Poppy

Updated: Aug, 4, 2025

Harry Styles

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Angst

One-shot:

Turned On: you prank harry by teasing him (Fluff/Slight Smut) Morning With Him: you spend the morning with harry (Fluff/ Slight Smut) Airport harry picks you up from the airport (Fluff/Slight Angst)

Series:

A Year With Professor Styles

Y/N attends Oxford university for the summer and falls for her professor (inspired by The Oxford Year) (Fluff | Smut | Angst) - Part 1

Harry picks you up from the airport.

Harry’s arms tightened around you, the familiar scent of your hair, a subtle blend of lavender and something uniquely yours, a grounding force against the swirling anxieties that had threatened to consume him mere moments before. He held you for a beat longer than strictly necessary, a silent, possessive declaration to the indifferent ether. He felt the gentle tremor of your breath against his chest, the slight shift as you adjusted your weight, and a sliver of relief, sharp and clean, pierced the lingering unease. This was it. You were back. His world, so vibrantly alive when you were in it, could finally breathe again.

The airport terminal, moments ago a chaotic sea of strangers and fleeting connections, receded into a dull hum. The cacophony of announcements, rolling suitcases, and multilingual conversations faded into a distant murmur. All that mattered was the solid reality of you in his arms. He inhaled deeply, memorizing the sensation, the feeling of you being here, within his reach, within his sight. His mind, which had been a battlefield of frantic scenarios and worst-case possibilities for the past fourteen days, finally began to quieten. The gnawing emptiness that had been his constant companion was already beginning to recede, replaced by a tentative, fragile warmth.

He tilted his head, pressing a kiss to your temple, a gesture that felt both deeply intimate and subtly territorial. He needed to anchor you back to him, to imprint his presence onto you after the stark absence of your physical form. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze drinking in the details he’d scrutinized countless times in grainy video calls and blurry photos: the soft curve of your cheek, the faint smudges of tiredness beneath your eyes, the way your hair, escaping its hasty bun, framed your face. You were as beautiful as he remembered, perhaps more so, your radiance amplified by the miles and the time that had separated them.

“You’re back,” he murmured, the words raspy with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. It was more than just relief; it was a profound sense of homecoming, of his own existence finally clicking back into place.

You offered a tired smile, your eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m back, Harry.” Your voice was soft, a little hoarse from travel, but it held an undeniable sweetness that resonated deep within him. You reached up, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, a gentle, familiar touch that sent a shiver down his spine. “It feels good to be here.”

He leaned into your touch, a silent testament to the comfort you provided. But even in this moment of reunion, a faint tremor of that earlier unease flickered. The Man with the Suitcase, bless his oblivious soul, had been a stark reminder of the world outside their bubble, a world where you existed, moved, and interacted with others. Harry pushed the thought away, ruthlessly, for now. He needed to savor this. He needed to soak up every last drop of your presence before the mundane realities of their life together reasserted themselves.

“I missed you so much,” he confessed, his voice thick. He pulled you closer again, burying his face in your hair, drawing strength from the sheer proximity. He felt the subtle vibration of your purr-like sigh against his chest. “Every second. It felt like… forever.”

“I missed you too,” you whispered, your arms encircling his waist, holding him just as tightly. “It was a long two weeks.” You pulled back slightly, your gaze searching his. There was a knowing softness in your eyes, a hint of weariness that spoke not just of your journey, but perhaps of their shared history. “Are you okay?”

Harry blinked, caught off guard by the directness of the question. He plastered on his practiced smile, a performance he’d perfected over years of guarding his vulnerabilities. “More than okay now. You’re here. That’s all that matters.” He brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead, your touch lingering. “You must be exhausted. Did you eat on the plane?”

You gave a small shake of your head. “Not really. I wasn’t very hungry.” Your eyes drifted briefly, taking in the bustling scene around them, the families embracing, the hurried departures and arrivals. Harry’s gaze followed yours, his senses on high alert, even as he tried to maintain an air of relaxed affection.

“Right,” Harry said, his voice a little too bright. “Let’s get you home. I’ll drive. We can order some of that Thai food you like. Or that pizza place you’ve been raving about.” He was rattling off options, a nervous energy buzzing beneath his skin, a need to do something, to control the immediate future, to shepherd you away from this public space, away from any lingering glances.

You chuckled softly, a sound that still vibrated with exhaustion but held a definite warmth. “Sounds perfect, Harry.” You squeezed his hand, your grip firm. “Just… let me catch my breath for a second.”

He nodded, a little too eagerly. “Of course, of course. Take all the time you need.” He squeezed your hand again, a reassuring gesture that felt, to him, like a silent decree. You are mine. You are safe with me. He resisted the urge to pull you further into himself, to shield you from the world entirely. He was trying, he truly was, to temper the immediate flood of possessive instinct with the practiced art of normalcy.

He scanned the area around them, a subconscious habit that had become second nature whenever you were present. His gaze swept over the faces, noting the expressions, the interactions. He was not looking for trouble, not consciously, but a part of him was always on guard, a silent sentinel protecting the fragile edifice of their relationship. He saw the happy couples, the tearful reunions, the hurried goodbyes. He saw the endless stream of humanity, each individual a story, each interaction a potential ripple. And he felt the familiar thrum of anxiety, a low-grade hum that amplified when you were near, a constant reminder of how much he stood to lose.

