Harry Styles One Shots

Harry is Y/N's Criminology instructor

i.

Y/N had a slight problem.

Or well, maybe she had a few problems now that she's thinking about. College is draining, and after a long, peachy winter break she's being forced back into the world where how many Christmas cookies she can eat without being too full for dinner was the least of her worries. Now her troubles were that of finishing papers, managing her time, keeping Niall sober, and making sure Liam doesn't drown in a sea of girls and boys that are all simultaneously trying to fuck him and get calculus help. Staying up past two to finish a paper she'd tried desperately to do as soon as she'd gotten it, but soon shoved off until last minute. Crying tired tears when her printer jams and she has to beg someone (it's usually her neighbor Eve) to come help her fix it, and she sees that it's not jammed at all she just didn't have the cable plugged in all the way.

(College stresses her out a great degree, mostly because she wants great grades and sometimes she just won't settle for any less. She's there for a reason and she's going into a shit ton of debt for it, so she'd be damned if she didn't work herself to tears to get the life she knew she deserved. Though for such a strong mindset, she could be such an overstressed wimp sometimes, but that's why she has Niall and Liam – to keep her grounded.)

Another thing giving her grief is the fact that the Criminology course (that was rumored to be ridiculously hard) she switched into last minute was at eight in the morning because it was the only thing that fit her schedule. Her professor was old, with wispy grey hairs atop his head, a quiet voice, a permanent scowled face and a peculiar contempt towards technology. Which she would be a whole lot more panicked about, if not for the fact he had a graduate assistant who'd be helping out. One who was double majoring in Criminology and Education, and who she had a feeling would be doing a lot of the teaching (considering the old professor declared he'd be missing a lot of lectures for some reason or another she'd zoned out).

One who was incredibly...incredibly fucking cute – like way too cute, it was almost suspicious. He had a boyish smile but a very chiseled, handsome face, and a voice slow and deep like trudging through syrupy waters. Pretty much too cute to even look at, if she's going to be honest, because she has to break eye contact immediately as he makes it. Only briefly catches that they have to meet up with him to discuss where they are and where they would like to go with this course (which would probably be better than the grump who was supposed to be the professor, but she almost would prefer him...at least she could look at him properly without throwing herself into a small, melodramatic, teenaged panic on whether or not she looked or sounded dumb in front of a cute guy).

Though she wishes she would've been paying more attention at the time, because while she was out to dinner with her friends she'd just received an email from Mr. Styles himself, requesting that they meet promptly.

You're the only student who I haven't met with and I would advise this meeting take place this upcoming Monday, before we actually begin with the course, so that you are up to speed with the rest of the class. I look forward to meeting with you!

And well, it's nerve-wracking. Y/N barely even likes talking to her regular professors, let alone speaking with a very attractive and smart graduate assistant, who will most likely unintentionally make her feel like an idiot. The thought of sitting before him in an office and even attempting to look him in the eye sounds like something short of hell on earth.

It's this that she expresses to Niall and Liam while they were waiting for the food, but they just weren't seeing it in her light at all.

Liam tuts his tongue at her, unrolling his silverware from the burgundy cloth before them, "I'm sure it will be just fine, Pet. I've heard nothing but lovely things about Harry. That he's really gentle with the people he can tell are scared, and really likable too – just a student with a tie really – and considering you resort to nothing beyond a squeak when talking to your higher-ups he should be really sweet with you."

"And," Niall begins, dragging his glass against the walnut veneer of the table, "You've got that cute, oblivious kind of porn-y vibe going for ya, so if all goes wrong you could suck his dick and get the A –"

"Ni, that's inappropriate," Liam cuts him off, rolling his eyes, "Besides, Y/N doesn't have the porn-y vibe in the slightest. Like, seriously, have you heard her try to speak to strangers half the time it's just sad –"

"Okay! I'm sure me and half of this god damn restaurant understand that I have no sex appeal and little people skills, thank you for speaking at top volume." She grouses, obviously nettled, fussing around in her purse for a piece of gum to tie her over until the food actually arrives (she doesn't know why they always come to this place, considering it takes them just under forty minutes for their food to be sat in front of them, and if you'd ask her Y/N doesn't even think it's that worth it, but Liam loves this place so her and Niall suffer quietly), "I just don't see the need for him and me to meet up in person. I've got all my goals set, I know where I wanna go with this class – I want an A and crime along with the justice system is interesting. That's all, no more no less."

Niall sighs, "You know professors who've been in the game long enough don't bother with it but the new ones – they feel like they can make a difference, get students through tough stuff, yada yada." He shakes his head, bending the straw even though it wasn't meant to bend, "Just humor him. Better to be on his side than anything; graduate assistance always grade a bit harder, but they're also more lenient to work with you because how college is, is still fresh on their mind."

Y/N nods, despite her worry that that wouldn't help much either. If she begins slacking off or her grade falters, she probably can't use college as an excuse, considering she'd be dealing with someone who managed to double major. He'd probably laugh in her face and darken the F on the paper she might inevitably get. Tell her that she should probably just drop out of college, considering she couldn't get through a simple Criminology course because –

"Ahh, the food is coming," Liam sighs dreamily, rubbing his palms together quickly, "And it only took thirty minutes this time! That's a new record for 'em surely."

So maybe Y/N has a lot of problems that she should be concerning herself over, but as of now, she decides to make her only problem whether or not she's going to get dessert.

. . .

It would be a lie if Y/N said she didn't spend her entire morning leading up to the meeting in a total sump of stressed ridden anxiety. The thought of sitting before him and saying that she wants an A, knowing that he would want an answer containing much more depth than that, makes her want to break out in hives. Has her feeling even a little sweaty after she leaves her apartment in a huff, walking way too fast because as much as she doesn't want to do this, she also wants to get it over with. Rip the Band-Aid off and accidentally show up thirty minutes early so she's pacing back and forth in front of his office (which she's surprised is solely his, because usually graduate assistants share), biting at the tip of her nails anxiously.

She's been doing this for a good ten minutes when she nearly rams her body into someone else, skidding to a stop practically and looking up to see just the man she'd been waiting for. "Miss. Y/N, you're here already?"

"Sorry!" She rushes, "I was just outside the building anyways, didn't see the point in going back home." The lie slips off her tongue easily, and Mr. Styles nods, his face softening some with the urgency and obvious unease wavering her voice. Maybe Liam was right – he was gentle with the students who seem to be in a slight panic, but this didn't soothe the tension building in her muscles because being nice didn't help the fact that he was so fucking gorgeous.

"Well, there's no fault in being a little early," he picks his key off a ring, shoving it into the lock and twisting it, flicking the light on before he held the door open for her, "Might as well be on a day like this. Proper freezing out there, the quicker you and I get back home the better." He's slipping his coat off, and Y/N realizes as he says this that this was his off day. Because she was focusing on how cute he was instead of listening to his introduction, she would've known that she was dragging him here on his off today, which – even if he suggested it himself, she was still the reason. The day before the course actually goes full swing, he was probably prepping and planning and she tore him from his work to – "Have a seat, and I will be with you in just one moment, just have to get a few things out."

Y/N slips into the chair across from him, settling into the thick cushions. She takes it upon herself to look around his office while he dug around in his messenger bag, noting the cozy vibe it had. The room smelled distinctly of a cinnamon vanilla candle she'd been accustomed to before, there were framed pictures of him and what she assumed to be family, maybe a girlfriend, potted plants, a huge bookshelf and a warmly lit lamp set on his desk. He must be the university's golden child, she thinks, with the set up he's got here – there's no doubt someone on the board was practically in love with him.

"So, Y/N," he begins, and when her gaze trails back to him he's got his notebook open and a pen held between his fingers (this is also a really bad time to realize he's in a white button up, rolled at the sleeves and showing off very toned forearms – if forearms could be toned that is – and his hair is doing a soft, cinnamon roll like swirl at the top, and he actually is probably a drop of gold from heaven crafted by gods or something now that she thinks about it), "I'm doing these little meetings because Mr. Northrum is a – if I'm to be blunt – very old man, and doesn't have it in his heart to do this anymore. He's retiring after this year but has given me several tips and tricks he would like for me to try out in the case that I teach a class like this one day. As you know many professors aren't teachers, rather they're experts in their field, which make some courses difficult to understand, and I would like if I had the ability to acquire these skills and utilize them to make a class as difficult as Criminology a just a little easier." He punctuates this by holding his forefinger and thumb close together, his voice lifting with the last bit of the word, "With that little spiel I've just given you, I would like to first thank you for being apart of the first steps of my journey in being an instructor."

Christ, that was fucking cute.

"No problem," she gives him a soft smile, staring into his eyes for only fleeting moments as to not overwhelm herself with the intensity of how green they look in this lighting, "It's really admirable, actually. I don't think a lot of people plan it through like you've done."

Mr. Styles grins at her, "Oh, you flatter me, Y/N. Trying to get those A's I presume?" Y/N's face drops, mouth opening up to refute him, but he puts his hand holding the pen up to stop her, leaning in a bit, "I'm joking." He tells her and she feels her shoulders slump, "I may be an instructor but don't forget I'm barely any older than you, so don't be so nervous. M'still a student too, y'know? We're in this together, don't let the tie fool you. I just have to be a bit more formal in case anyone's listening in on me, trying to see if I'm taking this seriously." Leaning in, he lowers his voice, "Between you and me, I used to be a bit of a partier, and a lot of the people I'm nearly working beside now don't believe I can do it."

"That's annoying," she furrows her brows, "Just because someone parties they're automatically discredited? My friend Liam could probably drink a whole bar away and he still gets top grades."

He nods, "Seems like you and I may be the only people who look at it that way in this building," he sighs, "But that's beside the point. This meeting is about you." I wish it wasn't – is what she wanted to say, but even despite his whole reminding her that he was also still a student that didn't negate the fact he was gorgeous. She did feel better than when this started though – not as knotted up in the muscles. "This won't be long at all, just want to ask you a few questions." He scrawls her name out at the top of his page.

And he proceeds to ask her all the usual questions professors ask: what interested her in the course, if she wanted to pursue Criminology as a possible career, any topics she was interested in discussing in class specifically, so on and so forth until they got to the question she'd been waiting for.

"Do you have any goals set for this class?"

Y/N swallows thickly, "I want an A." She answers, and upon seeing his eyebrows raise some, she tries her best to elaborate, "I mean – who doesn't want an A, right? But I've managed to get A's for the entirety of my last semester and it made me feel good like I was actually doing something and not letting it slip through my fingers, I guess?" He nods, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth as he waits for her to continue, "I'm just worried about it being such an early class, and I've heard quite a few horror stories about Criminology courses at this school and how hard they could be. I'm not one to back away from a challenge but it would help if I didn't feel so discouraged at the very start." She looks down, shaking her head, "God, I probably sound so weak, especially talking to someone who is literally double majoring and –"

"Hey," he cuts her off, shaking his head, "Nothing about that is weak. If anything, you're the admirable one in this room; it takes a lot to admit you're feeling worried about something, and you should never feel weak about it." He reaches into his desk drawer, bringing out a flier, "There's a tutor group I'm trying to set up for this class, that I really think you should –"

"Here's the thing," she cuts him off, shaking her head, "I'm not great at asking for help from my professors during their office hours, let alone a group of people that have all the ability to make me feel like an idiot Mr. Styles, so I'm not sure that would be great for me."

He pauses, eyes darting off for a second before he begins nodding, turning the paper over and ripping off a corner, scribbling something down in the corner, "Alright, then if you ever need any extra help," he draws a dark, inky line beneath the numbers he'd written down, "You give me a call, and we'll set up a tutoring session at the library, yeah? Have us a good ol' fashion study pow-wow, where I can answer any question you need. No groups, just you, me, and those hundred-year-old books." He slips the paper to her, "Sound good?"

