Summary: Harry Styles, the cold and calculating son of a powerful mafia don, must consolidate power after his father's passing. He faces challenges from his unpredictable younger brother, Silas, and navigates a complex world of alliances, ruthless decisions, and family loyalty. Amidst the intrigue, the elegant and alluring Y/N Castellano, the daughter of an Italian mafia boss, attends the funeral and finds herself drawn to Harry. As power dynamics shift and the future remains uncertain, the story explores the dark and dangerous allure of the mafia, the weight of family legacies, and the potential for unexpected connections in a world defined by secrecy and ruthlessness.
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word count: 2.2K
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The gloomy and wet day in London mirrored the somber atmosphere surrounding St. Anthony's Cemetery. As the mourners huddled beneath their umbrellas, Harry stood on the drenched grass, his gaze fixed on the casket slowly descending into its final resting place. Raindrops trickled down his face, mingling with the unshed tears that lingered in the corners of his eyes.
The eulogy was underway, the trusted family advisor delivering words that attempted to encapsulate a lifetime of shadows, power, and whispered alliances. However, just as the most trusted man's speech gained momentum, the harsh sound of a car door slamming shut sliced through the air, drawing Harry's attention away from the eulogy.
His eyes shifted toward the source of the interruption. Emerging from the sleek black car that had disrupted the proceedings was a figure cloaked in the shadows, an enigma against the gray backdrop of the London day. The man approached with measured steps, his silhouette betraying no emotion. Harry's gaze shifted, and his furrowed brow deepened as he recognized the figure emerging from the car: Silas, his younger brother.
His brother stumbled toward the gravesite, an unsettling contrast to the solemnity of the occasion. Dressed in the same disheveled attire from the day before, he seemed utterly unaffected by the gravity of the funeral. His eyes were glazed, betraying the haze of intoxication that enveloped him. The suit, a relic from a night of revelry rather than a symbol of mourning, clung to him as a mockery of propriety.
The gathered mourners exchanged uneasy glances, their attention shifting from the eulogy to the unexpected disruption. Silas, seemingly oblivious to the collective disapproval, reached the edge of the gathering.
Harry's jaw clenched as he watched his brother's erratic movements. Silas, though blood of his blood, embodied a stark departure from the composed and calculated demeanor expected at such a solemn occasion.
Ignoring the stares, Silas slurred, "What's the fuss, Harry? Old man's gone, ain't he? No need for all this gloom and doom." His words, a discordant note in the elegy of the funeral, hung in the air like an unsettling omen.
As the most trusted man paused in his speech, casting an uncertain look at the uninvited disruption, Harry felt the weight of not only his father's legacy but also the unpredictable presence of his younger brother.
The rain continued to fall, a steady rhythm that underscored the tension hanging in the air. Harry's jaw clenched as he watched his younger brother's approach. The onlookers exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions a blend of disapproval and discomfort.
As Silas neared the gathering, Harry's patience reached its limit. He closed the distance between them in quick, determined strides. Without a word, he grabbed Silas by the back of the neck, his grip firm and unyielding. Silas, momentarily taken aback, met Harry's stern gaze with a bleary-eyed defiance.
Harry's face remained stoic, a mask that betrayed no emotion. The raindrops splattered on his coat as he leaned in, his voice low but commanding, "You better not make a fuckin’ scene here This is our father's funeral, and you will show some damn respect."
Silas, still under the influence, chuckled dismissively, his words slurring. "What's the big deal, Harry? The old man's gone, and it’s not like he cared about us”.
Harry's grip tightened on Silas's neck, a subtle warning. "You will care. You will behave. This is not the time or place for your shit show."
A ripple of discomfort passed through the onlookers as the brothers engaged in their silent confrontation. The most trusted man resumed his eulogy, his words now competing with the tension between the two siblings.
Silas, seemingly grasping the severity of the situation, nodded begrudgingly. Harry released his grip, and Silas stumbled back a step, composing himself. The rain intensified, a metaphorical curtain falling on the brief but impactful clash.
The final words of the eulogy echoed through the cemetery, the casket had been lowered into its final resting place, and the mourners lingered, preparing for the procession of cars that would take them away from the burial site.
As Harry stood amidst the subdued crowd, a black umbrella shielding him from the persistent rain, a shadow fell over him. Federico Castellano, the formidable Italian boss, approached with a steady stride, his expression a blend of condolence and business.
"Harry," Federico greeted, his voice a low rumble that cut through the hushed ambiance. Beside him stood his youngest daughter, Y/N Castellano, a figure of grace and composure despite the mournful occasion.
Harry inclined his head respectfully. "Federico, thank you for coming."
Federico's eyes, sharp and calculating, met Harry's. "Your father was a respected man, Harry. A valuable ally."
As the rain continued to fall, Federico extended his condolences before veering into the realm of the unexpected. "You know, Arthur and I shared more than just business. There was a time when our interests aligned in more personal matters."
Harry, intrigued yet guarded, nodded for Federico to continue.
Federico glanced at Y/N, who stood silently by his side. "Y/N here," he gestured to his daughter, "is a living testament to the bonds forged between our families. Me and your father shared an understanding, a certain... arrangement, if you will."
Y/N's expression remained neutral, her eyes focused on Harry. Federico's revelation hung in the air, a cryptic acknowledgment of a dark and unspoken facet of their familial connections.
"In times of uncertainty," Federico continued, "alliances are crucial. Your father knew that well. I trust you'll carry on the legacy with the same wisdom."