“Did you have a good trip, though?” he asked, his voice pitched to a casual conversational tone. He wanted to hear about your journey, to catalogue every detail, to understand the two weeks he hadn’t been able to hold you.

You exhaled slowly, your eyes closing for a moment before opening again. “It was… productive. A lot of work, as expected. But I saw some interesting things.” You gestured vaguely with your free hand. “And I met some nice people.”

Harry’s smile tightened, almost imperceptibly. “Oh yeah?” he prompted, trying to keep his tone light, inquisitive, but not demanding. “Anyone interesting?”

Your gaze met his, and for a fleeting second, he thought he saw a flicker of something in your eyes – understanding? Patience? Or perhaps just the weary resignation of someone who knew the currents that ran beneath his surface. “Just… colleagues, Harry. Business contacts. The usual.” You gave his hand another squeeze. “Don’t worry. Nothing to report.”

He felt a small wave of relief wash over him, but it was tinged with something else – a strange disappointment that there was nothing to report. He craved concrete information, tangible proof that your world remained focused on him, even when he wasn’t there to witness it. The abstract nature of your interactions, the people you met, the conversations you had, all felt like black holes, capable of swallowing his peace.

“Good,” he said, forcing a genuine smile this time. “That’s good.” He pulled you gently towards the exit, his arm around your shoulders, guiding you with a possessive but outwardly affectionate touch. “Let’s get going. I want to get you home. To our home.” The emphasis on “our” was deliberate, a reaffirmation of their shared space, their shared life.

As they walked, Harry’s hand tightened slightly on your waist. He felt the need to keep you close, to ensure no one else got too near, no one else touched you, not even with an accidental brush of their coat. He was hyper-aware of the people around them, their movements, their proximity. He imagined their gazes lingering on you, appreciating your beauty, and a primal instinct flared within him. He tightened his grip, subtly, as if to say, You are with me. You are taken.

You didn’t seem to notice his heightened awareness, or if you did, you chose to overlook it. You leaned into him as they navigated the throng, your head resting lightly against his shoulder. The shared rhythm of their steps, the familiar warmth of your body against his, began to soothe the frayed edges of his nerves. He focused on the simple sensation of walking beside you, of having you within his physical orbit.

“Did you manage to sleep at all?” you asked softly, your voice a gentle murmur against the din of the airport.

“Not much,” Harry admitted. “Kept thinking about you. Kept checking my phone.” He offered a self-deprecating laugh. “Probably drove you mad with all my messages.”

“A little,” you conceded with a smile, “but I understood.” You looked up at him, your eyes warm. “You were just missing me.”

“Terribly,” Harry confirmed, his voice laced with a sincerity that was absolute. “It’s like… a part of me is missing when you’re not here. Like I’m not whole.” The words tumbled out before he could censor them, the raw truth of his feelings. He braced himself for your reaction, for a flicker of concern, perhaps even mild annoyance.

But your smile widened. “I know, Harry,” you said, your voice full of a deep, unwavering affection. “I know you do.” You reached up and gently squeezed his cheek. “And I missed you too. So much.” You rested your head against him again. “But look, we’re here now.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Your acceptance, your understanding, was like a balm to his anxious soul. He wanted to believe it, to fully embrace it, but the ingrained habit of suspicion, the relentless whisper of doubt, was a stubborn companion. He found himself scanning the faces of other passengers, even as he held you close, searching for… he didn’t know what. Perhaps just for confirmation. Confirmation that he was enough. Confirmation that his love, this all-consuming, sometimes suffocating thing, was enough to keep you tethered to him.

They reached the car, Harry’s sleek sedan gleaming under the harsh airport lights. He opened the passenger door for you, a gesture of chivalry that felt natural, almost instinctual. As you slid into the seat, he paused, his hand resting on the doorframe, his gaze sweeping over you one last time. You looked beautiful, even in your travel-worn state, your presence filling the car with a warmth that chased away the lingering chill of his absence.

“Ready to go home?” he asked, his voice softer now, the earlier frantic energy replaced by a more settled, yet still intensely focused, anticipation.

You settled back into the seat, a sigh of relief escaping your lips. “So ready.” You turned your head, your eyes meeting his. “Just… drive, Harry. I’m ready to be home with you.”

He closed the door gently, the soft thud echoing the finality of his relief. He walked around to the driver’s side, his movements purposeful, his mind already racing ahead to the quiet intimacy of their apartment, the shared space that was their sanctuary. He needed to hold you, to talk to you, to simply exist in the same room as you. The world outside their shared life felt vast and unpredictable, a place where you could be touched, seen, and perhaps even desired by others. But here, in their home, he could breathe a little easier. Here, you were unequivocally his.

As he slid into the driver’s seat, he glanced at you. You had your eyes closed, a faint smile on your lips, already drifting into a brief, well-deserved nap. He watched the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the peaceful expression on your face, and a profound sense of gratitude, mixed with an almost overwhelming tenderness, washed over him. You were safe. You were here. And for now, that was enough. He started the engine, the low rumble a familiar comfort, and pulled out of the parking lot, the journey home stretching before them, a quiet space where he could begin to shed the anxieties of separation and fully immerse himself in the joy of your return. But even as he drove, a subtle tension remained, a faint dissonance beneath the surface of his relief, a silent acknowledgment that the shadows of his possessiveness, though momentarily held at bay, were never truly far from his thoughts. The drive home was not just a journey from the airport to their apartment; it was a transition, a careful negotiation between the shared solace of their reunion and the lingering echoes of his own internal turbulence. He knew, with a certainty that was both comforting and unsettling, that the real work, the deeper conversations, were yet to come. For now, though, he would simply bask in the glow of your presence, holding you close in his mind, and in his car, as tightly as he dared.