Y/N gnaws at her lip, taking the slip of paper, and looking back up to him, "Yeah, this sounds good," she responds, "Thank you Mr. Styles. Sorry for being y'know –"

"Honest?" He fills in for her, "No need to be sorry for that, Love. What you can apologize for, however, is the fact that you keep calling me "Mr. Styles". I hate the bloody way it sounds directed at me, it's right terrible." He quirks his top lip up, "Call me Harry, yeah? The only people calling me by my last name are the old crotchety bastards in this office."

She laughs a bit, a smile worming back onto her face, "Okay Harry," she begins to stand, tugging her coat a little tighter to her body, "Thank you again."

"Anytime. Utilize me to the fullest, Y/N, or I'm going to get super fucking bored."

. . .

"He gave you his number?" Niall guffaws, mouth hung open wide with his pen going limp between his fingers, "Hell, Pet, when I said suck him off, I didn't think you'd actually go through with flirting!"

Niall had come over a little while ago, with arms full of books and snacks for an impromptu study session thanks to his upcoming microbiology test that he was panicking over. Since Y/N had already taken the course, he liked to come over when he was studying just in case he might have a question and once he'd crooned to her, "Learning is much more authentic in person, than over the phone, wouldn't you say, Lovie?"

She doesn't mind it though; if anything, she thinks it does her some good to brush up on her own skills a bit. This also encourages her to crack open what she should be studying for, which in this case was Criminology, granted they were four days in and already had a quiz on the upcoming Tuesday. It shouldn't be too bad – or at least she hopes so. First tests and quizzes always render her into an overwrought mess, wondering how an instructors style will be, whether it's mostly written or short answer, true/false or multiple choice, if they'll throw an essay question or if they'll be a decent human being and do the opposite.

The wait is obnoxious, and she knows she should really just message and ask for extra help, but she just can't bring herself to do it. Not this early in – it makes her feel...well, incompetent, if she's honest.

Y/N groans exasperatedly at him, tossing an unopened packet of notecards in his direction, "Oi, shut up would you. M'not sucking anyone off, he gave it to me in case I needed extra help." She knuckles tiredly at her eyes, shaking her head, "Which I would use if it wasn't only four days into the semester. Tha's way too soon to start fucking up."

"Don't think like that, there's nothing wrong with needing help early in," he reaches out, patting her on the thigh, "S'better to get it as soon as you start gettin' confused, rather than fall deeper in the rabbit hole. S'what happened to me and I had to retake Calc which was just a shitting wreck."

She knows that he's right; it's better to get help than to quietly suffer, she doesn't know how many times life is going to have to spell this message out for her. But her pride just won't allow that to be an option, because she imagines how she would feel as a professor. A sorry sap walking in, asking for help four days into the term? Well, hell, she'd probably be mentally screaming for the kid herself – would see them as a sad case of "taking classes they aren't ready for" and wonder if they'll make it past the first month if the first four was too hard on them. No matter how sweet Harry was on the outside about it, she knows he'd probably be lambasting her in his head the entire time she was asking what could be considered as easily answered questions.

It all just gives her a headache, really. Wishes she wouldn't over think things to such an extent but that's always how she's been, and that's always who she will be, she believes. The stakes just feel higher this time around because there's a genuine need corking up in her to impress him, whether it be because he himself is a double major, if she wants to show him he really is a good instructor and his efforts haven't been in vain, or if she just wanted to show him that she was smart. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter, she just knew that she shouldn't be this stressed just one week into a semester.

"Listen, promise me something," he begins, leaning his back against her couch and slipping his notebook off of his lap, "Take the quiz, see how you do, and if it's bad then seek his help, yeah? Hate to see you so stressed out Pet. If y'ever need help, m'here. I've never taken Criminology but I can see what I can do from intensive crime TV show binging."

Y/N nods, stretching out her arms but ultimately falling down into his lap, her face pressed into his thighs with a short groan. Niall laughs softly, his hand coming down to the back of her head, gentle petting at her hair, "Oh, Doll, s'going to be okay? Just take it one step at a time, don' try overloading yourself." Niall knows just what to do to soothe her rattled nerves, using his other hand to stroke the skin of her arm with his fingertips, tickling goosebumps on her bicep but pacifying her none the less. Despite his exterior, Niall was just a big old softie on the inside; sweet as pie and much more nurturing than anyone would ever take him for at first glance. It shows that he truly cares, which is why she more often than not takes his advice.

Though her pride may take a hit, she'll bite the bullet and ask him.

Even if he was super cute and insanely smart and made her want to shrink down small a little bit.

...

"Y/N?" Harry calls for her just as he's dismissed the class, staring up at her from where he sat in the pit of the lecture room, "Could I see you for a second?" She slows, stuffing her things into her bag a little bit quicker as a small bead of worry begins dripping inside of he, trickling down to her gut. Y/N hadn't spoken to Harry full on since their meeting and him asking her to stay after could not mean anything good. Really, he just made her a public enemy – she can practically feel the burning gazes of pissed off girls and guys who had been wanting to stay to speak with him, but everyone knows that sitting around just so you could chat while he's talking to another student was a quick way to piss off any instructor.

So as they all slink out of the room angrily, Y/N slides her bag on and pads her way down the stairs, where Harry is sifting through papers on the desk there. As soon as she steps up to his desk, he looks up, a small smile at his mouth but something akin to concern lurking beneath it, "Now, I've finished grading through the quizzes –"

"Oh god," she cuts him off, shoulders deflating and brows clinching in, "I did terrible, didn't I?"

He slips his folder into his bag with a shake of his head, "It's not that you did terrible," he begins, buckling the straps, the muscles in his forearms becoming a bit more prominent as he does so (but she tries to rid her mind of those thoughts right now...saving them for later makes it easier to talk to him in the moment), "There were quite a few where I could tell you knew the gist of it and what you were speaking about, but you were dancing around the subject while simultaneously putting too much information. And I may not have been a teacher for long, but I can certainly tell when someone's getting too far into their head, 'cos I do it meself." He taps at his temple, as he walks over to the podium where his messenger bag was slumped at the base, leaning against the dark stained wood, "What d'ya think happened? Was there anything specific about the environment that made you nervous or took your mind away from the quiz?"

"No, no," she tries desperately to keep the despondency out of her voice, but she fails miserably, shoulders still slumped, "I just got too into my head, I guess, n' like – some of the stuff I was confused on."

The corner of his lip quirks up but less of a smile and more of a disappointed grimace, "Why didn't you contact me? I gave you my number for tutoring –"

"And I was gonna use it! I promise I was, but," she pushes little bits of hair from her face, "I – I just felt so stupid because it was the first week you know?"

"Love," he begins, and though the pet name is one used often without regard for any romantic implications behind it, her body still flushes warm with the care exuding from his voice, "You aren't stupid, not even in the slightest," he slides from around the podium, closer to her and leaning his hip against it now instead with his arms crossed, "Criminology is not an easy course; it takes time and effort to understand because its so complicated, and nobody is going to understand it right off the bat. I can feel and see that you want this and you want to learn, and I am a hundred percent willing to help you one on one, in any way I can. Even if it isn't Criminology, if you ever need anything I'm ready to help. You just have to tell me when you need me."

The fondness she already felt towards Harry begins to mushroom within her, eyes flickering and searching his face for any twitch of irritation that he was hiding. She feels as if realistically nobody could be this genuine and accommodating for a shy yet openly distressed student; like he's just saying all of this for a good evaluation at the end of the semester so he can tell his old, unforgiving professors in his building to fuck off. But she can find no glimmer of disingenuous intent slithering beneath the surface.

So she nods, slightly at first but then with more conviction, "Okay," she says, "Okay, then can we meet as soon as possible? I don't want to fall behind."

A grin pulls at his mouth, decupling his amiability, "Great! I'm free this Friday at 5PM, yeah? Where would you want to meet?"

"Would it be inappropriate for it to be at my place?" She asks him, scratching at her nose with one fretted finger, hating how it sounds almost like she's hitting on him, "I just – s'pposed to be really cold Friday and the sun goes down at like five, I didn't really wanna walk in it and I've got no car."

Harry sucks his lips into his mouth, mulling over it. She knows that technically he's still a student, and it wouldn't be weird for him to be coming over as a tutor and as a friend, but she does understand the hesitance of his answer. He's her instructor; only a few years apart or not, it's still got to say something in the rules and regulations he gains as a graduate assistant teaching a class. Though she would get it if he did tell her no, the rejection festering in the air gives her terrible teen flashbacks of a cute boy turning her down years ago. It makes her press her fingers tight into her book, unintentionally holding her breath.

But Harry shrugs his shoulders, holding out his pinky, "Shouldn't be a problem. If anythin' I'll say we were friends before I began teaching you, but just in case," he locks his with hers, "I won't tell if you don't?"

Y/N lets out a sigh she'd bottled up, smiling as she squeezes her pinky with his own, "Promise."

"Then it's all set then!" He chirps, clasping his hands together, "Use my number and text me your address the morning of, n'I'll pop right on by. I'll bring snacks too."

. . .

In the following days, Y/N is – for lack of a better explanation – a total fucking wreck. Before Friday could even roll around she had scrubbed everything in her home at least three separate times, reorganized her sad looking cabinets (just in case he poked around in them), straightened out paintings on the wall that had been crooked since she moved in. There were several moments where she has to try and calm herself down, script a few scenarios in her head on what could possibly happen (they always end up with her either being embarrassed or them having sex, so she knows these are doing nothing but getting her more worked up). She even was making an effort to become mindful when she started to bite her nails, so that she wouldn't do it in front of him and look even more like a strung-out mess than she already knew she did around him.

The goal was not only to learn when he was over but to convince him that she wasn't as much of a disaster as she's been managing to make herself out to be. It's not like she's doing it on purpose and if she's honest, she's always been a nervous, worried kind of person but she had other traits too. She could have fun and talk about things other than her deep-rooted, lurking fear of failure and disappointing, yet that seems to be all that falls out of her mouth when Harry's around. In the two times she's spoken one on one with him, she's pretty sure she'd worried him to the point that meeting at her flat wouldn't have been a problem anymore. Did he think she'd have a mental break if he refused her? God, oh god, did she guilt him into coming to her home?

She just thinks that there is something so stressful about having a crush on your instructor. It was fun and cute in high school, but now she has like an intense respect for Harry, and he just seems so amazing, which in turn makes her feel less than (to no fault of his own). The crush only proves to make her realize that someone as incredible as Harry would never go for someone like her, and it makes her tummy feed squidgy and sad. Though try as she might to ignore it or forget about it, he catches her eyes in class, and smiles, or asks her a question and encourages a response with such a friendly set face. He often makes a point of saying bye to her if they're the only few left in the classroom and Y/N didn't make it out quick.

Which only makes her fondness for him grow three sizes far too big – a Grinch -like heart expansion. So, when there's a rap on the door when she's wiping up her glass of juice in her kitchen (her kitten called Cow had knocked it over in an attempt to get at the loose thread hanging off her sweater), it's safe to say she nearly shit herself. Looks around her room in a panicked hurry, tossing the soiled napkins into the waste bin, tripping over the shoes she'd kicked off in a haste earlier that day, and nearly falling into the door. It was a lot and she's out of breath from the near jog she took to get there.

The knob is cool against her fingers when she twists it open, revealing Harry in his college student glory. He'd traded in his black slacks for holed denim jeans, a button up for a loose fitted olive sweater, and glasses sat atop his nose. He's got his arm full of books and papers, a phone clutched in his hand that also holds a bag, and a smile adorning his face, "I brought snacks!" He cheers, wiggling his fingers so the plastic bag moves some, "Now, lemme in Pet, m'freezing my bits off out here."

"Oh!" Y/N drags the door open farther, stepping out of the way as he walks in, "Sorry, come in. I hope it wasn't inconvenient for you to come here."

Harry settles his stuff down on her coffee, waving his hand in the air, "Not at all. I live close by – if it wasn't so bleeding cold out, I would've walked but m'afraid my frail skin can't take the chill, I'd frost over." Y/N giggles, watching as he tugs the coffee table back a few inches before plopping down onto the carpeted floor, working on tugging off his shoes to reveal argyle socks, twiddling his toes. She's standing still, leaning up against the wall as he gets himself arranged. Looking up to her from where he sat, patting at the floor beside him, "Well, c'mon then! I don't bite. At least not in the first study session."

