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wrongplacerighttime · 1 month

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fratboy!harry x you

hi hi! its been awhile. finally finished this after 3834273 weeks it feels like. its also my first reader fic so....hope you like it HAHAHA.... :)

the one where your friends introduce you to Harry, you go on a trip and things get interesting. featuring a lake house, hiking, and a cherry sucker.

wc: 5.8k

tw: smut 18+, spanking, choking, light dom!harry dynamic, brief clit slapping, brief face slapping, lil bit of cum play, size kink, breeding kink if you squint. idk if i missed anything but as always let me know if i did :)

cherry sucker

Finding solace in the chirping birds and chattering on the street that could be heard from your open window, you stood in front of your closet, clad in a little white tank and baby blue undies, preparing your bag for a camping trip you and your friends had planned. Spring semester has concluded and this trip will commemorate the start of summer vacation. You daydream about the sun glistening off the ripples of the lake water, the smell of the grass wafting in the wind as the sun warms the earth while you pack your bag.

While you were excited for summer, you wanted to get a head start on your reading for fall semester. You had a textbook or two in the bottom of your bag—poli sci books, because you had heard the professor was relentless with his lesson plan and you wanted to go in with no surprises. You hear the faintest footsteps down stairs, growing louder the closer they drew up the stairs. Your door swings open and Faye strides through, red hair flowing behind her at the pace she was walking. She comes up behind you, smacking your ass making you yelp.

“Faye!” You squeal, clutching the cheek that was now turning red with your best friend's hand print.

“I’m so envious of your ass, I just had to.” She falls backwards on your bed, arms sprawling beside her. “It’s just so tempting.” She giggles and you turn back to your closet.

“I’m so glad we actually have time to see each other now that classes are over. School’s been so busy I feel like all I’ve done is sleep and go to class.”

“Is that why you have a fucking textbook in your bag?” Faye raises her eyebrow at your duffle and picks one up. “Russian socioeconomic structure? What even is this?”

“It’s for Professor Sykes. I’ve heard he's brutal and I want to be prepared.”

“You are not bringing this. You have a whole summer ahead of you to study.” Faye scoffs, pausing for a moment. “If you bring this book on this trip I’ll throw it in the lake myself.”

“Then you’ll owe me $200. Besides, what if I get bored?” You cross your arms over your chest and Faye looks at you like you’ve grown another head.

“There’s a lake! A lake!” She throws her hands up in the air, laughing at your determination. You bend down, opening your drawer and pulling out a skimpy yellow bikini to throw in your bag. “By the way, Josh is bringing a friend. His name’s Harry…Styles I think. Do you know him?” You shake your head.

“Know of him, don’t know him though.”

“Oh. Well he’s single…and kind of hot.” Faye giggles and you shake her head again.

“No thanks. I’m not really into the dating scene right now.”

“No one said anything about dating. Just maybe for a little…fun.” This time, it’s your turn to look at Faye like she’s the one who’s grown another head. “Fine. If you don’t want to…maybe he’ll be our third.” She wiggles her eyebrows and you widen your eyes in horror at her suggestion of asking Harry to join her and her boyfriend in their sexual endeavors.

Before you can get another thought in, heavy footsteps clamber up the stairs and it’s Josh, Harry in tow with a backpack slung over his shoulder and suddenly your room feels very small. Josh flicks his eyes to you, smiling and sitting next to Faye on your bed.

“Pauly and Alex are on their way. We’re putting all the shit in their car and you guys are gonna ride with us.” He says, gesturing his finger between the two of you and you nod. The window open brings a warm breeze into the room, blowing your sketchbook pages until it lands on one with a drawing of a man.

Not just any man…it was your ex. Your eyes flick to everyone and you rush over to shut it before anyone can catch it. It was an old drawing, and a hobby you hadn’t picked back up since things ended and you really didn’t feel like rehashing the breakup with Faye. Faye wasn’t the biggest fan of him, and for good reason after he cheated on you with the TA in one of his classes last semester.

Harry stands in the doorway, chewing gum between his molars, his jaw flexing and glances around your room—the bedroom of a girl whom he’d never met, and it felt very personal…like he was getting a peak into who you were as a person. An overflowing bookshelf, handmade drawings stuck to a corkboard on the wall over the desk. Faye and Josh were talking in hushed whispers and he tilted his head to the side as he had the perfect view of your ass as you were turned around and facing your desk. He smirks at the red hand mark left there, and he could feel his cock twitching in his pants at the thoughts running through his head. He drops his gaze as you turn back around to walk towards your closet again. His eyes meet yours and you smile, a greeting showing you were just being nice, and he wonders if you always walk around half dressed in front of strangers. He clears his throat.

“Sykes next semester?” He asks, voice with a hint of an accent you weren’t expecting and you nod.

“How’d you know?” He gestures his elbow towards your bag, the textbook on top of your clothes and your mouth forms and “O” and you nod.

“He teaches that entire fucking book every year. It’s such a snooze fest.” He pauses. “Do you like Russian literature?” You nod again, gesturing to your bookshelf filled with classics and fantasy and romance. You had a few authors on the shelf, but not as many as you would like. He brings his backpack around to his side, unzipping and reaching in. He pulls out a tattered book, crinkles in the cover and the corners turning up, all characteristics of a well loved piece and hands it to you. “Read this instead. A lot more interesting.” He smirks and your gaze drops to the words on the cover. A collection of poems by Anna Akhmatova. In the short conversation you were having you didn’t realize that you had been left alone with him. He smiles, a sly grin spreading on his lips almost like he knew he was about to be a menace.

“By the way, blue looks good on you.” He flicks his gaze down before meeting your eyes again. You feel your cheeks burning instantly as he walks out the door laughing to himself as he stumbles his way down the stairs, leaving you to finish packing alone.

The car ride to the cabin had everyone buzzing with anticipation. Faye had called shotgun, and you and Harry shared a look when she did. He smirked and you looked away and quickly climbed into the backseat. The entire ride you were consumed with a nervous energy that you couldn’t quite place. Harry had his hand splayed out on the seat beside you and when he leaned forward to talk to Josh, the tip of his pinky barely brushed your skin and you tried not to think about it too hard for the rest of the ride over.

It took no time for you to clamber out of the car and claim your room inside for the weekend. Tossing your bag onto the floor by the door, you flopped down on the fluffy mattress holding the book Harry lent you to your chest. You were fiddling with the cover when Faye waltzed in and leaned against the foot of the bed.

“Get up. We’re going on a hike.” She said giddy with excitement and you cocked your eyebrow at her.

“Think I’ll pass.”

“Not an option. Everyone else is going.” She crosses her arms and leans on the doorframe.

“I didn’t bring shoes for a hike.” You half laugh at her with a shake of your head and she narrows her eyes.

“You can wear a pair of mine. Let’s go.” Faye gestures and you groan, tossing the book back onto the bed with a soft thud against the duvet. You pad down the hallway after her, slumped over feigning protest like a toddler and she hands you a pair of her sneakers once you reach her room. Slipping them on, you plait your hair behind your head quickly and messily as you find your way to the foyer where everyone is gathered and waiting to leave. None of them look thrilled either as they follow Faye out the door to the path behind the house.