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The hum of the engine was a low, steady thrum beneath Harry’s hands, a familiar vibration that usually grounded him. Tonight, it felt more like a cage, trapping him with his own racing thoughts. You were asleep beside him, your head nestled against the window, the soft exhale of your breath a fragile counterpoint to the anxiety clawing at his throat. He’d just driven you home from the airport, from the stark, impersonal fluorescence of the arrival hall, and the space between them in the car, though physically small, felt vast, filled with the echoes of his earlier turmoil.

He’d been rehearsing his greeting in his head for weeks, picturing the exact angle of his embrace, the perfect murmur of relief and adoration. He’d imagined your face, tired but alight with joy at seeing him, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him into the warm, familiar scent of you. He’d built a fortress of anticipation, brick by carefully laid brick, a testament to the two weeks they’d endured apart. It wasn’t just two weeks; it was an eternity of missed calls, delayed flights, and the gnawing uncertainty that, no matter how much they loved each other, the world kept spinning, and people kept interacting.

The airport had been a chaotic symphony of reunions. Families embracing, lovers locking lips, the sheer, unadulterated joy of reconnection a palpable force in the air. It was a spectacle he’d watched with a bittersweet ache, a constant reminder of his own yearning. He’d scanned the faces pouring through the arrivals gate, each one a fleeting hope, each one not yours. His gaze had been sharp, almost desperate, searching for the curve of your cheek, the way your hair fell, the very essence of you that had become the bedrock of his existence.

And then he’d seen you. You were walking, a little slower than usual, a weary grace in your steps. His heart had leaped, a powerful, unbidden surge of pure relief. But then, there he was. The Man with the Suitcase. He was a blur of polite efficiency, a kind stranger offering assistance, his presence an unsolicited intrusion into Harry’s intensely personal reunion. It was a momentary thing, a matter of seconds, but in those seconds, Harry’s carefully constructed composure had fractured. He’d seen the casual way the man had reached for your bag, the brief, pleasant exchange of words. And a cold, hard knot had formed in his stomach, tightening with a speed that surprised even him.

He’d pushed it down, burying the primal surge of possessiveness under layers of practiced charm. He’d walked towards you, a smile plastered on his face, his voice pitched to a level of warmth that was almost theatrical. He’d engulfed you in an embrace that was meant to be tender, a declaration of love, but underneath, it was a statement: You are mine. He’d felt the subtle tension emanate from the stranger, a silent acknowledgment of Harry’s territorial claim, and the man had retreated, vanishing as quickly as he’d appeared.

Now, the car was a pressurized capsule. The silence, punctuated by your soft breathing, was thick with unspoken words. He glanced at you, his heart aching with a tenderness that warred with the lingering tendrils of his earlier anxiety. You looked so vulnerable, so utterly precious. He wanted to pull you close, to wrap you in a blanket of his presence, to ensure that no one else could ever touch what was his.

He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He needed to know. He needed to understand. Not with accusations, not with anger, but with a feigned casualness that he hoped would disguise the raw insecurity beneath.

"Did you have a good flight?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral, almost too smooth.

You stirred, your eyes fluttering open. You blinked, disoriented for a moment, then a soft smile bloomed on your face. "Mm, yeah," you murmured, your voice husky with sleep. "Long, but good. Just… glad to be back." You stretched, your movements fluid and graceful, and Harry’s gaze traced the lines of your silhouette, a familiar ache blooming in his chest.

"Anything interesting happen on the way from the gate?" he asked, forcing himself to keep his tone light, conversational. He monitored your reaction, searching for any flicker of unease, any hint of something hidden.

You turned your head, meeting his eyes. There was a slight frown now, a subtle shift in your expression that he couldn’t quite decipher. Was it confusion? Annoyance? Or just the lingering weariness of travel?

"The gate?" you repeated, a small, questioning lilt to your voice. "Not really. Just the usual chaos. Lots of people seeing loved ones." You paused, then your gaze drifted towards the passenger side window, a faint memory stirring. "Oh, there was a man who helped me with my bag. He was very nice, actually. My roller bag was getting a bit heavy."

Harry’s breath hitched. Nice. The word felt like a tiny shard of glass in his gut. He forced himself to nod, to keep his gaze steady on the road ahead. "Oh yeah? Helpful. Good to know people still do that." He tried to inject a note of genuine appreciation into his voice, a false sincerity that felt like sandpaper against his teeth.

"He just… I was struggling a bit, and he offered. It was no big deal," you said, your voice gentle, as if sensing his underlying tension. You reached out, your fingers brushing his arm. The brief contact sent a jolt through him, a mixture of relief and guilt. "Are you okay, Harry? You seem a bit… wound up."

He flinched inwardly at your perception. He hated that you could see through him so easily, that his carefully constructed facade was so transparent to you. "Just happy to have you back," he said, his voice a little rougher than he intended. "Missed you like crazy."