Y/N feels her body flush warm as she pads over to him, lowering herself to the ground and pulling her bag over from where it'd been lying on the floor so she could dig into her notebooks. Tries her damndest to ignore the flirty nature of his comment, because she's picked up that he's an unintentional flirt with nearly everyone, and she doesn't even think he notices. The only reason Y/N noticed is because she's heard about ten different people in her class talking to their friends, saying that they think he has a crush on them (which, logically, she knew that he didn't, but it still didn't lessen the sinking feeling in her heart – a feeling she had no right to feel, by the way, she was just getting too caught up in this stupid crush).

So she ignores it, flipping open her rough notes and her notes that she'd prettied up, along with the thick far too expensive books, plus three separate highlighters, "Okay, so I made a list of questions I have on some of the theories...is that okay?"

"Of course," Harry smiles, nodding, "I said anything you needed, didn't I?"

Maybe it's the comforting smile that resonates deeply within her, softening her right up and mollifies the anxiety she'd been feeling, but she thinks that this will go better than she'd thought it might. Like it might not go so terrible.

. . .

Y/N spoke too soon.

Far too soon.

The criminology aspect of it was fine; Harry explained it thoroughly and slow, drawing out charts to help her with a few theories she wasn't quite understanding. Went over a few tricks on how he remembers the more difficult vocabulary, encourages with the promise that it took him a while to get a hang of it too, and broke down an easier way to get through the book without spending two hours reading and outlining while trying to make sense of it. She could see why he taught Criminology, because he was damn good at it, and she could definitely tell that it was his expertise.

However, when they split off and begin working on their individual endeavors (Harry had a test to study for and Y/N was trying to break Chemistry down into easier components), Y/N started getting pretty miffed with herself. Though she was trying her damnedest to keep quiet about her frustrations with significant figures, biting hard on her bottom lip as she once again has to erase the lead markings on her paper to start all over. She just didn't know why she wasn't getting it, and the fact that Harry was beside her doing his own homework with a practiced ease that made her feel inept.

So she was getting quite flustered, frustrated tears tickling the back of her eyes, which only made her more upset. She wasn't going to cry in front of him – she fucking couldn't that would be far too embarrassing, and she'd never be able to step foot in his lecture hall again. And it's not like she was a crybaby; it was just beginning the semester and getting back into the swing of things, having to work all the parts of her brain she let shut down during the break.

But it was happening, tears were welling, and she was pressing hard at her eyes with her thumb, trying to make it inconspicuous that she was on the verge of a stress-induced breakdown. She just needs to get past him leaving and then she can cry all she wants – but not now. She'd never felt more betrayed by her body and emotions in her life, mentally cursing them out as she tries to do the problem again from the start.

Maybe it's her sniffle that gives her away or the fact that a tear drips a wet droplet on the sheet of paper beneath her, but Harry's pencil pauses against the paper and out of her peripherals she can see him turn to face her. Then she hears the small intake of breath before his pencil drops to the book, "Y/N? What is it? Are you alright?" He rushes, turning to face her.

She nods, reaching up with the dry tips of her fingers to wipe away the tears that had trickled some, "I'm fine! Just super fucking annoyed is all because none of this makes sense, and I feel like an idiot." A snort leaves her before she begins shaking her head, "Bet I sound dumb to you, huh? You're double majoring and I can barely handle a damn significant figure problem. Which is stupid, yeah? I feel stupid – and sorry this is stupid too, me going on about feeling stupid, but like I –"

Y/N is cut off very suddenly, when a palm pressed against her jaw, fingers split around her ear and tilting her face up, and two very pillow-y soft lips pressing against her own. It's when she realizes that they belong to Harry – to her instructor – that she squeaks, the noise muffled against his soft mouth. That he tucked her bottom lip against his mouth, warm and wet like he'd slicked his tongue over them before he pushed them together. Tingles proliferate through her body, but she isn't quite sure on how to kiss back, exactly. Didn't know if she was supposed to even, but she puckers just a bit, her mind reeling. Why is he kissing her? It's not like she minds it at all, she's just startled, and confused, and wonders what made him even want to. She'd been in the midst of a college-esque self-deprecation monologue, and now she was kissing her instructor crush.

It'd been a long time since she'd kissed someone – if she has sex, she usually leaves kissing out of the itinerary for the night. Felt like kissing was something a bit special to her, but only because she has a cliché pit within her that drugs up at the most inopportune times. Except for now, that is, because Harry is soft, and when he parts for a moment just to reposition his mouth against hers, it feels like sparkles are blinking within the thousands of cells around her mouth. He continues cradling her face, holding her so tenderly, with a thumb stroking her tear-dampened cheek, and...well, Y/N doesn't think she ever wants it to end. Not only because she doesn't know what to say after this, but because it feels good – her mind, apart from the turmoil she's being thrown into at the fact he's actually kissing her – but it's the first time in a long time that her focus isn't panicking over school. Now that she thinks about it, anytime she's in his class, or with him, or thinking about him, her mind is pacified to a state of more ease than she's been in for a minute.

All good things come to an end though, and very carefully does Harry begin to leave her mouth. She holds in the most pitiful whimper in a protest as to not completely humiliate herself. Now, as he's just a few inches away from her face, its the first time that she's looked at him since she'd started her small rant. His eyes are bright, golden freckles in the seafoam green irises mesmerizing her, watching as his gaze flickers all around her face.

"You aren't stupid," Harry tells her sternly, "You're smart – very smart, in fact, but you just stress yourself out too much, Pet. I know it 'cos I do the same thing, but it's something you have to try and get past. Stress can muddle your brain, cloud the answers that are already swimming in your head, and make you tearful." His thumb strokes against her cheek once more, "It'll be okay, yeah? If you need help I am here for anything...anything at all."

Y/N nods, trying hard to not stare at his lips that he's lulling his tongue over, "Thank you," she murmurs quietly. She wants to kiss him again – wants to soak in the comforting glow of having her mouth pressed against his; wonders if a kiss felt so nice, what other things would feel like. Wonders if she's allowed to kiss him again, or if he's the only one who is supposed to initiate it.

"That was –" she begins, avoiding looking him in the eyes, allowing them to dart around everywhere but his face, "That was really nice."

Chuckling, he noses her nose to the side, lifting her face up a little bit again to peck another kiss to her mouth tenderly and parting with a small little smacking noise, "Well, tell me when you need that too, yeah? I'm here for you." She nods, biting her bottom lip when he draws away as to not make a fool of herself and beg him to stay close, "Now, what's going on here that's frustrating you? M'pretty spiffy with Chem, so I think I can help.

. . .

They don't talk about the kiss afterward. Not when Harry and she stay up a little too late getting to know one another, nor when she seems him that next Tuesday in class, or even when he stops her to ask when she wanted to reschedule taking the quiz. It's almost like it never happened and if Y/N didn't remember explicitly what it felt like having his lips tucked between hers felt like, then she most likely would have labeled it as some elaborate daydream. But the tingle on her mouth still remains, despite it happening a week ago, so she knows it happened...knows that it was real.

Y/N didn't tell anyone; not Liam nor Niall knew about the small kiss. One because she didn't think it was notable enough to really discuss – just a small kiss to stop her from panicking and downing herself – and she doesn't imagine it happening again. She really doesn't need Niall and Liam's optimistic view of her and boys. The both of them always so convinced that a boy is smitten with her when it turns out that she was just fun for a party fuck and getting answers off, which has led to her very pessimistic view of her and boys. It's why it's hard to wrap her head around the fact Harry had kissed her. He was beautiful, and amazing and...well, the only logical argument she could think of is that she was sad. Thinks, from what she's picked up on him so far, he's got a soft heart – Liam had even said he's gentle with the students who are on edge, and Y/N is certainly on edge – and they were close. Figures that he got caught up in the moment and was willing to do anything to shush her and make her feel better.

Which is sweet in theory, but did not help the crush she'd developed that was now at an all time high. Honestly, the fact that she was cliché enough to be head over heels for her professor makes her roll her own eyes. It irritates her to no end, especially when her daydreams get the best of her and she's almost convinced that maybe he might like her a little. That for some reason he was into that whole supreme, stressed out, tired-faced look that she had going for her. That he might want to get to know her more and see her more and they could start something quietly, or at least in the confines of one of their homes.

And normally she makes good at willing these wishful thoughts away, but this proves to be difficult. At least with a regular crushing scenario, it would just be another student that she could avoid looking at and hopefully brush out of her mind, but no, she had to start liking her instructor. Someone who she must see and listen to three times a week every week to no avail if she intends on receiving a good mark in the class for the semester. Who, try as she might, she couldn't possibly ignore, even if she didn't give a shit about her GPA because she seems to bump into him around every damn corner she turns on this campus. It's almost like the universe is working against her, at this point.

So maybe it's not her best idea, when she messages him after class one day, asking if he could help her study for the upcoming quiz that he had just announced. It inevitably wouldn't aid in ridding this puppy love she's experiencing but two very distinct reasons push her to it. One being that she wants a good grade, obviously, and she understood the material more when he went over it one on one with her, where she could ask all the questions she needed without holding up the class. Two being more on the lines of her enjoying his company; a presence so warming and soothing around her while she was partaking in such a stressful task was something she hadn't known she needed until him.

Harry doesn't seem to mind it though and two hours after she's asked, he's at her door in soft flannel pajama pants and a loose white tee, glasses sat pretty on his nose, "Hope you don't mind that I stopped by me house to change into something more comfortable. Those dress pants m'always wearing are so uncomfortable," he wrinkles his nose at the thought of them, stepping into her house and handing her the bag that he held in one hand full of food, his other hand occupied with clutching his laptop, a book, and a highlighter, securing them beneath his armpit, "I brought a chicken strip platter from the deli down the road for us to share. S'like eight strips and two sides; figured after studying we'd watch the telly and gorge."

"This isn't weird, is it?" Y/N asks him, crinkling up the top of the bag to keep it warm, standing, shifting weight from foot to foot as she watches him settle all of his stuff down, "I mean like, you coming over when you're my professor? This isn't weird?"

Looking up from his things, Harry sighs heavily and purses his lips, "Y/N, m'not going to tell ya again," he leans back against the couch and kicks his legs out beneath the coffee table, "I'm only a few years older than you! The same difference as if you had a friend who's a super senior in any of your other classes, only I just teach you sometimes." He tilts towards her a little, "Sure, we shouldn't broadcast it, but if anyone asks we'll say we were friends beforehand, yeah? Unless you're uncomfortable continuing –"

"No, m'not!" She cuts him off, crinkling the bag even tighter in her hands, "I just didn't want you to get in trouble or anythin'."

"Trouble for what?" Harry tilts his head, brows furrowed, "We are studying, eating, and watching tv – just friendly things."

Friends don't kiss each other, she wants to say, but she only nods and takes the bag to the kitchen. She and Niall don't kiss each other, and neither to her and Liam (who is a very affectionate person), and they're the people she's closest to, yet she's kissed Harry. Felt the slick soft skin of his mouth pressed to hers, the emotions that swarmed through her body, his palms holding her face carefully...she'd felt all of that with him and she doesn't feel that with friends. Hell, the magnitude of the feelings that had rushed her, she hadn't even felt with people she really liked in that way.

But as she closes the bag into the microwave to keep at least partially warm, she wonders why it seemingly didn't affect him at all. Wonders if he even remembered it, or...on a sadder note...maybe he kissed so many people, he thought nothing of it. Just another notch on his belt and all that.

This was all so frustrating, though she tries to wipe off the distress from her face when she walks back into the living room and plops down beside him. "So," he rubs his hands together, a smile pulling at his mouth, "Tell me what's got you stuck. Is it the empirical validities? I hate them."

