervous in the presence of boys.

She shivers at the thought of a boy even noticing her, and now she’s engaged to the most attractive Made Man she’s ever heard of.

Her mother stands behind her, stern face and dressed in a tight lavender dress. She zips up Y/N’s cream dress and admires it in the mirror for a moment.

It’s form-fitting, small ruffles across the waist and it ends a few inches above her knees. It’s the most daring and revealing dress Y/N has ever worn, and it bubbles nerves and excitement within her.

Gaia gazes at her through the mirror with a distant look in her eyes. She can remember when she was Y/N’s age, married off to Giovanni. She can remember the fear and terror that consumed her body… that still does.

Y/N frowns. “Are you okay, Mother?”

It’s meant to come out much louder than it does. She sounds like a frail child. She is. Gaia snaps out of her trance and plasters on a smile, but it’s the same smile she uses after Giovanni finishes beating her. It doesn’t sit well in her daughter's stomach.

“You look absolutely gorgeous, figlia,” she tells her.

Y/N keeps her back to her and continues to admire the dress in the tall mirror. At least she’ll look pretty. Gaia brushes the top of her shoulders and twirls her curled locks around her finger.

“Behave tonight. This is more than just an engagement party. We can’t have Stefano changing his mind.” She warns.

She isn’t thinking about the heartache and pain Y/N will have to endure, she’s thinking about the countless nights that Giovanni will abuse her if this wedding doesn’t happen. Y/N nods her head, nerves bubbling in her stomach.

In thirty minutes, she’ll be surrounded by strangers as they judge and prod her. In thirty minutes, she’ll be meeting her future husband; one of the youngest, most dangerous Made Men in New York.

She’s known for two months now, since she got home from school and Giovanni broke the news. She spent the night fighting, sobbing and kicking and begging him not to throw her away like that. Begged for him not to hand her over to a man of such power, who will beat and hurt and abuse her.

Though when she thinks about it, it’s not much different from her current home life. She gave up fighting after he beat her bloody and blue. Her lip is still swollen from it and a soft bruise is hidden under her eye.

It’s lucky Gaia knows how to apply makeup. Y/N supposes she’s had enough bruises and scars of her own to hide over the years.

She thinks she should consider herself lucky, really. Most girls in Y/N’s position never even meet their husbands before their wedding day. At least she will have an entire night to find out who her sick father has chosen and have three years to prepare herself. But it doesn’t make it any easier.

Her eyes meet Gaia’s in the mirror. She hopes to find a hint of sadness in them, a flicker of guilt that she’s allowing her husband to do such a thing to their daughter. Y/N can’t hate her, no matter how much she tries. Gaia doesn’t have a choice in the matter. This is business between her father and the New York Famiglia. She’ll only get a black eye and a bollocking if she tries to intervene.

“Where’s Bruno?” Y/N asks softly, voice hoarse from the way she cried herself to sleep the night before.

She hasn’t seen her brother in almost a week, and she’s beginning to wonder if he’s actually going to show up at the party tonight. She needs his support—not that he’ll ever really offer any. He’s too far up Giovanni’s ass.

Bruno Saccaro is his father's son. Dirty, loyal and merciless. He’s only three years older than Y/N, but every inch of his black heart serves for one thing only.

Murder.

He was initiated at thirteen, just two days after his first kill, where he tortured and maimed a man twice his age before stabbing him in the side of the head with his beloved knife. He’s sick, just like Giovanni.

Though when they were children, he was her protector, the second he took his first kill, he became blood-hungry and protecting his baby sister was at the bottom of his list of priorities. Y/N’s sure she isn’t even on the list anymore. The only thing Bruno cares about is pussy and the Famiglia. She wouldn’t be surprised if Bruno was the one that suggested marrying her off in the first place.

“Business,” Gaia responds. “He’ll be at the party later, don’t worry.” She must sense her discomfort, but even her words don’t soothe her.

Y/N can’t imagine what her brother will be like at the party. Will no doubt have his cock buried in some girl within the first ten minutes. The thought makes her heave. He’s not the brother she used to have. He’s just like their father now.

A soft tap on the door breaks Y/N from her daze and Maria pops her head through the crack in the door. Short pink hair is the first thing she sees and a relieved smile breaks onto her face.

Maria Saccaro. Y/N’s first and only cousin, barely three weeks younger than her and the only descendent of Romero Saccaro, Giovanni’s younger brother and Y/N’s Uncle.

“Auntie Gaia, can I have a moment with Y/N, please?” She asks softly, like butter wouldn’t melt on that pierced tongue of hers.

Y/N almost rolls her eyes at the girl. Her bright pink hair gives away everything anyone needs to know. Maria doesn’t obey rules, she breaks them and finds loopholes just to piss her father off.

Y/N remembers one night when they were ten, when Maria told her she purposely did stupid shit in hopes of giving her father a heart attack so he’d finally die. Six years later and she’s still unsuccessful. Though, Y/N did hear that her Uncle Romero has to watch his cholesterol. Maybe her cousin's insolence is finally paying off.

Gaia hums and leaves the room, not sparing a second glance at her niece, keeping the door ajar and Maria rolls her eyes, flouncing down onto the chaise lounge.

“God, your Mom is such a drip,” she scoffs.

Y/N stifles a laugh and stares at her reflection in the mirror. Her mother may be good at makeup but nothing will ever cover up the insecurity in her eyes and three weeks of sleep deprivation under them.

Y/N shakes her head and turns to her cousin. “What did Uncle Romero say about your hair?” she asks, concern swimming in her eyes and Maria lifts her bangs from her face.

There’s a thick purple bruise across her temple and an angry line of stitching down the centre of it. Y/N gasps, hand covering her mouth with wide eyes. Maria shakes her hand in dismissal.

“He clubbed me with his fucking ashtray,” she sighs. “The look on his face was totally worth it, though,” she tries to break out in a grin but Y/N sees right through it.

Maria may act like she doesn’t give a shit, but really, she’s just as scared of her father as Y/N is of hers.

Romero Saccaro, Consigliere to his older brother, Giovanni, and widowed father to Maria. He’s been married twice already in his lifetime. His first wife was killed by his own hands and his second by suicide.

Maria could never blame her Mother for taking the easy way out. She often contemplates it herself. It’s a surprise that he hasn’t tried to marry Maria off yet to form an alliance. Though perhaps it’s for the best that no one has tried. She’s too temperamental, too disobedient. Her husband would get tired of her and give her back.

When an arranged marriage occurs, the husband is promised a beautiful, unscathed wife. While Maria is incredibly beautiful and just as much of a virgin as Y/N, she’s also gobby and dominant. She fights back, and that kind of attitude will get her killed. Maybe Romero does care for his daughter after all. Or maybe his ego is too big for his daughter to ruin.

“Can’t believe you’re meeting your future husband today. Happy fucking birthday,” she mutters out, words laced with venom.

Y/N sighs, shoulders sagging as the nerves come back with full force. “He’s worse than Father. Harry Dellucci kills for fun. At least Father waits until he has good reason to murder somebody… not that it makes it any better,” she mumbles.

Maria stares at her cousin with an incredulous look. “Uncle Giovanni is a fifty-year-old fuck-tard with bigger tits than me,” she begins, trying not to laugh at Y/N’s grimace. “Harry Styles-Dellucci is a twenty-two-year-old God, with a body of a God, the voice of a God-“

“Okay, I get it. He’s God-like,” Y/N cuts her off through a burst of laughter, cheeks flushed and Maria howls that maniacal laugh with her.

“Who’s God-like?” A thick, northern voice booms through their laughter and the room falls silent.

Y/N jumps in her skin out of fear, shrivels into herself as she turns on her feet. A tall, brown-haired man stands before them, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips in a cynical yet playful manner and Y/N’s heart plummets to her knees.

In all of his 6 foot glory, Harry Styles-Dellucci stands tall, thick body clad in a typical oxford suit and Y/N gulps at the hard sight of him.

Harry eyes his future bride. Soft hair curled and twisted into an elegant updo, gentle makeup on her brazen features, but the look in her eyes screams terror. She’s tiny. He knew she was only eighteen, but God, he hoped she’d be somewhat of a woman already. But she isn’t, she’s a child, and Harry struggles to keep that smirk on his lips.

She’s a child.

Mike stands beside him, eyes focused on Maria and her bright pink hair. She catches his intense gaze, the flirtatious smirk on his lips that screams mischief and she blushes, returning the look with false confidence.

Though she may try, even Maria is a blushing mess in the presence of mafia men. No amount of hair dye and secret piercings in the world can ever change that.

“Does Uncle Giovanni know you’re up here?” Maria quips and Harry turns to her, brows raised.

He knows who she is, who all of Y/N’s family and her tiny group of socialites are. He did his homework. He takes in her pink hair, the attitude in her eyes and the way she pops her hip out with a hand resting on it. Definitely the troublemaker.

“Giovanni sent me up here. I want to be alone with my fiancée for a moment before the celebrations begin,” he tells her.

God, his voice drips sex and the sound of it alone has both fear and comfort setting in Y/N’s stomach, and an unrelenting pulsing between her legs. She knows that feeling all too well, though she’ll never admit to it.

Y/N bites back a gasp and clears her throat. Harry watches her nervously twiddling her thumbs. “Is that even allowed? You’re not married yet.” Maria reminds him.

And thank God, Harry thinks to himself. She’s just a child.

“Maria, it’s okay. If Father sent him up, it’s okay. I’ll see you in a little while,” she nods to her cousin but Maria doesn’t want to leave her alone with the notorious Made Man and his right-hand man.

Harry notices her hesitancy.

“Mikey, why don’t you escort Maria downstairs.” His eyes never leave Y/N as he speaks in a slow, dulcet tone, but her eyes remain glued to the floor. Goosebumps break out onto her skin, but she isn’t cold.

Mike silently escorts the young girl out and closes the door behind him, leaving the soon-to-be couple alone. Harry squints at her. She’s curled into herself, fear dripping off her body in waves.

He takes a tentative step toward her, hands in his pockets and retrieves a small velvet box. Harry opens it and offers it to the girl.

“Happy birthday,” he whispers.

With arms around her middle, Y/N finally looks up at him and his breath is lodged in his throat. She’s beautiful, absolutely gorgeous. Bright eyes and soft, gentle skin that he wants nothing more than to caress. If she’s this gorgeous now, Harry can’t comprehend what she’ll be like in three years time.

Being so up close, he sees her properly. The perfect slope of her nose, the sparkle in her distant eyes. He can see the sparse dotting of freckles across her nose and cheeks beneath the thin layer of makeup, the twitch in the arch of her shaped brows, the fullness of her painted lips.

Y/N takes the box from him slowly. The golden band stares right back at her, a thick diamond sitting in the centre and she lets out a shaky breath.

“It’s beautiful,” she forces herself to mutter out but Harry can see she’s trying to bite back a sob.

It is beautiful… but it’s plain, generic. A wedding ring should be personal, should mean something. Harry takes it from the box and gently reaches for her hand. Her skin is warm, even softer than it looks and his lips twitch. Y/N purses her lips. His fingers are rough and cold as he slides the ring onto her finger and just like that, she’s his.

The ring hangs heavy on her hand. A golden cage. She bites back another cry.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, hands close to her chest again and Harry tilts his head.

He can read her body like a book and he’s only known her for a few moments. There’s fear in the way she holds herself, but now her eyes are void of emotion, like she’s suddenly completely coming to terms with what will happen. Like she’s accepted it — like she’s empty.

Y/N looks back down to her feet and a strand of beautifully curled hair falls into her face. Harry reaches to brush it back, wonders if it’s also as soft as it looks, but she flinches back and he stills. Harry frowns. What has Giovanni done to the girl?

“Y/N,” he speaks softly, regarding the girl with a tone he’s only ever shown to his mother and sister.

The sound of her name slipping from his lips has her peering up at him, crystal eyes boring into his emerald ones and his heart leaps.

So fucking beautiful.

He reaches a hand against her face again and caresses her warm cheek. She flushes under his touch but doesn’t flinch away.

“Are you scared of me?” He asks.

Y/N gulps and lets out a shaky breath. “You’re a Made Man. You kill and you torture. Of course, I’m afraid of you,” she breathes and it’s the first proper sentence she’s directly said to him… that she’s afraid.

Harry remains quiet, letting himself revel in the sound of her voice. Silky soft, just like her skin and hair.

He dips his face down so he’s level with her. Even with her four-inch heels, he still towers above her, Y/N’s eyes level with his clavicle.

“I kill and torture those who deserve it, those who betray me,” he tells her. “But you are going to be my wife, Y/N. And fear has no place in a marriage.”

She dares to gaze up at him, his face stoic as she notices the sparse hairs that coat his chin and upper lip and she wishes she could read what he’s thinking, like he can read her. Her eyes are dazzling up at him, thick and dark lashes fluttering beneath the thin coating of mascara on them.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

“I’ve never not been afraid,” she admits and she isn’t sure why she’s telling him.

What if he uses the knowledge to prey on her? What if he laughs in her face? She doesn’t know why she tells him, but the bubbling in the pit of her stomach stops when she does. The confession burns something in the pit of Harry’s stomach and it’s only now that he notices the subtle discolouration beneath her left eye.

Bruises.

His thumb brushes over the soft skin and she shudders, tries to shy away but he keeps her head in place.

“He won’t hurt you anymore.”

Harry’s cocky smirk is gone as he peers down at her, a promising glint in his eyes and she’s never heard anything so tender and honest. She wants to believe him, that he won’t hurt her anymore. But she isn’t Harry’s wife yet, so Giovanni still has free reign over what he does to his daughter, no matter what Harry tries to promise.

Y/N nods her head and takes a step back. She avoids his gaze and Harry knows she doesn’t believe him. The wedding isn’t for another three years. Three years of being under Giovanni’s hold and dreading the day they’re bound for life.

He never asked for this marriage either, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to make his wife’s life a living hell. He’s seen the pain and torture Stefano inflicts on his Mother and in early years, on his sister too, and he’d rather be slaughtered than to inflict that same pain on another so undeserving.

He always promised himself that whether he marries for love or for the Famiglia, he’ll never lay a hand on his wife. Never do anything to hurt her.

Harry wishes to change many things when he becomes Capo, but what men do to their wives can never be one of them. Once married, the woman becomes the man’s possession, and not even a Capo dei Capi can decide what husbands do to their wives. Willing or not.

Y/N doesn’t say anything on the matter though, she knows how it works and she’s too couped up in her own thoughts. She doesn’t want to argue back, so she bites her tongue and remains silent.

She doesn’t want to be one of those submissive housewives that keeps a nice house and their husband's bed warm. She doesn't want to be silent like her Mother. But she has to be realistic, and in her unfortunate luck, she’ll never be able to marry for love. She'll never have the freedom of going anywhere without a guard, or have a job or go to college. She'll never make friends with women her age, or go clubbing and sleep around a little.

She’s his possession.

Her life was signed away the day she was born. Hell, Giovanni started seeking eligible husbands when she was still in the womb, it didn’t matter that they were already in their 20’s at the time. She’s considering herself lucky that Harry is only four years older than her.

She’s come to terms with it. Of never being able to make any decisions for herself. Of never having freedom. Of never feeling loved or safe. She’s spent her whole life in denial, hoping, praying that a fairytale Prince would crash into her life and sweep her off her feet, take her away from the mafia and the pain. She’s always known better, but maybe now it’s only just sunk in.

She glances back down at the golden cage on her finger. A beautiful ring to bind her to a lifetime of misery.

“Our fathers think it’s best if we arrive together.” His rugged voice cuts through the silence again.

Y/N clears her throat and nods her head, patting down the soft material of her dress and it clings to her body even tighter than before. Harry stifles a groan at the sight of her round hips and straightens his back. The longer he watches her, the less childlike she looks.

He offers his hand to her, palm outstretched and Y/N gawks at it like it’s from another planet. His fingers are adorned with intricately styled rings and he almost forgets she’s probably never held a man’s hand before.