The June sun was high in the sky and the only reprieve you were able to get from the heat was the occasional shade of the trees along the path. You and Harry had fallen behind, the rest of the group up ahead and through heavy breaths you would sneak glances from the corner of your eye as the sun glistened off the light sheen of sweat coating his shoulders and his chest. He had popped a cherry sucker in his mouth not long ago and you watched as he moved it from one cheek to the other with his tongue and caught your mind wandering to what his tongue might feel like running along the expanse of your skin. You walk in silence, hands brushing slightly from the uneven terrain and you want to apologize for repeatedly bumping him but you don’t.

“Does she always make you do shit like this?” He huffs from behind you, stepping over a fallen limb.

“Unfortunately.” You grumble back, trying not to roll your ankle stepping over rocks bigger than the palm of your hand.

Even though this hike was the last thing Harry wanted to be doing, he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed your company, though little conversation had been exchanged since the moment in your room. His eyes trailed over your body, noticing the bead of sweat rolling down your chest and his tongue darts out over his lips, wanting nothing more than to trail his tongue down the same path. He watched the way your thighs flexed as you stepped over limbs and branches and he thought about them wrapped around his waist, driving into you over and over while your fingers leave marks over his torso. He pulls his shirt over his head, unable to take the heat of the afternoon any longer and he tucks it into the waistband of his shorts. He’s noticed you watching him too, stealing glances out of the corner of your eye and biting your teeth into the pillowy flesh of your bottom lip. He’s convinced that he could do anything and you’d melt into the palm of his hand, so desperate to please him and be good for him. He smirks to himself as you divert your eyes ahead, away from his now bare torso and towards the ground.

He looks at you briefly before his eyes flick ahead, and you don’t know that he’s judging how long it would take for your friends to notice if he pulled you out of sight for a moment. He decides it’s worth the risk, lightly grabbing your arm and pulling you behind a nearby tree. You feel the bark against your back as he cages your head between his arms and you look up at him with wide eyes. All you can hear is the pounding of your heart against your ribcage at his close proximity.

So close you can smell the cherry on his breath, hear the faint sound as the confection clatters against his teeth. Your eyes focus on the white stick poking from between his lips and he watches you. His hands dig into the roughness of the oak and his chest pressed against yours. Suddenly the heat of the afternoon feels suffocating. He brings his own hand to his mouth, plucking the stick from between his teeth and the sticky residue touches your lips. Upon instinct, your tongue darts out to collect, catching the sweetness and savoring it for a moment.

“Open.” His voice is low and gravelly, and for some reason you find yourself obeying his command before you can even think too hard about it. Your lips part and you stick out your tongue in anticipation, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches you and he hums. “Can y’hold this for me, puppy?”

A heat swirls in your core, and without noticing your thighs clench together and a whine escapes your throat as you nod. Harry places the sweet candy on your tongue and your lips wrap around the stick slick from his own salivation. “Good girl.” He mutters, stepping away and creating space between the two of you. You snap out of the trance you seemingly had fallen into and scurry away, catching up to your friends and leaving him laughing behind you.

Nightfall comes before you have a chance to think about it. You had taken a quick nap after you returned from the hike and it was much needed, considering your mind was going haywire and you just needed a break from your thoughts drifting to Harry. It was quiet out here, you and Harry the only ones left sitting next to the fire Josh and Pauly had started a couple of hours ago. You were huddled up under a blanket, the air blowing off the lake making it feel colder than it actually was. Frogs were humming by the water and the crickets were chirping in the grass, the sounds of nature around you made you feel calm. You had the book Harry had loaned you resting against your thigh as you read the prose on the weathered pages. Harry had his head leaned back, fingers weaved together on his chest with his eyes closed. Occasionally you would peek over at him and he seemed tranquil. You weren’t sure why he was still here with you, but maybe he was just enjoying the fire like you were. You had purposely avoided him after the incident on the hike, the memory still causing an arousal to pool beneath the denim of your shorts and you tried like hell to push it from your mind.

“Let’s swim.” He states, pulling you from your thoughts. You raised your brow at him, a quizzical look.

“I’ll pass.” You blow out a laugh and he turns his head towards you then.

“Why? Faye and Josh are off somewhere, probably fucking, and Pauly and Alex are doing bong rips inside. Not really a fan of that…they're incessantly annoying when they’re high. So let’s go swim.” He says nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders as if it was the most sound choice of activity for this time of night.

“It’s cold, and I’m actually enjoying this book of poems you lent me.” You tell him, and because you’re not looking at him at that second you don’t see the way the corner of his mouth twitches into a half smile.

“Anna Akhmatova is interesting. But you have all weekend to read it.” He turns to face you then, you catch the movement out of your peripheral.

“I also have all weekend to swim.” You tease him. He’s silent for a moment and you turn the page to read the next poem. He shifts in his seat.

“Alright. I didn’t want it to have to come to this…” He says, sighing. He stands, making his way over to you. Before you can process what he’s doing, he snatches the book and throws it onto a neighboring chair. In one swift movement, he picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder as he walks towards the dock. You thrash and kick but it’s no use, not when he’s stronger than you’ll ever be.

“Harry! Put me down!” You exclaim, laughing in the process and you feel his chest against your thighs. He doesn’t respond. “Okay! I surrender. I’ll swim with you. Please just don’t throw me in.” You try to reason with him and he stops, pausing his movements and taking in your words. He plants your feet on the weathered wood, and you look up at him with narrowed eyes as he smiles down at you, a crooked grin that had your knees feeling weak. “That wasn’t funny. I don’t have a swim suit on either.”

“I guess that gives us a perfect excuse to go skinny dipping then.” He states as if there’s nothing wrong with that scenario.

“Respectfully, no. I’ll swim in my clothes.” You counter back.

“Sweet girl, it’s nothing you or I haven’t seen before. Be mature.” He teases and you want to laugh, but you cross your arms over your chest, instinctively making yourself smaller. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of his shorts before looking back at you, noticing your hesitation and he stops. “We really don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He puts his hands on your arms, and you shake your head, looking out at the ripples on the surface lit by the moon.

“No it’s—I’m not—it’s fine. I want to. I just haven’t really taken my clothes off in front of a guy in—since…” You pause, collecting your thoughts before looking up at him. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t know why I’m being this way. I think I’m just nervous.”

“You don’t have to feel that way around me. Promise.” He smiles and turns back around, pushing his shorts down so you have a view of his bare ass. Your cheeks redden as you avert your gaze elsewhere, and he jumps into the water with a splash. You can’t see him, not until he pokes his head back up and shakes the water from his hair. “It feels great.” He covers his eyes with his hands. “I won’t look if you don’t want me to. Not until you’re in the water.” He says and you nod, and then realizing he can’t see you clear your throat.

“Okay.” Your voice feels small. Hesitantly you unbutton your shorts, sliding them down along with your underwear and pulling the sweatshirt over your head leaving you bare and exposed, and you hoped and prayed that Alex and Pauly weren’t watching out the window. You drop it to the dock, your clothes and his making separate piles, taking a step towards the edge and looking down into the water. Here goes nothing, you say to yourself and leap in. And he was right, it really did feel great. It envelopes around you as you swim upwards and breach the surface, wiping your eyes and opening them. He’s there in front of you, a smile plastered on his face.

“See, s’not so bad, right?” He asks and you shake your head again as you tread the water. And you both stay like that for a while, swimming and floating. He floats on his back and you try a little too hard to not let your gaze travel south, focusing on his face and how content he looks with his eyes closed. You’re too busy staring at the tattoos littering his torso when he says something you don’t quite catch.