Harry, his mind processing the weight of Federico's words, maintained his composure. "Thank you for coming”
Harry's car, sleek and somber, pulled up just as Federico Castellano and his daughter disappeared into the waiting vehicles.
Harry approached his car, the driver holding the door open for him. As he slid into the backseat, attempting to find a moment of respite from the tumultuous day, a sudden intrusion disrupted the stillness. Silas, seemingly undeterred by the earlier confrontation, stumbled toward the car, an unsteady determination in his gaze.
"Come on, Harry," Silas slurred, reaching for the door. "Let me in. I want a ride."
Harry, his patience thinning, met his brother's erratic approach with a stern gaze. With a swift and decisive motion, he pushed Silas away from the car. "Go back the way you came from."
Silas, undeterred, tried to regain his balance, a defiant glint in his eyes. "Why the hell not? I'm family."
Harry's expression remained unyielding, his tone firm. "After the stunt you pulled? You really think I would let you ride with me? You stink. Find your own way home. Now shut the fuckin’ door”.
The driver, sensing the tension, stood ready to close the door. Silas, teetering on the edge of defiance and inebriation, took a step back. The door closed with a decisive thud, separating the two brothers, each standing on opposite sides of the car window.
As the car pulled away from the cemetery, leaving Silas behind in the rain-soaked aftermath of their father's funeral, Harry's gaze remained fixed on the road ahead.
The sleek black car navigated through the rain-soaked streets of London, the cityscape blurred by the persistent drizzle. The vehicle made its way towards the outskirts of the city, where the sprawling English manor of Arthur Styles stood as a stoic testament to the legacy of the Styles’ family.
As the car approached the entrance, the imposing wrought-iron gates swung open, revealing the long, winding driveway flanked by well-manicured gardens. The manor itself, a grand estate nestled within the verdant landscape, exuded an air of timeless elegance and discreet power.
The English manor was a blend of Tudor and Victorian architectural styles, its facade adorned with ivy-covered walls that added a touch of mystery to its imposing structure. Tall, narrow windows punctuated the exterior, offering glimpses of the opulent interiors within. The roof, steeply pitched and adorned with ornate chimneys, conveyed a sense of regality.
The sprawling grounds surrounding the manor were meticulously landscaped, featuring lush lawns, ancient oaks, and a network of stone pathways. A sense of quiet authority emanated from the estate, a silent acknowledgment of the influential role it played as the headquarters of the English Mafia.
As the car approached the main entrance, the imposing oak door swung open, revealing the grand foyer beyond. The interior of the manor was a blend of rich mahogany, plush velvet, and intricate tapestries. A sweeping staircase adorned with a luxurious crimson carpet led to the upper floors, while crystal chandeliers hung overhead, casting a warm and muted glow.
Harry, seated in the back of the car, took in the familiar surroundings with a steely resolve. The manor, once his father's domain, now stood as a symbol of both legacy and responsibility. The echoes of hushed conversations, clandestine meetings, and whispered alliances resonated within its walls.
The car came to a halt, and the driver opened the door. Harry stepped out onto the cobblestone driveway, the rain continuing its soft descent. As he made his way up the stone steps and through the towering oak doors, the manor embraced him with a mixture of familiarity and foreboding.
The heavy oak door creaked open, revealing the dimly lit expanse of Arthur Styles’ office. The air inside was thick with the scent of aged cigars, a fragrance that had become synonymous with the patriarch's presence. The desk, an imposing mahogany structure, was adorned with scattered papers and half-burned cigars—a tableau frozen in time, a reflection of the man who had once held court within those walls.
Harry, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the room, took a moment to survey the space. His father's leather chair sat empty behind the desk, casting a long shadow in the muted light. The room seemed to hold the weight of countless decisions, whispered conversations, and the unspoken agreements that had shaped the destiny of the English Mafia.
As Harry settled into his father's chair, the room came to life with the quiet murmur of anticipation. Most of Arthur's trusted men were gathered, their faces etched with a mixture of reverence and curiosity. They had assembled to hear the reading of the will, to glean the final words and wishes of a man whose influence extended far beyond the boundaries of the manor.
The air was tense, charged with the weight of expectation. Harry's gaze swept across the room, meeting the eyes of each man present. They were more than associates; they were comrades bound by the unspoken codes of honor and loyalty that governed the clandestine world they inhabited.
Seated at the desk, Harry cleared his throat, signaling the beginning of a significant moment. The stillness in the room was broken only by the soft shuffle of papers as he retrieved the will from one of the drawers and handed them to the families attorney.
The family attorney, Mr. Reynolds, a man of stoic demeanor and an encyclopedic knowledge of the Styles affairs, stood at the head of the room. He cleared his throat, unfolding the parchment that held the last testament of Arthur Styles. The attentive eyes of the gathered men, including Harry and Silas, fixed upon him.
"Esteemed gentlemen," Mr. Reynolds began, his voice measured, "we gather today to execute the last will and testament of Arthur Styles, patriarch of the Styles family and head of the English Mafia."
The room fell into a hushed silence, the weight of anticipation palpable.
"As per the allocations outlined in the will," Mr. Reynolds continued, "the vast majority of Arthur’s properties and assets are bequeathed to his eldest son, Harry, who will assume the mantle of the next English Don."
A collective nod passed through the room. The expectation lingered in the air as Mr. Reynolds continued to elaborate on the distributions of the estate.
"However," he said, pausing for emphasis, "there are two specific properties designated for Silas Styles."
Silas's eyes flickered with a mix of surprise and disappointment. The revelation seemed to confirm what many had suspected—the divergence in Arthur's confidence in his two sons.