And from there they go on easily; as smooth as if she were hanging out and studying with Niall, which was nice. She liked that they could fall into things comfortably, especially when they stray from the notes and start talking about other things. From other school work, to their favorite subjects, then further into different stories (he tells her about his early college years and Y/N tells him a few party stories she had, like when someone tried to fight Liam because they thought he was fucking his mom) and just about anything other than their notes eventually. They talk for hours, about anything and everything and nothing.

If anything, all this study session did was deepen the annoying ass feelings swallowing her whole. As she watches him speaking in such an animated way about his time in Paris for a study abroad semester, and how he'd gotten lost with nothing but his limited French skills and a small sheet of phrases like "Where is the bus?" to get him by. Y/N wonders if he notices that she's been staring at him dreamily for the entirety of his story, or the fact that her eyes keep glancing down to the supple skin of his lips. She doesn't mean to, but all she can think of as he speaks is how it felt to kiss him. How soft it was and how nice it felt – like nothing else mattered in the world but the fact that he was close.

She's biting the wet inside of her bottom lip hard, trying to brush it from her mind but she can't.

"Do you want to kiss me?"

Y/N's jaw drops open, eyes widening, "Wait, what?"

He smiles, rolling his eyes, "So you weren't just staring at my mouth then? You were listening?" Y/N recoils into herself, immediately feeling humiliated at being caught for her wandering gaze, looking down at her lap. She feels her whole body flush warm with embarrassment, wanting to crawl out of her skin, beneath a rock, and stay there forever. A finger slips under her chin, tilting her head up, "Oi, quit with that Love, m'just teasing," he murmurs, "D'ya want to talk about it then? What happened the other night?"

She tugs her sleeves over her palm as a nervous habit, trying desperately to sink into the knit of her sweat and hide from him, but sadly her neck doesn't possess turtle like qualities. Y/N's forced to sit beneath his stare, shuffling a little as her eyes sink away from him even with his finger still holding her up to face him, "I – uh," she stutters, opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish, "I just –"

"S'fine, love, I guess I should explain myself a bit, yeah? Not fair to kiss and leave it at that." He sighs, letting his hand fall from her chin and letting it set back into his lap, "You were upset and talking a mile a minute, so I kissed you, to make you stop so you'd listen, n'also because kisses help me feel better when I'm stressed out; mouth to mouth contact has always been something thoroughly pleasurable for me and I thought that you may be the same. It did work out, did it not?" Y/N blinks at him, nods slow, "Is your silence an indication you'd like for me not to do it again? Had it upset you?"

As if he'd struck a cord, she snapped into gear, shaking her head quickly as she presses herself up to her knees but still sat with her bum on the floor, accidentally moving closer to him in the process, "No, no! It didn't I just didn't understand really, at first," she responds, brows furrowed, "I didn't know if it was like – if it was like, you know –"

"If I had feelings for you?" He fills in, eyebrows raising, and she closes her mouth, nodding slowly – she sort of hates when he does that. Sure, it makes it easier for her to not have to say it, but it almost feels like he always knows what she's going to say before she even does. Like he's poking and prodding around in her brain, uninvited, unearthing thoughts too embarrassing for her to even think about uttering out loud, "It doesn't have to mean anything," he continues, tilting his head to the side, "Just a kiss."

It wasn't just a kiss! She wanted to shout at him. "Just kisses" don't hold such engrossing employment in her mind for days after the initial act. If it had been the equivalent to an impromptu snog, then Y/N would've surely forgotten about it the next day, moved on from it, and they wouldn't be having this conversation now. But no, instead, it's enraptured her so wholly that she's been battling an intense crush on her instructor that in no way would she think she'd ever be allowed to be within that sense. The mere suggestion of it meaning little nearly upsets her to the point of words, but instead, frustration takes its formation as a small frown forming on her face.

Of course, Harry seems to notice immediately, face shifting knowingly as he utters, "It was nice," he murmurs, his voice almost a soft coo as if to soothe the anger he'd unintentionally conjured, and he slips a little closer, like he's sharing a secret with her, "I like how you taste; your lips are very sweet."

Her whole body flushes with warmth, feeling it emanating from her, and she wonders if he can feel it. The smile on his face tickles her insides, tingles trickling around her veins, to the point where more of her blood is bashful sparkles than water. So much so that she has to tilt her head down again, because it's almost too much. And she feels like some stupid preteen, but she can't help it. As much as she can be outgoing when she feels like it, there are still parts of her that resort to an overly diffident shell, where she withdraws to, especially with him. Which irks her – she feels like she is crediting him too much power over her emotions in some ways. Why should he be able to get her all nervous and jittery, when he appears to be very cool, calm and collected across from her? That wasn't fair in the slightest.

"Is everything clear now?" No, but Y/N nods anyway. Puckering his lips dramatically, Harry goes on to say, "Or d'ya need me t'a kiss ya again?"

Rolling her eyes, Y/N reaches behind her for the couch pillow, slinging it around to swat at his shoulder with a disapproving glare, "Oi, shut up, will you?" She grumbles, plopping down so she sat with her bum on the ground again, "Teach me how to annotate the court documents again."

. . .

The more they spend time with one another (which almost seems like every other day, because Y/N studies while Harry grades papers and Harry likes grading her papers in front of her so that he can explain what she did great, what she could work on, and putting big smiley faces on the page), the crush she held grew vast and cavernous. To the point where she had to open this up to Liam and Niall, who could see that dreamy gleam in her eye and called her out on it from the very start, though she denied time and time again. Though it came to the point where denying it was growing more tiring than having it, so in a huff at the library she told them everything. From the first meeting to kissing him, to all their study sessions since and how she can barely look at him without her heart feeling about eight times too big for her chest. How when he talks, her gaze still drops to his mouth, and he still smirks at her when he notices but doesn't say anything. That feeling that worms it's way into her muscles, making her feel all too jittery when he's near her, or when he is pressed pretty close, his chin just over her shoulder as he explains a problem to her or a vocabulary word.

Of course, they'd been aware somewhat of the crush, but with the nitty gritty details of it Niall and Liam are both sitting with their mouths wide open. Books that they were highlighting open and forgotten, notes tossed off to the side, the cap of Niall's pen rolling around his bottom lip as she tells them how just the other day, he had swiped off a bit of jelly that had gotten caught on her chin and pressed his thumb into his mouth to suck it off. This is what ultimately lead her to telling them everything – there was no way she could just keep that to herself.

"Oh my god," Liam all but gasps, "Y/N –"

"He's definitely trying to fuck you," Niall cuts in, leaning forward in his seat, "Like full on, not even trying to hide it."

Y/N feels her face warm intensely, "No he doesn't!" She exclaims, though she keeps her voice just hush enough that it didn't carry (not that it mattered much, since they'd pressed themselves into a nice, quiet nook of the library where seldom anyone came to apart from the librarian every once in a while), "For some reason he jus' likes messing with me. The kiss was to calm me down and the stuff after –"

"Listen, not to agree with Niall or anything, but he definitely wants to fuck you." He plucks at the corner of his index card, just careful enough that the point didn't nick at the pad of his ink-stained thumb, "He told you that you tasted sweet, now I know for a fact that I would never say that to anyone unless I wanted to kiss them again and/or –"

"Bend them over for me." Niall chimes in once again, clucking his tongue, "Maybe he's into that kinky teacher/student thing, y'know? Wants to bend you over, swat ya with a ruler, then kiss that tasty mouth of yours –"

"Okay, stop," she runs her hands over her cheeks, pausing so she can shove the skin outward and puff out her lips like a fish, "I don't know what m'supposed to do, but he's got me all caught up in these stupid feelings and it's making me feel way too much like a late night teen movie circa 2006." The highlighter she'd been fiddling with before gets knocked off the table by her elbow, but she pays no mind to it, instead focusing on the pity-filled gazes cast her way, "I just want to forget about it. No good could come from it anyway, y'know, have you seen Pretty Little Liars? Aria and Ezra were hopeless by the end."

The both of them always try to encourage her when it comes to dating and her love life, considering she doesn't have much of one. Sure, she's had sex, but that was usually it. No being whisked away by some sweet eyed boy with amazing bone structure, kisses by candlelight, cuddling by a fire that he has to leave to stoke when it begins burning out but whines that he doesn't want to let go of her. No elaborate dates in ritzy attire, or nights in big sweaters, snuggled up to one another binge-watching a mystery. It's always been just sex...since she'd gotten to college, there were no feelings and no kisses...just sex.

It's why she's not dealing with this correctly – why she isn't even sure how to deal with this at all. She watches as they somehow communicate with just a look at one another (she swears they have some weird bond and telekinetic powers because the amount in which they do this around her is troublesome), before Niall's eyes fall back to her, "How about we go out for a drink, yeah?" He suggests, slapping his book shut, "There are a few parties going on tonight 'cos of the basketball game, figure we can hit one up. You can get drunk enough to forget about this pressing teacher crush, and Liam here can forget about how not only Caleb, but Rebecca stood him up."

"Oi –"

"Oh no, Li," Y/N pouts at him, brows clinching in, "This is like the second time, innit? Maybe give up on them too, and try to patch things up with Audr–"

"Okay, this is off topic and besides the point!" He cuts her off just as Niall begins nodding in agreement, sucking his lips in, "Look," he murmurs, extending his arm across the table to grab at her hand and give a small squeeze, "A drink would do us all some good, yeah? And hopefully, we'll all get a good lay. Unless you'd rather stay in and watch romantic comedies, and let some more stuff off your chest about Harry, 'cos we can do that too. It's up to you, Pet, we just want you to feel better."

Again, Niall nods, and Y/N's heart feels full. It's moments like this one where she wonders why she keeps anything from them at all, knowing that there is something so soothing about being reassured by them and their semi-contrasting personalities. Even with Liam resembling more of a cool mom and Niall a pressing, sometimes stupid brother – they were all she could ever ask for.

Which is why, even though she knows she's an emotional drunk and she'd much rather watch It's a Boy Girl Thing, stuffing white cheddar popcorn in her mouth and trying to erase Harry from her mind – she agrees to a party. Knows that they would much rather do that, especially since Liam's going through a bit of a relationship problem himself. It wouldn't be fair to drag him back to her place so that they can sit and watch her be grumpy and sad.

Who knows, maybe a drink or two will actually do her some good.

. . .

It turns out that drinking had not been in Y/N's best interest for the night.

The night had started out pretty good; she took a shot of some sort of raspberry vodka, her eyes watered at the clawing burn down her throat before she chased it down with a Sprite and a small groan, let a cute brunette frat boy chat her up for a little bit, shoved herself into the corner after realizing she wasn't into it, and drinking some more. Drinking until it didn't sting as much going down and it felt like her fingertips were buzzing, her body sizzling with the liquid warmth washing over her like a bath attempting to leave her unruffled by her previous worries. And for a moment...just for a moment, they were about to drift away – all the thoughts of Harry on her mind plucking off, like snapping guitar strings.

Until it wasn't.

She was sat on the couch, legs kicked up onto Niall's lap as he went about chatting with his friends, being a "lad n'all that" as he usually does. He'd kept a reassuring hand on her knee, stroking it quietly, and it wasn't weird – nobody even spared the action a second glance. It was known they were close and that the realm of their relationship never surpassed a drunken cuddle or kiss to the cheek; Y/N wasn't mute at parties, but she didn't talk a lot either and liked to keep close to who she knew so a lot of the time she'd find him sat somewhere and plop herself down with him. On this occasion, he'd called her over himself, patting the cushion beside him and encouraging her to lift her legs up, "Relax a mo' wit' me, would ya? Take a bit of a break."

Nodding, she slumped against the arm and fiddled on her phone, but she was still listening around her. Had always been a nosy one, she'd admit, but she never was listening with vicious intent. Just enjoyed knowing what was going on – it interested her, getting a peek into a stranger's life, even just a blip of it. Thought it was cool how everyone was just living and whatnot, but she'd never say it aloud, in fear of sounding like one of those fake deep kids who sit at coffee shops and discuss the universe or whatever.