“Hm?” Your gaze flits back to his face and he’s smiling.

“I said,"Do you like what you see?” He laughs and you can feel your cheeks redden because he caught you staring at him.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize sheepishly and he swims over to you, closing the distance and you bite back a grin at the close proximity.

“Don’t need to apologize, sweet girl.” He says, his voice low and he brings his hand up to thumb over your lips, parting them before his thumb runs over your cheek. “Be lying if I said I haven’t been staring at you all night.” He confesses and you think if you were nervous before, then you’re not sure what you’re feeling right now. It feels like a stampede of elephants is running through your belly as he runs the backs of his fingers across your cheek. You decide to just rip the bandaid off and go for it. Your hands find his face and you crash your lips to his, and he’s taken off guard but the next second his hands dip under the water and he pulls you into him, the warmth of your bodies melding together underneath the surface. Upon instinct, your legs wrap around his waist as you push your chest into him, causing him to tighten his grip on your waist, dimpling the skin beneath his fingertips.

It was almost like neither of you needed to speak, once the kiss had broken you both swam fervently towards the dock. He hoists you up by your waist, quickly dressing just to go inside and get undressed again. He pulls you by your hand towards the cabin, and you say a silent prayer that your friends who were in here made their way outside.

By the grace of some higher power, the house was empty and the air inside was cold and smelled of the aftershocks of bong rips and a half smoked joint. Harry pulled you down the hall, into his room, and shut the door behind him with a click of the lock.

He smirks and he pushes you down into the bed, hair wet and sticking to the skin of your neck. He crawls over you after pulling your shorts off and throwing them somewhere across the room, slotting a knee between your thighs and instinctively you grind against him, gripping onto his biceps. He hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties and slides them down your thighs in one swift move, and you kick them the rest of the way off in anticipation.

“Been thinking about taking those off since I saw you prancing around your room in them this morning.” His voice drops an octave as he ghosts the tip of his nose along your cheek , tracing the outline of your jaw as you desperately move your hips seeking for any friction it would give you. He pulls back, looking over your features and you can see his pupils blown from his own pleasure.

“Look at you.” He coos, clicking his tongue behind his teeth. “Taking before I can even give anything to you, so selfish.” He purrs, and somehow the tone of it makes you stop, halting the movement of your hips.

“No. Go ahead, angel. Wanna watch you get yourself off just from riding my thigh. Need it so bad, can’t even help yourself.” He coos, but his tone is condescending and you almost question him. He raises a brow, running a thumb over your cheek delicately. The harsh tone of his voice and the softness of his touch playing mind games with you. “Do it. Be a good girl.” He encourages you, and you feel like it’s a trap.

“N-no. Want whatever you wanna give me. I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.” You pout your lower lip out and he thumbs over it, pulling it down before it bounces back into place. You like that he takes initiative, being dominant over you like it comes so easily for him. He can see the wheels in your mind turning and he cocks his head to the side.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just never done this before. Never had someone be…” You trail off, but he nods like he already knew what you were going to say.

“I see. Sweet girl’s never had someone take control over her?” You shake your head. He rolls his lip between his teeth, eyes flittering around your face. “But you crave it, don’t you? Just wanna be a cock-drunk little slut? Wanna have someone filling you, telling you what to do?” His words penetrate your brain and your eyes flutter closed. “Answer me. Is that what you want?” He demands and you nod, faster than you ever have and he flashes his pretty smile at you.

“Yes. Please.” Finding your voice, begging him. He shifts, pressing his thigh into your center and a whimper falls from your lips, the heat growing between your thighs.

“Go.” He leans down, pressing his lips to your pulse point and trailing kisses down your collar bone. Slowly, your hips begin to move and you’re almost embarrassed at your arousal coating his skin, glistening in the soft glow of the lamp. You push the thoughts away, focusing on your pleasure as you feel his hardening length against your thigh, pressing into you. You reach down, palming him through the material before he grabs your wrist and pins it above your head. “Didn’t tell you you could touch.” He mumbles against your skin and you whine in protest. Your hips move faster now, and you’re so close. Just as you’re about to tip over the edge, he pulls away and your lungs deflate, a breath being taken away from you. He stands over you, pushing his shorts down and your eyes widen at the sight of him. You want to reach out and grab him, pump his cock with your hand but you refrain. He leans over you again, planting kisses down your chest and dipping in the valley between your tits, his nose ghosting over your skin.

“Want you to tell me red if you wanna stop, okay? Green if you wanna keep going. Got it?” He asks and you nod. He peeks up at you through his lashes and cocks his brow. “Words, puppy. Can’t hear a nod or a shake.”

“Yes. I’m—yes. Got it” You’re breathless with your answer. He peppers small kisses over your navel, gripping your hips between his fingers as his head dips lower, kissing the insides of both thighs, trailing his tongue over your skin and purposely skipping over your weeping hole just to make you squirm under his grip. He parts you open then, collecting your arousal on his tongue and the wicked sensation makes your back arch from the bed, pushing your core closer to him and he forces you back down.

“Uh-uh. Stay still or I’ll stop.” He mumbles, and a whine bubbles in your throat. He laps lazily st your core, circling and flattening his tongue over your clit as you try your hardest to keep your hips still. His fingers dimple your skin, digging into the muscle underneath. He knew he was gripping hard enough to leave small bruises in the shape of his fingertips, and he wanted to. Wanted you to remember his head between your thighs as you shattered just from the flick of his tongue against your sensitive bud. You’re a mess of moans and panting his name over and over. He pulls your clit between his teeth and your hips jolt upwards and he pushes you back down to the mattress. He pulls away, and your chest heaves at the loss of contact but a cry escapes your throat when he lands a light smack to your center, and the pain morphes into pleasure as tears well up in your eyes at the sting.

“Told you to stay still. Can’t follow simple directions, angel?”

“M’s—sorry.” You gasp and he glances up at you, noticing your wet lashes and he props himself up on his elbows.

“What's your color, sweet girl?” His tone is gentle, planting a soft kiss to the top of your thigh and peeking up at you from under his lashes.

“Green.” You answer eagerly and he smiles against your skin, crawling back up to level with your eyes. His lips find yours and you open, allowing him to push his tongue into your mouth against your own, the room around you melting away. It’s slow, sensual and full of desire. He doesn’t pull away as he lines himself up with you, the tip of his cock teasing your aching hole and you move your hips trying like hell to get him further inside.

“So needy.” He mumbles against your lips and pulls your bottom one between his teeth, nipping gently. He pushes into you slowly, your mouth dropping open as he lays his forehead against your collarbone. “So tight, sweet girl. I don’t think m’gonna fit.” He pushes into you further, teeth marking your skin as he groans against your skin and you whine at the sting of him stretching you.

“Fuck, Harry.” You whimper, he cages your head between his hands, holding himself up as his biceps flex and extend, the sinewy tissue underneath his skin prominent. He looks down between your bodies, where he's halfway sheathed inside your pussy and he chuckles, a breathy laugh that morphs into a sigh.

“Pretty little pussy looks so pitiful like this. Can’t do it, puppy.” He pants, and you know somewhere in the back of your mind that he’s just playing a part, but it doesn’t stop the cry that escape from your throat as you beg him to fuck you.