"As for the English Mafia," Mr. Reynolds intoned, capturing everyone's attention, "Arthur Styles has bestowed the leadership upon Harry with one condition."
The room held its collective breath.
"Harry Styles is to marry Y/N Castellano, the youngest daughter of Federico Castellano, the esteemed Italian boss and longtime ally of the Styles family."
The gravity of Arthur's condition echoed in the room, met with varied reactions from the assembled men. Harry maintained a composed exterior, concealing the unexpected twist that now determined the trajectory of his leadership. Silas, on the other hand, bore a contemplative expression, his thoughts veiled behind a facade of indifference.
Mr. Reynolds continued to detail the specifics of the will, delineating the legal nuances that accompanied Arthur's final wishes. The room, once filled with muted murmurs, now resonated with the weighty realization that the path ahead held challenges not only in the world of power and influence but also in matters of the heart. The legacy of Arthur had woven a tapestry of alliances, obligations, and familial ties that would shape the destinies of those within its intricate web.
Can u make one with a protective Harry when you get drunk and faint maybe please ?
Sure honey, thanks for asking!
I have not proof read it, will soon, tho. Hope you enjoy it!
It was your one of your closest friend birthdays and as always, her parties were beyond awesome, friends of yours, acquittances and complete strangers having fun all night. This year it was no exception, and of course Harry knew about it, he was invited as well, yet he had a recording session he had forgotten about, so he had to miss the party… or most of it at least, since he had separated the recording booth at night in order not to get caught by paparazzi’s.
You had been so stressed with everything lately that you craved one of these kind of parties, your best friend near you, you have never seen her drunk, she has a great metabolism for alcohol, so you let yourself go, knowing well she would take good care of you, drinking everything everyone offered, dancing without caring the numbness in your feet caused by your poor decision of wearing very high heels, singing along all the songs you knew and after a couple of hours making up words to song you had never heard of, huge smile on your face.
You never heard or felt your phone ringing in the belt of your dress, or maybe chose not to hear it, or feel it vibrating. Harry had gotten there, and of course wanted to know where were you, but no answer from you and there were too many people. He grew kind of worried, you always pick your phone up, always, even when mad. What if something had happened to you? Yes, he had sent you with a full tummy, he gave you heavy carbs and protein, he didn’t want the alcohol to hit you fast. He was even more worried when he saw your best friend dancing with some guy and you were nowhere to be seen. Had someone taken you far? Maybe to a dorm? The sole thought of that gave him goosebumps, and not the nice ones. He had a bottle of water on his left hand, aspirin in his bac pocket and phone on his right hand, while his eyes traveled literally everywhere looking for your hair, maybe your black dress when the yellow light hit instead of the blue or green ones that made everything darker.
He had also told you he would be the one picking you up, not to leave the party with anyone but him, and yes, it sounded vey fatherly, but he knew that you not being a party person, or at least no the kind of person who goes to parties frequently that you were not used to dealing with some people who always went for more than just dancing. He had seen with his very own eyes how people, specially man devoured you with their eyes just walking by. And yes, he was jealous just like that, just with the thought of someone with their arms around you, your back against theirs just as you two liked to dance, his face in your neck while taking your scent in. He walked faster around the big apartment, heart pounding along the music.
Then he saw you, dancing with a group of girls, singing at the top of your lungs, smiling, arms searching for the ceiling, his own mind quieter, even with the loud music, you were ok, no one had taken you far from him, no man with their arms tight around your waist, just you with your group of friends, having the time of your life. It wasn’t until you saw him and stumbled as you tried to reach him that he noticed how drunk you were, and you did smell like alcohol. A huge grin on your face as you approached him, voice strained from all yelling, giving a few extra YYYY to his name. “HARRYYYYYY, you came, Hun.” And barely made it to his arms, feet hurting way too much to walk, making harry stumble a little himself as he picked you up, laughing at the scene yourself, because it was funny, your big, tall boyfriend picking you up in bridal style because your feet hurt… or at least you found it funny.
You were talking, or trying to talk to him, whispering sweet words in his ear as he walked to his car, a little worried about you, you had drunk way too much, he had never seen you so drunk, ever. You were almost home when you made him pull over, throwing up, harry quick to grab your hair and sooth you, he was worried, yet when you were done you just kept laughing, which made him relax a little. Then he gave you that bottle of water. And it wasn’t till you got home that your drunken mind decided to pull a little prank on him. As he picked you up in bridal style again, you kept “talking” to him, and then pretended to faint, out of nowhere. His blood turned cold, eyes wide as he ran to the living room, putting you delicately on the couch, heart pounding, feeling it even in his ears, saying your name really loud till you broke in to laughter.
He was definitely mad for like a second at least, until he started to laugh himself, definitely planning his revenge back, of course, not at that moment. Instead, once the laugher laid down, he helped you get ready for bed really quick, cuddling till the sun rose.
This is the one shot inspired by the songs “Don’t leave” by the Snakeships & “Scared to be lonely” by Dua Lipa. The songs set the atmosphere, not necessarily the plot.
Huge thank you to @interfectorems for helping me with this.
I think I was screaming. However my ears were shut and blocked out any noise so I really couldn't tell but... it felt like I was.
My hands clenched around my knees in weak fists though my fingers were so numb they couldn't properly grasp or hold on. Air filled my lungs as desperate breaths were taken in, yet the desired relief didn't come and panic started to slowly raise when it dawned on me that though I was provided oxygen, I couldn't take it. Almost as if my own body was trying to suffocate me by boycotting anything that could have helped.
It hurt. Everything just hurt.