Only this time when she's listening, she catches onto a conversation...one she probably could've gone without hearing, if she's honest.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure there's something there," the voice says, "And I know he's a professor – well, not even technically, he's just an assistant who teaches sometimes, but he's always asking me to his office hours. Caught him staring at my tits a few times too, which was exciting, so I stopped wearing a bra when I had a feeling he'd call me in. Almost kissed me a few times too but we were always interrupted – once by this girl who's always clinging to him – Y/N is her name I think."

"Holy fuck, Ana, who's the professor?"

Her voice lowers like she hadn't been practically yelling the rest of the conversation, "Harry Styles – the really cute graduate assistant. Used to be really big in one of the frats here."

Y/N's blood runs cold – all the warmth and comfort she'd felt previously, completely abandoned her body, leaving her feeling the chill of irate ice in her veins. So...so it wasn't just her? He was just...god, he was just trying to string her along to fulfill some sick fantasy of his, was that it? It didn't matter if it was with Y/N, or with this Ana girl, or with anyone because...because he didn't care. He didn't care about Y/N...didn't see her as a friend, or anything either. Came over to her place because he thought he'd get lucky.

She takes her legs from Niall's lap, shoving her feet back into her shoes before muttering to Niall she was going to pee. Though if he'd been watching her walk away, he'd noticed that instead of turning for the stairs to the bathroom, she turns right for the kitchen, where she knows there's a sliding glass door leading out to the deck. Sliding it open with a little more aggression than necessary, unlocking her phone, and clicking on her contacts without much thought, scrolling to his name with very little hesitance or thought into the situation. Stuffing it against her ear with a huff, the air around her mouth clouding in smoky puffs from the heated contrast of her breath to the outside (it was supposed to rain later tonight, and the rain was meant to freeze over with how cold it was tonight, before snow blanketed the streets to hide it – meant to be so bad that they might call off classes tomorrow).

The dial rings once, twice, three times before it clicks over, a gruff, sleep croaky, "Lo'?" Sounding over the other side of the phone.

"You're a real dick, did'ya know tha'?" Y/N begins, hand at her side balling into a fist, "To do all this to me without even a second thought, s'real fucked, Harry – it's really mean."

There's a shuffling sound on the other end, like sheets and blankets rustling around as he presses himself to sit up, "Y/N? What's going on? Are you alright?"

Y/N begins to pace, partly because she's livid, and partly to keep her muscles from becoming rigid in the chilled wind, "No! No, I'm not alright you jerk." She exclaims, tugging the sleeves of her cardigan down over her palm a bit further, "You – you kiss me and tell me I taste sweet, n' give me all these tiresome, galling feelings – make it so that you're the only person I can fucking think about half the time and pretend to be my friend but you're just...you're just doing it with someone else to? That's fucked. You're fucked!" A particularly cool gust nearly shoves her into the banister of the deck but she holds her ground, pauses her movements, "Said it was "just a kiss"," she mocks his deep tone, "Well it wasn't, you idiot, I don't – I don't just kiss people. I don't just kiss people and you kissed me and now...and now I'm fucked too."

"Y/N, Sweetheart, have you been drinking?" He asks her and she scoffs, rolling her eyes.

"So what if I have been?" She steadies herself on the banister, pressing the phone closer to her ear, "At least I'm not the –" she hiccups, "Not the worst."

There's a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone, "Where are you?"

"None of your business." She says stonily, "Why would I tell you anyway?"

"So that I can take you home, Pet."

"No," she shakes her head, "You're not allowed at my home anymore."

"Fine then, I'll take you to mine," he responds quickly, "Just tell me where you are, please? You're drunk and upset, and I don't want anything to happen to you." Y/N's brows center, "Please, pet? Want to make sure you're somewhere safe. And then we can talk about whatever it is that you think I've done, okay? Just need ya' to tell me the address."

She contemplates this for a moment; she's mad at him still...really mad, because again, she's an emotional drunk and he's had her feelings on a freight train to hell it felt like – but there's still a bit of her that wants to see him. That small, niggling piece of her that nags in the back of her heart, because he sounds so desperate to know where she's at, to make sure she's safe. Didn't write this off as just an angry drunk call like someone else might have, which makes her second guess for a second that he was actually the worst. A part of her that thinks back to how when they'd been studying just the day before, he'd made her chamomile tea and baked jam tarts just to bring for her to eat because she'd mentioned passively how she'd never had one.

"I'm at the sigma nu house," she answers feebly, feeling the softer side of her emotions towards Harry grabbing hold of her.

"Okay, I'll be there shortly," he tells her, "Be waiting for me, yeah Love? Did you go with Niall and Liam?" She hums her response, "Tell them you're coming home with me so they aren't worried."

Once they hang up, Y/N does as he'd suggested. Finds Niall to tell him that she was going home, explains only shortly how she'd accidentally called and told Harry off, and he laughs while shaking his head, dragging her in for a hug, "Oh god," he presses a kiss to the side of her head, "Never took you for a drunk caller. We're g'na have to start taking your cellie away from ya when you're drinkin'."

Y/N grumbled for him to shut up before slipping back outside, only this time standing on the front porch, and waiting for Harry's car to pull up. He's got a black Range Rover or something – looks quite like a very, sophisticated mom car if you'd ask her but she doesn't say this to him. Tries to sober herself up at least a little bit so that she doesn't start crying or something when she sees him, since her drunk self decides erratic emotions was somehow the best way to handle herself tonight.

Not but ten or so minutes since she'd been outside, she sees him, and walks down the little paved pathway through the yard to get to where he was on the street. Opening up the door to reveal Harry with glasses sat on his nose, his hair mussed and soft looking on his head, in a jacket with no shirt underneath (it was only zipped up just to his chest practically), and the plaid pajama pants he wore to her place frequently, which means that they were his genuine sleep attire. Something about it makes her want to giggle but she feels a bit embarrassed now – telling him off, now slinking into his car, sinking into the warm seat.

Harry gives what sounds like a relieved sigh – like he hadn't thought it'd be so easy to retrieve her, before he starts pulling away down the street, "Okay," he breathes, "What happened tonight? What made you so upset with me?"

She shifts up some in her seat, turning to face out the window, "Heard a girl talking – her names Ana," she answers meekly, "Said you were calling her into your office a lot, and how you stare at her tits and that – and that you almost kiss her but you keep getting interrupted...sometimes by a weird girl, which...which she had explained was me."

He's quiet, which scares her. Had it been true then? Was he stunned into silence at being caught?

Then, just as she was about to mutter something along the lines of how she knew he'd deserved every bit of what she'd called him over the phone, Harry starts laughing. A very sincere chuckle, deep from his chest, like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard – like all of this was some elaborate joke that she'd somehow got entangled in. It pulls her from facing the window to face him, where he holds a hand over his mouth while the other maintains the steering wheel, "Hey?" She remarks irately, "What's so funny then?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he giggles, glancing over to her before being thrown in another fit and Y/N deadpans him until he calms down enough to explain himself, "S'just – god, she really said that?" She nods, twisting a little more on the passenger side to face him, "I call her into my office because she keeps failing the quizzes and is half-assing her homework. Been telling her about the study group and everything but she doesn't really take the advice," he shakes his head, "I don't stare at her tits? I don't stare at anybody's 'cos m'not a pig, n' I am never any closer to her than I am from where my chair is and from where hers is across from the desk."

Now Y/N really feels stupid, but she still catches onto his giggle fit in spite of it, as the realization of it dawned on the both of them. Sure, she still wasn't all to stoked with him right now, but the situation was funny she'd admit. The humiliation of it would dawn on her eventually – probably tomorrow – but right now she allows herself to find humor in it. Letting them both burst into small little laughs, the engine purring lowly, the whole way to his place.

Y/N had never been here before – he'd always come to her place, so pulling up to it was new and pretty exciting. He'd idly mentioned that he'd lived in a loft, but never went into further detail than that, so a new sort of buzzing enters her bones as she unbuckles and stumbles out of the car, into what's beginning of the freezing rain. Nearly trips over her own feet walking up to his door but he catches her, and where his hand holds onto her bicep her skin feels warm and tingly, but she tries to ignore it. Focuses instead on him unlocking the dark wooden door, following him up the wide, carpeted stairs (he checks back on her several times like he's scared she might fall but she's holding onto the railing. He then turns into to the right, to another smaller door, and unlocks this one.

When Y/N steps inside of his home, she is immediately engulfed in the essence that is Harry. The warmth and soothing nature of his transpired into his environment wholly; there is a warm yellow glow from two lamps, a messy coffee table scattered with papers, a throw cover bunched up on the couch, and a large TV muted in the corner. There's a door that leads to the kitchen, and stairs that lead to the bit of it that makes it a loft, what she assumes his bedroom beyond the oak finished banister. The carpet looks soft, with an additional shaggy rug that she wants to shove her toes in, there's art on the walls in all different types and forms, and to top it all off, a sweet brown cat is rubbing between her legs at her ankles.

"Oh, wow," she murmurs, "Why don't we come here more, then? S'a real nice place." She tells him, kicking off her shoes comfortably, dropping her purse to puddle on the floor and leading herself deeper into his home. The heat is up high, a gentle purr, helping her slowly but surely regain feeling in the tips of her fingers, ears, and nose.

"Thank you, Pet," he answers, tossing his keys into a plate on the bookshelf, "Figured you might be put off if I started asking you to come over here. You're a bit shy sometimes, didn't want to overstep my bounds."

With a scoff, Y/N reaches down to pick up the precious cat still rubbing against her, poking her head around into the kitchen being as nosy as she possibly could, "M'not shy," she grumbles, though she knows what he means...she could be, certainly, but she wouldn't let him know he was right, "Jus' cos m'not forgoing a bra 'cos you stare at my tits doesn't mean I'm all too reserved. Kissed ya back, didn't I?"

Harry huffs a laugh through his nose, "You got me there," he tells her, "Now c'mon, it's half past one, and not for certain that they'll even cancel class tomorrow so we need to get to bed."

Y/N purses her lips at him, "Fine, Mr. Styles," she grumbles, taking towards the stairs with nothing but her phone in hand, letting the cat down onto the ground to do as it pleased, "I'm a drunk snuggler though, be wary, n'you can't be mad at me if I drool."

His room is just as cozy as the rest of his place; the ceiling was the roof, a slope in the wall after a few feet of flat wall. There was the warm light of a lamp up here too, the sheets and comforter ruffled, and even the wrinkle in the fabric of his pillowcase from where he'd previously been sleeping. There's a small desk in the corner with a laptop perched atop of it, and another shaggy rug that she's running her toes through as she crawls onto his bed. Sober Y/N might be more reticent about taking his bed without so much as asking, but drunk Y/N couldn't care less. As a matter of fact, drunk Y/N grabs his wrist when he reaches over to grab a pillow from the bed and starts to walk away, "What're you doing?" She questions him, only somewhat elevated by the pillows still remaining.

"Grabbing a pillow so I can sleep on the couch?" He tells her like it was obvious, "What're you doing?"

"Nuh-uh," she shakes her head, "You're sleeping here with me." Harry opens his mouth to tell her that he couldn't, she presumes, but he doesn't get the chance to because she lifts up her finger to stop him, "Oi, you dragged me to your house, so it's only fair. Plus I don't like sleeping alone, s'pecially when m'drunk."

Harry slumps his shoulders, and though he tries to fight it off, she can still see the fond look in his eyes, "You sleep by yourself every night." He reminds her.

Y/N all but humph's like a petulant child, "Well that was before my Criminology instructor decided to kiss me and put me in a butt ton of dire emotional distress, you unsympathetic dolt."

"God," he says with a disbelieving laugh, "A dramatic little thing you are when you're besotted, yeah?" She thinks for a moment that she's won, as he sets the pillow down – its why she finally lets go of his arm – but instead of climbing in beside her he sits down on the mattress, pulling one leg up onto the bed so that he could face her, "Fine then, I'll sleep in this bed with you," he gives, proving he has very little resolve, dragging the rest of his body onto the mattress, crawling over to the other side where it met the wall, "But y'a better be good, yeah? No trying to seduce me."