“Please, Harry. Need you. Want you so much. Can take it, promise. Please.” You look up at him with wide eyes and he admires you for a moment, taking in the pout playing on your pretty mouth that he just wants to kiss away, the tears welling in your eyes that he’ll wipe away if they fall. The need in your voice letting him know you’d do anything he asks of you in this moment.

“Alright, I’ll give it to you. Gonna go slow til you’re all stretched out f’me.” He palms your thighs, hiking them around his waist and continues to fill you, your head lulling to the side as your eyes flutter closed and your jaw falls slack when he reaches to the hilt, balls resting against your ass as his head falls back. “So fucking good, angel. Look at me, wanna see those pretty eyes.”

So you listen, do the best you can to force your eyes open as he starts to rock his hips into you, pulling out to the tip before filling you up again and again. He hikes your leg over his shoulder, kissing down your calf as he sets his rhythm, going deeper from this angle. His eyes never leave yours as he groans and nibbles on your skin, peppering small bites and then soothing with his tongue. He hits the right spot every time, and when your eyes finally betray you and fall closed, you feel a smack land on your cheek. Not hard, but just enough to sting and you whimper.

“Thought you were a good girl.” He says through gritted teeth and he drives into you harder.

“I-I am. Want to be good for you.” He grunts at your response, he pulls out and flips you over before pulling your ass up in the air so you sit on your knees with your face down in the mattress. He palms your ass, landing a smack to your cheek. He rubs over the spot gently, soothing as you push closer into his touch and he's climbing behind you, lining up and pushing back in and it feels even better from this angle. Hitting every spot just right and you swear you see stars. He reaches around you, pushing on your tummy just under your navel and wraps his other hand around your throat lightly, pulling you up.

Your back is flush with his chest, skin sticking together from the light sheen of sweat coating both your bodies. One hand squeezing the sides of your neck and the other pressing still on your belly and he nips at your ear.

“Can feel me all the way in your tummy, can’t you? This is what you like right? Nobody’s ever had you like this have they?” He whispers and you shake your head. His hand finds yours and he brings it back to the spot just below your belly button. “Feel that? Feel me so deep in this pretty pussy. Gonna get you all full of me, fill you with my babies.” He grits and squeezes your neck a little harder, the corners of your vision darkening before he lets go and you take in a full breath, feeling high on him…and he’s all you know. His words, his hands roaming your body and his cock stretching you.

“Harry, I’m so close.” You breathe out and he grunts, lips ghosting over your shoulder blade.

“I know…can feel you squeezing my cock so tight angel. C’mon. Cum for me.” He encourages you and you shatter around him, pussy pulsing around him bringing him to his own release as he paints inside you. He wastes no time pulling out and you topple over from your legs feeling weak and he dips down behind you. You feel him dripping out of your hole, and his fingers spread you open. Pushing one inside with no warning, he fucks his cum back inside of you with his fingers and you hum, unable to make any other noise and he chuckles behind you.

“Like being filled like this? Look so pretty full of me, dripping out of you. Never gonna forget it.” He mutters, planting a kiss on the small of your back before standing. Finding the energy to roll over, he offers his fingers to you and you take them between your lips and taste the mix of both of you on his fingers. He curses under his breath at the sight of you, feeling his cock twitching back to life and he pulls them away to stop himself thinking about fucking you again and again.

You slept in his bed that night.

The weekend ended all too quickly, and you were half asleep in the back seat of Josh’s car with your head resting on the window, holding Harry’s book on your thighs and fiddling wither cover, something you had become accustomed to as you read the prose on the pages or when you closed in while engaging in conversation. Truthfully, you didn’t know if you’d see him in that capacity again after this weekend and didn’t know if you wanted to go back to being strangers that passed each other in the economics building on campus.

Josh pulled up to the house you and Faye shared, and Harry follows you out of the car. He retrieves your bag from Pauly’s car for you, carrying it up to your room and putting it down on your bed. You almost felt like you were having deja vu, the scene similar to one from Thursday afternoon, except this time you weren’t half naked in front of him and he wasn’t just a stranger in your room anymore. You look around, then to the floor before meeting his eyes and he smirks as he leans against your doorframe.

“Here.” You hand him the book but he puts his hands up, shaking his head.

“Keep it.” He says, and you almost refuse but accept it anyway. He bites the inside of his cheek, shifting his weight and shoving his hands in his pockets. He steps closer, brushing your hair behind your ear as you look up at him. “Don’t be a stranger, angel.”

“I won’t be.”

He leaves you there, standing in the middle of the room with his book clutched to your chest with a cheesy grin plastered on your face.

And you knew it wouldn't be the last time you saw Harry Styles.

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cupid-styles · 2 months

Text

renaissance (art teacher!yn x single dadrry)

in which y/n is harry's son's art teacher and he develops a big dumb crush on her. or: kids art teacher!yn x single dad!harry

word count: 6.5k

content warnings: none, just kids! some mentions of different types of familial relationships/dynamics (death of a parent)

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

"Alright, kiddos, let's clean up our big, beautiful messes!"

Y/N claps her hands three times to signify that class is slowly crawling to an end. Her hour-and-a-half art course for kindergarteners is one of the longest and, if she's being honest, labor intensive classes that she teaches. It's set at the end of the school day from 2:30 pm to 4 pm, designed specifically for parents that work late or need to place for their little ones to go after school is over. Most of her students' parents are single and working full-time, or have intense careers like nursing or... whatever it is they do.

Y/N weaves her way through the small smattering of children ambling over to the sinks. She watches to make sure they're having an okay time with washing out their paint cups and rinsing their brushes, followed by using the correct amount of hand soap to scrub paint stains away.

(That one almost always requires extra help — to this day, she tries not to get frustrated when she thinks about Johnathan dumping an entire bottle of Dawn soap all over his clothes because he had a tiny bit of yellow marker on his tee-shirt. It was the price she paid to teach kids, though.)

"Clementine, do you need a little help?" she asks, peeking over to one of her quieter students. With fluttering lashes and a slightly baffled look on her face (Y/N could always tell when she was getting stressed out by the way her little eyebrows wrinkled together), Clementine nods, and Y/N makes quick work to appear behind her. She gets down to her level, where her Mary Jane-clad feet are resting atop a stool to help her reach the sink. "What's going on, lovebug?"

"'s everywhere," Clementine whines lightly, her bottom lip forming a sad pout. "Paint all over my hands!"

"I see that, sweetheart! But you know what?" Y/N makes a show of pretending to look side to side to ensure no one else can hear her. "It's okay if we get a little messy sometimes. The cool thing about everything we play with in this class is that it's colorful and pretty, and if it gets on our clothes or our bodies, it can get washed away."

Clementine considers this for a moment. Her hands are still stuck under the lukewarm stream of water, where the caked on hues of bright pink and orange are slowly starting to fade away. "What about on my art?" she asks slowly. "Will that get washed away?"

"Nope," Y/N shakes her head. "That stays forever. But on your clothes and body? It doesn't stand a chance."

"Oh. Okay."

And just like that, Clementine's minor stressed out moment floats away. Y/N smiles to herself as she pours a bit of soap into her small hands and helps her scrub them together, the lingering paint forming a pretty swirl down the drain.

"There you go, lovebug," she murmurs as she stands back up, giving her head a light pat, "Don't forget to grab your painting when mommy picks you up, okay?"