My lips were apart and my mouth wide open while my eyes were pressed shut and my body rocked back and forth in the cross-legged position that I sat in on top of my cold bed. No movement slowed the rapidly falling tears from spilling onto my cheeks, dotting them with wet stains and leaving a sticky feeling on my skin. More and more fell until I couldn't see what was before me anymore similar to how it feels when you’re under water and try to recognize something in the bleary world you're stuck in.
My insides were burning and shrunk under the stinging pain washing over me.
That's what it's like to have your heart broken. There's hardly anything romantic or tragically beautiful about it, there's just pain and woeful suffering with no prospect of ever experiencing a good day again.
I swallowed hard and scooted back on my bed, under the covers and into a fetus position, wrapping both arms around my head so I could block out the world. Maybe that would turn back time. Maybe that would bring him back to me.
Harry had my heart. He was all I wanted. With him I felt complete. I was utterly smitten, crazy about and insane for Harry, only Harry. At least until now, because right now I was falling apart and all because he'd taken my heart and tore it into pieces.
....
Harry and I were supposed to fall for each other.
There had been a time once when I had been certain of that. Maybe not instantly, but with time and patience.
He'd had something magical to him, an enchanting quality that drew me in and had pulled me under his spell only moments after our first encounter. Something in the way Harry moved had my eyes glued to every shift of his body, to every muscle I'd noticed under his perfectly tattooed skin. Harry's eyes held such a depth of clear green it took my breath away and when he spoke his pink lips moved slowly but determined, every word wisely thought through.
He was intelligent, kind and made me laugh with ease. Damn it, I'd thought with a smile, his breathtakingly handsome looks were clearly only a bonus.
I'd been infatuated with him form the moment he'd given me his attention and it'd seemed as if he'd felt the same with me.
Harry's eyes had widened with wonder and a smile had danced on his soft lips, which practically begged me to kiss them, and to my surprise Harry had even reached out to touch my hand with a gentle squeeze.
There was no need to say it aloud, we just felt it. What we'd have, it'd be something real.
And for a while it had truly looked like we'd make it.
....
"This isn't what I wan't anymore."
Harry didn't look at me when he spoke and kept his gaze fixated on his interlocked hands until the last word had fallen from his lips. Only then did he dare look into my eyes.
I wore a frown and felt cold. My mind was racing and heart beating because surely, I had heard wrong or misunderstood.
He didn't want what anymore?
"What?" I croaked.
Harry's eyes hardened and he leaned in momentarily as if to make sure I'd get his next words right.
"I'm not happy, Y/N. With... well, with us. This relationship."
Those words sufficed to make my stomach drop and have my emotions be flooded by guilt.
Harry was unhappy. My love, my heart... He was unhappy.
Tears shot to my eyes and drowned my view on his sitting form before me. When had I started failing him? My throat dried and I shook my head to clear my thoughts. This felt devastating.
Making Harry happy... it'd been all I wanted. All I had tried so hard to do every day. When he was ill, I stayed by his side until he felt better. If he was sad, I held him and talked to him until he could smile again.
He'd told me I made him feel safe and that I was someone he knew he could trust in ways he hadn't been able to in a long while. I remembered times where he was laughing and giggling or moments where I'd caught him standing in the doorway with a big smile gracing his face.
When had that stopped? And why hadn't I noticed?
"Harry-"
"I'm sorry, Y/N. But this relationship is over."
....
Harry and I used to love spending hours just talking, sprawled out on one of our beds with no noise other than our breathing and quietly murmured words. I'd discovered early on that he enjoyed having someone play with his fingers when he spoke and when he found out that I liked him to hum in affirmation of his attention whenever I paused to think, Harry was eager to do that too. We were each other's rocks and created a safe haven for the other and soon the softly exchanged kisses weren't my favorite thing to do with him anymore. Listening to him speak was and his expression when I told him something.
We'd spent so many moments in our comforting presence it'd become normal. An ordinary sunday activity.
And before I knew it, I'd began needing Harry so much more than I could have brought into words.
....
"Over?" I whispered.
He nodded and I sat there stunned just staring at him. My fingers clenched and I cleared my throat. Then I took a deep breath.
"You're breaking up with me?"
Of course he was. The rational part of my brain had already realized what was going on and was screaming at me to stay calm and come up with a sentence that made sense. However the other part of my brain, one that was mainly ruled by my heart, did not understand and needed this extra confirmation of him saying it.
My pleading eyes met his and a whimper escaped me. Harry looked just the same as the guy he'd been ten minutes ago; like someone I knew, cared about and loved. But he wasn't the same. And he wouldn't ever be that person again.
Harry took a deep breath and then nodded. "Yes. I am."
....
I loved Harry. I knew I did.
Harry was laughing whilst listening intensely to what was said by the person he was on the phone with and once in a while when his eyes met mine, he winked.
My cheeks hurt from smiling wide and they were red with a blush. The speed of my heart increased and the tips of my fingers tingled.
This was it. I was in love.
Once he set the phone aside Harry took quick strides over to where I was sitting on the couch and cuddled into my side, sighing happily when I moved to embrace him tight. My lips met his cheek and his pressed to my collarbones.
"I don't think I've ever been this happy before," I whispered to him in between kisses, "Though it sometimes terrifies me how much I have grown to need you Harry, I couldn't feel any fuller then I do when I'm with you."
Now that I was looking back and remembering this moment, knowing the outcome, I wasn't at all surprised that he hadn't said anything to my words. He'd simply rolled me on top of him and connected our mouths in a heavy kiss, silencing and distracting me until my thoughts were elsewhere.
....