"I missed you too," you whispered, your fingers tracing a slow, comforting circle on his arm. "It felt so long."

He wanted to believe you, to soak in the reassurance of your touch. But the image of the stranger's hand on your suitcase, their brief, polite exchange, replayed in his mind’s eye. It was irrational, he knew. You were home, safe, with him. But the nagging insecurity, the fear that he wasn't enough, that someone else could so easily step in and offer what he so desperately craved to be the sole provider of – your comfort, your attention – it was a persistent hum beneath the surface of his joy.

"Did… did you talk to anyone else?" he asked, the question tumbling out before he could stop it, laced with an unsteadiness that he couldn't entirely mask. He hated the sound of his own voice, the desperate edge to it.

Your hand stilled on his arm. Your eyes narrowed slightly, not with anger, but with a growing awareness. "Anyone else? What do you mean, Harry?" Your voice was calm, but there was a new wariness in it, a subtle shift in your posture.

He realized his mistake immediately, the clumsy way he'd stumbled into a trap of his own making. He tried to backtrack, to soften the blow. "No, I just mean… anyone you were traveling with? Or… met on the plane?" He was grasping at straws, his attempts at casualness backfiring spectacularly.

You were silent for a moment, your gaze fixed on him. The soft exhaustion that had clouded your eyes was now replaced by a quiet introspection. You withdrew your hand from his arm, and the sudden absence of your touch felt like a physical blow.

"Harry," you said, your voice low and steady, but with an edge of something he couldn't quite name. "Are you… are you jealous?"

The word hung in the air between them, heavy and unavoidable. He felt a flush creep up his neck, a mixture of embarrassment and a perverse sort of validation. Yes, he was jealous. He was a churning vortex of it. But he couldn't admit to the full, ugly extent of it. Not yet.

"No," he said, the denial too quick, too forceful. "No, of course not. I just… I worry." It was a half-truth, a weak deflection. He did worry, but it was a specific kind of worry, one that manifested as jealousy.

You turned fully to face him, your expression earnest and a little sad. "Worry about what, Harry? I was gone for two weeks. I was traveling. Of course I interacted with people. It's a journey. It doesn't mean anything." Your words were measured, each one carefully chosen, as if you were walking on eggshells.

He felt a tightening in his chest, a desperate need to explain, to justify the inexplicable thrum of anxiety that had been his constant companion for days. "I know, I know. It's just… when you're away, it's different. Everything feels so… fragile. And then I see… I see someone helping you, and it just… it makes me think." He trailed off, the unspoken fears swirling around him. It made him think of what could be, what he might lose, what he wasn't enough to hold onto.

The car was slowing now, the familiar landmarks of their neighborhood appearing through the windshield. The comforting glow of their shared home, a beacon of safety and familiarity, was just ahead. But the unease between them remained, a silent passenger in the otherwise peaceful journey.

"Harry," you said again, your voice softer this time, tinged with a weariness that went beyond physical exhaustion. "We need to talk about this. Really talk."

He nodded, his throat tight. He knew you were right. He’d always known. The careful composure, the practiced ease, it was all a performance, a shield against the vulnerability that threatened to consume him. And you, with your unwavering empathy and your quiet strength, deserved more than just a performance. You deserved the truth, however messy and uncomfortable it might be. He pulled into their driveway, the engine falling silent, leaving them suspended in a charged quiet, the unspoken weight of his possessiveness hanging heavy in the air between them, a prelude to a conversation that had been building for a long, long time.

He turned off the ignition, the click of the mechanism unnervingly loud. The headlights illuminated their small front garden, the familiar rose bushes a silent testament to shared moments, to the life they had built together. It was a life he cherished, a life he guarded with a ferocity that sometimes scared him. He looked at you, your profile etched against the dim light of the dashboard, your expression contemplative. You were waiting. Waiting for him to finally articulate the chaotic symphony of his heart.

New city, new people, and a new spark with the new professor.

Author's Note: this series is inspired by The Oxford Year. Some of the scenes are similar, but I've changed some based on my imagination. So grab your tea and enjoy reading.

Fluff | Love At First Sight | Series | WC: 1658 | Masterlist

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

"Okay, Mom, I have to go, love you!" Y/N chirped, blowing a kiss at the screen of her iPhone, her mom's warm, smiling face filling the display. With a final wave, she ended the call and quickly tucked her phone into her worn canvas tote bag. As she hurried towards the grand stone building in the distance, the site which holds the welcoming ceremony. The heavy, ornate doors swung open with a gentle creak with a push, revealing a dimly lit corridor.

The corridor was a veritable museum of history, lined with portraits in gilded frames and marble busts perched on pedestals. Each piece seemed older than her parents, maybe even her grandparents, whispering stories of centuries past. A wide smile stretched across Y/N's face as she took in the scene, her eyes dancing over the intricate details of the artwork. Coming from her small, quiet town in New York, London felt like stepping into another world, a world brimming with art, history, and a sense of timelessness that both thrilled and intimidated her. With each steps her Mary Jane's echoed throughout the university with the clicks of her heel. She released a breath both from nervousness and excitement.