Clementine nods and scampers away to her table. She chuckles, placing her hands on her hips as she takes stock of the kids. She has about 10 minutes until it's officially time for dismissal, and most parents are good about picking them up right at 4 pm. She thinks about playing a game with them to keep them occupied, until she sees it.

Riley Styles. With globs of red paint in his curly, brown hair.

"Oh my god," Y/N mumbles to herself, rushing over to Riley's table, "Riley! Can I ask what happened here?"

She tries to keep her voice at a measured, not-freaked-out level, but it's kind of impossible given the child standing before her is dripping with paint.

"My cousin has red hair." Riley answers simply before shrugging his shoulders. "I think she uses paint, too."

"Ohhhh, I see," Y/N replies, pressing a gentle hand to his back, "Well, Riley, I think it would be best to clean this up. It look like it feels a little messy and icky."

Her stomach is bubbling with anxiety as she glances up at the clock. There's now eight minutes to dismissal time, and Riley's dad is never late.

"But you told Clementine that messes are okay—"

"Messes are always okay!" Y/N exclaims in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice, "Um, why don't you come with me to the bathroom, Riley?"

She doesn't give him an opportunity to reply before she's looping his hand with his and making quick steps to the faculty bathroom. Realizing she's just left 15 kindergartens in a room unsupervised with a plethora of art supplies, she peeks into Lea's classroom.

"Lea! Hey, um, Riley and I need to go to the bathroom to clean up a little mess! Can you keep an eye on my kids?"

Lea, who already has her jacket zipped up and looks like she's about to walk out to her car, furrows her eyebrows. Her eyes widen when Y/N backs up slightly to give her a view of Riley, who has been trailing red paint with every step they take.

"Oh my god!" she all but squeals, and Y/N's jaw clenches, "Yeah! Sure! No problem! Good luck with that mess, Riley!"

Y/N resists the urge to roll her eyes at her friend as they finally make it to the bathroom. She glances down at her watch, which tells her that took a whopping three minutes of their time. Swallowing tightly, she tries to figure out the best plan of attack, ultimately deciding that it would be best if she just attempted to wash his hair with soap and water while he stood there.

"Alright, Riley, can you try and stand still for me?" she asks, already pumping an absurd amount of hand soap into her hand, "I'm going to try to help get this mess out of your hair. Don't you miss those pretty curls you have?"

He shrugs as she begins to lather the soap between her hands. "I thought my cousin's hair was pretty."

"I'm sure!" she replies, massaging the foamy liquid into his hair. She's never been so thankful for washable paint before as the tints of red that latched onto his strands begin to wash away. "She probably didn't use paint though, and it's important that we keep the paint on our projects instead of our hair."

"Messes are okay, though. You said it."

She grimaces. Why do kids remember everything?

"You're right, messes are totally fine! But those are accidental messes. It's alright if we get it on our shirts or hands, but paint doesn't go in our hair. Does that make sense?"

His hair is completely saturated with hand soap now. She doesn't have a better way to wash it out (other than dunking the poor kid's head in the sink, which definitely feels unethical), so she's simply getting her hands wet and washing out section by section. It's going moderately well, especially since Riley's hair is on the shorter side, until the bathroom door bursts open, followed by angry footsteps.

"Riley!"

Y/N turns, her mouth forming an embarrassed o-shape when her eyes make contact with a seething Mr. Styles.

"Daddy!" Riley exclaims, rushing over to his dad. He latches his arms around his leg, giving them a squeeze, and getting the watered down red paint everywhere in his wake. Y/N winces.

"What are you doing alone with my son in a faculty bathroom?" He demands, jabbing his finger in Y/N's direction.

"I'm so sorry! H-he put red paint in his hair and I needed to wash it out, this was the only place I could do it since the kids' bathrooms aren't big enough—"

"And you didn't think to take another faculty member with you?" He spits angrily. Riley's now running around in circles, shaking his hair out like a dog. "How do I know you weren't doing anything—"

"I would never do anything inappropriate and you know that, Mr. Styles," Y/N cuts him off, feeling rage bubble up in her chest, "You've been sending Riley here for two years and this is the first time anything has ever happened. Until now, both you and him have only ever been happy with your experience here."

Mr. Styles clamps his jaw shut, his gaze falling to Riley, who's now pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back.

"It's washable, then?" he asks through a clenched jaw. "The paint?"

Y/N swallows, then nods once. "Yes. Everything we use is washable and water-soluble. It was coming out fine before."

He straightens his posture and runs his tongue over his two, slightly overlapped front teeth. "Okay. Riley, come on, we have to head home now."

Mr. Styles stretches out his hand and Riley takes it happily, his smaller one clutching his dad's fingers. The sight makes Y/N's stomach squeeze, but she quickly diverts her gaze and clears her throat.

"I can grab his backpack and jacket," she says, boots clicking against the tiled floors as she walks out of the bathroom. Her face is warm and she feels tears lining her eyes, but she refuses to let herself cry in front of a parent. What she said to Mr. Styles — it's true. She's been working at the studio for five years and nothing has ever happened. She supposes a fuck up was overdue, especially since she works with kids, but it doesn't lessen the sting any.

She's surprised when she hears footsteps behind her, realizing that they're following her. She swallows the lump of tears in her throat and flashes Lea a small, forced smile when she returns to her classroom. The rest of the kids are gone already, their belongings and paintings with them.

Y/N walks over to the cubbies, where Riley has his jacket and backpack hooked. Gently, she removes them, and turns to hand them to Mr. Styles.

"Again, I apologize for today. I was helping another student clean up and I must have missed this entirely," she says, trying her best to keep an even tone.

Mr. Styles nods awkwardly, taking Riley's stuff into the crook of his arm. "I, um, apologize for insinuating that you'd do anything... unsavory. I know you wouldn't. I just panicked."

"I understand completely." she replies, and she means it genuinely.

"Daddy?"

They both look down to see Riley tugging at his dad's pant leg.

"What does usavory mean?"

Mr. Styles and Y/N's heads both snap back up, eyes wide as they stare at each other.

"...Nothing," he says with a small smile, making Y/N's own lips curl into a grin, "I got you dino nuggets for dinner. Doesn't that sound yummy?"

Mr. Styles waves goodbye to her as he pulls Riley out of the classroom, chanting dino nuggets! dino nuggets! on his way out.

. . .

When Riley doesn't show up for class the following week, Y/N sincerely contemplates poking her eyes out with paintbrushes.

She feels stupidly embarrassed. It took her two full days to move on from the whole red-paint-in-the-hair thing, in which she replayed every single moment of Mr. Styles staring her down like he wanted to pummel her across the city. And while she thinks things ended on a relatively decent note, she wonders if he was just being polite and now he was pulling Riley out of her afterschool art classes.

She's never had a parent unenroll their kid for reasons that weren't out of her control. Moving? Sure. Wanting to try a new activity? Understandable. Parents wanting to spend more time with their child? Y/N wouldn't dream of getting upset over that. But Mr. Styles, who always showed up at 4 pm on the dot in his neatly pressed slacks and crisp button downs to retrieve Riley from class?

She didn't know much about him. Unlike other parents, Mr. Styles didn't care much for idle chatter or small talk. For most of her students, she knew at least something about their personal lives or home dynamics — Reese's mom was a pediatric nurse, Tyler had a twin sister who preferred playing soccer after school, and Sabrina's dad passed away when she was a baby, so she lived with her grandparents and mom.