So here I was now. Sitting on my mattress only moments after Harry disconnected our Skype call to leave me alone with my heart break.
At least I think my screams quieted. The burning ache in my lungs and the soreness of my throat had a new wave of tears raise to my eyes and finally I cried for a different pain than my breaking heart.
I couldn't believe what had happened. Actually, believing wasn't as much the problem as making sense of it. I couldn't, no matter how hard I tried, understand how we'd come to this.
Harry and I were over. I adored him. And he just.... threw me away without any hesitation.
My eyes pressed shut and I shook my head rapidly, not wanting to remember what he'd said to me only moments ago, though I was sure that I wouldn't ever get the words out of my memory again. The blanket I now had pulled over my body was strangely comforting, strange in the fact that it was pulled around me so tightly it made it difficult to breathe. But I welcomed the warmth and the suffocating closeness of the soft material, if only because it gave me something to hold on to when my body felt as if it was floating.
Never had I imagined he'd abandon me like this. Not the guy who'd been the first person I had truly felt comfortable with.
My wet eyes were sore from crying and still there were more tears forcing their way onto my flushed cheeks. I sobbed, tossing and turning on the mattress while the past half an hour kept replaying in my head regardless of how much I fought it.
How had Harry had been so calm, so collected the entire time? From the moment his eyes had met mine through the screen to the moment I cut him off, he hadn't appeared to be fazed by any of this. Almost as if he had calculated it all before making his call.
I let my mouth fall open in a silent scream when I remembered his bullshit words.
"It's not your fault. I just don't see our relationship leading to anything, Y/N."
He didn't think we'd make it?
A whine escaped my mouth and I clenched my fingers around the blanket. The way he'd said it outraged me. Like I was a child he was explaining to how he didn't feel like joining the tea party it had prepared. Like I was pulling at his sleeve and he had to gently detach my fingers from the material. His voice was nothing but gentle, but it was a distant kind, one that let no emotion shine through aside from poorly hidden annoyance.
When had he began thinking this way? And why? All I had seen was him and I building a future together, when had we stopped being on the same page?
"I'm sorry," Harry had added reluctantly.
"Why?" I'd asked in a broken whisper.
He couldn't even give me a reason. My stinging eyes opened and I stared at the wall opposite to me. How could he break my heart and not give me one reason? Not even an excuse, he'd mustered up. Nothing. The sparkling eyes I'd loved to drown in were avoiding me and instead focused on his twitching fingers, as if he had been eager to just get this over with and continue with his day.
"Harry," I'd then cried, the first sob escaping me and finally he'd looked up.
I remember that for a moment I had actually seen something in his orbs soften as if he was only now realizing that he was in fact talking to me, someone he'd confided in, someone he was familiar with. He couldn't bullshit me, he never had, but for some reason he had tried with all of his might to shut me out as quickly and as harshly as he could.
And yet he remained silent.
He watched my face crumble as my crying increased and I felt incredibly helpless. This man was the person I cared about most, someone I loved, even if he didn't know that. I needed him so much and he couldn't even muster up a word of comfort now that he was watching me fall apart in front of him?
No. Instead, Harry had taken a deep breath as if to prepare himself, then he looked up and tore my heart out.
"Don't make this difficult, Y/N. I just don't want you anymore. It's simple."
After that nothing I'd said had been able to change his mind. No matter how many "I need you's" I whimpered to him or how often I swore I would make whatever I'd done up to him, there was no moving him. He didn't react when I cried and proclaimed the depth of my feelings for him, wasn't moved when I sobbed so hard I couldn't bring out one word.
I felt pathetic and hated the thought of begging him to stay with me, but what was I supposed to do? He was ripping me apart.
"Why are you being so cold with me?" I had even cried at some point, "It's as if your eyes are frozen. Harry this isn't you. Come back to me tell me that none of this is real. Please."
I was falling for him. Hell, I already had fallen for him and to be rejected now after I had dared taking the risk and open up to him, it hurt more than I could have imagined.
The man who'd stared at me wasn't my Harry. My Harry wouldn't have rolled his eyes at my heartbreak, he wouldn't have kept silent while I sobbed before him. My Harry wouldn't have just sat there and waited for me to calm down enough so he could break apart the last piece of us, similar to how someone gets their job done before continuing with something fun.
My Harry wouldn't have humiliated me like this.
Finally, Harry had just shaken his head. "Well, I'm doing what I have to do. Try not to make this difficult, alright? We both knew this would happen, didn't we?"
"No. I didn't." My lowered gaze had met his and I'd breathed out shakily. "Otherwise I wouldn't have let myself fall for you, Harry. I didn't think we would end so quickly, I believed we were... I thought..."
I had fallen silent. So many moments, words, possibilities... All merely a lie to him.
"Yeah, well," Harry had sighed, "It's time for you to get a reality check, then."
"Please," I'd then whimpered, not even caring anymore how pathetic I was being, "Harry don't leave me. You aren't even listening."
"Y/N," Harry had whispered, finally adapting a gentler tone, "Let it go, yeah? You have to admit that this isn't the relationship you promised me we'd have."
My hands pressed against my cheeks similar to how I had done then and I whimpered and cried heavier. It was after those words when I'd given up as well. I couldn't force Harry to want me. My eyes had met his sparkling green orbs one last time, his cold and empty, mine burning and full with tears. I'd hiccuped once more and he'd frowned, then I'd shut my laptop before he could make another sound.
Little did I know that the worst was yet to come.
....
"I'm so sorry!"