He’ll be her first everything and the thought alone makes him twitch in excitement. She takes his warm hand with a hidden blush on her cheeks.

When they arrive at the doors, all eyes are on him and her. Hushed whispers echo through the ballroom, talk of her beauty and how he’s going to corrupt and break her. Harry smirks at the attention, he always has been one for the spotlight, but Y/N cowers into herself.

Her grip on his hand becomes tighter but she doesn’t notice it. Harry doesn’t say anything.

He tightens his hold on hers just enough for the reassurance she needs. Harry leads them both into the ballroom, soft music playing from the little string quartet in the corner and it looks like a fairytale wedding.

But it’s not.

It’s a forced engagement party for an arranged marriage that she doesn’t have a choice in. Harry had the choice of who he could marry, he wasn’t going to complain about the situation when she wasn’t given the same.

The party consists of uncomfortable dancing, heavy alcohol and Y/N and Harry’s families subtly digging at the other. She’s been tucked under his heavy arm for over an hour, a third glass of champagne in her hand and she bravely ignores the warning look on Giovanni’s face.

He told her before the party she was allowed two glasses at most. She knows what happens when she disobeys him, yet she finds herself finishing the third glass and reaching for a fourth.

Harry notices, too. He squeezes her hip each time she finishes a glass. It’s not a warning, nor a recommendation to stop. It’s a reminder of what Giovanni will do if she continues. It’s his way of trying to protect her while he can’t just yet. She ignores it, nonetheless. Maybe a good beating might make her feel a little more alive.

As his cousins leave their side, she lets out a deep breath and her shoulders relax with her exhale. Before Harry can say anything else, a broad figure is making its way over and he feels Y/N stiffen beside him again.

He reaches down for her hand, their fingers bumping and he loops his pinkie finger around hers. The touch doesn’t go unnoticed by the guest as he holds his hand out for Harry to shake.

“Congratulations on your engagement,” his gruff voice speaks and Y/N peers up through her lashes.

Dante Vitiello, The Boss.

People quaked in Harry’s presence, but in Dante’s? There were hardly any survivors. He’s a ruthless killer, initiated at the age of 11 after he killed a man with his bare hands. Y/N supposes that’s where he got his nickname from; Dante ‘The Vice’ Vitiello. She shudders under his gaze. She doesn’t know the man, only the stories that brave souls dared to chatter.

But Harry… Harry knows Dante. He trained with him when he was younger and they both thought themselves as friendly colleagues, a few stressed nights often sharing one another's company in Harry’s club, surrounded by a few women that they tended to pass around.

They had a bond, one Harry knew would always secure his position as future Capo and Dante always knew Harry would come through. Then there’s that one thing they both have in common; a mutual hatred for the fucked system their ancestors put in place; arranged marriages, the presentation of the sheets, disrespecting women.

Harry thanks him as Dante addresses Y/N, palm barely open as he offers a soft hold. She takes his hand and Dante brings it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. He can feel her body stiffen further but it’s tradition. He drops her hand gently and she curls closer to Harry again. Even in the mere hours of knowing him, she seeks comfort in his embrace.

Harry says nothing.

Dante doesn’t look back at her. Though she appears much older than just eighteen, he’s nearing thirty and the last thing he wants is to make her even more uncomfortable. Besides, he remembers how he felt when the last Boss kissed his fiancée’s hand and eyed her up like a piece of meat, all those years ago.

“I’m sure Stefano and Giovanni will talk to you later about the arrangement but I’d like to let you know in advance,” Dante begins.

His accent is much thicker since the last time Harry saw him. He’s a typical Italian man. Tall and broad, dark hair, structured face and a well-maintained stubble.

“The wedding is set for October 16th…” he turns to Y/N, “... two weeks after your twenty-first birthday. The wedding will be here, again, and after the formalities and traditions, the next day you’ll both go back to New York.” All three wince at the sugar-coated mention of the bloody sheets but Y/N is the only one that makes it known.

She zones out after that, too caught in her own thoughts. Harry’s attractive, undeniably, but it doesn’t make the idea of having to sleep with him on their wedding night any easier.

Maybe if he was a family friend that she grew up with and was forced to marry, it wouldn’t be so bad. She’d have that bond of trust and familiarity with him, but that’s not the case. She doesn’t know him, therefore she can’t trust him. Every man in her life has beaten and abused her. Every man apart from Gomez.

Her eyes flutter across the hall in search of him. Now that she’s thought of him, she doesn’t remember seeing him since he came with her to the Saccaro Mansion. She searches and searches until she finds him standing off to the side, hands folded in front of him.

His dark blond hair is swept back in a formal quiff and his suit is tight on his body. Y/N doesn’t shudder when she looks at him, instead, she finds a sense of relief and safety wash over her.

Antonio Gomez has been by her side since she was born. He was Giovanni’s right-hand man when he first became Capo and was trusted with the job of protecting his little baby girl when she was born.

Gomez was only twenty when he was trusted with her life and had vowed to himself to always protect her. She still remembers the first time Giovanni hit her. She was five and had dropped her water on the rug.

She remembers the sting of her Father’s hand across her chubby face and the way Gomez ran for him, pinned him against the wall. But she remembers the sound of Giovanni’s gun exploding as he put a bullet in Gomez’ thigh as a warning. He never protected Y/N from him again, despite how much he wanted to.

“Y/N?” she hears Harry’s drawled voice call her name and she snaps her eyes away from her guard and back up to her fiancée.

“I need to speak with my Father. Would you like to come or join your family?” he asks her quietly and she reaches up to scratch at the bridge of her nose, a nervous habit, when she realises their pinkies are still linked.

He lets go and she clears her throat, taking a small step back and patting down the dress that hasn’t given her the confidence she hoped it would.

“Uh, I’ll go see Maria,” she mumbles with pursed lips and awkwardly walks past him, not standing around long enough for him to reach down and kiss her cheek in a polite manner.

Instead, he watches her walk away to her gushing, pink-haired cousin who has definitely drunk at least two bottles of champagne in the past hour. He waits until Y/N reaches her and he sees her shoulders relax, then a hand sits on his and he turns, his Father already by his side.

“She’s a real beauty, Harry. Don’t know how you can wait another three years for your wedding day.” Stefano’s perverted voice leaks through his ears.

Harry tries not to grimace or put a bullet in his leg for his comment. “I like my women with consent,” he mumbles, eyes back on her curved frame as she nervously wrings her hands while listening to Maria.

Stefano barks out a laugh, like not wanting to rape someone is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Suit yourself.”

He thinks that’ll be the end of it, that no more will be said about his fiancée, but Mike joins them both, eyes alert and posture sturdy. He reaches Harry and stands beside him, hands folded across his chest.

“Pretty little thing you got over there,” he remarks teasingly, though his voice holds no threat. He’s just stating facts but it still doesn’t sit well with Harry.

Mike has been his guard for three years now, and was one of Stefano’s soldiers beforehand. Harry and Mike have always been close, always shared too much between them both and Harry’s right-hand man and best friend, Jeff.

The three of them often spend their nights at the club, fucked between six or seven girls with strobe lights flashing. It’s a much more regular occurrence than when Harry does it with Dante.

He supposes there won’t be any more of that when he’s married.

He hums. Y/N’s eyes find him as she listens to something Maria says. She holds his gaze but something is off. Her body is rigid as she stands straight but her shoulders are slumped. Harry stares at her for another moment, eyes squinted when he notices hers are void of emotion.

She stares at him, like he’s not even there. Her face is blank, an expression that his soldiers have taken years to master. Harry gulps down something he doesn’t understand.

He hopes he hasn’t already broken her.

When the evening is over and the guests have left, Y/N and Harry are standing idly by the exit. Their separate cars are waiting for them as they say their goodbyes, families watching from their cars. She hasn’t relaxed much as the night progressed and now that she’s standing back by his side, her shoulders are stiff again and there’s a lump in her throat.

She knows she won’t be seeing him for another three years, that this is a temporary goodbye. Her heart begins to thump. Is he going to kiss her? Is he allowed? They’re not married yet but they will be.

Harry senses her quarrel and reaches for her hand, pulling out a little flip phone from his inner jacket pocket and turns her palm upright, sitting it in her hand. Y/N frowns, fingers closing around the old device and she looks up at him with pinched brows and an upturned lip.

“Um… what…” she doesn’t quite know what to say, doesn’t know how to ask him why he’s giving her a brick burner phone.

Harry reaches for her other hand and brings it over the phone, covering it and holding her hands in his. “My number’s in there and so is Mikey’s in case ya can’t reach me. I don’t know if your Father allows you t’have one, but now you do,” he explains briefly.

She doesn’t tell Harry that she’s never been allowed one, that she’ll no doubt get a black eye and a bloody lip for hiding it from Giovanni.

Instead, her tongue swipes across her lower lip and she nods. “Thank you.”

She isn’t sure what she’s thanking him for? It’s an old burner phone with two numbers on it. She can’t access the internet, can’t play games. No doubt all other numbers are blocked and she’ll only be able to call him and his guard, but she still feels a sense of relief? Maybe because he gave her that little bit of freedom… could it even be considered that?

“If he lays a hand on you in these next three years, I want you to promise you’ll tell me. I don’t care what time it is, you tell me.” His face is stoic, stern and set jaw.

She can see the seriousness in his eyes and she nods, like she’s hypnotised by the way his concern and worry flitters in his eyes. Maybe she is, she’s never seen that look directed to her before, at least not for a very long time.

“I promise,” Y/N swears, her eyes on his, and for a moment, she forgets the whole arrangement, that he’s going to be her husband for the rest of her life.

Because for that fleeting second, she feels like a shy girl in front of a handsome man that makes her heart flutter. For a blink of an eye, she feels normal as he gazes down at her with a look she can’t point. But that’s all it is. A moment and a look.

He doesn’t expect her to actually tell him, not when he can tell how embarrassed she feels when it’s mentioned. So when he’s on the private jet back to New York that night and he gets a text, his heart sinks to his feet. He’d left her for three hours and Giovanni had his grubby hands on her already, punishing her for something she didn’t tell him.

From: Y/N

What was it that you said? That he wouldn’t hurt me anymore?

He calls her immediately, but before the first ring can sound through his ear, the call is ended. His grip on the phone tightens and it takes everything in him not to throw it across the fucking plane. He can’t afford Stefano pressuring him about what’s wrong, he can’t have him knowing that he wants to protect Y/N. He can’t show that weakness.

Mike sits beside him, clicking his tongue as Jeff sits across from them. No one says anything, they don’t need to. Harry always took pride in his stoic expressions in times of agitation or fear, but the boys know him better than that.

They grew with him, watched him master that monstrous cold exterior that refuses to falter when he was beaten and tortured. Harry has been forced to bite his tongue in worse scenarios, so why is something so minuscule so difficult for him?

“This isn’t going to end well. You’ve met her once and you’re getting attached,” Mike says quietly, lips barely moving so as to not attract Stefano’s attention while he talks on the phone to Harry’s Mother, no doubt scolding Anne for something he did wrong.

Harry’s knee is bouncing, a nervous tick he hasn’t shown in years. He’s pissed that Stefano wouldn’t allow Anne and Gemma to the engagement party, Harry wanted his mother and sister to meet his fiancée, needed that support, even if he would never admit that out loud.

Jeff reaches over and kicks Harry’s ankle, stopping the jitters and he gnaws at his inner cheek, nostrils flaring and gently shaking his head.

“Not getting attached, Mikey. Just don’t like the idea of her Father laying a hand on her,” he seethes quietly through gritted teeth and Jeff squints.

He’s known Harry his entire life, knows how he feels about the lack of respect women receive in mafia families, how much he fucking loves his Mum and Gemma. And he knows he’s never seen Harry this pissed over some girl before, much less some girl he’s met once and hasn’t even touched.

Nothing else is said on the matter and in the following sixteen months, he doesn’t hear from her. He calls often and most nights the call ends before it rings, and others, all it does is dial in his ears.

He knows she’s kept the phone on, that she’s been reading the two-weekly check-in texts that he makes. He can see every call she makes and texts she sends, but she doesn’t send or receive any. Only from him.

He’s found it difficult. He’s never believed in affairs or homewrecking, call him old fashioned, and being in an engagement to a woman he doesn’t know or love has taken its toll. He knew he’d never be able to marry for love, that he would have had to marry for the Famiglia, for power and status. And he truly thought he’d have no problem in remaining faithful to his future wife, that whether they grew to love each other or not, she would be able to quench his thirst.

But Harry didn’t expect to have to wait three years after getting engaged and for his fiancée to be only just legal when they first met. To him, a four-year age gap is nothing, but remembering she’s now just turned nineteen and he’s almost twenty-three, he feels a bit funny about the whole situation.

He’s cut down on his fucks of the week. No more endless nights at the club with Mike and Jeff, fucking six or seven of the dancers between them. He’s been re-acquainted with his hand and on the odd occasion that it isn’t enough, he’s found himself in one of the private rooms in the back of the bar with Lily, one of his favourite dancers and fucks, just like tonight.

It’s been a long day of calls and fights and bullets and blood, and he needed to fuck his frustrations out somewhere. It’s no surprise to him when he comes much sooner than usual, but Lily doesn’t seem to be complaining.

Harry always had a knack to make her cum long before he did. She’s panting and giggling, pushing those bleach blonde locks from her face as she readjusts her outfit and spins on her heels, dazed eyes and drunken smile.

Harry doesn’t need to look at her to know. She watches him tug off the condom and shove his softening, yet still impressive length back in his pants with a smirk, bottom lip caught between her teeth as he fixes his suit to a more presentable standard.

It’s when he’s tucking his shirt in that she notices the silver band around his ring finger and she’s reminded he’s engaged. Lily isn’t stupid, she’s been in the business long enough to know it’s an arranged one.

“You get married in a few months, right? Wonder if she’ll be able to satisfy you like I can… though you are here now, so I suppose she can’t,” she snickers, eyes dark like she thinks Harry is about to laugh and agree, like he’s pleased with his infidelity.

He isn’t. His eyes darken and not in the way she wants them to, bile rising to his throat. He’ll be damned if he lets anyone talk about his fiancée like that.

“Probably not, I hear she’s a little virgin anyway. But hey, maybe her Dad broke her in for y-”

Her back is smashing against the wall, air knocked out of her before she can finish her sentence. Harry’s got his ring-clad fingers gripping her chin and jaw, nose pressed to hers and he’s seething.

“You better watch your fucking mouth, Lily. Just because we fuck, doesn’t mean you can get away with shit. Have a little respect, or I won’t go so easy on your old man next week when he doesn’t have my fuckin’ money.”

He doesn’t stand around long enough to see the fear in her eyes grow. Instead, he lets go, grabs his gun and leaves the girl standing in shock, silent tears rolling down her rosy cheeks and a trembling jaw.

Harry’s never laid a forceful hand on a woman until now and he thought he’d hate himself for it, but right now, all he can think about is Y/N. Of the disgusting things Lily said.

He texts her when he gets to his car, his usual ‘just checking in, how are things?’ and he grows impatient when she doesn’t respond immediately. But she never responds immediately; usually, she never responds at all. He’s speeding his way back to the penthouse, knuckles white as he grips the wheel and it only takes the usual 20-minute-drive just six.

By the time he’s storming into the elevator and punching in the security code to get to his floor, his phone is vibrating in his pocket and he fishes it out quickly, shoulders tensing when he sees Maria’s name after he made it very clear to only contact him if it was an emergency for Y/N. He unlocks the phone and reads over the message.

From: Maria

He found the phone.

Harry’s blood runs cold, sweat dotting at his hairline and for a second, he feels an unfamiliar lump climb up his throat. All he sees is red and his chest is heaving. He hasn’t felt this angry in a long time, so rageful. Harry shakes his head, teeth gritted and jaw set hard. How fucking stupid does Giovanni think he is that Harry wouldn’t find out? That he wouldn’t have given another phone to Maria in case something like this happened? How fucking brave is he, laying a hand on something that belongs to Harry? How fucking dare he.