Anything she put together about Riley's home life was from pure speculation: His mom never picked him up, so she wasn't sure she was in the picture. (She doesn't think Mr. Styles is married, either, considering he doesn't wear a wedding ring, but that's neither here nor there.) He alway showed up to the art studio in professional work clothes, which led Y/N to assume he came straight from wherever he worked. Riley never spoke about having any siblings, so she thinks he's an only child.

And that's about it.

She spends the entirety of class holding her breath and mentally preparing for her boss to ask to see her once all the kids were picked up. Nina would probably start out by thanking her for all of her hard work over the past five years, and then before Y/N even realized it was happening, would switch over to her lack of care for Riley and the complaints made on Mr. Styles' behalf. She could envision the words leaving her mouth now: And so, we have no choice but to let you go, Y/N.

Except... to her surprise, that doesn't happen. Nina doesn't come in after dismissal and she even tells her to drive safe on her way out of the building. There aren't any meetings placed on her schedule in the week that passes by before Y/N's next course with Riley's group, and she's damn near shocked when her students come bustling in seven days later, the curly haired boy included.

Today, Y/N teaches them about working with oil pastels. She breaks the medium down to a very basic, understandable level for kindergarteners and lets them go wild after her usual 15 minutes of instruction, instructing them to let their creative minds run wild. It's one of her favorite parts of teaching art to kids — they rarely overthink it, instead just allowing whatever flows to come through to the paper.

Unsurprisingly, oil pastels aren't as messy as paints, so there's less clean-up required than their previous unit. At 4, the parents arrive in quick succession, though when her eyes flit to the clock, she's surprised when Mr. Styles still hasn't picked Riley up by 4:07.

She doesn't like to bring attention to late parents (she's found that some kids get all knotted up about it, worrying that something happened), so she usually has a few busy activities prepared for this very event. She grabs her folder of coloring pages to bring over to Riley's table, who's busying himself with peeling glue off of the worn, messy table.

"Okay, Mr. Riley, what are we in the mood to color tonight?" she asks, flipping open the folder, "We have a garden, a firetruck, or a puppy!"

Riley silently contemplates the pictures in front of him and for a moment, Y/N feels like some childhood psychiatrist analyzing his decision. She has nothing to examine, though, beyond the fact that she's hoping he opts for the puppy or firetruck so she can work on the garden as they wait for Mr. Styles. With his small tongue poking out from the side of his mouth, Riley taps his finger decidedly on the puppy.

"This one, pwease."

She smiles and nods, stuffing the firetruck back in the folder and keeping the garden and puppy out. Riley always expressed good manners, and his sweet "pwease" and "tank you"'s always warmed her heart.

"Sounds like a plan," Y/N pulls the cup of used Crayola crayons so they're within easy access. She buys a new pack every semester because, as she expected from her very first year working here, kids love to destroy crayons, even if they don't always mean it. Even from just a few months of use, the current 64-array is in rough shape. "Do you have a puppy at home?"

Riley shakes his head as he immediately grabs a teal color to color in the fur. "No. I want one, but Daddy says no."

"Puppies are definitely hard to take care of," Y/N nods as she pulls out a light pink for the flowers on her page. "I have a cat. Her name is Biscuit."

"Biscuit?" Riley giggles. Y/N grins.

"Mhm. She loves to jump up on the kitchen counter and eat whatever food I make," she leans in closer and lowers her voice. "It's pretty naughty, if you ask me."

Riley's giggles erupt into full-fledged laughter. Y/N can't help but chuckle, too, but it's almost immediately cut off when Mr. Styles rushes in, looking frazzled with a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

"Oh! Daddy's here, Riley," Y/N announces, standing up from the little table. Riley turns around with a grin, excited to see his dad as always.

"Hey!" Mr. Styles greets loudly, though his tone teeters on nervousness more than excitement. "I'm so sorry I was late. I had to, um... make a stop, and there was a lot of traffic. Rush hour."

Y/N nods understandingly, "That's alright. Riley, do you wanna show Daddy what you made today?"

"Actually, uh, one sec bud— why don't you keep coloring that... blue puppy, huh?" Mr. Styles's eyes peer over the page he's diligently working on, an expression of confusion making Y/N press her lips into a small smile. Completely content, Riley continues on, and Mr. Styles darts his eyes back over to Y/N. "Um, do you have a moment?"

She nods, swallowing harshly. She assumes this is it — the moment when he tells her that he's pulling Riley out of the program because of her unprofessionalism. It kind of hardens the blow a bit more given the massive flowers in his hand, which he assumes are for a girlfriend at home, maybe Riley's step-mom to-be. Or maybe he's trying to work things out with his birth mom. It's none of Y/N's business, but for some reason the thoughts swirl around in her brain, making her feel all the same — anxious, worried, self-conscious, and even a little down.

She leads him to the corner where her desk is so they're able to speak quietly and freely, out of Riley's earshot. Mr. Styles doesn't say anything for a brief minute. He's always been quite kind to her, so she figures he's trying to figure out the nicest way to say, "you're the worst art teacher and I never want my kid to be around you ever again."

"These are for you," he says, stretching his arm out to hand Y/N the flowers. Her eyes go so wide they feel like they could pop out of her head. It takes a second for her brain to compute the words and he looks at her expectedly, waiting for her to accept them. Finally, she does, hand clutching the brown wrapping around the excessive bouquet of stems. (Seriously, there's at least 25 in here.) "I wanted to apologize for last week. Again. It was... so rude of me to say anything even remotely close to that. You've been nothing but a bright light in mine and Riley's lives and I was just having an awful day already, and... kids are kids, they do silly things, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

Y/N's eyebrows still feel like they're glued to her hairline. She's beyond surprised. In her years of working with kids, she's had parents say way worse things to her, and she never received an apology for any of it.

"Oh... Mr. Styles, this is—"

"Harry." he cuts her off, a wrinkle forming between his brows. "You can call me Harry."

She nods slowly, still processing the information. "Harry, this is very kind of you, but so, completely unnecessary. I didn't— I love Riley, he's a great kid, and I was worried you didn't want him to come back when he wasn't here last week."

Harry quickly shakes his head. "No, no. He had the flu. Ever since he started kindergarten, he's been getting sick left and right."

"Oh," Y/N says dumbly, beginning to realize that she worried herself sick for a week over quite literally... nothing. "Oh. That makes a lot more sense."

He chuckles and stuffs his hands into the pocket of his slacks. "Yeah. So, anyway, I hope you accept my apology, and even if you don't, I understand. Just know that I'll have Riley try to dye his hair blue next time or something," he teases, his face instantly falling the second the words leave his mouth. "That was a joke. I'd never do that."

Y/N laughs. "See, and I think pink would fit his complexion better."

Harry grins widely, and she realizes she's never noticed the cute little dimple that pops out of his cheek when he does.

She secretly hopes she gets to make it happen again sometime soon.

. . .

"How was Riley today?"

Y/N smiles knowingly at Harry as she wipes off one of the empty tables. "You know the answer to that. You don't have to ask."

Harry shrugs, putting his hands up in mock defense. He still has one of the Clorox wipes in his hand, quickly returning to cleaning off the crayon- and paint brushed-filled cups.