The guy quickly crouched down and held out his hand for me to take, pulling me off the floor back to my feet swiftly. He hurried to help me pick up the items that had slipped from my hands when he'd stumbled into me and placed them into my cart. Then he gave me a warm smile.
I wished it were a different guy who was smiling at me. The same guy I had been daydreaming about before this blonde stranger had stumbled into me. One with curly hair and kind green eyes, someone who's smile had been so similar to the one I was currently receiving.
"It's alright," I spoke as I steadied myself on the shopping cart.
"No, really, are you hurt?" the guy inquired, looking at me with worry in his eyes.
Luckily no one else in this Sainsbury store had noticed the clumsy incident and though the arm I'd fallen on ached a little, I was okay.
I shook my head. "You just caught me off guard."
He sighed in relief and grinned widely. "I'm clumsier than this Goofy guy."
"Who?"
"Goofy," he repeated, "Micky Mouse's friend. You know, the one who's always super silly and clumsy all the time. That's me."
"Oh right," I replied, feeling an actual smile pull at my lips, "He's likable, though."
He wasn't bad looking, I had to admit. His eyes were big and of deep brown color while his hair was a light shade of blonde and fell flat over his forehead. And still, all I wished was for him to leave me alone.
"I'm glad you think so." He clenched his hand around the pack of Spaghetti he held, then he cleared his throat. "You're really pretty."
The same words Harry would have used.
"Thanks," I muttered, defeat evident in my tone.
Five days had passed since Harry had dumped me and the only reason why I'd dressed into something halfway passable was because I'd run out of food and couldn't afford to order in every day. I'd planned a quick trip to get the essentials and then leave again. A conversation or possible flirtation with a stranger hadn't been planned.
"I'm sorry," the stranger apologized again, "My name is Matt, by the way. But I can tell you don't really want to talk so I'm gonna go now, yeah?"
"I'm Y/N," I said, "And I'm sorry, too. I'm just not very good company right now, so..."
"No worries."
Matt pushed some of his blonde strands out of his face, raised the Spaghetti pack and moved it in a waving motion, making me giggle, before he left.
Huffing I resumed to push my cart down the cookie isle, throwing in different types of sweets in process.
....
Harry was doing alright.
LA was its sunny self just as always which tanned his skin nicely. He'd visited his favorite cafe the day before together with his manager Jeff who'd told him about how well the promo for the upcoming album was doing as well as informed him about a photo shoot deal. Today, as part of his morning routine, he had jogged past a small shop he hadn't been to before which sold the best kale/banana smoothie he'd ever tasted and just now he'd received a text from his mother, saying that she was free to talk. Harry's day was going well and his minds was clear from any stress. Contrary as to what he'd told his then girlfriend, Harry was not busy and had not gone to LA for any business purposes, but to get away from her so he could break it off while maintaining a safe distance between them.
His ringed fingers picked up the laptop and he opened his Skype profile where he waited for his mother to call. Once she did he accepted with a wide smile on his lips and raised his hand to greet her.
"Hi, Mom."
"Hello lovely," Anne answered, smiling the same smile her son did, "How is my baby doing in great America?"
"I'm good thank you. You?"
"All is well. Gemma visited yesterday and told me to send you her greetings! Also, do you think I could invite that lovely girl of yours over for lunch tomorrow? I have been trying to call her but she's not picking up, which was quite strange. I thought it might take her mind off missing you."
Harry's heart dropped and his palms damped. An image of Y/N crying and begging him to stay with her flashed through his head and so he quickly looked away. He found his reasons to break up with her realistic and justified and didn't regret them one bit. His mother however adored Y/N and surely wouldn't understand his decision to cut her out of his life. So he knew he had to be delicate with this topic.
"Mom," he began hesitantly, "I don't think that's a good idea."
A frown formed between her eyes and he could tell that she already knew where he was going with his careful words. She asked anyway. "How so?"
"We're kind of... broken up."
Anne gasped. "Why?"
"She just wasn't what I want, I suppose."
"What you want?" Anne's voice was no longer kind or gentle, but angry, "Son, this is the fourth girl you threw away because she 'wasn't what you wanted', only that Y/N was the first to last five months."
"I know, mom," he huffed, annoyed that she was scolding him just like she did when he had been a child, "but you taught me to pursue my luck and Y/N just wasn't going to give me that."
"Of course I want you to pursue your luck, Harry darling, but I'm starting to worry about you."
"You don't need to," Harry assured gently, taking another sip of his drink, "I'm good.
"You're alone again."
"I wasn't going to stay with someone just 'cause you fear I could be lonely," Harry grumbled.
"What was it that she did wrong then? Listen, son, I fear your mind is stuck on the idea of what you want so that you don't give anyone the chance to actually become what you want. You can't people to just be perfectly tailored for you."
"You mean I ruin the chance to be happy because I cut people off too quickly?" Harry slowly asked.
Anne nodded. Harry stayed silent for a moment. Then he shrugged.
"I've been thinking that for some time now, baby," Anne went on, "and with Y/N I thought you'd realized it too and were making a bigger effort."
Harry sighed in exasperation and let his head roll back. "I don't know, Mom. Maybe you're right."
She looked at him expectantly and laughed when he didn't continue. "And?"
"And nothing. M'gonna keep your words in mind next time I've got a girl around."
....
In London the rain had yet to stop from falling and given the heavy grey clouds dominating the sky I could only assume the cold weather would stay. My tired eyes followed the drops running down the glass of my window and began to search for patterns and pictures in the water while my arms tightened around my pulled up knees from my position on the sofa.