She slipped into the grand hall, acutely aware of her tardiness. The ceremony had already began, the low murmur of voices filling the cavernous space. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for an empty seat. She spotted one next to a girl with tight, dark curl. Y/N approached, a soft smile gracing her lips. "Is this seat taken?" she whispered. Afraid of catching the attention of everyone else. The girl looked up, her eyes sparkling with warmth, and shook her head, offering Y/N a polite, welcoming smile. With a grateful nod, Y/N settled into the seat, her attention now focused on the speaker at the front of the hall, ready to immerse herself in this new and exciting chapter of her life.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N stretched her legs and arms, swinging them in wide circles, the late afternoon sun warming her skin. She rolled her neck, easing the tension from sitting all morning, all while watching the other students milling about on the field, their laughter and chatter creating a vibrant backdrop. Suddenly, her hand collided with something solid, and a sharp voice cut through the air. "Can you watch it?"

Embarrassment flooded her cheeks as she whirled around, an apologetic smile already forming. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" she asked, her eyes meeting a pair of striking green ones that seemed to bore into her. It was like being caught doing something wrong by her parents, and she instinctively lowered her gaze. "Do I look okay? Do you not see people walking by? You're just swinging your arms around like it's a windmill," he retorted, his voice laced with irritation.

Y/N's eyes snapped back up to meet his. His dark hair was slicked back, emphasizing the sharp angles of his face, and his arms were crossed tightly over his chest. The humiliation began to give way to annoyance. "I already apologized," she said, her tone sharpening. She hated when people throws fit about something so unserious. It was a simple accident. "But since you're being 'rude' about it, you walked into me," she countered, her arms now folded defensively as she stared right back at him, refusing to back down.

His gaze remained locked on her, unwavering, but a subtle twinkle sparked in his eyes, a hint of amusement flickering across his features. He was intrigued, that much was clear. "What's your name?" he asked, the abrupt shift in subject catching her off guard.

"What?" she blurted out, confusion evident in her tone.

Why the sudden change? Just moments ago, he was scolding me, and now he wanted to know my name?

He took a step closer, closing the distance between them, and Y/N instinctively recoiled, uncrossing her arms as she took a step back. "I don't have to tell you anything," she retorted, her glare unwavering, but her mind was racing.

He had been rude and accusatory, and now he expected me to simply hand over my name? What a confusing man. Is he bipolar?

"Hmm," he hummed, seemingly unbothered by her refusal. Y/N could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, her annoyance growing with his unbothered response. It didn't make any sense to her. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to regain her composure.

I need to be graceful. She chant to herself.

She put on a fake smile, spun around, and hurried away with her heels clicking sharply against the concrete, hands wrapped tightly on the straps of her tote bag, her knuckles turning white. She can feel eyes watching her, like he's watching her, she risked a quick glance over her shoulder, she saw the good-looking stranger still standing there, a look of amusement etched on his face. Their eyes met once more, and her own widened in renewed embarrassment, causing her to whip her head back around and quicken her pace.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

She finally made it to her dorm room, setting her bag down on the bed before gratefully slipping off her shoes. Her feet ached from walking in Mary Jane's all day, and she sighed in relief as the tension eased. Her room was cozy, featuring a small wooden desk facing the open window, offering a view of the university's field. There was a queen-sized bed, a private bathroom adjacent to the bed, and a small closet near the entrance door. "Thank goodness we have our own bathroom," she rasped out, sinking onto her made bed, exhausted from the day and the strange encounter. She couldn't help but wonder who he was. He looked like a student, but his attire suggested otherwise. A suit, a neatly knotted black tie, and slicked-back hair? She questioned her own observations. And those green eyes… those green eyes had stared so deeply into her soul. Ding, ding, ding. The sound of her timer broke her trace of thoughts, and she sighed, hitting 'stop' before getting up to change for class.

She pulled a soft pink shirt with a low back cut over her head, keeping the black skirt from the ceremony on. Swapping her Mary Janes for black ballet flats, she headed out to class, excitement bubbling within her. She had traveled all this way to be taught by this specific professor; it was a dream come true. Giddy and eager, she entered the classroom, finding most of the seats already taken. Slowly scanning the room, she decided to sit next to a girl with her hair styled in a messy bun. As she pulled the chair, it squealed against the wooden floor, drawing the girl's attention. She looked up from her book and smiled.

"Hey, I'm Lana," she said in an English accent, extending her hand. Y/N shook her hand, returning a polite smile. "I'm Y/N." She settled into the seat, grabbing her books from her bag. "You're American," Lana observed, amused. Y/N's eyes lit up, and her smile widened. "Yes, I'm from New York," she explained. While chatting up with Lana, to her right, the chair next to her was pulled away from the table and someone sat down in it. Lana greeted him and began chatting with the guy, whom was dressed in a high-fashion outfit, his hair slicked back, and sunglasses perched on his face. They were discussing about their summer.

"Oh, James, this is Y/N. She's from New York," Lana whispered out the last part, covering her mouth with her hand as if sharing a secret. The guy, James, looked at her before smiling, "Hello, I'm James," he greeted her in a thick English accent, almost imperceptible. Y/N smiled and introduced herself to him.

As the trio's conversation began to flow, a sense of camaraderie filling the air, the classroom door burst open, revealing Professor Madam' Paul. Her entrance was commanding, head held high with an air of scholarly authority. A stack of ancient, leather-bound books teetered precariously in her arms. With a dramatic flourish, she deposited the books onto the desk beside her, the sound echoing through the silent room.