"Seduce you?" She exclaims, gaping at him, "Hardly, if anything you'd be the one seducing me!"

Harry gives a mocking gasp, stuffing himself under the covers, "What do you take me for?"

"A lecher." She huffs, following suit getting underneath the comforter, but she plucks at the button of her jeans and wriggles them down her thighs, over her knees, and off her legs, tossing them off to the side.

"You're jus' mean, Pet." He grumbles, settled beneath the blankets and turned towards her, "So sweet when you're sober, wha's happened?"

Y/N turns to face him in bed, brows furrowed, gearing up to gripe at him about the emotional stress that she had just brought up – but she stops herself. Stops herself, because Harry looks really pretty like this; flushed and ready for bed, hair still mussed, face smushed into his palm with his fist curled around the bit of blanket he had. There was something so tender and warming about this moment, as if they had been together for years, bickering before bed in soft lavender scented sheets that would with no doubt aide charming her into slumber. Being surrounded by his scent and his overall being was almost overwhelmingly pleasant, that she didn't know what to do.

Somewhere in her brain, him looking so gentle and cute, meant that this was an appropriate time to let her drunkenness get the better of her. So instead of going to bed with the thought of kissing him prodding her brain, she wriggles herself closer to him beneath the covers, leaning forward and smearing their lips together sloppily. Nothing like the calculated, precise peck he'd given her when she'd been panicking on her living room floor – no, something more juvenile and urgent. Much more pressing, but keeping her hands to herself, like it might've been an unspoken rule.

And Harry lets her; he molds his mouth to fit her own, responding with tender puckered soft smacked noises when she draws back only to push forward once more. There's something sweet about his lips, akin to candied strawberries. It makes her want to bite into his bottom lip and suck it into her mouth, or slip her tongue passed the threshold and tangle it with his. Taste him, scoot closer and feel him, melt into his body, and surround herself with solely him.

But she's good. Stays put and tries to appease herself with this kiss, until she's become too breathless to keep her face so close to his own, and lets the pucker of her mouth fall. Scoots back so that she can see him a bit better, wondering if he'd be mad, or if he'd be asleep even – maybe she was such a terrible kisser that it literally bored him to bed – but instead when she opens her eyes, she's faced with the same soft boy that had made her do what she did in the first place. Only this time his lips are pulled in a gentle smile and she watches as the hand that had once been laying at his side, was now at her face, the soft pads of his fingers caressing her skin as his eyes wandered around her features. Even drunk, it felt as if she was being put under the microscope of his eye, and that always managed to suck away any bit of confidence she might've had prior...she doesn't think he does it intentionally, it's more her problem than any.

"Oh, Pet," he coos, eyes fluttering shut but his thumb still stroking at the slope of her cheek, "You're g'na put me in emotional distress if y'a kiss me like that." A content sigh slips from him, letting himself sink further into the depths of potential sleep, "So sweet for me."

Y/N doesn't know if it's the repeated stroking on her skin, or the soothing murmur of his voice, or if it was merely the liquor finally dragging her into unconsciousness, but she's soon following suit. Falling asleep to the sound of his breathing.

. . .

Harry wakes to the sound of his alarm (one he downloaded some time ago called silkchimes which is perfect for coaxing him awake), along with the sure warmth of a body pressed in the curve of his stomach, his arm flopped over it, holding it securely to him. If not for his almost immediate recollection of the night previous, he might've had some cause to be alarmed, but when he cracks his eyes open against the wintered light of the room and sees the unfettered face of his technical student but a more close friend, he clicks off his alarm. Checks his messages to see that school had been called off due to extreme weather conditions, then settles back into his position.

There was something about this moment was soporific; lulled him back into his drowsy state. Whether it be the grey glow glittering through his window, the nostalgic feeling of getting school called off when he was younger, or the soft pretty girl beside him resting without a care in the world – it kept him pleasantly dozy. It'd been very long since he's had someone snuggled close to him when he's waking up and it makes him feel so toasty and content. Especially when, even after a sweaty party, she still smelled like vanilla.

Though part of him wants to burrow his face into her throat, breathe in deep, and continue sleeping, the other part of him had to take a wee and his stomach was growling atrociously. Plus, despite the sweet little kiss she'd given him last night, he doesn't know how she'd take to waking up in his arms. Thinks for a moment, that maybe it was just a drunken urge, rather than an actual want, which makes his heartache to some degree he would admit.

Something about Y/N is...well, he's not sure how to explain it. She panics far too much, just yelled at him over the phone, swats him in the arm, calls him a prat when he says a bad joke, trips over her own feet, shovels food down her throat, and drools on her notes when she passes out over her papers. But she's also soft and warm, and as much as she playfully whacks at him, she's tentative and careful with touches apart from it, her kisses light his mouth with tingles, and when he's around her his heart jumps and pumps and he feels giddy. All of it...all of her just wraps around him and squeezes him tight, sticking to him for the rest of the day, week, nearing a month.

They're barely a few years off in age so that wouldn't be a problem, but he understands the stigma of him being an instructor and her being his student. He's witnessed situations where someone in a position of power would use it to their advantage and manipulate someone below them, for their own enjoyment and a free fuck, but it isn't like that with Y/N. Thinking about doing that gives him hives, let alone doing it to a person he has legitimately grown to care for. When he offered to help her study, he hadn't been going there with the thought to kiss her in mind, and when he continued to come over afterward, he never pressed it. It's why he told her it was just a kiss – as not to discourage her from their friendship, while also hopefully conveying that that hadn't been the reason he was aiding her in her studies.

Though he can't say that he has no feelings for her at all, especially with the reaction he'd had after her kissing him. Doesn't know how much longer he can act like he doesn't want her either. There'd been so much he wanted to say, though his sleep clouding mind wouldn't allow it, so he tried his best to show her how much he'd appreciated it. Touched at her cheek and said the few words his mind could string together in a sentence, falling away to his unconsciousness with her prevalent on his brain, dreams of everlasting pools the color of her irises and silky sheets slipping around each curve of his body in an embrace akin to her own. The teasing touch of sparkles glittering around his mouth in an attempt to recreate exactly how he'd felt when her lips fixed against his.

So he carefully peels himself from the bed, slipping his hand from around her waist, and trying to move his limbs slow as possible to minimize the amount of jostling he'd be doing to her. Not only because he feels its rude to wake her, but he firmly believes that college students should be able to sleep in on the days they can. College is difficult enough as it is with a healthy sleep schedule, he knows, and he'd prefer she be well rested (and it doesn't help that she looks impossibly peaceful and dreamy like this).

Tiptoeing downstairs and around his kitchen, he feeds his cat (properly named Pelican, because she was sat on a picture of a pelican when he found her passing an ally), then works on making them breakfast. Remembers how she said she liked waffles, so he breaks out his waffle maker, starts up his stove for eggs and hash browns, and brings out the strawberry marmalade he had in his cupboard. Wonders absently if she'd like orange juice or apple juice as he frets around his kitchen. It'd been so long since he'd had someone stay the night, he was practically stressing himself out over it, second-guessing himself as a cook when he'd accidentally sloshed his own glass of orange juice over his hand.

It's just as he's finished up the hash browns that he hears a stirring from upstairs, a small smile gracing his mouth when he hears the fruitful groan of a waking person's stretch. A soft few moments of alarm as she tries to decipher where exactly she'd ended up last night, before the shift of his floorboards creaks above him, and he hears the soft padding of feat down the stairs.

Moments later, a very sleepy Y/N rounds the corner, mouth opened wide around a yawn and the edges of her shirt just barely covering the tops of her thighs. Harry has to tear his eyes away from her and how cute she looks like this, all sleepy-gazed and rumpled, but a smile still holds on his mouth, "G'morning Sunshine," he calls to her, "Making the sleeping beauty some brekkie! Should be ready in a minute or two."

Y/N scratches at her stomach as she walks forward, "Harry..." she begins, a look of deep regret setting into her face, "I'm...I'm sorry for –"

"For calling me at 2AM, telling me I'm a dick, taking my bed, then ravishing me with an unexpected, but well received kiss?" He fills in, taking a glance in her direction with a knowing, playful smirk and Y/N's mouth drops into an angry little frown, reaching out the short ways to him and swatting at his shoulder.

"Aish, don't say it like that!" She huffs, "It was just a kiss –"

"Ouch," he turns towards her, plate in hand and holding it towards her, "It does hurt when its put like that, huh? I don't much like it." He reaches back for his own plate, nodding towards the table for her to come along with him, "My heart can't hand this emotional distress–"

"Okay, I get it, m'a dramatic drunk!" She cuts him off, huffing heavily, "I was trying to apologize, but now I take it back, you are a dick."

Harry sets his plate down with one hand, holding his heart with the other, "Oh, Darling, is this what a failing relationship feels like? Is the next step you not looking at me during?"

Another thing Harry likes, he's found, is pressing Y/N's buttons. While she's a spitfire kind of girl, it seems he knows just what to say to make her squirm – it's why she grumps at him so often, because she doesn't know how else to deal with that. Harry's always been the kind of person who likes seeing people wriggle a bit under his gaze but there was something so gratifying about when it's her. When she shuffles in her seat and he can feel the heat radiating off of her cheeks, witnessing her deflect it with some smart-tongued, halfhearted insult that makes him chuckle.

That's why, when she rolls her eyes and begins to cut into her waffle, he feels a glimmer of satisfaction, "Why're we still here, anyway? Thought your first class started at 9AM and mines in thirty minutes, but I don't think m'going."

"Nobody's going," he responds, "They called off school – roads are all ice and it appears there's more where that came from the rest of this weekend."

"Oh," she hums, stuffing a forkful of the waffle into her mouth, "So you're stuck with me?"

Harry smirks down at his plate, "I don't think I mind it...especially if I'll be getting my mouth doted on by you like last night."

"God," she exasperates, "Would you shut up!"

. . .

Once the teasing Harry impedes on her over the kiss lessens and they've both taken showers, they're sat on his couch as he scrolls through Netflix deciding what movie to play. Y/N is snug in one of his big knitted sweaters and a pair of shorts his sister had left over here a while back, while Harry didn't bother to put on anything but sweatpants. Which she wouldn't have minded, if not for all the tattoos that decorated his torso and arms she was seeing. The dark ink standing out against his pale skin made her mouth water, so she tries her best to avoid looking at it because she knows if she's caught with her mouth hung open, she'd never hear the end of it.

Y/N's curled up at one corner of his couch with Harry only a cushion away, "Y'know, there's something 'bout winter that makes me want to re-watch this series called Scream," Harry rolls his head over to the side to look at her as she speaks, her knees tucked beneath the sweater, "It's terribly acted but fun to make fun of."

He nods, going to the search bar, "I'm okay with that," he answers, "If you get too scared jus' lemme know yeah?"

"Hush," Y/n grumbles, rolling her eyes, "If anyone is gettin' scared, its gonna be you wimp."

The show is just as horrid as Y/N remembers it, including the fake tears, piss poor shock value and incredibly foreseeable plot twists, but watching it with Harry is even better than watching it and messaging the commentary to Niall (who had worked through the show before her). Harry tears the show to shred and she follows suit, and in the few seconds after the episode ends before the next begins he has a list of things that could've made it far better. Doesn't just break apart the acting either but the fundamentals of the show, the scoring, the set ("You just have to wonder how many times they'll reuse and repurpose the same old tired high school sets and fill them with twenty-year-olds, until someone finally calls it a quits"), and everything in between. Even the clothes he had something to say about, and when Y/N questions all of this knowledge, he admits he took a few media classes in his time at school and knew a thing or two (it used to be his desired major).