"I just like to make sure he isn't a complete menace, that's all."

"He's never a menace," Y/N replies, tossing the wipe in the garbage, "He's always very well behaved and well mannered. Kind of wondering if you built him up in a lab."

Harry chuckles. "Nope. Not quite how those things work."

Y/N's cheeks warm so she turns on her heel to glance up at the clock in the front of the classroom. It's edging closer to 4:30, which is about as long as she likes to stay after work. She always makes quick work of cleaning up the floors and tables, de-sanitizing them little kid germs for her 11 am disabled adult class tomorrow morning.

Ever since she and Harry had that chat with the enormous bouquet of flowers (they're all nearly wilted by now, but Y/N refuses to just throw them out), Harry comes to get Riley a few minutes after 4. By then, Riley's the only kid left, save for one or two on days with bad weather. Y/N will have them set up with their coloring pages and, instead of immediately helping Riley pack his things up to leave, Harry just... sticks around. Riley doesn't mind because he adores the different print-outs he gets to choose from, and Y/N can't help the way her heart hammers in her chest as Harry offers to help her clean up or ask about her day.

It's been nearly a month of this — once a week, dancing around tiny tables and conversations accompanied by the scent of Clorox — but Y/N secretly hopes that it's because Harry wants to spend time with her. She doesn't see any other reason why he'd do it, but she doesn't want to seem cocky, either.

"Okay, let's get you two out of here. It's already dark." Y/N announces as she unlocks her small closet in the corner, pulling her coat and bag out.

"Is it alright if we walk you to your car?" Harry asks.

She turns around to see Harry helping Riley zip his jacket up. The sight makes her chest tighten. The love he has for his son is so incredibly sweet that it makes her feel crazy some days.

"Um... sure, if it's not too much," she eventually replies, swallowing harshly, "I'm just a few rows back."

Harry nods and stands up from his place on the floor. He reaches down, a silent request for Riley to fit his smaller hand in his.

"Ri, what do you say to Ms Y/N for all the cool coloring pages?"

"Tank you!" he exclaims, his free hand in a tight fist, wrinkling today's coloring of a dinosaur.

"You're very welcome, cutie! I love that you made the dinosaur purple today." Y/N says with a grin. She follows them out, but not before turning all the lights off and locking the door.

"Daddy puts all my pictures on the refrig—refig—refigerator?"

"Refrigerator," Harry says as they walk down the empty hallway, "But close. Good job, bud."

Riley looks up at his dad with a grin. "Yeah! Daddy puts them all up. He says they're pwetty."

"They are pretty." Y/N nods, agreeing with a smile.

"He says Miss Y/N's pwetty too, and that's why we always stay late now—"

"Ah!" Harry yelps, cutting Riley off with an embarrassed flush. Y/N presses her mouth into a line nervously, trying to hide the excited smile curling at her lips. The conversation ends after that, though Y/N has trouble ignoring the butterflies flapping in her tummy. She clears her throat when they approach her car, her mitten-clad hands pressing the 'unlock' button on her keys.

"This is me," she says, pulling open the passenger's seat door to put her bag in.

"I'm so sorry," Harry rushes out. "I— that's not why we stay. Well, it is. Well, I mean, I think you're very nice and I like being around you, and I do think you're pretty, however I'm not trying to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I just— I, um. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Y/N replies, this time allowing the smile to flower over her face, "We can always... we don't have to just hang out here. Like, we can get a coffee or something. Not in the company of your very sweet child."

He scoffs playfully, nevertheless pulling his phone out and opening his contacts. Hesitantly, he hands it to Y/N, who pulls off her mitten before accepting it and putting her information in.

"Text me when you wanna get together," she says as she gives it back to him. "Also, for the record. I think you're pwetty, too."

. . .

Harry texts her the following morning: I haven't asked someone out on a date in a long time, so I'm a little rusty... would you want to get dinner with me on Saturday night?

Y/N, who learned the whole wait-10-minutes-before-you-text-back thing back in college, doesn't even let her screen go dark before she messages him to say that Saturday sounds perfect, and he did a great job.

On Saturday evening, he picks her up at 7 pm on the dot. She's not sure what she was expecting, but she definitely didn't anticipate him getting out of his car on such a dreary, cold evening, ringing her doorbell, and bringing her yet another bouquet of flowers. She tries her best to hide the fact that she's shocked by his presence on her doorstep, her boots clacking against the wood floors of her rental, as she promises him she'll be back in a second once she puts them in some water.

Gentlemanly as ever, he escorts her to his car, a sleek, black sedan. She's not sure what he does for work and assumes he'll tell her tonight, but it's apparent that he has money — she doesn't think she's seen Riley in the same outfit twice and he's always showing up to pick-up in a stylish suit that may cost Y/N's entire biweekly salary.

They make slightly awkward, first date small talk on the way to the restaurant, which feels silly for both of them considering they know each other outside of this.

"What did you do today?" Harry asks, and Y/N's not quite sure how to say "I stayed inside all day doing nothing" without sounding like an elderly woman.

"Um, caught up on some TV. Painted a bit. Nothing too exciting, really. How about you?"

"Riley and I went to a kids science museum. It was fun, he enjoyed it," he replies, tapping his thumbs against the leather of the steering wheel. "Do you do a lot of art outside of work?"

Y/N nods, "Oh, yeah. I went to school for it. I actually wanted to be a museum curator."

"So how'd you end up working with snotty-nosed brats like my kid?" he asks teasingly. Y/N laughs.

"It was supposed to be a side gig until I found something more permanent, but... I started five years ago and got too attached, I suppose."

Harry hums. "Well, you're great at what you do. I've only seen you work with kids, obviously, but I'm always impressed with you."

Y/N shrugs, trying her best not to seem slightly overwhelmed by his compliment. He had a habit of doing that — making her feel dizzy and melty, all because he looked at her for a beat too long or said something she wasn't expecting.

"Thank you. It's nothing special, though," she says softly, swallowing tightly, "What do you do? I don't think I've ever asked."

"I'm in finances. It's incredibly boring," he replies almost instantly, as if it's a knee-jerk reaction. "But, um... pays the bills. You know how it goes."

It feels like an add-on, but nonetheless, Y/N nods understandingly. It seems like it does a lot more than pay the bills, but she doesn't question it.

The rest of the drive is on the quieter side. It makes Y/N's stomach bubble with anxiety, wondering if she's being too boring and attempting to come up with talking points that fall flat — every time she thinks of a question, she talks herself out of it, assuming it would sound silly leaving her lips.

Thankfully, Harry pulls into a parking spot not 10 minutes later. They're in a quaint part of town and, despite the holidays coming and going, the streets are still lit up with pretty snowflake displays. It's on the quieter side, which Y/N also appreciates — considering the fact that she already assumed Harry was fairly wealthy, she had worries that he'd take her somewhere far too fancy.

He looks slightly dejected for some reason when Y/N gets out of the car, burying her hands in the pockets of her jacket. He hurries over to where she's standing on the sidewalk, locking the car with the key fob.

"You look like you're freezing, I'm so sorry," he mumbles, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. It's an act he wouldn't do under any other circumstance if she wasn't all but shaking. "I should've dropped you off at the restaurant."

Y/N shakes her head, "No, don't be silly. Where are we going, anyway?"