I only vaguely listened to my friend Mary's words from where she stood in the kitchen, preparing some snacks for our movie night. It was really more her movie night since I really wasn't in the mood but also much too indifferent to argue with her and so I only scooted away to make room for her once she came to sit beside me. The movie she'd chosen and to which I'd apparently agreed to it began playing and I shook my head when she offered me some popcorn.
"How have you been?"
Since my boyfriend abandoned me for no reason? Fantastic! Can't you tell?
"Good," I muttered, gaze still set on the busy Londoner street outside.
Mary sighed. "He'll miss you."
The words were whispered and when I met her eyes they were full of sincerity. I forced a small smile.
"I don't think he will," I breathed.
Mary's hand found mine and she squeezed my fingers. "Sweetie, Harry is an idiot if he thinks he'll find someone who cares even half as much about him as you did. I mean for crying out loud, you were an absolute angel and so patient with him, always. Trust me, he'll realize his mistake."
"He was so sure of himself, Mary," I replied whilst shaking my head, "You should have seen him. He couldn't wait to get rid of me, it was as if he had transformed into this cruel and icy stranger."
We stayed silent, eyes fixated on the screen before us. The movie playing was funny and I even felt a smile tug on my lips when one of the characters recalled a particular embarrassing incident that had happened in the bedroom. This reminded me.
"Once," I began, faint amusement in my tone, "Early on in our relationship, Harry and I were about to have sex for the first time and like-"
"Hold on," Mary interrupted with a grin, "Am I about to get an insight on what Harry Styles is like in bed?"
"Yes," I giggled and continued with a stronger voice, "Anyway, Harry and I were about to have sex and to get in the mood we did a bit of foreplay beforehand meaning I did something for him and he did something for me, you understand?"
Mary nodded, both eyes wide and full of excitement. "Was he good?"
I rolled my eyes but my heart beat heavily with the relief of feeling something even if it was mischief due to being about to reveal very private information about Harry.
"That's besides the point. So he was, you know, down there and all of a sudden it feels weird and strangely wet. So I look down at him and he's already pushing himself up and away from me with a nose dripping with blood, explaining super embarrassed that he got a nosebleed due to being nervous!"
Loud laughs fell from both of our mouths and for the first time I felt like I could breathe. Harry had humiliated me, now I was returning the favor.
"No way," Mary snorted, "The guy bled all over you 'cause he got weak nerves?"
I nodded all red faced at the memory, but happy that it didn't leave me aching. The picture of his naked body standing in the doorway with a bloody tissue and an embarrassed smile decorating his features was still burning vividly in my mind, but I could laugh about it.
"You should tell that to the press," my friend went on and I nodded joking how I just might, though I knew I wouldn't.
We continued to watch the movie, Mary going back to the story again and again though, asking for details and so the mood was heavenly light and content.
That was until I looked at my phone upon receiving several Twitter notifications. I clicked onto the Tweet I was tagged in, regretting it instantly because suddenly there was a series of pictures on my display, all of them showing my Harry with a woman I didn't know.
He was embracing her, kissing her and keeping her close.
Pain shot through me like a wildfire and all the joy I'd felt earlier was gone. Twelve days. Twelve fucking days did he need to find someone new.
....
The girl Harry was hovering over had the same color of hair his Y/N had and was about the same shape as she was. What was different were her eyes, as they lacked the sparkle Y/N's had always held, and her skin wasn't as soft and warm to his touch either.
But he didn't care.
He'd seen the pictures of Y/N laughing and smiling at her new guy. Not even five days after he'd ended things with her, Y/N had gone to a grocery store to show off her attractive and blonde new boyfriend, seemingly unaffected by their breakup. Fans Harry had seen tweet about the encounter had even written about how the pair had been funny and joking with each other as if they were very familiar.
So if Y/N was happy and over it, he was too.
The girl was moaning and whimpering beneath his body once he began to move and he hissed when her manicured fingernails scratched his back almost painfully. His lips found hers and he allowed himself to let go of his worries, surrendering to the pleasure of feeling her. He liked the girl's sweet perfume and how she whined his name desperately. His hands momentarily wandered over her body, but it felt wrong to explore her and he found that he did not want to mesmerize her the way he had Y/N. Instead, Harry nipped on her neck hungrily and moved harder, chasing both of their release just so he was distracted from the growing feeling of loneliness in his chest.
Only one more time did Y/N's name shoot through his mind and he did well to not say it out loud, as it was no longer her he was holding in his arms.
Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought. Also, should I write a part2 ?
Hiiiiiiiiiii! Could you write something about Harry being really sick at Christmastime and he's insecure/overthinking everything because he knows his girlfriend's family doesn't 100% approve of him and they're supposed to visit for Christmas but they leave early and he thinks he's going to upset them but his girlfriend finds him throwing up in her bathroom so she drives him home and stays with him because Christmas is better in bed with the man she loves than all alone in her place?
Hey love, I am so deeply sorry it took me this long, first college, then holidays and lizards and pumpkins. I do hope it is not too late and that you still have that Christmas sparkle. Thank you for requesting, ly.
Warnings: None. It is kinda angsty kinda fluff, tho
It was an understatement to say that Harry was visibly uncomfortable with the stare your dad was giving him, but you were too caught up in a conversation with your mom and sister, how could you have noticed it, how could you have noticed that he was feeling particularly ill, that he had Goosebumps, fever and nausea.
“You know, her last boyfriend was a surgeon, a cardiothoracic surgeon in NYC, he was well behaved, brilliant, good for business, and had a steady career. Can you remind me what is it that you do that you have to leave my daughter for months? Because he never left her.”