"Ahhh, you must be my new students this season. How exciting!" she exclaimed, her voice a warm alto that resonated with enthusiasm. "But alas, I bring sad news, my fellow students. Regrettably, I won't be leading this course as my schedule has become rather entangled with committee work."

Y/N's smile faltered, a wave of disappointment washing over her. She had eagerly anticipated learning from Professor Madam' Paul, and the sudden change was a disheartening blow.

What a bummer.

"But fret not," Madam' Paul continued, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "One of the best and brightest, a fellow student no less, will be taking over in my stead. Allow me to introduce you to Harry Styles. Come in, Harry!"

The door swung inward once more, revealing a figure bathed in the soft light of the hallway. A voice, laced with a hint of nervous energy, called out, "Apologies for my tardiness." The figure stepped into the room, and Y/N's breath caught in her throat. It was him – the same captivating green eyes that had held her gaze earlier that day. He wore a crisp white button-up shirt, the sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows, revealing a glimpse of tanned forearms. A pair of stylish glasses perched on his nose, adding an intellectual charm to his already striking features. In his hands, he carried an object concealed beneath a pristine white cloth adorned with a subtle plaid pattern. As his eyes met with Y/N's, a spark ignited within them. His face lit up, and an amused smile spread across his lips, with his one of brow arched up. The surprise and disbelief etched on Y/N's face mirrored the electrifying connection that seemed to crackle between them.

Morning cuddles and kisses. You couldn't help admire his perfect features while he sleeps.

Author's Note: I tried writing in a different perspective. Let me know how you guys like it. Send me requests and enjoy reading!

Fluff | Kisses | Cuddles | Banter | Slight Smut | WC: 1255 | Masterlist

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The morning sun, painted the room in strokes of gold as it filtered through the cream-colored blinds. Dust motes danced in the illuminated air, highlighting the pristine white sheets where you lay. Spooning you from behind was Harry, your boyfriend, his arm wrapped around your waist. His head nestled itself into the back of neck, breathing hot air onto your skin. His legs tangled up against yours.

A soft groan escaped your lips, interrupting you from the depths of sleep, due to the warmth of your skin kissed by the light of the rising sun. Consciousness flickered, slow and hesitant, as your body registered the solid warmth pressed against your back and the possessive weight of Harry's arm. With a gentle wiggle, a silent negotiation with slumber, you turned. The bed protested with a soft creak, the sound of the sheets shuffling against each other. And there he was, Harry, his face softened in sleep, every line and angle somehow more endearing. A soft smile bloomed across your face, as you let yourself be captivated by the sight of him.

His dark curls cascaded across his forehead, partially obscuring the long, dark lashes that framed his closed eyes, and the sharp angles of his cheekbones that you adored. A soft frown tugged at your lips as you reached out, your hand hovering for a moment before gently sweeping the errant curls back and away from his face. With a feather-light touch, you traced the constellation of beauty marks scattered across his skin, each one a familiar landmark on the map of his face, trying not to disturb him. A wave of disbelief washed over you, a silent question echoing in your mind.

How did you get so incredibly lucky?

Lost in a reverie of adoration, you were jolted back to reality as Harry stirred, a low groan rumbling in his chest. You watched as his brows furrowed in his sleep, a fleeting expression of unease that tugged at your heart. Instinctively, you reached out, your thumb gently stroking the space between his eyebrows, seeking to smooth away the tension etched there. His face softened under your touch, the lines of worry melting away as a serene smile bloomed on his lips. In a swift, fluid motion, he pulled you closer, the unexpectedness of the gesture stealing your breath and eliciting a soft gasp.

"Morning," Harry mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, yet still carrying the warmth of his smile. Your heart swelled at the sound, and you couldn't help but mirror his expression, a matching smile curving on your own lips. "Morning, handsome," you whispered back.

You pressed a soft, lingering kiss onto his lips, then pulled away to watch his reaction. A wider, more radiant smile bloomed across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes, as he began to stretch out his long legs, which had been tangled with yours in a comfortable embrace throughout the whole night. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing his green eyes, and he caught sight of the cheeky grin playing on your face, which caused a soft, throaty giggle to escape his lips. "Are you laughing at me?" you questioned, feigning offense as you playfully pushed his shoulder. He shook his head in mock denial, his giggles subsiding but the mirth still dancing in his eyes. "No. Never," he replied in a teasing tone, his gaze fixed on you with adoration as he began to rub small, soothing circles against your exposed hips beneath the cozy warmth of the covers.

You gently began to run your fingers through his tousled hair, and he let out a soft sigh of relief, his muscles relaxing under your touch, yet his eyes remained fixed on you with unwavering adoration. "How'd you sleep?" you asked softly, the remnants of sleep still lacing in your voice. "Slept like a baby, love," he whispered back, his voice still hoarse with sleep, as he slowly fluttered his eyes closed, reveling in the gentle sensation of your fingers playing with his hair. "Always good with you," you replied, a warm smile tugging at your lips as you pressed another tender kiss against his. Your heart swelled with delight, overwhelmed by the joy of being able to spend your mornings cuddled up in bed with him. Reluctantly, he wrapped a hand around the back of your neck, drawing you closer as he deepened the kiss.