He gives her shoulders a small squeeze as he guides her down the sidewalk. "Well, you mentioned not being able to find a decent sushi place nearby. This has been a favorite of mine for a few years."

She glances up at him, a look of confusion on her face. "I said that?"

"Yes," he chuckles. "A few weeks back."

She knows it's true — she gets a mean sushi craving at least once a week but has yet to dine at a spot that she dubs her go-to. She tries to think back to their conversations over the past month or so, but it's a fruitless effort, especially once he holds the door open for her, his large hand pressed against the small of her back. Immediately, the warmth of the restaurant is a welcomed sensation, but the feeling of his touch feels even more delicious.

"Reservation for Styles." he says to the hostess, who, without even looking down at the book on the podium, grabs two menus and walks them over to their table. Y/N's thankful that they're placed in a back corner, where she can cozy up and, perhaps slightly unattractively, stuff her face with spicy tuna rolls and sashimi until she can barely breathe.

"This place looks incredible, Harry," Y/N says softly as she looks over the delicate menu. "You come here often?"

She only says it because the prices are on the more expensive side, so it's difficult for her to imagine casually ordering in from here. She glances up to see him shrugging his shoulders lightly, eyes still glued to the menu.

"Every now and then." he answers vaguely.

As if on cue, a waiter approaches their table, placing down a bottle of wine.

"Your usual, Mr. Styles," he says, and Y/N swears she watches Harry's jaw clench, "Shall we do another tasting menu tonight?"

Her eyebrows furrow and a zap of anxiety electrifies her chest. Clearly, he does come here often. Why would he lie to her then? Was this where he took all his first dates? Y/N clears her throat uncomfortably, shifting on her bum as she starts to let her mind spiral. Suddenly, she feels like just another pawn in a man's game.

"Give us a few minutes, please. No tasting menu tonight, we'll be ordering entrees." Harry says curtly. The waiter nods with a smile and leaves them be.

Without thinking much, Y/N leans over the length of the table, the bones of her elbows pressing into the bright red tablecloth.

"Do you always take girls here?" she demands, a bite to her tone. Harry's head snaps up with wide eyes.

"What? No, why would you—"

"Because you said you come here 'every now and then', but the waitstaff knows your wine order and asked if you wanted a tasting menu again," Y/N replies briskly, blinking at the man in front of her. "You know, I'm not just some girl you can mess around with—"

"Y/N," Harry breathes, shaking his head. "No. No. It's not like that at all. I take my employees here quite frequently and do business dinners here. I'm aware that it's on the expensive side and I just... money is an awkward subject."

"Well, it's even more awkward when you pretend like you don't have any—"

"I wasn't pretending," he mutters, swallowing tightly. "I know you're not like that, but I haven't dated in a long time. Partially because of Riley, but also because people I've been with have only cared about the money. So I just try not to let it be a focal point, especially on the first date. I'm sorry if I didn't do a good job of that."

Y/N's stomach plummets. She feels sick — she hates that she assumed the worst out of him, letting her own dating traumas get in the way of him just trying to protect himself. God, she was the worst first date ever.

"I'm so sorry," Y/N breathes out shakily. "I'm being an asshole."

"You're not." Harry mumbles as he looks down at his lap. "Just... first date jitters, maybe?"

She smiles gently. "Can we start over?" Harry flicks his eyes up at look at her. "I like you, Harry, and I really, really want this to go well."

She watches as his throat bobs, a smile curling at his lips.

"So, Y/N. What is it that you do for work again?"

. . .

Harry feels like he's known Y/N for his entire life.

When they leave the restaurant (she attempts to put her card down and he can't help but snicker at her before explaining that they already have his on file), her hand curls around his as they walk back to the car. It makes his entire body erupt into flames as their palms press against one another's, intertwining their fingers tightly. Their shoulders bump into each other's with lopsided, goofy smiles on their lips.

"Tonight was fun." she says as they approach his parked car. He gives her hand a final squeeze before unlocking the doors.

"It was," Harry echoes her sentiment. They separate briefly to get into the vehicle; Harry immediately turning it on to crank the heat up. "Would you wanna do it again sometime?"

"Yeah. That would be nice." She nods, grinning. "What did Riley get up to this evening?"

He chuckles, "He's with the babysitter for the evening. She's used to my late nights with business dinners."

Y/N hums, peeling her hands out of her jacket pockets now that they're a little less chilly. "So you're not in a hurry to get home, then?"

Harry's chest dings with a bead of nervousness. He swallows and flexes his hands in his lap.

"Sort of. Riley has swimming lessons in the morning."

It's not a complete lie. Riley does have swimming lessons, but Harry wants to stay out with Y/N more than anything. He's not in any kind of rush — he's just anxious about what she's thinking about proposing after not dating anyone since his son was born.

"Oh, sure," she smiles, and Harry's surprised by the way her face maintains its happy composure. "Well, we can just end the night here if you need to get back. No worries."

That makes Harry feel bad — the fact that she's just so incredibly understanding, even if he's feeding her excuses based on his own insecurities. He clears his throat awkwardly and attempts to shift in his seat to face her.

"I haven't done this in a long time," Harry blurts out. "And I'm very nervous."

Y/N's face crinkles into an adorable smile. "The date is over, Harry. I thought we established that we had a good time."

"We did!" he rushes, lifting his hand to run it through his hair, "No, we did. I had an incredible time with you. I really like you."

"So what are you nervous about?" she asks softly, reaching out to take his hand into hers.

That.

That's what he's nervous about.

"It's just... it's been awhile since I've liked anyone. Since I've... touched anyone." His throat bobs and his eyebrows shoot up as he realizes the insinuation of his words. "Not like that! Well, yes, like that, but— I meant, not just sexually. Holding hands. Kissing. We don't have to do a single thing anytime soon, but I haven't done this in years."

"You're nervous about physical touch?" Y/N says gently, her voice soft. He nods. "That's fine, Harry. Like you said, we don't have to do anything anytime soon. We can go at your pace, whatever that means."

"I... I want to kiss you, though," he admits in a raspy tone. "I just don't know... how."

Y/N's heart feels like it shatters into a million pieces. With a thumping chest, she leans into his side over the middle console and gently takes his cheek into her palm. His face feels cold from the chilly winter evening and he can't help but press into the warm, comforting feel of her touch. His eyes flutter shut and she smiles, nibbling on her bottom lip as adoration fills every inch of her body.

"Can I?" she whispers, punctuating her question with a nervous swallow, "You can say no. I just... I'd like to try."

"Please."

She's hesitant in her movements, not wanting to overwhelm him as she slowly inches closer. She tilts her head ever so slightly and presses her lips to his raspberry ones, eyes flittering closed as fireworks explode between their chests. It's perfect — it's slow, and it's leery as both of them try to find a comfortable pace, but of all the first kisses she's ever had, she's positive this is the best one she'll ever experience.

They sit in Harry's car kissing until Y/N's breathless. Neither of them know how long it's been but eventually, she breaks it apart, panting quietly through spit swollen lips. He keeps his forehead pressed against hers with a dopey smile.

"'s good," he mumbles, and she mimics his grin, "That was... yeah. It was so good."

She giggles and her tummy feels like it's filled with butterflies and carbonated bubbles and excited tingles.

"So good." she echoes.

He's surging forward with a grin to reconnect their lips not a moment later, and they're both positive they've never been so content before.

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