Harry’s dialling numbers before his mind can even catch up to his action and after the first three rings sound through his ears, he lets out a growl and seethes through his teeth.

“Move the wedding forward. I want her with me now.”

It feels like déjà vu, standing in front of the same curved mirror with her mother standing behind her, pulling the same distasteful expression.

The flowers decorating the bride’s suit are the same; beige carnation bouquets with baby’s breath scattered sparsely between. The same, stupid classical music plays from the same scratched record, and the same golden cage is still wrapped tight around her ring finger.

The only thing that’s changed is her.

She’s grown a few inches taller and she’s filled out nicely. Her hips have rounded well and her breasts are full and perky. The chubby cheeks left sometime six months ago and her facial structure is strong and defined.

Her eyes are different now, not the same as they were two years ago, and she’s cut most of her hair. It sits just below her shoulders now, gappy bangs long across her forehead.

She got Maria to cut it on her birthday.

Gaia is struggling behind her daughter, lacing the back bodice of her wedding dress. It’s pretty—gorgeous, actually; a long mesh train with embroidered roses and petals across the hem of it.

A perfect fit across the top, a generous amount of suitable cleavage and as it meets her hips, the embroidery fades and the dress gently puffs out, accentuating her curves just a little more.

She feels pretty, like a Princess, but she silently reminds herself this isn’t a fairytale wedding, no matter how badly she wishes it was. Y/N watches herself in the mirror, short hair curled and pinned perfectly, wavy bangs framing her face and she looks ethereal.

She doesn’t have a black eye beneath the makeup like last time, nor does she have a busted lip.

Gaia tugs at the back of the dress again.

“Succhialo, figlia,” she scolds and Y/N rolls her eyes but she sucks her stomach in even more, nonetheless.

The last few months leading up to the wedding have been gruelling, to say the least. Y/N has been poked and prodded by several tailors and designers and she’ll be happy once this whole thing is over with.

She’s also had time to think. With Harry’s insistent texts and sporadic calls, she’s felt a little more at ease about the situation, like she was starting to get to know him a little better through the blank messages.

But as she stands in front of the mirror again, her nerves are ten times bigger than two years ago.

Giovanni only told her three months ago that the wedding was being moved forward—that she’ll be a married woman before her both her 20th and 21st birthday.

She didn’t question it, not when by the looks of his face, it definitely wasn’t his idea and he didn’t have much of a say in the matter.

When she found out, a part of her was thankful, like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders because Giovanni wouldn’t be able to hurt her anymore. He hasn’t laid a hand on her since the night he found the burner phone.

She stupidly left it on the bed while she showered and Harry had texted her. She didn’t hear the message alert, nor her Father waiting for her in her room.

She did, however, know about the mistake she made when she left the bathroom in a towel and his fist kissed her cheek in a brisk greeting.

A lump rises in her throat at the memory. It didn’t stop there, why would it. She cried herself to sleep that night and every night after for three weeks.

She was unrecognisable for twelve days, bloody and bruised and banned from leaving the house. She tried to end it all that night, after he left her sobbing on her floor, naked and vulnerable.

Maria had stopped her just in time, snuck into her bedroom through the window and held her until she passed out.

She hasn’t looked her parents in the eye since. Gaia had stood by and watched it all, face stoic and void of emotion. Bruno ignored her screams of terror and begs of mercy.

And Gomez?

Gomez was shot in the foot for trying to intervene. She’s only had one thing giving her the will to power through this, to marry a monster.

Fear has no place in a marriage.

Maybe this arrangement will be her escape.

Y/N zones out as Gaia finishes lacing the back of her dress, too busy trying to calm the erratic thumping in her chest and will the pooling tears away. She blindly follows her mother out of the suite and down the stairs, holding her dress gently bunched in her hands.

It’s like everything moves in slow motion and all sounds are white noise. She can hear her heart thumping against her rib cage, can feel the sweat growing between her fingers, the lump forming in her throat as she notices Giovanni waiting for her outside of the chapel doors.

She stands behind him silently, not daring to make eye contact as Gaia takes a side entrance to join the rest of the guests.

They wait, Giovanni watching his daughter with cautious eyes. She’s too busy staring at the dark oak doors, knowing her future is waiting on the other side, another ring to bind her angelic soul to his tainted one.

Y/N feels her eyes stinging with burning tears as Giovanni loops his arm around hers and the double doors slowly open.

“You look beautiful, figlia,” he tells her through a strained whisper, like the words any normal father would shower his daughter with were burning his lungs.

The lump swells back in her throat. Of all her eighteen years of life, he’s never once said something so fatherly.

She can feel her chest aching, the idea that maybe seeing his little girl marry a stranger is hurting his heart like it’s hurting hers, but as she peers up at him for the first time in months, she sees a smile pulling on his lips.

His heart isn’t hurting. He’s just happy to get a power boost.

Y/N doesn’t pay attention to the piano ballad that begins to play softly as her father guides her through the arch of the chapel. She doesn’t acknowledge her family and his standing from their seats and cooing at the gorgeous young woman she’s turned into.

She stares at her feet as they take their first step into purgatory, before her eyes find the devil.

Harry freezes from his view at the altar. Clad in a slick red suit with ungodly curls, his mouth runs dry and knees almost buckle.

She’s fucking gorgeous.

He can feel his heart thumping in his chest as she gets closer, can feel the anger bubble in his blood at the sight of Giovanni’s arm looped around hers.

His hands are tensed into tight fists in front of him, jaw ticking and teeth gritted. But then he glances back at his bride and his heart skips a pulse.

She doesn’t have a veil over her head and he can see just how gorgeous she’s become. He hasn’t seen her in two years and now he feels speechless.

She dodges his gaze as her father kisses her cheek briskly, leaving her to walk the little step of the platform and stand before their families.

She turns to Harry, hands trembling as she picks at her nails. His gaze wavers from her face, drinking her in and as he eyes her generous chest, he notices the little green emerald that sits across her neck.

The emerald necklace he gifted her for her birthday two weeks ago.

Neither of them pay attention to the priest as she looks up at him through fluttering lashes. He’s grown even more attractive in the past two years and it’s intimidating.

She feels small under his soft gaze, but not unsafe. Maybe she just feels uncomfortable knowing what’s to come between them, what will be expected of her as his new wife.

Over his shoulder, Bruno stands tall with a cocky smirk and shimmering eyes. He doesn’t watch his baby sister be sold off to a killer. Instead, his eyes are on a blonde from Harry’s family, a dirty smirk on his lips.

Mike stands behind him, stuck out like a sore thumb. The only redhead in the entire chapel yet he fits right in.

It’s Mike behind them both that catches Y/N’s attention. He’s watching her closely, just like Gomez has for years but there’s something off in the way he observes her; like he’s memorising every tick and nerve in her body.

Her eyes land back on Harry but he’s been watching her the entire time. He doesn’t need to look over her shoulder to know his Mother is gleaming and sister picking her nails in boredom. He doesn’t need to look to know how apprehensive Maria is.

Neither of them can focus on what the official says. Y/N doesn’t dare look anywhere besides his face, trying to gauge his reaction, his mood.

He’s stoic as ever but a hint of a smirk tugs at the deep corners of his pink lips and his eyes are twinkling with a thrill of the unknown.

Hers are swimming in tears.

She tries to master his same expression, to prove she feels emptiness––but while her heart thumps shallowly in her chest, her eyes sting with the realisation that this is the end.

“You may now say your vows.”

The words drum through her ears and Harry nods, taking her hands in his open palms. Neither of them look away and Harry knows his Mother is trying to bite back a cry.

She always wanted her boy to marry for love, not for this.

Their official holds a small cream cushion, two pretty bands sitting on the velvet and Harry reaches for Y/N’s, lining it with her ring finger.

“With this ring, I take thee to be my lawfully wedded wife. I promise to love and care, and cherish every inch of your body and soul. I promise to protect and provide and stand by your side through light and dark. I promise my soul and heart to you, to our future children. I promise to love you until my final breath.”

Y/N feels a piece of her heart break as he slides the ring down her finger, greeting the engagement and promising their unprecedented future.

Her facade doesn’t falter and her mind draws blank.

She doesn’t think about her childhood, when Bruno used to carry her around the house on his back, when she and Maria painted each other's nails, when Gaia taught her Italian for the first time, or when Giovanni taught her how to tie her shoes.

Y/N’s mind rolls blank, like the person she was before is dead. Like she’s just been rebirthed into another life.

She reaches for the cushion and takes the band between her fingers, crowning it over Harry’s first knuckle as she looks back up at him.

An arranged marriage takes two, but she knows she’s in this alone.

“With this ring, I take thee to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, to love and support. I promise to stand by your side through the dark and the light. I offer my heart and soul, my body and mind. I promise to be eternally yours, until my final breath.”

And as she slides the ring past his second knuckle and the official pronounces them man and wife, the shaking begins.

Her body screams, igniting in a blazing fire, eyes frantic in terror and uncertainty.

But Harry gently cups his palms around her soft cheeks and with eyes on her, he kneels just enough to press his soft lips to her full ones and the uncomfortable burning eases into a welcoming warmth.

Her screams are silenced as his kiss offers a sense of comfort, like a mother and child’s first touch.

Y/N Saccaro dies a coward, but Y/N Styles-Delluci is born a survivor.

When they stand outside the chapel, she doesn’t have time to think about anything. She gripped his hand tightly as he led her down the aisle, ignoring the cheers of praise and excitement for the two.

They stand in the little entryway, side by side with Gomez a few steps to her side and Mike a few steps to Harry’s.

Giovanni and Gaia are the first to follow the newlyweds into the entryway, shaking Harry’s hand before moving along a few steps to shake Y/N’s.

Her parents look at her like she’s a stranger, no pained smiles or familiarity in their eyes. They move along as quickly as they came and Maria follows, her Father close behind.

She shakes Harry’s hand timidly before moving to her cousin, eyes watering and chin trembling.

Y/N doesn’t hesitate to pull her into a quick embrace, arms strong around one another and Y/N can feel her cousin’s heart thumping against her chest.

Romero is who pulls them both apart, offering his niece a firm handshake before a tight clasp on Maria’s shoulder pushes her away from the couple.

Y/N’s eyes are glued to them, wild in fear of what will happen to her best friend now she won’t be home to protect and comfort her.

Harry reaches for her hand, notices her worry and loops his pinky around hers, squeezing just enough to get her attention. When she turns back to him, she blinks back tears and her blurry vision settles on three bodies that stand by Harry’s side.

Stefano stands in front of the two women, shaking his son's hand with a proud smirk before he moves along to his daughter-in-law, reaching for her hand and kissing her knuckles. There’s a dirty smirk on his lips and Y/N squeezes Harry’s finger.

“Welcome to the family, Y/N. You’re a Delluci now,” he grins.

She slips her hand from his hold and takes a tentative step closer to Harry’s side.

“Styles-Delluci,” Harry corrects him, jaw set and eyes gleaming a fire he’s desperate to burn.

Stefano grits his teeth behind closed lips and walks on, allowing Y/N to take a brief breath of relief before she’s quickly introduced to the rest of his immediate family.

Anne stands in front of the girl, eyes regarding her with concern and kindness. In a cream dress, she reaches for both of Y/N’s hands and smiles kindly at the young woman.

“My name is Anne, I’m Harry’s Mum,” she introduces herself.

Y/N looks back to her mother-in-law; a beautiful woman with kind eyes and a welcoming smile. Every inch of her screams maternal natures, something she’s lacked all her life.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she replies politely, allowing Anne to pull her into a cautious embrace, close enough to ensure warmth, but far enough to not warrant fear.

She squeezes her softly, lips finding her ear.

“You’re safe with him, I promise,” Anne swears and Y/N can do nothing but nod.

When they pull away, Gemma stands by her mother with a gleaming smile and she sticks her hand out for her sister-in-law to shake.

“I’m Gemma, Harry’s little sister… and you're really pretty,” Gemma grins through chubby cheeks, a silent squeal of excitement.

She doesn’t understand the full extent of the marriage, Harry and Anne have always tried to shield the fifteen-year-old from the harsh truths of the world she was born into.

Y/N’s eyes widen and a shy smile tugs at the corners of her pink painted lips. She can feel her heart flutter in her chest and she reaches to shake Gemma’s hand softly.

Part of her nerves seems to falter around the Delluci women and Y/N misses the way Harry watches the exchange with thin lips but sparkling eyes.

“It’s nice to meet you, Gemma. And you’re very pretty, too,” Y/N tells the young girl, a soft smile on her lips and the youngest Delluci blushes under her gaze, looping her arm around her mothers.

Harry reaches down slightly, bending to his mother’s level and pressing a kiss to her temple before turning to his sister to set his lips to the top of her head.

“We’ll see you both in there,” he tells them.

Y/N watches with curious eyes, can’t take her gaze off him as he stands by her side and their fingers brush again. This time, neither of them link their pinkies.

“They’re nice,” she finally speaks, gaze fluttering to the ground when Harry cranes his neck to look at her.

He hums with a small nod.

He doesn’t say anything else as the rest of the hundreds of family and friends filter their way through the little entrance, shaking the hands of the couple and offering words of congratulations to Harry.

Between great uncles and underbosses, Dante greets the newlyweds again. This time, he isn’t alone. There’s a gorgeous blonde on his arm, tucked in his side with a loving smile as she stares up at The Boss.

“Harry, Y/N, congratulations,” he shakes Harry’s hand first then reaches for Y/N.

He clasps another hand over her knuckles and nods politely. The blonde hugs Harry as he thanks her for coming and she turns Y/N, a bright smile on her lips.

“You make such a beautiful bride!” she gushes. “My name's Daigle, I’m Dante’s wife.”

Y/N’s eyes widen as she’s pulled into a warm embrace and another bundle of relief is whispered in her ear.

“You got lucky with Harry.”

When she pulls away, Y/N’s eyes are swimming with tears of relief and gratitude. The couple congratulates them again as they make their way toward the banquet hall.

As Y/N’s about to say something to her husband, to tell him she didn’t know Dante had a wife, his hand sits at the bottom of her back and pulls her to his side, effectively cutting her off before she can even start.

“Congratulations my boy, what an impressive little bride you’ve got yourself,” a dark voice rattles through her ears and Y/N feels herself coil into Harry’s side.

The man is a little shorter than her husband, dark hair on his balding scalp and a slight podge to his lower stomach. He looks at the young bride with a sickening grin that awakens something in the pit of her stomach.

This is what she’s used to.

The lingering looks from pervy uncles and passers-by. Being subjected to nothing but a pretty face, even since she was young.

“Uncle Salvatore,” Harry greets through pursed lips and gritted teeth.

Salvatore’s eyes are glued to Y/N’s chest and Harry’s blood is boiling, knows he’s going red in the face and the vein in his neck is no doubt ready to pop.

Salvatore reaches for Y/N’s hand and kisses her knuckles, gazing up at her with a creepy stare but it doesn’t make her squirm in discomfort. This is the look she’s grown accustomed to over the years.

She’s mastered her poker face when old men hit on her, touch her. For Y/N, this is the norm. What she isn’t used to and what does make her curl into Harry’s side, is Salvatore’s son.

“Nino Delluci…” he begins, eyes wonton as they reach the bride, “... And you are a sight for sore eyes. What in Hell are you doing with my cousin?”

She doesn’t break eye contact when he smirks down at her with hungry eyes, gnawing on his bottom lip. She doesn’t break eye contact when he reaches for her hand and kisses her knuckles.

Twice.

She only breaks eye contact when he hums something incoherent along the lines of ‘I’d love to make you bleed’ under his breath, while taking her in.

Harry’s grip on his wife’s side tightens.

“Can we go inside now?” she asks softly, a hand reaching up to rest on his chest.

Harry squares his shoulders, eyes firm on his cousin which only encourages Nino’s smug face. She doesn’t notice the small boy that gazes up at her with a lovestruck smile from Nino’s side, nor does she notice Salvatore smirking grimly by the door.