About halfway through the third episode, Y/N began to stretch out her legs, but Harry's body was in the way so she makes an effort to maneuver her legs off the couch with her upper half still basically lying down. Though all of her hard work getting in a comfortable position is in vain, because Harry notices her struggle just as she's found a spot that isn't too terrible, sighs heavily and leans over to grab her ankles. She squawks when he drags them across his lap, giving her a small tug so her head is on the couch pillow and her body is stretched out lengthwise. "Jesus, Pet, m'not g'na bite." He utters, patting at her shin before letting his spidery long fingers wrap around them, giving a small squeeze, "This is more comfortable, innit?"

Y/N nods thankfully, trying to ebb the emotion swelling within her like the wave after an island storm by focusing her attention on the movie and not on how tenderly he begins to stroke the side of her calves. Tries to pay no mind to the goosebumps that trickle up and down her skin from where his fingers ghost against her, as he absently moves them. Desperately attempts ignoring that it stirs something deep in the pit of her belly that she's set on fucking ignoring but is becoming evidently impossible.

Her hips shuffle back and forth, wriggling a bit as he continues commenting on the show as normal. His fingers traveling a bit higher, circling around her knee and when she jumps he pauses, his hands hovering above her for a moment as if to let her settle before they return with a firmer caress to reduce the tickling.

Y/N wouldn't say that she's touch starved – sure, it'd been a hot minute since she'd really been with anyone but she cuddles with Niall and Liam often – but with the way her body is reacting someone would think she hadn't been touched in years. Tingling and igniting like a fire, searing through her and centralizing at her lower belly, heart thumping against her chest when his hands lift towards her thighs. She thought there was no way he couldn't know what effect he was having on her but when she finally rips her eyes from the screen to look at him, he seems unaware.

Or at least he does until he gives her thigh a squeeze, tutting his tongue, "You're so tense on your thighs, Love," he tells her, slipping a hand beneath it and encouraging her to flip around, "Here, lemme massage you, yeah?"

She moves easy for him, more pliant to his words and movements now that he's already warmed her up. Flips so her face is tucked in the pillow, arms lying at her sides and her thighs placed over his lap, leaving her more vulnerable to the ministrations of his hands. Starting at the base of her thigh, closest to the crook of her knee and digging his fingertips into the muscle with calculated movements. Moves up the length of one towards the swell of her bum, his palm careful, the heel pressing down and up at certain spots in such a way that she bites back small abject noises. And while this may just be a ploy to rile her up, it happens that she does have tight muscles in the areas he's concentrating on.

The thick pad of his thumb digs into the junction of her bum and thigh, along the connecting skin with unhesitating circles. Absently do her hands clench up beside her, grappling with her last sense of pride desperately trying to cling on and not let him in on just how he is affecting her. How each movement of his hand is sending her insides into a frenzy, heating her up, and dampening the shorts she'd been put into. That when he pauses and lets the warmth of his hand radiate around her thigh, she has to squeeze her eyes shut and count back from ten to stop from twitching and bucking into his hold – a silent beg for him to keep going.

Finally, like the ending crescendo to a song, Harry's hands slip over the swell of her bum carefully. A diligent squeeze is administered to her cheeks over the dark cotton fabric, as he gives a gentle lift upward just a little so he could let go and watch her slip back into place. This is when Y/N realized, that this was just as much self-indulgent for him doing it as it was for Y/N letting him continue to do it. Her toes curling as he does it again, this time with a knowing hum attached to it as he rests his hands, "Got a perky bum, don't you love?"

"Harry," Y/N says in warning, because if this is him teasing then he better stop now. She's getting far too worked up and it'd be cruel of him to continue with no regard for her and the dizzy feeling of arousal brimming her brain.

But Harry doesn't heed by any cautions, instead sliding his hands in a smooth motion from her bum, around to the front where the tips of his fingers just barely touch against her mound, before slipping back towards where he'd first started playing with her arse in the first place. Y/N bites down hard on her lip, wrangling in the needy whimper threatening her throat, "'S'nice," he hums, "Can't believe y'a been hiding it from me."

"It's cold," she says through gritted teeth, "I wear things to be warm not to give my instructor friend a show."

Chuckling, the pads of his fingers dip into the small crevice where her thighs come together at the top, again just barely stroking a part of her that covets for his undeviating attention. This time she can't help but clench, pulsating where she's wet, her eyes still skewered shut, "S'ppose that's fair enough." He murmurs, pausing momentarily, "So cute though. Just as cute as these pretty thighs," he continues, hands sliding from her bum and back to what he'd been doing originally, lightly tracing delicate swirls, only this time there's a sensual approach to it that makes Y/N seconds away from trembling, "When's the last time someone's been in between these, huh?"

"Harry!" She squeaks again, glad that her face is pressed down into the couch so that he couldn't see the bashful look dripping over it.

"Just a question, Lovie," he says lightly, "Don't have to answer if you don't want to."

Harry knows what he's doing, being all sly and calculated, like he knows just what to do to make her unravel for him. The worst of it is, Y/N wants to answer him. Wants to tell him all about how the last time someone had been in between her thighs, he hadn't gotten her off. That she had to roll off his bed unsatisfied, with every intent on going home and taking care of herself, but being too worn to do much of anything by the time she climbed into her own bed. That ever since she hadn't been with anyone intimately, besides whatever he's doing to her right now.

"S'been six months." She finally admits, squeezing her thighs tight together in an effort to alleviate the tension building.

Tutting his tongue, Harry continues drawing on her skin with his fingers, "That's too long for a cutie like you." He tells her, "Was he any good at least?"

Y/N shakes her head, breathing in deep, "No," she tells him, "He...he didn't get me off."

A gasp leaves Harry so sudden and offended like the thought was similar to blasphemy, "He didn't?" He stressed and Y/N shakes her head again to punctuate it, the lightning zipping through her body making her wetter and wetter, every part that Harry touches feeling like molten lava from how hot n' bothered she'd become. "Didn't he know that you're supposed to do anything it takes to get a pretty girl like you off?" He questions and a whimper slips from her throat without her permission, so she burrows her face deeper into the couch pillow, "Even if it means licking into you for hours and hours, wetting his chin, n'fucking you with his tongue properly." Her toes curl, "At least, that's what I'd do."

"Then do it." Y/N grumbles.

Harry tuts his tongue once more, "That's no way to ask," he scolds her, hands pausing where they're placed and just as she's about to snip back at him, he continues, "Guess someone ought'a teach you, yeah?" She has no chance to decipher what that could possibly mean, because one of his hands disappears, and returns with a passionate swat on her bum.

Choking on her own breath, Y/N's whole body jumps with it, her core giving an intense throb. There's a pregnant pause; he feels out the moment, if she was okay with it or if she was going to run away. When she stays placed on his lap, atop of his couch, nodding her head and murmuring a breathless, "yeah," she assumes that he's gotten his answer and without warning, another firm spank was administered to her left cheek. The stingy burn of it is something she's never quite felt; it makes her a little shivery and she digs her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from the embarrassing noises begging to claw from her throat.

With one more sure swat, he slips his arm around her waist and hoists her up, helping her reposition until she's sat horizontally on his lap. She wonders if she looks as flustered as she feels and how embarrassing that must be to some extent if she does because she's feeling really fucking flustered. Especially in comparison to Harry, who is seemingly cool, calm, and collected which makes her want to slap him but she refrains from it. Instead stares at his cherry red lips all full and plump, reappearing from being sucked into his mouth as he looks over her now rumpled appearance.

His hand reaches up, tentative fingers petting at her cheek and she lets herself rest in the palm of his hand, watching him carefully, "Before we do anything more, I need to know what you're thinking." He sits up a little straighter, "Need to know how you feel."

Y/N swallows thickly, moving to straddle him so that she could face him better, which might've been a bold move on her part if not for the nerves rattling through her body that stops her from doing anything more. "Um," she starts, forming then dissipating, then reforming again until she's finally able to get more than an overwhelmed sound out, "I feel good." His eyes don't falter from boring into her own and it acts as some sort of truth serum, "Anxious too, though, if I'm honest, uh – I dunno if you know, but you kind of got this sex god vibe to you that I don't know if I'll compare to."

A laugh shakes him, in turn shaking her, and a grin pulls at his mom, "A sex god? I haven't heard that one before." Y/N nods as Harry's other hand coming up to frame her face, pressing away the few hairs that stray from her ponytail, tucking it behind her ears, "Wouldn't say that but maybe I could try to live up to your expectations?" His hands skim down to her neck, eying her – she presumes to see if there's any hesitation in her gaze whatsoever and when he finds none he keeps going, skating over the knit of his own sweater, "Do you want me, Love?"

"Yes." Y/N says with no preamble, and to reaffirm how much she wants this...no matter the nerves hurtling through her nor the dwindling confidence she held at the prospect of not being good enough...she reaches down for the hem of the sweater and pulls it over her head, discarding it on the cushion beside them. Last night she had forgone a proper bra for a bralette that she put back on after her shower, mesh apart from a floral pattern that covered her nipple. She hadn't thought it was very sexy, more of something she wore when she wanted to feel cute, but the way Harry is looking at her breasts makes her wonder if she wasn't giving it enough credit, "I want you."

With a carnal like ardor, Harry drags her down to his mouth by the back of her neck, their lips locked together as his hands roam the territory he'd just been acquainted with. He kisses her like he's just as desperate as she feels, nosing up away from her mouth only to pull them back together, his tongue tickling her bottom lip for the first time. They'd not kissed like this yet but Y/N opens up willingly, feeling him flicker his tongue into her mouth and stroke against her own. It's quick and sloppy, their noses keep bumping into each other and Harry is trying so hard to unclamp the bra from behind her back but he keeps getting distracted with pulling his hands down her sides and squeezing her tight, aiding her in rocking against the stiff bulge in his pants.

Y/N hadn't been quite sure on where to place her hands at first but she settles for his hair, carding through the soft brown tufts starting to puff and swirl with growth before fisting it in between her fingers. He parts from her with a noise mixed between a gasp and a guttural grown, chest heaving as he pants, teeth digging into his plushy bottom lip when he smiles, "Fucking hell," he says through a laugh, "Wanna ruin ya'." In a quick move, he hikes her up by the thighs to spin them around so that her back was on the couch and he hovered above her, "Want to make you feel me for days." His palms graze her ribcage, around her back as he finally works diligently to unlatch her bra, helping her shrug it off.

"Want you to." She tells him, toes curling into forgotten blanket shoved towards the edge of the couch, "Please."

Another growly noise leaves him, pushing their mouths back together but departing just as fast, nosing her jaw to the side so that he could tut wet patchy kisses down the length of her throat. Her chest is heaving by the time he trails down to it, looking up at her as he slowly pushes out his tongue, licking in a dainty circle with the tip around her nipple then tugging it into his mouth for a harsh suckle. Popping off while his hand slid to cup it roughly before reattaching his lips.

The heels of Y/N's feet dig into the couch, knee kicked up so that he fit between her legs easier. He kneads her breasts in his palms, leaving a spacing between his fingers solely for him to nip, pull, and lick over her nipples till they're pebbled stiff. Y/N's chest is heaving, the pads of her fingers pressing into the warm skin stretched over his shoulders – she doesn't know where to hold, or what to do, and even if she did she isn't sure she'd be able to focus on doing it because he licks up from her breast back to her mouth. Bites on her bottom lip and tugs it back, letting it snap into place when he lets go.

"M'overwhelmed," he says through a chuckle against her lips, noses slide beside each other and foreheads pressed together, looking down into her eyes, "Fuck, need ya – need ya to tell me what you want, baby – what you want me to do." He gets a little closer, just a breath away from kissing her again, "Need'a know what you like."

Y/N huffs, "Everything," she whines, bucking her hips up against him, hands slipping down to the waistband of his sweatpants and trying to shove them down by the elastic, "I like everythin', please jus–"

Harry laughs again, shushing her as he draws his hips up just out of her reach and petting the hair out of her face again, "Oh Sweetheart," he coos, looking at her longingly, "You're g'na make me figure it out myself aren't you? G'na make Daddy figure out what makes you feel good."