The kiss was slow, passionate, an expression of love. His thumb caressed the sensitive skin along the side of your neck, sending shivers down your spine as he parted your lips with his tongue, inviting you into a deeper embrace. You eagerly parted your own lips in response, granting him access, savoring the sweetness of his mouth and the soft, yielding pressure of his lips against yours. He mumbled softly into the kiss, a low hum of contentment, before you reluctantly pulled away, a delicate string of saliva momentarily connecting your lips before it broke. "You're so beautiful," he murmured awestruck, as he pulled you close and pressed a tender kiss on the top of your head. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his waist, nuzzling yourself against his chest, as he ran his fingers through your hair, murmuring sweet nothings. Meanwhile, you pressed small, wet kisses against his tattooed chest, tracing the intricate artwork inked into his skin with your fingertips.

He moved his hand down to your chin, gently lifting your head to meet his gaze. He peppered your lips with soft, fleeting kisses, causing a genuine smile to blossom on your face. "I love you," he confessed against your lips, his words a tender whisper that sent a wave of warmth through your veins, prompting you to pull away and look into his eyes. His green eyes were filled with adoration, twinkling with an inner light that mirrored your own. You kissed his jawline, your voice barely audible as you whispered, "I love you back," shyly hiding your face against his chest, causing a deep, rumbling chuckle to emanate from within him.

"Don't get all shy with me, love. Did you forget how bold you were last night when I was giving you it?" he whispered smugly, a playful glint in his eyes, causing you to whip your head up to meet his gaze. "Harry!" you exclaimed, feigning offense as you playfully pushed against his chest with your hands, only for him to pull you in even closer, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace. "You screamed my name last night—" he began, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, but you quickly covered his mouth with your hand, silencing his teasing words as he chuckled against your pressed palm. A blush crept up your neck and spread across your cheeks, and you nervously bit down on your bottom lip, trying to suppress the memories of the previous night's passionate encounter.

As Harry kissed your palm, he playfully tugged your wrist, a smug grin dancing on his lips. "You were begging for it too."

"Harry," you interrupted with a soft whine, causing his laughter to fill the space around you. "Okay. I'll stop teasing you." You looked up at him, gratitude shining in your eyes, before settling back against his chest. A comfortable silence enveloped you both, a blanket of warmth and affection. Then, he leaned in, his breath tickling your ear as he whispered a secret message.

Pranks Wars. A night of pranking harry turns into something deeper.

Author's Note: This is my first time writing a harry fan fiction. It's all over the place. So, I hope that you guys enjoy it! Please give me any feedback and send me requests!

Fluff | Slight Smut | Teasing | WC: 1,600+ | Masterlist

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The dim light from the lamp cast a warm, inviting glow across the living area, enveloping the room in a cozy embrace of soft shadows dancing along the walls. Y/N was sprawled across their shared couch, her body a canvas of nervous energy and barely contained excitement. The mischievous idea of pranking Harry had taken root in her mind ever since she stumbled upon a video earlier that day, a girl playfully seducing her significant other by teasing him. Now, she’s determined to do the same to Harry.

10:30 PM

The sound of keys jingling and bags rustling echoed from the other side of their apartment, heralding the arrival of Harry, finally home after a long day. His shoulders burdened by the weight of work, drooped slightly as he managed to unlock the door. The familiar click of the door was like a sweet melody that signaled his return. Stepping inside their cozy home, Harry dropped his bags onto the kitchen floor with a soft thud.

"M' love, I'm home!" he called out, his voice a delightful mix of exhaustion and affection.

As he began to take off his sweater, flurry of footsteps echoed from the bedroom racing toward him, each step growing louder. A smile tugged at the corners of Harry's lips as he envisioned the sight of his beautiful girlfriend rushing to greet him. Her presence a radiant beacon of warmth and comfort.

Slowly removing his shoes, his gaze landed on Y/N standing before him, bathed in the golden light of the living room. She wore a nightgown that clung to her every curve like a gentle caress. The thin straps delicately dancing around her shoulders, barely containing the elegant expanse of her collarbones. Laced fabric lined the chest area, teasing the imagination with tantalizing glimpses of what lay beneath. The soft cotton of the gown flowed gracefully around her figure, accentuating her curves. While the daring slits on both sides offered enticing glimpses of her long, slender legs.

Amused and utterly mesmerized by her beauty and the enchanting outfit choice, Harry couldn't help but let out a soft giggle, his heart swelling with admiration as he took in the delightful sight before him.

"Well, hello there," Harry purred, his eyes sparkling with amusement and a hint of playful curiosity. "What's all this then?" He took a step closer, his gaze lingering on the delicate lace and the tantalizing slits of the nightgown.

Y/N bit her lip, trying to suppress a giggle as she leaned against the doorframe, striking a pose that she hoped was both alluring and mischievous. "Just thought I'd surprise you, love," she purred back, her voice dripping with playful seduction. 

His eyes still drinking in the sight of her, a playful glint dancing within their depths. "Are you just gonna stand there?" he asked with a cheeky smile spreading across his face, lighting up his features. He reached out to her, his arms wide open.

Yearning for her embrace.

She laughed lightly, a melodic sound that rang in the air and sent delightful shivers down his spine. Without hesitation, she runs into his arms, her body molding perfectly against his. Her face nestled into the crook of his neck, her soft hair  tickling his skin and igniting a warmth that spread through him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. Feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against his.