“So soon, baby? Don’t you wanna get to know your new family a little better?” Nino taunts, taking a step toward her but Harry’s quicker.

He gently nudges Y/N behind his towering frame and squares up to Nino, nostrils flared.

“Back the fuck off, Nino.” Harry’s jaw is locked in place, lips pursed.

His cousin chuckles to himself, hands up in surrender.

Gomez and Mike remain still in their positions. They know not to interfere unless it’s completely necessary. Nino walks away, the young boy following as Salvatore holds the door open for them.

Harry doesn’t let his posture fall as they walk through the door, and Y/N lets out a shaky breath, skin breaking out in goosebumps as she rolls her shoulders and twists her neck.

Harry turns back to her, eyes cautious as he tilts his head to get a better look. He knows Nino shook her up, that she’s used to the unwanted attention from older men, but never from men so close to her age.

But what he doesn’t realise is while Y/N heard him raise his voice, her mind was sent into turmoil. Will he shout at her like that? Should she feel safe because she knows he can protect her? Would he use that same tone with her if she doesn’t do what he wants?

“Your cousin’s a little forward,” she coughs out nervously, shaking her head to rid the thoughts. Harry’s heart ticks and he scoffs a laugh.

“My cousin’s a cunt,” he corrects her.

Y/N’s eyes widen as she stares up at him, innocence swimming in her features. Harry forgets again that she’s been raised a young lady, that she’s never been around much potty mouth, and he realises just how much he’s going to corrupt her in this marriage.

As much as Harry wants to protect his wife, he won’t pretend to be someone he isn’t for the sake of an arranged marriage. His potty mouth is just one of the things she’ll have to get used to.

“Stay away from Nino. You may think I’m a monster, but I have my morals. Nino is merciless and evil. He will do whatever he wants and take whatever he pleases. No matter the consequences,” he warns her, his voice timid.

Y/N doesn’t say anything. She thinks her father is the same, so what could someone two decades younger do to scare her?

She listens, though; takes what he said into consideration. Y/N doesn’t have any desire to talk to Nino ever again.

Her fork has scraped across her full plate for almost forty minutes now. She’s not hungry, not even in the slightest.

Harry’s been watching her, peering over to his side and often gently nudging his elbow into her arm, nodding to the plate which only makes her shoulders slump.

Y/N hasn’t listened to any of the speeches from their families, nor has she acknowledged much of what Harry’s said to her all evening.

But Harry has hardly looked away.

He isn’t angry, he couldn’t be. But she’s only eaten a few mouthfuls of the meat and she’s almost drunk her body weight in champagne and rosé. He’s a little worried. Her eyes have been drooping for over fifteen minutes and her vibrant skin looks sickly grey.

The last thing he wants is for her to embarrass them both and throw up all over the head table.

“The potatoes are good,” he murmurs slowly in her ear.

She slowly turns her head to look at him, blinking slowly. She cranes her neck and purses her lips together. He’s handsome, that much she can’t deny, and in her hazy, drunken state, she wonders what her lips would feel like on hers again.

He is her husband now, surely she could just… reach up… connect their lips…

“And now for the first dance!” Y/N sinks back a little more in her chair and she suddenly feels sick for even considering kissing him again.

He’s dangerous and he’s a monster.

He doesn’t love you, he doesn’t care for you, Y/N, stop this!

Harry raises from his seat as all eyes find the couple.. He’s danced drunkenly with his Mother enough times to know how to cover up her alcohol intolerance.

She’s tucked in his side, their fingers intertwined as he guides them both to the dancefloor. The lights are dim, a twinkle from the fairy lights that are wrapped around wooden beams and looped across curtains illuminating the stuffy room.

With her hand in his, he raises it above her head and gently nudges her hip to spin beneath his arm. She falls gently into his chest with a soft ‘oof’ and Harry wraps his arms around her.

Y/N’s head rests against his hard pecs as he slowly begins to dance with her. She can’t keep up, though, the heels are too high in her drunken state and her knees start to buckle.

She feels her cheeks warm in embarrassment and she knows all eyes are on them. Harry hears her whine softly in his chest and with one arm around her waist, he gently lifts her so her feet sit on his.

He guides her arms around his neck, slowly stepping in a slow dance and she dares to peek up at him, innocent eyes and swollen lips. Harry cranes his neck down to meet her gaze, and those gorgeous eyes are swimming with threatening tears.

He doesn’t understand that she’s grateful for something as little as saving her from embarrassment. He doesn’t understand that she can’t understand her own thoughts.

Neither of them pay attention to the beautiful ballad that plays through the hall, nor do they appreciate the piano or string quartet that carries their dance.

Instead, she stares at him like it’ll be the last time she ever sees his handsome face, and he watches her with wonder and curiosity while his heart begs his mind not to break her like he knows he inevitably will.

For a fleeting moment, all of her doubts slip from her mind. She lets herself believe that he will protect her from pain and anguish, that he will love and cherish her, that she will be able to trust him for the rest of her life.

For a fleeting moment, she forgets again that this isn’t a marriage bound by love, but one bound by honour and duty.

Then the music stops and Salvatore takes a step forward, raising a half-empty glass in the air to gain the attention of the other guests.

“You wed her, now bed her!”

And just like that, the entirety of the male wedding party is chanting those same words. The pair pull apart and Y/N’s wide eyes are scanning the crowd for an escape. She knows she can’t run but fuck, does she want to.

“Wed her, now bed her! Wed her, now bed her!”

“Make a masterpiece on those sheets for us, Harry.”

“Make your wife bleed!”

“Wed her, now bed her!”

Her frantic eyes find those of her mothers, but Gaia looks away, head tilted and chin up like she can’t bear the thought of looking in her daughter's desperate eyes. Y/N begins to panic, chest rising and falling in terror and she finds Maria.

Her cousin stares at her in shock, jaw slack and she tries to run for her, to pull her away from Harry but Mike stands in her way, blocking her from Y/N and ultimately escorting her out of the hall.

Gomez watches, swallowing the bile that crawls up his throat. He knew this day would come, that one day Y/N would be married off and forced into a new life she never agreed to.

He just hoped it wouldn’t hurt so much watching it happen. With a tentative hand on her back, Harry leads Y/N out of the hall. The party follows, cheering them on as she holds her dress and wanders up the thick spiral stairs.

Their room is at the very far end of the hall, away from all the others where they can’t be disturbed… or heard.

Her heart thumps sporadically and the alcohol feels like it’s worn off, and she’s far too aware of what’s supposed to happen now.

Because now, she has to give herself to him. Every inch and fibre of her entire being is about to be his, by choice or not, he’s going to take it all.

He closes the door behind them as they wander in and the frantic terror begins, surges of confidence smacking her.

Harry turns to face her, face stoic as ever and she stumbles over her feet, hands reaching out to steady herself and she shoves at his chest. Harry can smell the alcohol on her breath. He doesn’t know if it’s the first or third bottle of champagne.

He cocks a brow at her bravery and she glares up at him through droopy eyes.

“Just because I’m a woman, doesn’t mean I’ll bow down to your every order.” She slurs, almost losing her footing.

Harry holds her up by her elbow.

He’s shocked by her sudden change in attitude and he has to bite back a laugh. Was this the real Y/N breaking through?

“Is that so?”

There’s an amused grin on his lips. He finds it fucking hilarious. He’s never been turned down by a woman before, but it’s too amusing to watch her in her drunken state for him to take her refusal as a punch to his ever-growing ego.

He was never going to take advantage of her in such a vulnerable state. Maybe that’s why he’s so amused by the situation.

Y/N stumbles again.

“If you so much as force yourself on me tonight, I’ll make your life a living hell.”

It’s an empty threat, Harry’s sure of it. He squints his eyes at his wife, but she doesn’t show any signs that she’s unsure of her own words. He thinks the seriousness of the situation is starting to sober her up and she’s brave, too brave.

“Think you’re forgetting who the Capo is here, princess.” He warns.

She holds her glare as he dips his head closer to her face. He expects her to look away, to cower under his gaze like every other woman, but she doesn’t. She holds her chin high.

“You’re not Capo yet. But when you are, I will make deals impossible, I will run and believe me, I can run. I will burn you and your stupid Famiglia.”

Something flashes in his eyes, and it’s not amusement. He no longer finds her insolence funny. It’s anger. Anger that she thinks she can talk to him like that and get away with it.

But he’s conflicted. He knows she’s scared, that she’s shaking as she grits her teeth and stares in defiance.

“Then I’ll just have to torture you like all the other traitors.”

Lies. Big fat lies.

He’d never lay a hand on a woman, traitor or not. But his blood still boils at Y/N’s stubbornness. He never intended on taking what is rightfully his without her permission.

Y/N coils in disgust, a sardonic laugh slipping past her lips. Her sad smile falls as quickly as it had appeared, and she’s back to looking stoic.

“Do it, I dare you. Because I’ll just keep rebelling. I’ll publicly humiliate us both, just to see you fall.” She threatens, and Harry wants to believe it’s an empty one.

He doesn’t think he’d ever go against his own morals, but she’s beginning to wear his patience thin, not that he’s ever had much of it.

“Then I’ll put a fucking bullet through your skull.” Another fucking lie.

She steps closer, alcohol thick on her breath but she looks as sober as the day they first met.

“Baby, I’ll be pulling the trigger. My life ended the day I was born. Killing me would do us both a favour. You might as well just get it over with.”

Harry regards the girl for a moment as her voice breaks. He tries to read her, to get a glint of any flicker of emotion he can. But there’s nothing. Plain emptiness. He knows that resolve would fall under the touch of a blade or pliers pulling off her painted fingernails.

The thought of someone even touching a hair on her perfect head sends fury through his veins.

He doesn’t notice just how angry the thought makes him until the metallic taste of blood lingers on his tongue, a taste all too familiar. He’s bit into his lip.

“Forget what I said on your birthday. Fear has every place in a marriage and I hope you’re fucking terrified.”

He spits blood on the white sheets, his saliva turning it pink as it soaks into the fabric. “There, you saved your virginity for the night.”

She stares at him, shoulders sagging just an inch as she wobbles on her feet. It’s like the alcohol is making another appearance as she grimaces at him.

“Who said I was a virgin?”

When dawn breaks and light filters through the musty room, Y/N stirs from her slumber with a groggy head and unsettled stomach.

At first, she doesn’t recall the night before, but from the dull throbbing across her temples, she knows alcohol had a strong play in the evening.

It’s when she shifts in the bed, that she realises something is off.

Her bed isn’t this soft… and the sheets in her room are definitely not white cotton. She turns her head, eyes meeting the sleeping face of the notorious mobster, and she shrieks, startling him from his light slumber.

Y/N falls off the bed in an attempt to flee the situation, but when she stands, she realises she’s not in her heavy wedding dress anymore and she feels light.

Bile crawls up her throat at the realisation that she’s in his dress shirt, that she isn’t wearing a bra and while the shirt ends mid-thigh, she’s only got on those sheer panties underneath.

Harry watches her gaze trail over his body–his very naked body, besides his black boxers. She gulps at the sight, shaking her head and trying to ignore his thick thighs and toned abdomen.

Her mind conjures up the worst.

She slept with him, he took what innocence she had left.

Her thoughts are only confirmed when she notices the dark pinkish spots of blood on the sheets and she feels sick, lightheaded – and she knows it’s not from the hangover.

Harry watches her freak for a moment, watches the regret and fear flood her eyes and he quickly realises she doesn’t remember a damn thing.

He doesn’t do anything to reassure her. Doesn’t remind her that he spat blood on the sheets, or that the reason she’s in his shirt is because she struggled too much to get out of her dress and didn’t have any other clothes to change into, so he gave her his shirt.

He doesn’t tell her that he didn’t lay a hand on her, that he waited until she was asleep before laying beside her peaceful body.

“You were willing, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he breaks the silence, voice rugged and he rubs the sleep from his eyes.

She doesn’t dare look at him, arms wrapped tightly around herself and she feels ashamed, so fucking ashamed. She believes him, though. He may be a monster but he’s known to be an honourable man, a man of his words, not a liar.

“And even if you weren’t…” he stands from the bed as an insistent knocking begins to pound on their door.

“You’re my wife now, so I have the right to take what I want.”

He doesn’t believe a word he just said. He’d never force himself on her or any other woman, no matter what. That’s one thing he’ll always stay true to.

Y/N backs into the wall at his words. She ignores him opening the door with a tired grin, ignores the gossiping women of the family flooding through the room and whispering about the frail wife.

Her mind is on such an overdrive that she doesn’t see the truth right in front of her. She doesn’t realise that her thighs don’t ache and her core isn’t tender. She doesn’t notice that she doesn’t have any bruises decorating her soft skin, that Harry’s back isn’t littered in claw marks like it should be.

She believes the worst because it’s all she’s ever known.

They take the sheets with giddy smiles and gushing giggles as Harry steps into his dress pants from last night.

There’s no robe for her to cover herself with and unless she wants to wear the wedding dress that carried her into her new, caged life, she’ll have to go downstairs in Harry’s shirt and her panties.

She keeps her distance from him as they descend the staircase, arms still tight around her middle and she curls a little, just to make sure the shirt covers everything.

Everybody is watching as they enter the hall again, waiting for the bloody sheets to be presented for men to howl at and women to blush over.

Y/N keeps her eyes glued to the ground, wiggling her painted toes and biting back a cry that wants to tumble from her trembling mouth.

She ignores the cheers of pervy uncles and distant cousins, pretends she doesn’t notice the praise Harry gets and the pity looks she recieves with jealousy glares from the women.

It isn’t until the fuss dies down that she dares to look up with tear-stained cheeks and a quivering chin. Gaia still refuses to look at her from across the hall, but Maria doesn’t waste a second to see her cousin when Harry turns to talk to Mike.

“Y/N…” she breathes softly, reaching for her cousin’s arm but Y/N shy’s away from her family's touch and clears her throat, blinking back tears.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” she mumbles hoarsely, shaking her head and looking away from her concerned eyes.

Maria frowns, glaring up at the tall man beside her and pointing a jabbed finger in his face.

“Hope you’re fucking proud of yourself,” she seethes.

Harry stares at the young girl. Her hair is blue now and her nose is pierced with a hoop, something he didn’t notice last night. He doesn’t entertain the girl, though. Instead, he shoves a hand in his trouser pocket and reaches for Y/N with the other.

They’re both shocked that she doesn’t cower away from his touch when he rests his palm on the small of her back.

“Let’s go get ready, then we can say goodbye. Jet leaves for New York in two hours,” he tells her.

Y/N doesn’t say anything about a honeymoon, doesn’t question why they aren’t going on one. She’s thankful they’ll only have to be on that plane for 4 hours together, there is no way in hell she could survive two weeks in complete isolation with him.

She gets ready in the bathroom, legs jelly as she changes from his shirt and her underwear. She throws the panties in the bin, not ever wanting to see them again.

She’s about to dress in what her mother packed; a beige pencil skirt and a flowy white blouse with four-inch heels, when she notices another small bag beside it.

She doesn’t need to wonder where it came from, she knows Maria found a way to pack her something more comfortable after a bad night and in preparation for a 4 hour flight.

So instead, she dresses in a pair of black leggings and an oversized grey sweater. Her hair is tied in a quick ponytail and her face is void of makeup and emotion.

She feels shy when she leaves the bathroom, wearing something so simple and looking so vulnerable. He’s dressed in another suit when she comes back into the bedroom, a simple black one with a white shirt and he’s strapping a gun to his chest when he notices her.

She looks tired, simple. She looks normal. He knows for a fact Gaia did not pack that outfit.

“You look comfy,” he mentions.

She swallows visibly and raises her chin, lips pursed as she stares at his forehead. He knows that trick. He knows she’s pretending to look him in the eye. He bites back a smile. She’s trying to hide her discomfort.

“The jet’s ready when you are. Would you like to say goodbye to your family now?”

A leather duffle bag hangs in his hand and her tongue pokes at the inside of her cheek as she shakes her head.

“Um… actually, I don’t… want to say goodbye…” she admits quietly.

