HARRY STYLES IMAGINES & ONE SHOTS

the adulterer & the mistress †

It had been such a long work week for you, all you wanted to do was get home, undress, run a hot bath, and lay in your silk robe under your soft bed sheets before calling it a day. But it was a Friday night. A lonely Friday night so you found yourself touching up your day makeup in the small dark bathroom of the bar you walked into spontaneously.

Swiping highlighter over the high points of your cheek bones and a lip gloss tube over your already faded red and plump lips. You bring your lips inward and release them with a pop before throwing everything back into your purse and ruffling your hair a little bit in front of the bathroom mirror. You hike up your nighttime dress just a little bit, for teasing purposes, and give one small smouldering look in the mirror before exiting.

It's still a bit early in the night so the bar is moderately occupied. Everyone is probably still out to dinner and they'd arrive in heaps in only a couple of hours. So you decide to sit on one of the bar stools, grabbing a laminated drinks menu to choose your weapon because you've never been here before. Before settling on your go-to bottle of beer, the burly looking bartender slides a tempting looking margarita in front of you.

"From him," he announces so monotony, as if being the uncoordinated wingman to persistent drunk men at bars is part of his job. He points over his shoulder to where there's only one other person sitting at the end. Your breath hitches and your mouth fills with saliva as you struggle to remember how to properly breathe.

Man, is he hot or what.

His brown soft curls are an immediate turn on and the way his enticing green stare bores straight into your soul with such riveting confidence. He offers you a wink and you almost feel like melting right then and there.

Sure you've been hit on and picked up by guys at bars before, but they were usually musky drunks with glossed over eyes and sloppy walks. You only ever went home with them whenever you were feeling extra lonely yourself. And that was usually after you've had a drink or two as well because you could never do this sober.

That was also back in the day when you were the convivial party animal you used to be in college. This was probably your first time stepping foot in a bar as a single in years. You were almost kind of nervous to see how the night will end but excited overall.

You smile sweetly at the stranger and mouth a small thank you, he takes that as his cue to get up from his own stool and walk—no, strut—ever so slowly like a model on a catwalk, around the bar, drink in one hand, eyes never leaving yours, as he situates himself on the bar stool next to yours.

"Hello, love," he says softly but with a sort of husky rasp laced in his tone. You immediately recognize his deep and charming accent, it only warms up the blood in your veins, leaving you to want to melt even more in your seat to the point of evaporation. "What's your name?" he asks as he takes a sip from his beer bottle. His suit moving tightly with him, showing off the build of his muscles and you suddenly feel the wetness start to pool in between your legs.

"Y/N," you grin widely and sip from the margarita he had bought for you. "What's yours?" you question.

"I'm Harry." He moves his left hand up to run through his own hair, you can only imagine it being your own hand tugging at his roots. But then something catches your eye and your heart starts to drop. It almost causes you to slightly inch away from him and he notices your reaction because he looks at you confusedly.

"You're married," you say apathetically and his hand freezes, fingers still tangled in his own curls, as you point up to it. He removes it from his head and flips it over so that the backside is showing and he looks down at it with intrigue. A golden wedding band wrapped snugly around his ring finger. He pouts dramatically and removes it, a ring tan line prominent, and shoves it carelessly down the pocket of his pants.