"You miss me that much?" he chuckled softly, a sense of contentment washing over him, knowing that his girlfriend craved his presence just as fiercely as he did hers.

Y/N nodded, tightening her hold around his neck, her breath warm against his skin. "I miss you, H," she mumbled into his neck, her voice muffled yet filled with longing, each word dripping with sincerity.

He began to rock their bodies gently, swaying side to side in a slow, intimate dance that felt like time had paused just for them. Harry was overjoyed to be home, to be enveloped in her love and warmth. As happy as she was to be back in his arms. The idea of the prank interrupted their moment. Y/N decided to kiss his neck softly, her lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Each kiss deliberate and tantalizing. She knew that neck kisses were one of Harry's greatest turn-ons. Lost in sensation, Harry leaned his neck to the side surrendering completely to her affection.

"What are you doing, love?" Harry asked. His voice dropping to a husky whisper, thick with desire. His teeth clenched as Y/N's warm, wet tongue glided up his neck. Sending a jolt of electricity through his body.

Igniting every nerve of his body.

Y/N could feel Harry's demeanor shift as she continued to suck and lick his neck. The sound of his breathy exhales and soft gulps echoing in her ears. His hands began to travel down her waist, caressing her with his thumb in slow, circular motions that made her heart race.

Without warning, he wrapped his arms under her thighs, lifting her up in one swift motion. Y/N yelped in surprise, her legs instinctively wrapping around Harry's toned hips as she smiled into his neck. "Now, what do you think you're doing?" she whispered in a mocking tone, her breath hot against his skin.

Pleased that her prank was working, Y/N pulled back to meet Harry's gaze. She pecked his lips softly, eliciting a wide genuine smile from him. With a newfound purpose in his stride, he carried her effortlessly, taking them towards the living area. 

 He gently plopped down on the couch, settling her on top of him, his eyes never leaving hers.

As she straddles him, Y/N’s nightgown crept up. Revealing the smooth curve of her thighs. His hands finds it’s way to her waist, holding her firmly as he devoured her with his eyes. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, peppering kisses along her collarbone. A shiver danced across her skin, and she giggled. "Really?" she asked feigning amusement. He hummed in response, his attention solely focused on her collarbone. 

Harry began to leave sloppy and wet kisses on her warm skin, causing Y/N to wiggle on his lap.  "Harry, stop, you're slobbering all over me." She whines playfully. Pushing against him, he pull back, eyeing the marks that he left. "You love them," he replied with a teasing tone and a smirk plaster on his lips. Proud of his artwork, Harry leans his head back as he watch her with a soft, adoring gaze. Y/N knew that teasing him was a dangerous game but given her own susceptibility to his affection, she was determined to continue.

She leaned down, her lips tracing his neck. Focusing her attention behind his ear. Wet kisses mingled with playful bites on his earlobe before she trailed down his jawline, sucking and licking, careful to avoid leaving visible marks. Harry groaned softly, reveling in her ministrations. His hands rubbing her ass and thighs. "Mmm~ givin' me love?" he asked, his voice now coarse and breathy. She pulled away grinning stupidly at him. "Yeah, you look so good," she whispered, her voice laced with seduction.

Harry couldn't help but stare at his girl.

The dim light danced in the gold flecks of her irises, igniting a playful desire within them. And there was only silence. A silent challenge passed between them, a promise of the pleasure yet to come. Harry can feel the heat radiating off from Y/N's body. A delicious warmth that seeped through his clothes. Her soft curves pressed against his chest, each breath a tantalizing tease. He could feel the rapid pulse of her heart mirroring his own, a frantic rhythm building with each passing moment.

His gaze lowered, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of her perched above him. A slow smile spread across his face, a silent acknowledgment of her playful dominance. He was ready to surrender to her every whim, eager to explore the depths of their shared desire.

As the tension crackled in the air and heart pounding in their chests. Y/N wraps her small hands around his neck, playfully tugging on his small curls. Bringing her lips to his, barely brushing them. Harry couldn’t help but to let out a soft laugh. "Are you trying to tease me?" he asked, his voice hoarse with anticipation. A tent formed beneath her, rubbing against her thighs, sending shivers through her. She mumbled against his lips, determined to continue her little prank. "Maybe." She drags the word out playfully. 

He shakes his head in return. 

Harry was done with the chase. He wanted her. He wanted to taste her soft lips. Her sweetness. Harry wrap his hand behind the back of her neck and his mouth crashed against hers. It was anything but gentle. Y/N gasped, the kiss sent shivers through her entire body. 

His lips mounds against her, her bottom lips in-between his, finally tasting her soft and sweet lips. “Mmmmm~” Harry moans into the kiss. But it didn’t feel enough, Harry wasn’t fully satisfied. He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, an invitation. As her mouth parted, he plunged in, the anticipation of tasting her pushing him over the edge of reason.

He traced the inside of her mouth with his warm tongue. Tasting her inch by inch to fulfill his crave, but Y/N embrace his tongue with her own fighting for control. 

Y/N grinds against Harry’s bulge causing them to moan in unison. The sexual tension between them grew. A silent language spoken in the moment of intertwined tongues and the desperate press of bodies. "Fuck," Harry breathed into the kiss, the friction between them was a tormenting tease. He can imagine the wetness dripping down her legs, if only her panties wasn't collecting up all her juice.