It’s silent for a moment as Harry’s brows bunch and he tries to figure her out.

“You know we’re not just going to New York for a weekend away, right? You’re going to be moving there, to live with me. I don’t know when you’ll next see them again,” he reminds her carefully, his words slow like he needs her to comprehend them properly.

But Y/N nods her head and relieves a breath.

“I know,” she tells him, her voice the most confident he’s ever heard and he nods once, agreeing.

“Okay, then let’s go.”

She’s been sitting beside him the entire time, curled up against the window. Neither of them have said a word, both too in their heads.

For Harry, he thinks about how he’s lied to her, how he’s letting her believe he took her innocence. He thinks about her desire to leave without saying goodbye to her family, about what was said on their wedding night, how empty she looked.

For Y/N, she thinks about her new life. She wonders if it’ll be better or worse. When she was at home, Giovanni took his frustration out on her, was cruel and abusive if she or someone else annoyed him.

She wonders if Harry will be the same when they’re back on his land, in his territory. She only remembers one thing from their wedding night. Fear has every place in a marriage, and I hope you’re terrified. She hopes he didn’t mean it.

It’s only the newlyweds on the plane and sleep comes quicker to her than she expected. The others had taken another jet, insisting that Harry and Y/N needed more time alone together. Really, it was just Anne's way of making sure Y/N didn’t feel overwhelmed on a plane full of Delluci’s.

Harry doesn’t wake her when they stop midway to get fuel. She wakes hours after he sleeps beside her, but she doesn’t wake him. Instead, she observes him for a little while; acknowledges the twitch in the corner of his lip, the little movement behind his eyelids, the gentle snores that tumble through his throat.

She appreciates his dark lashes fanned across his cheekbones, his ungodly waves. This version of him doesn’t look scary, doesn’t look monstrous. This version of Harry looks approachable, soft… dare she think… vulnerable. His jaw isn’t set and his lips aren’t pursed.

She wants to reach forward and caress his cheek, maybe one day she might.

When they land back in New York, a car is waiting for them; tinted windows and bulletproof glass. Y/N isn’t silly. Harry helps her with her bags, piling them into the trunk and they both clamber inside.

A partition separates the couple from the driver as the journey begins again. Y/N is looking out of the window, the soft evening consuming her but she already misses the Californian views.

“I recently had the penthouse redecorated to give you some sense of home there,” Harry tells her and when she turns, his eyes are already on her face.

“I want you to remember that it isn’t just a place that you live in. It’s your home now. I want you to treat it as such,” he says.

Y/N nods but she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say. How do you treat a place like a home when there’s no sense of safety?

“And as for security,” he catches her attention again before she can focus her gaze back outside the window.

“Mike will be your new guard. I’ve known him for years and he’s good. I trust him. If you want to go anywhere and I’m not around to go with you, Mike needs to be by your side.” Y/N can’t help the frown that grows on her face.

Not only is he entrusted with her life, but she doesn’t know him, she can’t trust him.

“Why can’t Gomez still be my guard? Why can’t he come here and guard me?” she questions, brows knitted.

Harry scratches his nose.

“Because while your Father trusted him in his territory, I wouldn’t trust him to protect you in mine. Where you go, Mike goes. No arguments.”

First order.

Neither of them say anything else for the remainder of the drive, but when the driver pulls up to a stop, Y/N’s eyes are wide as she stares out the window in awe.

A fifty story building stands tall before her, tucked between two slightly shorter builds. Her parents' home is massive, but this is something else.

This… this was an apartment building?

Harry doesn’t say anything as he walks her inside the lobby; everything is all white and pristine. The blonde receptionist behind the desk offers Harry a flirty smile that Y/N watches him completely ignore and something flips in her stomach. In the elevator, he reaches for the code and shows her the seven digits he punches in.

“We’re in the penthouse, right at the top. That’s the code. Only a select few know it, so don’t go telling everyone,” he warns, standing back as the doors close.

When they arrive at the penthouse, Y/N doesn’t know what to expect, but softwood undertones and fluffy rugs are not it. He guides her inside as she takes it all in.

The entirety of the first floor is open planned, white walls with gorgeous art hanging across them. The kitchen is huge, black and white and Y/N feels her heart flutter at the thought of all the baking she’ll be able to do.

She isn’t given much time to admire it before Harry leads her through the kitchen towards a staircase.

“There’s a library and a gym up here and our bedroom, my home office is up here too,” he says, leading her up the stairs and into a dark room.

He flips on the light as she follows him inside.

“Our room? You mean we’re going to share the bed every night?” there’s a twinge of panic in her voice.

Harry doesn’t think anything of it other than she’s innocent, nervous about sleeping with his body so close to hers every night. But that’s not it, at least, not all of it.

Really, Y/N doesn’t understand why he even wanted to sleep with her on their wedding night in the first place, and now he wants to share a bed with her for the rest of their lives?

She thinks it’s a pride thing, to have his wife sleep in the same bed as him. That has to be it. Because compared to Harry’s past lovers and flings that Maria graciously told her about, Y/N is repulsive – doesn’t compare.

“Yeah… why? Is that a problem for you?” he asks softly.

Y/N shakes her head quickly, clearing her throat and pulling her sweater sleeves past her hands.

“No, not at all… just didn’t think you’d want me in your bed, is all,” she admits, but she doesn’t mean it in the way Harry takes it. He smirks to himself though.

“You’re my wife, Y/N. I’ll always want you in my bed,” he flirts, watching as her cheeks blush in realisation of how she made her statement sound.

She clears her throat awkwardly and Harry places her bag on the bed.

“Anyway, make yourself at home. I have some business to attend to, so Mike will be around, but remember if you want to leave, he goes with you.”

He brushes past her without another word or a kiss to her forehead like he usually would to his mother or little sister. Y/N thinks nothing of it, she much prefers the space.

It isn’t until she begins unpacking one of her bags that she notices a wrapped gift on her nightstand with her name written on a note that sits on top of it.

You’re not a prisoner anymore x

With furrowed brows, she tears the paper off the gift and opens the box. A phone sits waiting for her, her family’s phone numbers saved along with Harry’s, Mike’s and Anne’s already. She feels tears sting her eyes and with a trembling thumb, she calls Maria.

In the week of Y/N’s new life, she’s grown accustomed to her new place of residence. She’s gotten used to the penthouse by now, knows where everything is if she needs anything.

She’s spent a fair amount of time in the kitchen (after the first few days of refraining from using anything), making cookies and brownies for her and Mike to snack on.

She’s mainly tucked herself away in the library, often draped across the chaise with a soft blanket and a good book.

That’s about all she’s grown accustomed to, though. She hasn’t seen her husband, at least, not properly. She’s been asleep when he gets home and asleep when he leaves.

Y/N tries to consider herself lucky. She’s thankful that she hasn’t had to interact with him, save for the two days in passing when he offers her a tightlipped smile before scurrying out of the door.

She doesn’t know why his lack of presence brings a sense of uneasiness, not after she’s gotten to know Mike just a little bit over the past seven days.

Y/N tries not to dwell on the fact that she knows Mike’s favourite frosting flavour but has no idea what her husband’s birthday is. She doesn’t know why part of her wishes to know Harry better, wishes for some type of emotional intimacy between them both.

Y/N knows she needs to accept the fact that she’s safe with how things are, not wish for possible problems that could endanger her in the long run.

But then, she supposes she’s never not been endangered, so what does she know? Maybe she wishes for the sense of comfortability with her new spouse because he’s already offered her something she’s never had before: safety.

Maybe she supposes safety and comfortability are meant to come hand-in-hand. Or maybe she’s just lonely, craves the intimacy she no longer has with her cousin.

Either way, she doesn’t get that relief of intimacy from Harry. Instead, she learns an odd quirk of Mike’s every couple of days and loses herself in the stories that occupy her mind.

The library has become somewhat of a safe haven. And despite having the means to remain in contact with Maria, Romero tends to keep his daughter on a tighter leash now and Y/N often worries with the wonder if it’s her fault.

She thinks Giovanni may have said something to intervene, and she’s been letting blame sit idly on her shoulders as the week slowly strolled past.

It’s been hard for Y/N. She’s been confined to the many walls of the penthouse, despite having the ability to leave (with Mike, of course, something Harry made very clear). But she doesn’t want to leave her new home with her guard.

She wants her husband to show her around and maybe show a little attention to her. She tells herself it’s because she needs the reassurance that she hasn’t done anything wrong, that she hasn’t upset him.

She needs him to do something that suggests he doesn’t have a reason to hurt her.

It’s fucked and she knows it. That hearing nothing is considered bad news to her. Y/N hates not knowing, hates uncertainty. She should be well used to it by now, that’s all her life has ever been.

But things are drastically different in New York with Harry, even if it’s only been a week and she hasn’t seen him.

It doesn’t matter that she feels lighter at the fact of no longer being in Giovanni’s reach or hold. She needs Harry to communicate. She needs to know she’s not doing anything wrong.

But Harry’s a busy man, has business to attend to and bullets to fire. He doesn’t have the time right now to reassure his virgin wife of anything.

And why should he?

Not only did she directly disrespect him but she somehow, someway crawled under his skin and made him grow defensive of the frail woman. Weakness is something he can’t afford.

But it’s not that he hasn’t wanted to.

Women cowering under his influence has never been something Harry has enjoyed, but she isn’t just any woman anymore; she’s his wife, bound by love and honour and duty, she’s his wife.

Perhaps she’s in the same boat. Putting a label on a relationship tends to force some sense of kindred feelings on people.

A marriage is the union between two undying souls, for kindred lovers and harnessed spirits. A marriage is a symbol of devotion, trust and love. Everything their relationship is not.

Maybe that’s why he silently observes her while she sleeps, making sure her breathing is steady and comfortable, and why she misses his presence when he’s gone and wants to know more.

Stories of other lovers are what seem to take her mind off things best, but also have her brain reeling and mustering up impossible scenarios in the light of day, encouraging them to run wild through her head in the dead of night.

Y/N doesn’t know whether to be thankful of them or not--whether it gives her a sense of false hope or weightless relief.

Today is no different from the past six. She wakes alone with no idea where Harry is or what he’s doing.

After her shower and getting ready for the day, she finds herself in the library, lounging across the chaise with Jane Eyre in her hands, but she can’t seem to grasp the words on the first page.

It’s with a sigh that Y/N puts the book back and allows her fingers to brush against the spines of endless stories and fantasies.

There’s not a speck of dirt on the pad of her finger when she comes to the end of the shelf and she wonders if it’s because Harry secretly loves to read or because a maid frequents.

She can’t help but suppose it’s the latter. The thought of Harry reading is somewhat amusing to Y/N, but she knows it’s not something she can just rule out. She doesn’t know the man.

She’s huffing with boredom when she’s ready to leave the room, but as her eyes flitter effortlessly across the clinically white bookcases, she catches something golden that’s tucked away at the far end of the room, shoved beneath a lip at the bottom of a case.

With a tilted head and gently furrowed brows, she goes to inspect it, pulling out a large photo album.

It’s dusty, looks like it hasn’t come out to reminisce old times in a while and Y/N blows the thick coating of fine powder off. There’s nothing but soft, intricate golden leaves designed and embroidered across the expanse of the outer book and it feels heavy in her hands.

Maybe not the weight of the book itself, but the weight behind it.

She doesn’t know what compels her to leave the library with it wrapped in her arms, what forces her to sit on the couch with it out in the open on the coffee table in front of her.

Y/N feels sick at herself for even opening it, she knows old photos are precious past memories that she suspects someone like Harry would not particularly wish to share with his new wife.

It doesn’t stop her from looking, though – doesn’t stop her heart from aching and swelling at the sight of a three-year-old Harry wandering around butt-naked in a backyard with a cheesy grin on his lips and a green bucket hat on his head.

She keeps looking; flipping the pages with a gentle smile but it quickly fades with one of slight confusion.

The only people in the almost hundred photos are the same three: Harry, Anne, and a mysterious man. Y/N’s never seen him before but he looks familiar, she can’t help but see traces of Harry in him.

She supposes maybe it’s Harry’s uncle; maybe even a family friend and Y/N’s just thinking too deep into it. She needs to stop allowing her mind to think everything to be a fucking conspiracy.

She wants to appreciate the pure vulnerability she’s able to see in regards to Harry, even if it is just through photos that are almost twenty years old – older than her.

She doesn’t know whether she’ll get to see a side of him that isn’t stone cold and doesn’t absolutely petrify her.

Knowing some part of him used to be young and innocent offers a sense of relief, a reminder that he has some sanity about him; whether he wants to admit it or not.

She gets to the end of the photo album when she learns the strange man's name. On the back of a photo of the unfamiliar face and Harry digging dirt in the garden, dressed in overalls with a beer in the man’s hand and a sippy cup in Harry’s, there’s a little note written in what she supposes is Anne’s calligraphy.

Danny and Harry -- summer 2000 x

Y/N finds herself mumbling his name under her breath, brows furrowed as she scours her brain. She’s heard that name before, she’s sure of it.

She doesn’t have much time to continue her mindful search before the creaking of the living room floorboards quirk in her ears and Mike is slowly swaying into the room.

He’s dressed in a slick suit, something that Y/N has tried to tell him isn’t necessary and he has ignored, and his hands are stuffed in his pockets with a stoic expression on his regularly threatening face.

“Where’d you find that?” his low voice asks and even though it’s just about audible, it manages to sound through the room and ricochet against the walls and beams.

Y/N nearly jumps in her skin, despite already knowing of his presence.

She feels no threat from Mike--she knows he’s here to protect her and both he and Harry have made that very clear--but he’s still very intimidating in the way his posture holds him and his general blank expression.

It’s something about his eyes. Icy blue but she knows something dark burns behind them.

She clears her throat and quickly closes the book, tucking loose curls behind her ear. Y/N pushes the album to the centre of the coffee table and sits further back on the couch, as if to make a point--she’s just not sure what point she’s trying to make or prove.

She clears her throat.

“Uh, I found it in the library,” she explains lamely and Mike notices she can’t make eye contact with him.

He also knows she isn’t lying.

Over the week he’s been guarding her, he’s learnt all her ticks and tells. Y/N isn’t a liar, she’s just constantly in fear and silently requires the reassurance that she hasn’t done anything to upset anyone.

Mike hums, nodding his head, knows she has more to say; he knows what photos are in that book.

“There’s uh, there’s a lot of pictures of Harry with his Mom and some man… Danny,” she says carefully, articulating her words in a way that isn’t going to seem out of place or something he’ll consider mentioning to Harry to have her scolded and punished.

“That’s for Harry to explain, if he ever wishes to,” he responds cooly, hands still shoved in his pockets but Y/N’s eyes are fixed on the book and she wonders if she has the balls to try and push further.

“It’s just… he looks like him, you know? Looks like he could be a relative,” she speaks freely, though her throat feels like it’s being constricted.

She tries to word it casually, like she’s making an innocent observation but they both know it’s more than that. Mike doesn’t say anything for a few moments, allowing her to understand that he isn’t about to say anything in regards to the photos.

“Are you missing yours?” He asks, her eyes meeting him with a frown and he shifts his weight from his feet, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed against his chest.

He clears his throat.

“Your family, I mean… are you missing them? I know it's a long way from sunny California,” he tries to lighten the mood for her sake; he doesn’t particularly want her to grow agitated with him for not telling her part of Harry's past.

Y/N purses her lips and maybe keeping quiet would’ve been a better idea but Mike tends to run his mouth before really thinking out situations that involve sad emotions.

“Not really. I feel safer here than I ever have back in Cali,” she admits through a pathetic laugh, like she’s trying to cover up the hurt.

“Your Dad?” he asks in a gentle tone, one she’s never heard before but she’s only known him a week.

She smiles weakly, nodding her head and Mike hums, adjusting his suit as he stands taller. Y/N’s gnawing at the inside of her cheek and picking at the skin around her nails -- nervous habits, Mike’s come to learn -- so he takes a step closer to her and clears his throat once more.

