Roses and Vanilla
In which y/n and Harry aren’t really close until y/n falls in the shower, and Harry falls in love. (9.7k words)
Harry wasn’t really doing anything when it happened. He had just been sitting in his room, trying to figure out what to do with his day.
It was still fairly early in the morning, but, since Harry was an early riser, he had already gone to the gym, showered, and made himself some pancakes. On any other day, Harry would have gone to class or done some homework -- but considering it was a Saturday, Harry had no classes for the rest of the day, and the only homework he had over the weekend was a literary analysis for his Literature class that he had already finished (He had a four hour gap on Fridays between his International Political Economy and European History classes that he usually utilized to knock out a majority of his weekend assignments). Plus, he didn’t really feel like leaving the house anyway. The forecast said there was a 40% chance of rain, and who wants to go outside when the weather is bleak and dreary?
So he’s just sitting in his room, lying on his bed, and fiddling with his guitar… until he hears a thud.
A thud that really resembles the sound of someone falling. In the shower. Followed by a pained cry of his name.
“Harry!”
As soon as he hears his name Harry’s out of his room, throwing his guitar onto his bed, and running to where the sound came from. His roommate, y/n, had gotten into the shower about 10 minutes ago, so it’s most logically her calling out his name.
He’s kind of freaking out because 1) Based on what Harry knows about y/n, she’s very calm, organized, and independent and 2) He and y/n rarely talk to each other -- so the fact that she's calling out to him, with so much panic in her voice, must mean something has really gone wrong.
He knocks on the door with more force than usual -- partly because the water’s still running and he doesn’t know if y/n can hear him, but mostly because he’s got so much adrenaline running through his veins. His mind is racing and his heart is pounding, and he can’t help but remember that the last time he felt this much concern for someone was when his older sister had fallen off a table at a family reunion.
“Y/n? Are y’alright?” he asks, voice failing to mask his trepidation.
“Please help me.”
It’s difficult for him to hear her response over the sound of running water, but he can clearly make out the pain and desperation in her voice. Millions of scenarios are running through his head, and he has no idea what to expect, surges of anxiety rushing through his body. Without a second thought, he’s pushing against the door, breaking his way in.
He rushes to the flower-printed shower curtain, hurriedly asking again, “Y/n, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”
“I f-fell,” she sniffles, “and I really hurt m-my ankle Harry.”
The pitch of her voice and her uneven, wavering breaths tell Harry that she’s perilously holding back her sobs. As panicked and worried he himself is, he realizes that y/n’s position is much worse, and that his entire focus should be on soothing y/n. “Can you stand up?”
“No, it hurts too much,” she answers, followed by an aching plea, “Harry, please help me.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and apprehensive when he asks, “Is it okay if I open the shower curtain?”
Just as quietly, y/n gives him the okay.
Harry pulls the shower curtain aside and finds y/n sitting on the tub floor, leaning forward so that she can cradle her concerningly red ankle. Her position is fetal and vulnerable, yet she managed to shield herself from wandering eyes so that all Harry could see was the expanse of her back and her crossed legs -- plus her face if she hadn’t been crying towards the floor. There's still water streaming onto her head, getting into her eyes and mixing in with her tears, so he turns off the showerhead and kneels by the edge of the tub so he can look at her, face-to-face.
Although her eyes are glossed over and filled with pain, she isn’t crying loudly. Silent tears fall down her face, clumping her wet eyelashes together and rolling down her cheeks onto her lips -- her red-bitten lips that she’s been continuously chewing on since she let out her first cry. She’s taking deep, shuddering inhales from the overwhelming amount of pain she’s in, and releasing them in choking exhales in an effort to contain her cries.
Harry leans forward and pushes her hair to the back of her head with his palms, moving the messy strands out of her eyes to see her clearly. He cradles her face and swipes his thumbs underneath her eyes to wipe away her tears and she leans into his hold, finally feeling a little bit more comforted and at ease.
She had been so panicked and worried when she first fell that the mere thought of it made her choke up again. She hadn’t taken her phone into the bathroom and wasn’t sure if Harry would be able to hear her calling out to him, and when the sharp pains in her ankle had begun to intensify, she had panicked. Her mind had been sent into a frenzy of worrisome thoughts, wondering if anyone would ever come save her or if she had truly rendered her foot useless, making her hopelessly distressed.
Harry is quick to comfort her as soon as he hears her whimpers, cooing, “Oh darling, shh, it’s alright. I’ve got you now.” He stands up for just a second to grab her towel off the rack and sits back down next to the tub -- wrapping the towel around her body, tucking the edge of it under her armpit, and lifting her out of the tub and into his lap. Settling her on his thighs, he drapes one arm around her back and uses the other to support her sore ankle, preventing it from moving around or hitting anything.
