Harry Styles In Black And White 소설 & 이야기

We both make our way to the club shawn booked and it's so full with people even though he cut some people from the invites. Harry sees someone , a guy , on the entry so he excuses himself to greet him so I walk alone and try to find shawn . Shawn waves me as soon as he notices me . He is wearing a black leather jacket and an a white shirt which is wide open and some black pants . His hair are curly like always .

“I want every single piece of clothing that suits this lady’s style and figure! “I’d like you to deliver them as well, if possible. Then, Harvey brought out his Black Card. “Remember, I want every single one!”

Just one long table set for two, candles burning low, crystal reflecting light like secrets. And there, he stood. Adrian Blackwood was dressed in black, tailored, precise, devastating. No tie. Shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal strong forearms. His hair was slightly undone, as if he’d run a hand through it and forgotten to fix it. His gaze moved over me slowly, and so did he.

DARIUS' POV "Well, well," his smooth voice said. I turned around slowly to face Harry who was standing in the doorway. He looked immaculate as always in tailored clothes that probably cost more than most pack members made in a month. His blonde hair was artfully styled. There was a strange false concern etched into his big bright blue eyes. He looked like an angel. But Harry? He acted like the devil. "I heard there was some excitement today. Came to see the damage for myself."

Amelia I suck in a breath as I take in all of his features like a woman seeing for the first time, Harry and the entire impressiveness of the house forgotten. He's in an all black ensemble. Black tee, black ripped jeans, black boots. Black baseball cap snug on his hair that's in a bun. The navy bomber jacket that's currently laying on the ground in front of him is the only thing that isn't black. He looks exhausted but still manages to remain excruciatingly pleasing to the eye.

Hines was such a weirdo. His hair was dark black except for a white stripe, and it stood up on top of his head about two feet. He had black rimmed glasses thick enough to be double paned windows, and he was as nervous as a skittish kitten anytime he got anywhere near danger. It didn’t take me too long to see him in my mind.

Harry had made him wear a black crop top that exposed his flat tummy and high waisted black jeans that accentuated the curve of his waist and hips. His face was bare save for the pink lip gloss and the thin eyeliner which Harry insisted will make his pretty features pop out. While he looked good, this didn't feel like him at all. The omega preferred his comfortable hoodies and sweats. Standing amidst the people in this club, he felt exposed. Harry nudged his shoulder. "You should loosen up and dance!" Simon frowned at him. "But we're here for—" "I know," Harry said, touching his shoulder. "Dance and you'll find whatever you're looking for."

After taking a few steadying breaths and making a weak attempt to smooth my platinum blonde hair, I knock timidly. The moment the door opens, my body tenses. Mr. Harry. I quickly avert my gaze, my eyes dropping to his light blue dress shirt. It’s paired with black slacks that highlight his strong legs. Honestly, if he weren’t a lecturer, he could easily be on the cover of magazines. There’s also that watch on his wrist. Clearly vintage and expensive, though I can’t make out the brand. I lift my eyes back to his face. Up close, I notice a faint brown ring around his irises, making his gaze even more hypnotizing.

His eyes remained on me, watching me, as he stood in front of his team. My body betrayed me. My steps slowed. Not enough to draw attention but enough for the raven-eyed Hagar to notice. “Keep walking,” her voice came from behind, low with a warning. I continued walking, trying to pretend I didn't see him, but somehow, my eyes found him again. And again. He was dressed in black and dark red fitted tailcoat with black pants. A tall, wild-looking black horse stood beside him. His ash-colored hair caught the sunlight, pale strands shifting slightly with the wind.

Perfect. His white shirt underneath was crisp, the collar sitting neatly against his neck, the first two buttons undone just enough to make him look less rigid, less corporate but no less dangerous. The black tie hung loosely around his neck, untouched, as though he had already decided he didn’t need it. Christian Harper never needed to try. His hair was styled back effortlessly, still holding a slight natural wave that softened his otherwise sharp features. His jaw was clean, defined, his lips set in that familiar unreadable line that made people uneasy without him saying a word.