“Come on. Let me take you for lunch and show you around New York a little,” he offers, a hint of a smile on his lips but Y/N thinks she might be seeing things.

She isn’t used to this type of kindness from men of any ages. She frowns harder.

“Is that a good idea? Won’t Harry be mad?” she twists her hands nervously.

“Harry entrusted me with your life, Y/N. I’ll always keep you safe when he’s not here. And you’re not a prisoner anymore. He’ll never treat you like one.”

It’s a little after three when Harry feels a nervous twitch in his cheek and a tick in his fingers. He’s been gnawing on his bottom lip for the past twelve minutes and both Gemma and Anne have noticed.

His mother is concerned for him while his younger sister offers a look of disgust and is five seconds away from chastising her brother about how chapped his lips will be.

“As much as your sister and I want to stay, Harry… we can’t. You’re going to have to prove to Stefano that you can do this. We believe in you.”

Her gentle voice tries to coax him back into the room but the only thing that does is when the elevator sounds just seconds later and he stands from the couch.

Harry doesn’t fucking know what’s gotten him in such an aggy and irritated mood. His palms are sweaty and he doesn’t know why. He tells himself it’s because Y/N’s never been out before and that she and Mike have been gone for almost three hours.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust either of them; he trusts Mike with his life and he trusts that Y/N won’t try something stupid. Ideally, Harry would have liked to have been the one to take Y/N out first, maybe to prove something to the people watching his every move, he’s not sure.

Part of him feels a little guilty. He hasn’t seen her for more than five minutes since she moved to New York and he feels a little bit sick. He’s taken her from her family and everything she’s ever known.

As her husband, it should be his duty to care for her and ensure she doesn’t feel alone in this transitioning time. But Harry has to remind himself that this isn’t any regular marriage and there are no loving feelings shared between the two beneath their label.

But that doesn’t make it easier for Harry to try and understand why he feels the way he does about the matter.

When the elevator doors slide open, she’s got a shy smile on her lips and her shoulders are drooped in a relaxed state. The sight is a jolt of relief to Harry.

Wife or not, he never wants a woman to feel unsafe or intimidated in his presence or his men’s. He takes a brief moment to quickly get a good look at her.

She seems a lot lighter in the way she carries herself since she arrived at her new home. In a pretty beige pinafore with a ribbed white turtleneck underneath, she looks pretty -- very pretty.

Her hair falls in loose curls that sit just past her shoulders and her plump lips are painted pink with a subtle gloss.

When her eyes flitter up from her feet, she finally notices him watching her, a warmth rising to her cheeks and she shuffles in the penthouse behind Mike.

Her eyes are too glued on Harry, worried she may have done something wrong, for her to notice the presence of Anne and Gemma.

It isn’t until Anne is cooing at her and pulling her into a motherly embrace that she breaks her nervous gaze on her husband and shakily returns the hug to her mother-in-law.

“Was worried we wouldn’t see you before we left, love. Mike took you out for lunch, Harry said,” she smiles warmly, holding the girl by her shoulders and Y/N nods, lips pursed inwardly.

“Before you left? Where are you going?” she asks, ignoring the latter part of her question but she doesn’t mean to… she wonders if Harry will scold her for it when they leave.

Anne lets out a soft huff.

“Back to England, love. Now you’re married, Harry’s got his trial period as Capo to prove himself in the event Stefano is no longer able to reign as Capo,” she explains briefly, hands waving a seemingly dismissive manner, like she doesn’t much care for the topic.

But Y/N sees the glimmer of fear in her eyes.

She nods her head and smiles softly at the youngest Delluci who’s already gleaming up at her. Y/N doesn’t know what it is, but knowing Gemma appears to like her makes her feel a little more at ease.

“Will we be seeing you soon?” Y/N queries shyly, wondering if Anne can sense her need of having them around.

She does, and she reaches for the young girl's hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“I hope so, darling.”

She zones out as Harry kisses their cheeks goodbye and sees them to the elevator, she’s too busy twiddling her thumbs and preparing herself for the numbing loneliness she'll be forced to face again tonight.

“Mike, you’re off for the night,” Harry’s low voice squeaks in her ears and Y/N’s head perks up, brows furrowed with sweaty palms.

“Do you not have work?” she blurts out before she can even think about what she’s doing.

Her face pales, head lowering as her gaze fixes on the floor. If she spoke like that to Giovanni, he would’ve kicked her to the ground by now.

Harry hates the way she quickly reels into herself, a vile taste on his tongue at the thought of her thinking he’d ever lay a hand on her like that.

He shakes his head and lowers his voice to a softer tone, ignoring the squinted look Mike gives him.

“Not tonight, I figured we could spend some time together,” he starts, dipping his head slightly as Y/N slowly raises hers to look up at him through mascara-coated lashes.

Mike bites back a smirk. In all his life, he’s known Harry to only ever use that soft tone with the women of his family: his mother and sister. He leaves the couple without another word and when Harry hears the elevator doors close again, he continues.

“I feel bad for not spending any time with you and leaving you all alone since we got here.”

Y/N feels part of her heart swell at his confession and she feels her cheeks blush harder than before. She offers a shy chuckle and shrugs her shoulders.

“Not all alone, Mike’s kept me a little company,” she’s nervous and she wonders if this is actually his way of making sure he gets laid tonight.

She doesn’t want to sleep with him again, doesn't want to go through the pain of remembering it this time.

She can feel herself beginning to panic, the sweat in her palms increasing by the second. Maybe if she plays along it won’t hurt so much, maybe he won’t be so hard on her.

She doesn’t want to think of him as such a person to do such a thing, but he’s a Made Man and Y/N is his wife. Her permission doesn’t matter.

He seems to notice her apprehension and takes a tentative step closer, trying to sag his shoulders to make himself look smaller; less intimidating.

“I thought maybe we could cook together? Get to know each other a little more,” he suggests and with a brief second of her gnawing on her inner cheek, she agrees.

They settle for making pizza. Harry’s kneading the dough as she stirs the tomato puree in a small bowl. She’s cut the pepperoni and mushrooms, a little plate full of peppers and spices ready to be sprinkled on when the dough is thick enough.

Y/N takes her time to admire Harry.

He’s got his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his tie long forgotten on the couch and the first few buttons by his collar are undone, dark and sparse chest hair peeking through.

He looks good, she can’t lie about it. And there's something about seeing an easy smile on his lips that makes him seem all the more normal, she finds herself feeling comfortable in his presence, safe.

In the hour of prepping, they’ve learnt little bits of information about each other. Harry learnt that Y/N’s favourite colour is yellow because it brings her a sense of light. She told him that her favourite movie is Romeo and Juliet, “Cliche, I know,” and that ever since she was little, books have been her little escape from how bad her home life has always been.

He learnt about her relationship with her brother when she was growing up and how it all fell to shit when he was initiated, when he sided with their Father and left her alone.

It isn’t all one sided with learning new information. Y/N learnt about Harry’s ability to hold his breath for seven minutes, how he taught himself to play the guitar at a young age, and as much as he was tempted to tell her he once killed a man with his guitar string, he didn’t.

He lets her revel in the innocence he offers her in sheltered childhood memories. Like how he used to read Gemma bedtime stories and train with Mike and Jeff every evening.

It’s when he mentions how he once made homemade pizzas with Anne when he was younger and she thinks he’s opening up to her.

She doesn’t understand that he only tells her these things to make her feel a little more comfortable. She mistakes his consideration for trust.

“I uh, I found some old photos in the library this morning. A bunch of ones of you and your Mom,” she begins in a shaky tone and Harry hums, sprinkling the cheese over the tomato based path she created for him.

She dares to snatch a peek at his face, fearing the worst -- but he’s calm and concentrated as he evenly distributes slices of pepperoni in the cheese’s wake.

“And there was a man in them, too. You look kinda like him, you know,” she continues, fiddling with a couple of olives between her fingers and she’s too caught in the way they roll against her fingertips to notice his mood falter and body stiffen.

So she continues.

“Is he your uncle? I didn’t see him at uh, at the wedding,” she cranes her neck just enough to wince at his reaction and he’s sprinkling chopped onions and mushrooms with a little more force than he did with the cheese.

Y/N swallows.

“No. He was my father,” he tells her.

His voice is rough and short -- a quip, less than a casual reply. Y/N frowns at his bluntness and the new information, dropping the olives in the ceramic bowl and twisting to face him.

“What?” she asks, brows furrowed. “But I thought that—“

“That Stefano is my Father? No, my step-father. Why else do you think you and I are Styles-Delluci?”

His replies are short and blunt and he doesn’t miss the way she sinks into herself out of fear and embarrassment. Nothing more is said on the matter, Harry opting to change the subject and attempting to lighten the mood to the best of his ability, but Y/N doesn’t budge.

He’s come to learn that when she fears she’s upset someone or gotten herself in some kind of trouble, she tends to bottle herself up and doesn’t allow forgiveness upon her.

Or maybe it’s that she doesn’t believe the forgiveness is ever genuine and Harry starts to wonder if she’s ever even been forgiven before. The thought rattles something unsettling within the pit of Harry’s stomach.

They wait for the food to cook in silence and eat in silence, opposite ends of the dining table. Y/N keeps her gaze on her food while Harry keeps his gaze on her, but neither says a word.

Harry cleans the dishes while she showers and as they climb into bed together for the first time since she’s been there, their backs stay faced to the other as sleep consumes them.

omg please do let me know what you think so far of the series? the next part is out next week and it's another long one, too. feedback is massively appreciated!!

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #imagine harry styles #harry styles x you #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fic #harry styles angst #harry styles imagines

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harrrystyles-writing · 1 month

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Hmmm, meu primeiro pedido de concept.

Quero um angust com os números 10, 12, 15 e 16

Bem dramático do jeito q eu gosto.

Frases: Você foi uma perda de tempo." "Você me fez me odiar./Quando você deixou de me amar?/Como faço para você me amar de novo?"

Aviso: Angústia.

NotaAutora: @nihstyles que goste meu amor, deixei ele bem dramático 🥹🥹

🌼 MASTERLIST 🌼

HARRY CONCEPT #21

— Que porra é essa? — S/n gritou assim que olhou a foto no celular de sua dama de honra — Isso é real?

Era seu noivo sentado em uma poltrona com uma mulher nua o beijando.

— Foi tirada ontem a noite. — Sua irmã tristemente respondeu. — Na despedida de solteiro dele.

— O que?! Ele não pode ter feito isso comigo. — Ela tentava se mexer, mas o enorme vestido branco impedia de fazer muitos movimentos.

— S/n, você está bem?

— Lógico que não, cadê ele? Está no outro cômodo?

— Não! Ele já está no altar esperando, você vai até lá?

— Eu preciso, porque não vai haver mais casamento. — Soltou um suspiro longo, tomando coragem para a situação mais constrangedora de sua vida.

Não era para terminar assim.

Houve uma época em que tudo era perfeito, uma época onde S/n era uma noiva feliz e Harry não a traíu.

Ela gostaria de poder voltar no tempo.

— O que faz aqui? Eu já não disse que não era mais para aparecer. — Seu coração apertou-se ao vê-lo entrar pela porta lateral de manhã.

— Eu só vim pegar algumas coisas.

— Faça isso rápido. — Rispidamente retrucou. — Vou sair daqui a 20 minutos e não quero você aqui.

— Eu tenho muitas coisas não vou conseguir tudo nesse tempo.

— Eu não importo, só quero que você suma da minha casa, eu ainda estou sendo bem boazinha deixando você pegar suas coisas ao invés de queima-lás.

— Da nossa casa, essa ainda é minha casa. — Afirmou com convicção.

— Não, esta não é nossa casa, ela deixou de ser um lar, logo após você ter dormido com outra mulher.

— Eu já te disse que isso nunca aconteceu.

— Ah! Sim, só foi um beijo estúpido na sua despedida de solteiro?! Não foi assim que você descreveu? — Ironizou, jogando sua xícara na pia,todo o apetite de café da manhã havia sumido — Mas eu vi a porra da foto, ela estava nua em cima de você, Harry.

— Olha, eu não vou entrar nessa discussão de novo, estou cansado.

— Que bom, porque já estou cansada de ver suas lágrimas falsas de perdão.

— Não precisa ser tão rude comigo, eu ainda sou um ser humano, sabia? E você tem me tratado pior que um animal.

— E como eu deveria tratar um traidor? Que simplesmente me fez passar a pior coisa da minha vida?

Não restava mais nada além de pura amargura e ódio dentro dela nesse momento.

— Eu sei que mereço ser punido, eu sei, no momento que eu vi a stripper lá eu deveria ter acabado com tudo,eu sei, mas todos estavam animados e bêbados e ela acabou me beijando sem mesmo eu querer isso, me perdoa por ser um bêbado estúpido, quantas vezes eu preciso dizer que eu nunca quis aquilo, mas o que você anda fazendo me machuca muito, parece que todo o amor sumiu. — Seus olhos estavam vermelhos, prestes a chorar. — Quando você deixou de me amar?

— No momento em que eu vi aquela porra de foto prestes a entrar no altar!— Às lágrimas quentes borravam sua maquiagem. — Quer que eu me importe com seus sentimentos agora? Você pensou nos meus sentimentos quando me traiu? Certamente não pensou enquanto bebia e via uma stripper nua na sua frente ou quando todos naquela igreja também viram aquela foto, então por que eu deveria ser boazinha com você? — Apontava o dedo indicador para ele. — Você me fez me odiar. — Soluçou. — É isso que uma traição causa em uma pessoa.

Harry se odiava e odiava mais por ela o odiar agora. Ele fez a única coisa que prometeu que nunca faria. Ele quebrou seu coração.Ele disse que ela era o amor da vida dele e depois a fez sentir completamente o contrário. Agora nada poderia consertar seu erro.

— Aqui estão as chaves, o aluguel vence dia 09, pague certinho e não teremos problemas. — O senhor de bigode entregou o molho ao Harry.

— Muito obrigado. — Sorriu educadamente antes de fechar a porta.

Vendo aquele apartamento vazio, ele quis chorar, tudo parecia estranho sem ela, ele precisava daquela doce voz para dizer que tudo ficaria bem. Ele nunca quis magoá-la, Harry desejou nunca ter ido à casa do Matt naquela noite estúpida, porque aquele beijo não significou nada, mas isso não importa mais, porque custou tudo a ele e dói demais até para admitir.

As coisas do novo apartamento finalmente estavam no devido lugar, mas ainda percebeu faltar algo. A dor no peito só aumentou assim que ele deitou-se exausto na cama para dormir, mas não conseguia, ele precisava dela, ambos eram para estar em lua de mel agora, mas nunca aconteceu por sua causa dele e sabia que do outro lado da cidade ela estava tão triste quanto ele.

Harry precisava tentar uma última vez, nem que fosse para sair de coração partido, ele vestiu seus sapatos de corrida e correu por quase toda a cidade até ir de encontro a porta dela.

— Oi... — Seu sorriso era tímido assim que S/n atendeu a porta na oitava vez que apertou a campainha.

— O que você veio fazer aqui?

— Eu precisava ver você.

— Tchau, Harry. — Revirou os olhos, indo fechar a porta.

— Espere. — Ele colocou o pé a impedindo.

— O quê?! — Sua voz já estava um pouco alterada.

Ele percebeu seus olhos inchados, ela chorou.

— Eu preciso te perguntar uma coisa.

— Perguntar o quê?

— Como faço para você me amar de novo? — Quase como um sussurro questionou. — Você é a melhor coisa que já aconteceu comigo, eu não quero ficar sem você.

Sua expressão não mudou, em outra vida seu coração até podia palpitar ao ouvir essas palavras, mas agora era só dor que preenchia seu peito, ele fez isso com ela. Harry era tudo para ela, seu porto seguro, sua alma gêmea, mas agora não passava do homem que quebrou seu coração.

— Você foi uma perda de tempo.

Não era assim que se consertava as coisas, ele simplesmente não podia só chegar e dizer o quanto a queria, assim ele só estava piorando as coisas e a machucando ainda mais no processo.