She nods, a moan wriggling out of her chest. Harry calling himself daddy releases something within her that makes her shiver, his hands plucking at the panties hugging her, shimmying them down her thighs and scooting back himself, but Y/N doesn't want that. Or well, she does want that – wants him to lick into her until she's drippy and blossoming around him – but she doesn't want it yet. She wants to be close...wants to feel him deep inside her and wants to kiss him, feel their chests together, heartbeats thumping into one.

So Y/N shakes her head before he can tuck his shoulders beneath her thighs, grappling for him, "No, no," she utters, hips bucking again, "Want you now, please. Want you inside," she pleads to him with her eyes too, brows furrowed, hoping the intensity of her begging transfers through them, "S'all I want right now."

His gaze turns fond, placing a warm palm against her thigh and pressing it open. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth at the sight of her, a careful thumb extending to caress over the swollen bud of her clit, pausing for a moment when she twitches. "As much as I wanna stuff you full right away, I'm quite big Pet," he begins, sliding his index finger from the top of her slit down to her hole and sinking it inside of her, slow and deep, making Y/N moan as he does so, "And god, you're so tight. Really has been a lil' while, huh?"

She nods, feels herself pulsating around his finger steadily, "P-please –" it feels like it's the only word she knows right now...only knows how to beg him, but Harry doesn't seem to mind one bit. No, it actually appears that he's soaking in the domination she's granting him, tilting his head to the side and shushing her again before she could say anymore.

"My sweet girl," he hums, "I know, I know, jus' gotta stretch you out for me." He drags his finger out, wiggling in a second besides it and sinking back inside of her only this time he spends his time feeling around. Curls up to press into her spongy little bump and a thick, wet gasp leaves her before a struggled little noise as her fingers dig into the couch cushions besides and beneath her. He strokes against it again, but then begins to fuck his fingers inside of her. Twisting them on his down stroke, keeping his hand on her thigh to keep her spread as he fucks into her to the knuckle and Y/N's entire body is trembling, "Opening up so nicely for me." Another finger added, sliding in with an easier glide now that she was wetter, and she whines.

It was a lot at once for not feeling anything at all for so long, so it's safe to say she was overwhelmed. Her whole body trembling as he thrusts into her, the slick sounds of her wetness prominent in the air, how enamored Harry appeared to be with the sight of her. All of it was enough to drag her closer to her orgasm, toes tingling, "You're so fucking wet," he notes almost in awe, eyes focused between her face and where his fingers fuck into her, charting what makes her feel good, "S'all this for me?" She nods, hips canting up towards him with a breathy little whine, and Harry smiles, staying in to the knuckles and starts stroking against the bump inside her again while rolling his thumb over her swollen clit, "God," he murmurs, breathless himself, "You're such an angel."

Her orgasm splinters through her, as she tilts her face towards the cushion to mute the cry that comes from her. Thighs immediately trying to find each other but Harry keeps her spread open, watching as she pulsates and twitches, becoming sensitive from the fingers moving inside of her. Y/N doesn't think she's ever cum from someone just fingering her, which makes it all that much more intense. The fact that he could get off with merely his fingers in a little under five minutes keeps the fire stoked in her belly as she comes down from the white-hot light coursing through her. Wonders just what else he could do to make her feel so endlessly lovely, like being dipped in a pool of pin-prickled heat dotting over her in sparkles, evaporating as she focuses back in on his face.

Harry is gorgeous – well, obviously, she's been thinking that since the very first time she'd laid eyes on him – but in this moment there was something particularly mesmerizing about him. Maybe it's the wild green of his irises, or the semi-flushed skin of his cheeks. The still slightly damp, tossed ringlets of hair that sat atop of his head with a few of the longer strands coming to dance along the edges of his face. Or even the raspberry shade of his mouth, looking wet and plumped from the persistence of his teeth digging into it. Whatever it may be, despite the dominant way of his words and his movements, he carries a certain vulnerability that she's thankful to be seeing. It makes her feel closer to him and Y/N's never really felt close to someone during sex before.

The bulge in his sweatpants is still a very prominent, pressing matter, but Harry doesn't move immediately to unsheathe himself. Instead, he carefully caresses the crook of her hip, leaning down to smear a kiss against her willing mouth, and whispers against her lips, "That was beautiful."

Y/N feels her heart hammering against her chest, feeling ten times too big for it to stay within the confines of her ribcage. A tone that she barely even recognizes as her own with him, she says in a sheepishly hopeful way, "Will you fuck me now?" Her gaze locked with his, she sees him soften even more so than he already had been, nodding his head before reaching down beneath his couch and slipping a condom out. Y/N doesn't have any time to ponder why he has one there before he's pushing down his sweatpants by the waistband

"Yeah Sweetheart, I'll fuck you," he reveals himself to her; his head smooth and swollen, a biting red with precum accumulated at the tip making it shiny. Harry was certainly not small, he was thick in girth and long enough that the sight of him makes her insides clench, the thought of him reaching places deep only exciting her further. He shuffles nearer, positioning himself in between her soft, wanting thighs and slipping the condom on to his base then taking a hold of himself in a loose hand, "I'm not trying to pat me own arse when I say this, but it might burn Love, especially if you've not been with anyone in a while." There's a moment that he gives himself a squeeze as if to relieve some of the pressure that had built up there while he pleasured her and his mouth drops open a little around a quiet moan (that does more to tease Y/N than he could possibly know).

"M'ready," she tells him, wiggling a bit to get closer to him, "I'll be okay, m'so wet for you."

That makes Harry squeeze himself again, a little harder this time, and moaning even louder, "Fuck me," he utters mostly to himself, scooting forward to paint the leaking head up against her slit. How hard he was made it feel even better when his tip nudges against her swollen bud, getting himself (and subsequently her) even wetter, before he buds his tip at the hole and sinks into her slowly. The stretch was just as he said – a pleasant burn that quells her cunt, pushing her open for him as she accepts the stiffness of his cock inside of her. An ache was sure to be present tomorrow but she couldn't find it within herself to truly care, the prospect of spasming around his prick far too rousing for her to care about a little pain walking tomorrow.

As dominant as he had been previous, it's nice to see how affected he is by this too. A long, drawn groan leaving him when he bottoms out all snug inside of her, his hands gripping the couch pillow and the cushion hard, "Still so fuckin' tight," he strangles out through another noise, giving a soft little buck of his hips and she feels him nudge so deep inside that she thinks she may cum right there, her pussy already squeezing him, like she might already be trying to milk him, "Need'a relax for me, baby, or you're g'na make me cum."

Y/N whines, arching her back up into him a little before letting herself fall with a huff, "How am I supposed to relax when you feel so good?"

He twitches inside of her, pausing and closing his eyes to recoup for a moment before he draws back by his hips just a bit and fucks back inside of her. Then again but this time he pulls a little further out, "You know jus' how to rile me up, don'tcha?" He draws back even farther, sinking back in with more umph behind his hips and it moves her up against the couch, "S'that why these boys in class are always eyeballing you doll? Think they know how naughty you are?" He's moving steadily now, pistons his prick inside of her in steady strokes that has her mouth hung open as she moans, "S'why that boy came so fast and you didn't get a chance to? 'Cos you're just so cute n' naughty, nobody can help but lose their mind inside of you and this snug little pussy?"

"I –" she begins her head lulling back when he picks up her hip and slams harder inside, stroking against her bump deep inside, a squeak leaving her, "I dunno, Daddy," she murmurs low, "The boys don't really look at me in class."

A hand comes to cup her cheek, running his thumb over the swell of it as he continues thrusting inside of her, "But they do, Puppy," he hums, tracing over her mouth now before hooking it at the corner of her lips, "They stare at you all hour, mouth watering at the thought of taking you. On top of my desk, in the bathroom after class, in their cars on the backseat...anything to have just a few minutes with the beautiful girl that's always looking at her teacher and biting her lip like she wants to swallow him whole."

If she could be embarrassed about being caught staring she would be, but she's currently too caught up with wrapping her lips around his thumb and sucking at the pad of it while he fucks into her harder and harder. Thighs wrapped around his waist, clinging onto him just as she clings on to every single filthy sentence that leaves his mouth. She's not the only offender in riling the other party up and she wonders how he knows what to say to make her wetter, or to clench, or to moan. It's like he'd sat himself a nice little seat in her brain and dug through the archives to see just what would ruin her, having her submit to him fully.

"But you're all mine, aren't you?" He murmurs, leaning in and nipping at her jaw, "Ever since you walked into my office forty minutes early all frazzled and cute, tellin' me I was admirable." A grin worms onto his lips, "Knew right then that I wanted y'a – didn't think I could have you though but look at you now, all bent outta shape for my cock, calling me Daddy. Somethin' innit?" He drags his thumb from her mouth so that he can press their lips together again, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth, swallowing down the little whimpers she gave him.

"G'na cum," she warns him, hips arching up, "I'm g'na cum, I'm g'na cum."

Harry slips from inside of her, his cock so stiff that is slaps up against his abdomen, leaking and redder than even before, shushing the little whine that dregs from her chest, "Flip over for me." He orders, helping by cupping her hip and giving her a little nudge. Y/N does as told, dragging the pillow back to her face so that she could lie her cheek against it as Harry lifts her to give himself leverage, the swollen tip reappearing at her entrance that no doubt was blooming for him. In one easy push, her walls give way to him and he's stuffing her full again. Bends over her body so she feels his chest pressed to her back, moving her hair to one side so her neck was bared to him before taking his arm and slipping it around her, his hand between her breast and the cushions, just holding.

As he slicks inside of her, he licks at the shell of her ear around a small whimper that leaves him. The noise is surprising but welcomed – Y/N likes knowing that she's having the same effect on him as he's having on her, resorting him to nothing but primal yet pleading noises. It's why when he lies his hand on top of hers, slotting their fingers together, she squeezes his tight and lifts her hips up a bit more so that the stroke inside of her is tighter for him. It makes him say her name all low and throaty as his hips bounce off her bum, "Drivin' me mad, you are," he grunts, letting his hand move from her breast down to her swollen button, lulling it around underneath his fingers, the pressure increased from his knuckles being trapped between the cushions and her body, "Jus' wanna eat you up."

Y/N's toes curl, all her muscles wrung tight, "Can I – can I please cum? Are you gonna let me cum?"

"Yes, Angel," he whispers in her ear, "Cum all over my cock, n' milk me until I'm dry."

It was all the permission she needed with an added bit that through her off the rails, her second orgasm rippling through her so intensely that she's shaking around him. Harry dips his face into her neck, biting down to mute the groans leaving him as his hips slam hard inside of her, his own orgasm had startled him. It leaves them both trembling and breathless, Harry slumped atop of her body as he emptied his seed in the condom with the remaining spasms of her walls taking everything from him. Y/N is now very aware of how sweaty they both are and what exactly they'd just done, as Harry gently withdraws his prick from her and a soft hiss leaves her, "Shh, I know baby," he pats her bum with two light taps, then rubs over it carefully, "Lemme get a flannel so I can clean us up a bit, yeah?"

She hums, muscles all jell-o'd but feeling so satisfied. The burning haze of lust that had been teeming her body now appeased, leaving her feeling far too sleepy to even think about the implications of what had just occurred. No, she couldn't think about them, because she just felt so happy and nice and warm that she didn't want to ruin it by thinking too deeply into it. So she waits for him to return, which he does a few moments later, wiping at her carefully and being mindful when she twitches from sensitivity. Even stay in the position she'd been in until he pats at the center of her back, "Up ya get," he murmurs, giving a light pull to her arm as a starter while she pushed herself up from the couch. When she faces him, he gives her a look so warm and fond that her heart stutters, helping her into the sweater she'd been wearing previous.

"I have an idea," he begins, leaning back into the couch and stretching one arm out while using the other to coax her closer to him, "We've got an hour until it's a suitable lunchtime, so I say we cuddle to preserve warmth and watch some more of this terrible show until then, and I'll make us toasted peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, yeah?"

Y/N nods, smiling to herself as she tucks into his side, pulling her knees to her chest as his arm wraps around her shoulders.

She's positive she'd never had a better snow day.