Harry shifted in his seat yet again, as the felt a drop of sweat rolling down his back. He knew your father didn’t like him, your father made sure he knew that he wasn’t liked. If he was honest, he wouldn’t like a man like himself for his daughter.
Sure, he hadn’t graduated in college, but his passion, talent and love for the things he did had made Harry a very successful person, but of course that made your father like Harry less. The media, all the fake people around him, the tabloids, long trips, girls throwing themselves at him and his tattoos made Harry look like the worst person you could have looked for in your dad´s eyes.
“I write songs, and sing them, Sir.” That was all Harry could answer, he was feeling too bad to think straight.
“Can´t believe my girl changed that doctor.” Your dad said barely above a whisper, yet Harry heard him, making him look to his hands.
His little princess couldn’t possibly end up with someone like Harry, that’s why your dad tried to scare Harry, make him re-think about this whole relationship thing.
And Harry didn’t believe he was enough for you, you were too kind, lovely, beautiful, beyond smart, it was like winning in life in every single possible way, but he loved you, and that made him a little selfish,because he wanted you, his light, just for him, the thought of you with someoneelse killed him. That’s why Harry has tried so hard to make your dad like him, because he knows how important your dad is to you.
However, at the moment, he was feeling really crappy, the dizziness getting worst by the minute. He wanted to go home, to his house and maybe cry a little while you weren’t near. But he couldn’t say anything, you had barely seen your parents in months, plus that would only make your dad hate him more. But Harry was a good person.
Yeah, he was a good person.
“I am sorry I am not a doctor, that I don´t have a hundred degrees, but I can assure you, Sir, that I am a good person, I love your daughter and I am well aware she is more than what I deserve, yet I am here, trying to show you that I am willing to give my life for her, that I will do my very best to make her happy, every day, that she is my number one priority. I know you don’t like me, but at least try to get to know me, not for me, for her, because your approval is so important to her, I am not asking you to like me, just respect me, and our relationship, please.”
It was probably the fever that gave Harry the guts to say all of that to your father, but to say that Harry was proud of himself was too little.
Your dad stood silence for a while, looking at harry in theeye, then he cleared his throat and proceed to speak, slowly and careful withhis next words.
“Maybe you are right, I haven’t giving you the chance to show me who you really are, and I may have said some rude things to you before,I may have some prejudices about you, I will try to put the aside, we can start from the beginning, maybe we can go fishing this Friday, is that ok?”
Harry nodded and your dad smiled, it was the first time your dad gave Harry a genuine smile.
Your father felt kind of ashamed of his actions, that’s why he and your mother left earlier than what you thought they would. Harry somehow thought it was because he had offended your dad.
Just a second after they left he ran off to your bathroom, throwing up all the contents of his stomach, feeling weaker by the second. You came running as soon as you heard what was going on, sitting next to him in the loo, giving him some pats in his back. After a few minutes of discussion, you ended up agreeing on going to the doctors the next day, and driving him home, after all, you had a roommate and a single bathroom available (after your roommate’s bathroom broke –literally), there was no space for Harry to be sick in.
It was just 22:00 pm when you got home, still two hours till Christmas, and it was the first Christmas with Harry, sure, you had known w longer than one Christmas, but it was the first one together. You made him a quick chicken soup and a nice tea, as he got ready to get into bed, turned onNetflix and put a nice Christmas rom-com on.
Two hours went pretty quick as you looked at the clock signalling it was, in fact, Christmas, and even in your slumber you looked at him as he looked back at you after feeling your gaze.
“Happy Christmas, baby.” And you gave him a quick kiss onhis tender lips.
He smiled back at you, with that smile that was only shown rarely, almost always just to you, the one that made you wonder if you arereally awake or just dreaming.
“Happy Christmas, doll. I love you.” His voice a little nasal, but still too cute, and those three last words that still made you weak at your knees, good thing you were laying down.
“I love you too.”
You cuddled him even more –if possible, as you put your head on his chest, arms wrapped around you.
“can I ask you something?”
“Sure, H.” and he could tell by your voice you were probably already asleep. He stayed silent for a while, choosing his words.
“Are you happy with me?” Yet it was almost a whisper, oneyou couldn’t quite get.
“What?”
“Do I make you happy?” At that you sat up almost too fast, scaring him, the only thing that could let him see the deep concerned look inyour eyes was the dull light coming from the large TV across the room.
“Of course you make me happy, you little.., where is that question coming from?” Harry was not the one to be insecure about anything, orat least he never showed a sign of insecurity.
“I need you to answer me with all honesty” you nodded, alittle too intrigued at was has gotten your boyfriend that… worried? “Do you ever miss your last boyfriend?”
Harry knew that you loved your last boyfriend, you had told him way before you two were a thing, but your father brought that all up, his insecurities came back at him, and if you still loved him –that doctor, w let you go, because, your dad was right, you do deserve the right guy and if he wasn’t the right one, he was willing to let you pursue your happiness even if that broke him.
“No, I don’t miss him one bit, because when you met the right person, everything preceding that person seems banal, I love you in ways I have never loved anyone before, and I shouldn’t be telling you this, because it may give you some power, but seems like you need to hear it, I love you,Harry Edward Styles, get that inside that brain of yours.”
“I love you too, in ways I don’t think I can love anyone or anything else.”
His heart rate raced a little big, heart pounding hard against his rib-cage, tears welling up his eyes as he gave you a kiss that showed so much passion, care, love, gratitude, for your words, and to whateverit was that made you fall for him, because what and how he felt for you was a little overwhelming.
And there you were, your first Christmas, talking your hearts out, little kisses, a couple of sneezes and lots of love.