— S/n, por favor. — Harry ajoelhou-se implorando. — Eu faço o que for preciso para ter você de volta, pode me tratar como quiser, pode me xingar e me fazer de capacho, eu faço tudo com tanto que no final do dia eu possa estar com você, olhar para você, eu não consigo viver sem você.

— Eu não consigo mais confiar em você, sei que você diz que foi só uma noite e só um beijo, mas você é um traidor, você beijou outra pessoa um dia antes de se casar comigo, como eu posso querer uma vida com alguém que é capaz disto? Vá embora, Harry e faz um favor a nós dois não me procure mais. — A porta foi lentamente se fechando, mas a dúvida em sua mente a consumiu a fazendo perguntar. — Harry?

— Sim? — Ele já estava pronto pra se virar e partir.

— Valeu a pena?

— Você sabe que não.

Muito obrigada por ler até aqui! Se gostou fav, reblogue ou deixe uma ask, isso realmente é muito importante para mim 🥺♥️

Taglist: @little-big-fan @say-narry @umadirectioner @harry-sofrida @lanavelstommo

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imagines-1directioner · 22 days

Text

Teacher of my child - with Zayn Malik and special guest Harry Styles

Situação: Ficante!Daddy!Zayn Malik x Professora!Leirora

Contagem de palavras: 4863

Avisos: +18; conteúdo sexual explícito; ménage; linguagem imprópria

Sinopse: A professora de sua filha causa um desejo enorme em Zayn, e o que era para ser apenas um encontro casual uma única vez, tornou-se recorrente ao ponto de elevarem o nível do prazer.

N/A: Com base na votação de sexta, aqui está um imagine gigantesco, com muito hot, sedução, fake chat e escrita inédita de um hot a três 🫣 tá uma loucuraaaaa KKKKKKKK. Quero dizer que a inspiração desse imagine veio através de uma história da diva Lari do @1dpreferencesbr com aquela escrita incrível do ‘Professor Styles’, pra quem não leu, LEIA AGORA! E além disso usei o babado do Zayn com a menina do tinder para criar a narrativa, tendo as belíssimas fotos dele como parte da história. Espero muito que vocês curtam e me deem um feedback depois sobre essa nova construção de enredo que tô ansiosa para saber o que acharam e quem sabe trazer mais ;)

curte e reblogue o post para me ajudar 🫶

- Droga, droga, droga! - uma mistura de raiva e desespero era o que a professora da educação infantil sentia no estacionamento da escola em que trabalhava. Tudo o que ela menos precisava as cinco da tarde de uma sexta-feira, após um longo dia trabalhando era que seu carro desse problema. Automobilismo nunca foi seu forte, e qualquer que fosse o assunto que envolvesse carro ela era a pessoa mais leiga possível. Por mais que ela esperasse o motor esquentar ou então um milagre cair do céu, quando dava partida, o automóvel fazia apenas um barulho e morria novamente. Essa situação estava deixando-a sem paciência e apavorada, visto que o carro já havia lhe dado dor de cabeça no mês passado. E nesse mês a grana estava curta.

- Precisa de ajuda? - uma voz masculina se fez presente de forma misteriosa, assustando a garota. Ela olhou para a direção de onde vinha a intenção de ajuda e percebeu a presença de um homem moreno, tatuado, próxima a porta aberto do motorista.

- Eu acho que sim. - riu com vergonha, levantando-se do banco. - Não tá ligando por nada.

- Posso abrir o capô?

- Claro! - após a confirmação o rapaz abriu o capô do carro prata metalizado e verificou algumas peças e equipamentos que S/N sequer fazia ideia do que se tratava.

- Ele faz isso com frequência? - perguntou em relação ao carro, fechando o capô.

- Não, mas ele tem dado certo trabalho ultimamente. Mês passado estava com problemas na vela de ignição. Seja lá o que isso quer dizer. - a risada fraca do moreno saiu quando escutou a sinceridade da moça, e antes que pudesse falar novamente indicou com o polegar o interior do carro, na intenção de entrar.

- Posso?

- Fica a vontade. - a professora deu um passinho para trás, liberando espaço para que o desconhecido adentrasse ao carro. Ele verificou o painel de controle antes de dar partida, mas dessa vez o carro não fez absolutamente nada, nenhum barulho e muito menos um sinal de que sairia dali.

- Chegou a reparar se apareceu alguma mensagem no painel digital?

- Acredito que não.

- Provavelmente seja a bateria que está fraca. - arriscou um palpite ao sair do automóvel. - Você arrumou somente o problema da ignição?

- Sim.

- O pessoal da mecânica deveria ter dado uma olhada na bateria do carro, até porque se deu problema na ignição, quem causou isso foi a bateria.

- Ai meu Deus! - suspirou de modo estressado, sentindo o peso de mais dinheiro sendo desembolsado para arrumar um carro usado.

- Eu tenho um cabo para bateria, podemos tentar fazer uma chupeta.

- Me ajudaria muito! - parcialmente aliviada, S/N auxiliou o rapaz a encaixar as partes do cabo nas baterias dos carros, e ele ligou o seu automóvel para fornecer energia ao dela.

- Eu vou buscar minha filha na escola, acho que é o tempo suficiente para dar uma carga.

- Tranquilo, sem pressa. - dez minutos depois o moreno voltou segurando uma mochila rosa com várias fadinhas e de mãos dadas com uma menininha conhecida pela professora, que se animou ao ver a moça.

- Profe! - exclamou com um sorriso surpresa. - Papai, essa é a professora S/A, ela que me ajuda a fazer o castelo de areia.

- Oi, Khai! - S/N sorriu simpática, acenando. - Não sabia que era pai dela. Normalmente é a Gigi quem vem buscar.

- Ela está viajando e invertemos os papeis. - a professora assentiu.

- Você vai para casa comigo? - a inocência da criança fez os adultos rirem.

- Não, eu vou para minha casa. Seu pai está me ajudando a consertar meu carro que estragou.

- Como você é legal, papai.

- Tenho que concordar. - o homem sorriu tímido.

- Que isso, só fiz o básico. - deu de ombros. - Vamos ver se deu certo? - ele retirou os cabos e pediu para S/N dar partida, e no segundo seguinte o carro ligou.

- Muitíssimo obrigada por isso!

- Imagina! Acho melhor amanhã você levar para o conserto novamente e comentar da bateria, talvez eles nem cobrem. - concordou a jovem.

- Desculpa, estava tão afoita que nem perguntei seu nome..

- Zayn. - ele sorriu. Um belo sorriso por sinal.

- Certo, Zayn. Obrigada de novo. - como forma de responder ao agradecimento ele piscou para ela antes de pegar a filha no colo e colocar na cadeirinha no banco de trás. - Tchau Khai! - S/N despediu-se de ambos e arrancou o carro indo para casa um tanto quanto pensativa sobre o pai de sua aluna. De fato ele era um homem extremamente atraente, e ela sabia que era separado da mãe de sua filha, ou seja, estava solteiro. A piscadela no final foi mais que sugestiva, contudo o fato dele ser pai de uma aluna a deixou receosa se deveria ou não investir.

Nos dias seguintes em que Zayn foi buscar Khai, sempre encontrava a professora seja na sala de aula ou nos corredores. Os sorrisos e olhares penetrantes começaram a tornar-se recorrentes. Eles estavam gostando disso, porém faltava tempo para de fato partirem para ação.

Na segunda semana de interação, na terça-feira mais precisamente, S/N estava na cantina da escola, decorando o pátio para a semana de artes. Ela estava em cima de uma escadinha colando as pinturas dos alunos do jardim de infância na parede, quando pisou em falso no momento que estava descendo. Se não fosse pelo príncipe encantado que a segurou, ela teria dado de costas para o chão.

- Opa.. te salvei de novo? - a voz familiar arrepiou seus pelos e ela sorriu sem graça quando percebeu que era Zayn, ainda nos braços tatuados dele.

- Daqui a pouco terei que te recompensar de alguma forma.

- Eu tenho algumas ideias. - sugeriu olhando para ela de cima a baixo quando a garota já tinha os pés no chão. S/N riu nervosa e mordeu o lábio debaixo depois de sentir o olhar secante dele sobre ela.

- Obrigada por me segurar. - agradeceu enquanto alinhava o guarda pó.

- Não tem de que, senhorita S/S. - novamente o rapaz encarou ela dos pés a cabeça, lançando um sorriso pequeno mas intimidador.

- Khai contou até meu sobrenome?

- Na verdade eu fui atrás. - ela ergueu as sobrancelhas, surpresa.

- Por acaso o senhor tá interessado na professora da sua filha?

- Por favor, temos a mesma idade. Acredito que seja até mais nova que eu. Não precisa me tratar como senhor.

- Normalmente é assim que eu trato os pais dos meus alunos.

- E todos eles te desejam como eu? - S/N não escondeu a risada, disfarçando o olhar para a direita.

- Dependendo do grau do desejo eu chamo pelo nome.

- O que eu tenho que fazer para você me chamar de zaddy? - a insinuação descarada despertou um interesse monstruoso nela.

- Eu sou bem exigente, querido..

- Sem problemas, eu tenho muita experiência.

- Ah é?

- Você se surpreenderia. - S/N assentiu vagarosamente e dessa vez ela quem analisou o rapaz de cima a baixo.

- Não tenho duvidas. - os olhos de luxúria dela endureceram o membro de Zayn.

- Você tá livre na sexta?

- Curiosamente sim.

- E a gente pode se encontrar?

- Me dá seu número e te mando meu endereço. - eles trocaram os telefones e as mensagens nos dias subsequentes já acalentaram a relação recém criada.

Na sexta-feira, pontualmente oito da noite, Zayn estacionou em frente a casa térrea de S/N. A elegância em cada detalhe da residência chamou a atenção do moreno, mas foi o vestido verde de cetim, que ressaltava as curvas da professora, o que mais desviou a atenção dele durante todo o jantar.

Depois da metade da segunda garrafa de vinho, sentados no enorme sofá acinzentado que compunha a sala, o clima efervesceu.

- Então, eu não queria entrar nesse assunto, mas já que estamos parcialmente bêbados, devo dizer que a sua fama de pegador se espalhou pela escola.

- Minha? Eu sou tão discreto.

- Tá, eu andei pesquisando. - S/N soltou uma gargalhada divertida, mas cheia de desejo, instigando Zayn, que abriu um sorriso galanteador antes de bebericar o gole da bebida na taça.

- OK..

- Você teve um lance com a coordenadora?

- Jasmin?

- A própria.

- É, tivemos uma parada, mas foi muito rápido. Aconteceu logo que matriculei a Khai.

- Então basicamente todas as funcionárias que você tem um primeiro contato na escola, você leva para cama?

- Bom, nem todas. - aqueles olhos cor de mel fitaram a alma de S/N.

- Como assim?

- Você ainda eu não consegui. - respondeu enquanto analisava expressando tamanho desejo o corpo dele.

- E tá esperando o que exatamente?

- Você me dizer onde é o seu quarto. - vagarosamente Malik dedilhou a coxa desnuda da mulher, indo na direção de sua intimidade. Instantaneamente sentiu a pele dela arrepiar e como consequência seu membro enrijeceu. Os rostos estavam muito próximos um do outro, e a respiração um pouco ofegante.

- Segunda porta à direita.. - disse baixinho, fitando os lábios carnudos.

- Obrigado.. - foi tudo que ele conseguiu dizer antes de finalmente colar sua boca na dela. Um beijo caloroso iniciou, as línguas rodopiavam-se distribuindo um sabor delicioso. Às mãos de S/N subiram da nuca até o cabelo escuro dele, e um arrepio percorreu a espinha de Zayn quando as unhas pontudas arranharam a parte de trás do pescoço. Com a sala pegando fogo, S/N subiu em cima dele ainda sem desgrudarem os lábios e em sincronia com o beijo ela rebolava para frente e para trás, sentindo muito bem a ereção, principalmente quando Malik apertava a bunda dela, empurrando para baixo. E nessa brincadeira dois gemidos simultâneos saíram. Era nítido o quanto estavam sedentos. Sendo assim Zayn segurou a cintura dela com uma pegada de outro planeta e levantou-se com a moça agarrada ao seu corpo, indo a caminho do quarto. A professora imaginou que ele a jogaria na cama de um jeito selvagem, no entanto ele a deitou carinhosamente, deu continuidade ao beijo mais lento dessa vez e sem que ela notasse, desceu a mão direita para baixo do vestido e ambos se surpreenderam quando as peles se tocaram.

- Safada.. esse tempo todo estava sem calcinha? - ele passou a mão superficialmente e ela suspirou.

- Se estivesse com alguma, teria que ter trocado umas três vezes durante o jantar.

- Fica molhada comigo, bae? - Zayn massageou o clítoris lentamente com o polegar enquanto beijava a garota de forma suave.

- Uhum.. - gemeu entre o beijo, desejando mais daquele toque mágico.

- Se eu soubesse disso teria te comido antes do jantar, em cima da porra da mesa. - a fantasia da cena entrou na mente de S/N, deixando-a com mais tesão. E entre uma fala e outra ele enfiou um dedo nela e um gemido saiu mais alto. Para ela a frase teve muito mais efeito que a própria ação. Zayn tinha o super poder da sedução como sua arma principal. - Caralho, você tá tão melada..

- Então me fode para eu gozar na sua mão.

- É isso que você quer? - movimentou os dedos devagar e S/N revirou os olhos.

- Si-sim..

- Seu pedido é uma ordem, linda.. - no instante que os lábios novamente se tocaram, o rapaz iniciou a masturbação que pegou ritmo fácil. Os gemidos de S/N eram abafados pela boca de Zayn, e aquela combinação instigava tanto ele quanto ela.

- Continua.. - ele aumentou a velocidade, tocando nela em pontos específicos demais em que o corpo estremeceu, até não aguentar e enfim gozar nos dedos dele. Zayn olhou para ela com os olhos pecaminosos e simplesmente lambeu o indicador e o polegar de um jeito sexy que fez a garota desmontar.

- Seu gosto é uma delícia, professora.

- É minha hora de provar o seu. - decidida, ela o puxou pela camiseta vermelha, inverteu as posições e tirou a única peça de roupa em pé, na frente dele. Aquela cena foi demais para o moreno, soltando um respiro profundo de tesão.

- Puta que pariu..

- Tira a camiseta. - simplesmente ordenou e ele obedeceu, já se livrando do tênis e a meia no mesmo tempo. S/N se encarregou de tirar a calça preta que ele vestia e deixou a cueca azul na metade do corpo. Ela tinha certo fetiche quando a vestimenta íntima cobria metade do sexo, dando ênfase nas entradas que ele tinha para a virilha. Uma coisa linda de se ver pessoalmente, e com as tatuagens destacando o corpo deixou tudo ainda melhor. - Você é um puta de um gostoso. - comentou sensual, ajoelhando na cama, ficando entre as pernas do moreno. Naquela posição S/N apenas inclinou o tronco, despiu o pau totalmente duro mas não se livrou da cueca, e quando já estava com parte do membro na boca, ela empinou a bunda e começou a chupar o rapaz de maneira incessante e prazerosa. Zayn via estrelas a cada sugada e a vista a sua frente aumentava tanto o tesão que ele mal conseguia falar, apenas gemia palavrões e sons que eram música para o ouvido dela. Não demorou muito para que ele também gozasse e finalmente entrassem no grand finále. Depois de mais beijos pelo corpo dele, arranhando de leve desde o inicio da intimidade até o peitoral, ela finalmente chegou os lábios e beijou ele devagar. De propósito ela juntos os sexos e movimentava o corpo lentamente, roçando o pau duro na buceta molhada. Aquilo era uma tentação tão gostosa que por pouco não gozaram. O conjunto do beijo com o calor dos corpos se esfregando foi um combo delicioso que apimentou muito o momento antes da dona da casa pegar a camisinha em cima da mesa de cabeceira, rasgar de um jeito sexy e colocar em Zayn. - Eu quero gozar de novo, ouviu bem?

- Sim, professora.. - a garota posicionou o membro dele em sua entrada e sentou bem devagar, e os dois gemeram juntos. - Que delicia..

- É só o começo, docinho.. - iniciou a rebolada passando as mãos pelo tronco tatuado, vidrada naquele abdômen ao tempo que contraiu a musculatura da vagina, levando Malik ao extremo da insanidade. Quando a movimentação ficou boa ela pressionou a parte próxima ao pescoço dele, pedindo sem utilizar palavras para que ele sentasse. Agora com os corpos incrivelmente unidos, ela quicava em Zayn, e ela aproveitava para beijar e lamber a pele cheirosa dela, instigando mais e mais a performance tão bem feita e que durou rápido para os dois, que caíram para trás, ficando direções opostas recuperando o fôlego.

- Meu Deus.. eu imaginei que eu acabaria com você.

- Mas você acabou. - falou sem ar e eles riram. E quando a respiração voltou ao normal, uma nova sessão de beijos começou, dessa vez mais carinhoso mas não necessariamente menos quente do que a que participaram anteriormente, terminando a noite com mais carícias e algumas provocações na cama.

A primeira noite juntos levou a quererem uma segunda, terceira, quarta noite juntos, e quando menos perceberam já estavam nessa há um mês, tempo suficiente para quererem elevar o nível.

Depois de longos dois dias o sábado finalmente chegou. S/N sugeriu que a noite a três fosse em sua casa, e os dois rapazes acataram. Lá pelas 19h, Harry chegou, muito animado, especialmente depois do remember delicioso com a professora em sua banheira. Ela logo o recebeu com uma taça de vinho francês, e meia hora depois Zayn chegou.

- Harry, esse aqui é o Zayn. - embora todos ali já tivessem tido uma experiência como a que teriam daqui a pouco, a insegurança predominava de certa forma. E dava para perceber um leve constrangimento no ar, que os rapazes tentaram ignorar ao soltarem um sorrisinho quando se conhecerem. Mas só piorou.

- Muito prazer. - Styles estendeu a mão, que foi apertada logo em seguida por Malik.

- Prazer é meu.

- Precisamos de álcool para mandar embora essa sensação de vergonha misturada com tímidez. - S/N soltou sincera, indo até a cozinha a procura das garrafas de vinho na geladeira.

- Você é amigo dela? - Zayn tentou puxar assunto.

- É, mais ou menos. Nos conhecemos no trabalho.

- Ah, então também é professor.

- Sou. - respondeu com um riso envergonhado. - Sou professor de história do terceiro ao sétimo ano.

- Legal, acredito que não conheceu a minha filha.

- Acho que não, ela está no jardim de infância ainda, certo?

- Sim, tem só quatro anos. - Harry assentiu. - Você tem filhos?

- Não que eu saiba. - ambos riam, quentando um pouco a tensão e S/N chegou no mesmo momento.

- Toma, sua taça. - entregou para Zayn, que agradeceu em seguida. - Vamos precisar de algumas para gente se soltar.

- Eu já tô na segunda. - o professor levantou a taça e sorriu, sugerindo estar mais à vontade. Depois de alguns minutos eles já estavam menos tensos e curtiam o momento com conversas e bastante álcool.

- Não que isso influencie em alguma coisa, mas Zayn.. - Styles começou e o moreno olhou para ele. - Qual sua sexualidade?

- Sou hétero.

- E não se incomodou quando a S/A sugeriu meu nome? - ele negou. - Que cabeça aberta. Normalmente os homens exigem duas mulheres.

- E você pensou exatamente assim quando eu mencionei o que ia rolar. - S/N acusou rindo, tirando um riso sincero de Harry.

- É porque a gente nunca espera ser outro homem, e você sabe bem disso.

- Já fizeram isso outra vez?

- Juntos? - eles perguntaram na mesma entonação e quando Zayn concordou a risada deles confirmaram a pergunta. - OK, então sou o excluído do rolê. - comentou sem graça, rindo.

- Não pense assim. - a garota sentou no colo dele, com o ar sedutor que ela tinha incrustado em sua personalidade. - Pense em como vai ser legal ter duas pessoas que sabem muito bem o que estão fazendo.

- Quem me garante isso? - ele adorava contrariá-la, não porque discordava dela, mas sim porque entendeu que quando duvidava do que a professora dizia, ela sempre provava seu ponto de um jeito completamente excitante.

- Veja e tire suas próprias conclusões. - S/N praticamente sussurrou, saiu do colo de Zayn e foi em direção a Harry, sentado na poltrona da sala, muito relaxado que até se surpreendeu quando viu a garota sedenta vindo até ele.

- Tirei a sorte grande e vou ser o primeiro? - sorriu malicioso descruzando as pernas para que ela sentasse nele.

- Vamos mostrar para o senhor Malik como as coisas funcionam.

- Com prazer. - Harry pegou a garota pela cintura, sentando bem em cima do seu membro parcialmente duro, não demorando nem um minuto para que ele sentisse a pressão daquele bunda. O beijo quente surgiu logo depois, e era uma coisa de outro mundo quando aquelas duas bocas se encontravam. Eles se conheciam muito bem quando o lance era uma transa bem feita, que apenas nas preliminares o tensão se submetia a algo intenso até demais. O jeito que Harry apertava o corpo de S/N causou uma vontade enorme em Zayn assumir aquele corpo para ele. Sendo assim ele desabotoou a calça, tirando seu pênis para fora e aproveitou o filme erótico ao vivo antes de entrar em cena. O casal estava tão imergido na pegação que só perceberam que Zayn estava se masturbando quando as primeiras peças de roupa foram tiradas. Harry tirou a regata roxa e o sutiã que a garota vestia um seguido do outro, e ela desabotoou a camisa branca do professor, deixando amostrar aquele tronco tatuado e extremamente sedutor que ela tanto amava observar.

- Você sempre me deixa maluca sem camisa.

- Então eu quero te deixar louca dessa vez. - aquela voz rouca seguida do aperto bem dado na bunda e beijos molhados no pescoço arrepiou a pela dela em segundos, deixando um gemido escapar. Os olhos dela fecharam instantaneamente quando Harry chupou o bico do seio direito enquanto apertava a bunda dela, fazendo pressão pra baixo, para que ela sentisse o quão duro ele estava. Era tão perceptível já que a moça estava sem calcinha e usava uma saia jeans que agora já tinha sido levantada.

- Caralho, tô sentindo seu pau estralar.

- Viu o que você faz comigo? - ela gostava de sentir esse poder que exercia sobre Harry.

- Eu adoro te ver assim, louco de tesão por mim.

- E não sou só eu que estou assim. - Styles esboçou um sorrisinho e sinalizou com a cabeça em direção a Zayn, que tinha a cabeça apoiada na parte almofadada do sofá, olhos fechados e gemia baixo enquanto se masturbava. O tesão de S/N aumentou quando viu aquela cena.

- Me fode, aqui mesmo. - exigiu e logo o professor desafivelou o cinto e baixou a calça e cueca, tirou os sapatos e as meias rapidamente enquanto a garota beijava ele com ferocidade. Mesmo com uma dificuldade tremenda para se concentrar, Harry conseguiu colocar a camisinha em meios às provocações e chupões que a garota deixava em seu pescoço.

- Senta, gostosa. - ele pediu entre um beijo e outro quando ajustou seu membro para que entrasse do jeito perfeito nela. E assim foi, os dois gemeram alto, fechando os olhos. S/N começou a rebolar devagar enquanto beijava aquela boca deliciosa. As mãos de Harry apertavam a bunda dela de maneira gostosa, deixando toda a ação ainda melhor. Ver tudo aquilo de camarote era um presente para Zayn, que aumentou a velocidade da punheta quando o casal elevou o sexo. Os gemidos da casa subiram de tom, assim como o calor do ambiente. - Isso, S/A.. cavalga no meu pau desse jeitinho. - toda as vezes que Styles falava ela dava tudo de si. Em certo pontos estratégicos o corpo dela tremia por conta das quicadas certeiras e sua cabeça ia para trás. Com Harry acontecia a mesma coisa, fazendo ele gozar antes dela. Somente na terceira vez que ela jogou a cabeça para trás que o orgasmo veio, e a sensação incrível de um sexo bem executado relaxou todos os músculos dela, que deitou sobre o peito ofegante do professor. - Caralho..

- Eu que o diga.. - comentou rindo. - Obrigada.. - ela deixou um selinho nos lábios dele antes de se levantar e ir até Zayn, também relaxado no sofá. - Agora é a sua vez bonitinho. - S/N puxou a mão dele, que se levantou e seguiu a garota até o quarto já conhecido. A professora deitou na cama, abriu as pernas e ordenou em bom som. - Me chupa. - Zayn, desacreditado com aquela cena e tomada pelo tesão, sorriu safado e passou devagar o polegar e o indicador da mão direita nos cantos da boca, encarando o corpo da mulher que ele tanto queria usar. Antes dele obedecer S/N, o rapaz tirou a camiseta de modo sensual, pegando-a pelo parte de trás da gola e jogou sobre o corpo dela. Ela sorriu quando pegou a peça e cheirou, sentindo o aroma de um perfume incrivelmente cheiroso. A parte de baixo saiu com facilidade já que foi tirada parcialmente na sala, assim como o par de tênis e as meias. Depois do pequeno striptease que a professora teve o prazer de observar e umedecer a intimidade, Zayn deitou parte do corpo sobre a cama, tendo os pés no chão, e lambeu a entrada da buceta devagar, sem tirar os olhos penetrantes de S/N. O corpo dela arrepiou com a primeira passada.

- Você ainda está quente. - aquela informação fez a garota gemer. - Quero te sentir pegando fogo. - disse antes da lingua começar a brincadeira. Zayn chupava com vontade de um modo que fazia os olhos de S/N rolarem enquanto gemia sem parar. Harry chegou alguns minutos depois e quando viu o que estava acontecendo seu pau enrijeceu de novo.

- Tá porra, que delícia. - comentou baixo massageado o membro.

- Deixa eu te chupar também, H.. - S/N convidou Styles para se juntar ao espetáculo. Ele ficou de joelho na cama, ao lado de S/N e colocou um travesseiro atrás de sua cabeça para que ela ficasse em um posição confortável. Ela lambeu o glande de Harry no segundo que Zayn sugou seu clítoris, fazendo a garota perder a cabeça e gemer alto.

- Vai conseguir me chupar gemendo desse jeito, lindinha? - Harry indagou provocativo e ela começou a lamber as bolas dele enquanto iniciava a masturbação. - Cassete.. você consegue tudo.. - ele jogou a cabeça para trás e gemeu também quando ela engoliu o membro, até se afogar.

- Caralho, S/N.. - nem mesmo Zayn conseguiu disfarçar o tensão quando viu aquilo.

- Ela é ótima, não é?

- Muito. - confirmou antes da lingua dele lamber com vontade a buceta dela, que gemeu com o pau na boca.

- É a professora mais safada e gostosa que eu conheço. - Harry falou e logo após gemeu quando S/N apertou o membro, tirando-o da boca para que pudesse pedir o que já não estava aguentando, mas o professor interrompeu antes mesmo dela falar alguma coisa. - Chupa essa vadia mais forte, Zayn, que ela tá adorando. - ele sabia o que estava fazendo e sorriu quando viu que S/N riu fraco, repleta de libido. Zayn obedeceu Harry e tinha como objetivo fazer a garota aliviar-se em seus lábios.

- Goza na minha boca, babe. - quando S/N ouviu a voz rouca de Malik, enquanto chupava Harry e tinha a visão do corpo e sorriso pecaminoso dele, ela liberou o gozo tremendo todo o corpo.

- Boa garota. - Styles puxou o cabelo dela de um jeito que fez o tesão ressurgir.

- Quer sentir seu gosto nos meus lábios, gatinha? - o convite proposto pelo moreno que havia acabado de chupá-la foi irrecusável e já sem forças S/N apenas concordou com a cabeça. Zayn veio para cima dela cheirando a luxúria e beijou a boca com uma pegada irresistível, trocando de lugar, agora com ela em cima dele. Harry por sua vez, aproveitou para apertar e beijar a bunda empinada dela, lambendo uma vez ou outra a intimidade ao tempo que movimenta de leve o clitóris inchado. S/N estava arrepiadíssima sendo agraciada por um beijo de arrancar seu ar e uma masturbação acompanhada de um oral singelo mas que estava mexendo com ela. Mesmo beijando Zayn, a mulher procurou por Harry pela mão e ele entendeu que era para se juntar a eles. - Você não se contenta apenas com um, não é? - questionou sedutor dando um riso que a matou de excitação antes de beijá-la com vontade. Agora era Zayn quem se deliciava com o corpo da mulher, chupando e mamando seus peitos. A cada gemido ela alternava o homem que beijava, crescendo o tesão em um nível tão intenso que ela nem pensou muito quando puxou os dois para beijar e um beijo triplo muito atraente aconteceu. As três línguas se encontravam em pontos diferentes e os lábios molhados davam um toque doce e picante. As mãos passavam pelos corpos sem saber quem era quem. Zayn e Harry também brincavam um com o corpo do outro, apertando a bunda e certos músculos, causando sensações inéditas e muito boas para ambos. Aquela parte foi de fato um evento a parte daquele espetáculo.

- Preciso de você dentro de mim, Zaddy. - o apelido dito pela jovem foi proposital e Zayn gostou muito disso, sorrindo ao se afastar dos dois e pegar a camisinha em cima da cômoda.

- Eu tenho que te ouvir me chamar assim de novo, babe. - disse com a voz aveludada enquanto vestia a camisinha recém aberta pelo boca dele.

- Me come, Zaddy! - S/N deitou sobre a cama, abriu as pernas e afundou a cabeça na cama, dando espaço para Harry chupar seu pescoço.

- Porra! - Malik tomado por uma vontade fora do seu alcance deu uma investida profunda nela fazendo-a choramingar de prazer. Harry saiu do pescoço para brincar com os seios dela, beijando, apertando e mordendo. Entre um gemido e outro ela puxava Styles para um beijo, enquanto ele se masturbava. Todos estavam tendo um momento de prazer. Zayn sentia seu membro pulsar dentro da intimidade completamente molhada e apertada da garota. S/N por sua vez era presenteada por colocadas intensas e beijos deliciosos, enquanto que Harry se divertia com o corpo de S/N ao tempo que brincava com o seu próprio. Muita coisa acontecia ao mesmo tempo e o ápice de cada veio alguns minutos depois, primeiro Harry, depois Zayn e em seguida S/N. Os três estavam mortos que deitaram na cama de qualquer jeito.

- Obrigado pelo convite, foi um show e tanto.

- Tenho que admitir uma coisa. - Zayn falou controlando a respiração. - Vocês dois tem muita química. - Harry olhou para S/N sorrindo maliciosamente e ela riu.

- A gente tem um lance meio único mesmo. - completou. - Que não dá para comparar com a loucura que tenho com você. - apontou para Zayn, que esboçou um sorrisinho orgulhoso. - É difícil para mim não se apaixonar por nenhum dos dois.

- Eu não ligo de sermos um trisal. - Harry brincou fazendo eles rirem.

- Tô com o professor. O que rolou aqui não pode ser descartado.

- Eu vou pensar na proposta de vocês. - ela se levantou, dando uma pausa para dizer a próxima frase. - Enquanto eu tomo banho.

- Sozinha? - a pergunta saiu da boca dos dois rapazes, um momento cômico fazendo S/N rir. - Eu preciso respirar, gente! - respondeu entre risos e entrou no banheiro, abrindo a meia porta logo em seguida. - Vocês podem preparar algo para comer enquanto isso. Tô morrendo de fome. - soltou um sorrisinho e fechou a porta definitivamente. Harry e Zayn se entreolhando com um sorriso discreto e divertido nos lábios.

- Ela manda assim em você também? - perguntou Malik e Harry concordou.

- E temos que obedecer né, afinal ela é a professora.

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