Immediately after being taken into Harry’s arms, y/n breaks down. She grasps his shirt and nestles into his chest, allowing sobs to take over her body. She’s gasping through her agonizing cries and fisting Harry’s collar more and more tightly as she recalls the extreme distress she felt when she first found herself helpless on the floor. Harry can feel her body shaking with every cry she heaves out, shivering with every weak inhale. His heart breaks for the poor girl who was in so much pain, and wants nothing more but to make it all better. Take all the pain away from her and shower her in lovely thoughts and sweet kisses. He rubs his fingers up and down her spine, coaxing her to let it all out, and whispering small words of empathy. Her ear is pressed up to his chest, right up next to his heart so she can hear it steadily beating. She focuses on the gentle thumping to assuage her racing mind and matches his breathing to calm her own, reducing her weeps into smaller gasps and mewls.
As she begins to calm down, Harry moves away a small bit to observe her. Her lips are still trembling and are perfectly pouty and swollen, and the tip of her nose has tinged pink, wrinkling upwards with each of her small sniffles. His button up is stained with her tears, but he’s more concerned with the fact that there are still tears brimming at her waterline. He noses at the side of her head and fits his lips at the shell of her ear to lowly query, “Can you tell me what happened?”
Peeking out from her resting position on his chest, she weakly whimpers, “I-I dunno really. I was washing the conditioner out of my hair and then somehow m-my foot slipped, and then it twisted underneath me and it hit the side of the tub.” She lets out another shaky exhale, “Harry, it really hurts.”
He lets her tuck her face back into his neck as he tells her, “Darling, it looks kind of bad. I think we need to call an ambulance or summat.”
“No!” she exclaims, “absolutely not! Do you know how expensive those damn ambulances are? I can’t afford to have an ambulance called on my behalf!”
“Well we need to get you to a hospital, love, or else s’just gonna get worse.”
She thinks for a second, then pouts up at him, “could you take me there please?”
Out of the two of them, Harry’s the one who has a car, and despite the fact that they go to the same university, she’s never gotten a ride from him. She usually just gets around by walking or taking the bus.
Harry looks into her tearful eyes and knows that there’s no way in hell he could say no to her. So he gets off the bathroom floor with y/n in his arms, and walks them over to her room.
“Alright, let’s get you some clothes and then I can drive us to the doctors. Is it alright if I go into your room?”
Y/n just nods from her cradled position in his arms.
He pushes the door open with his back and sits y/n on her bed, asking her where he can find her some clothes.
“Underwear is in the top drawer, sweatpants are in the bottom drawer, and my sweaters are hung up in the closet.”
He contains the 12 year old boy in himself as he grabs her the first bra and panties he sees, only slightly ogling the lacy undergarments, then grabs the first pair of folded sweatpants from the bottom drawer. Going into her closet, he goes to her sweaters (all neatly hung up on the left) and picks out the softest looking one.
“Isn’t this mine?” he questions, turning around.
She’s not looking at him, opting to lay on the bed and stare at the ceiling, sniffling, “Probably. Our clothes get mixed up a lot and you have comfy sweaters.”
He sets the pile of clothes next to her on the bed (definitely not eyeing the tops of her thighs where the towel has ridden up) and heads out of the room to grab an ice pack for her ankle while she changes.
She’s able to put the sweater on and manages to get the panties right above her knees until she can’t shuffle them underneath her thighs anymore. When Harry knocks on the door, she gives him permission to enter, saying, “Harry, I need your help.”
He’s a teensy bit shocked when he sees her panties only up her thighs as he walks in, but he keeps his cool. “Er- yeah, what’s up?”
“Can you help me stand up please?”
He puts the ice-pack on the bed and wraps his hands around her upper body, circling his fingers around her ribs to hoist her up. Accidentally, his fingers slip up a bit too high and he pinches at her breasts, fingers grazing at the swell of her chest. He pulls away quickly, yelping, “Woah! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to! I-I thought I brought you a bra...”
“You did,” she quips with pursed lips, “I just didn’t put it on. I’m already in enough pain, I don’t need a bra on top of that.”
So, again, he wraps his hands around her body, thumbs pressing into the plushy underside of her breasts, and hoists her up so that she can balance herself on the leg that isn’t injured, shuffling her underwear around her hips. They repeat the process so y/n can put on her sweatpants, and once she’s fully dressed Harry runs into his room, grabbing his keys, wallet and phone, shoving them into his pocket, and swooping y/n back into his arms.
“Anythin’ you need before we go?” he asks her, bending down so that she can grab the ice pack from her bed.
She politely tells him she only needs her phone and guides him to its position on her dresser before Harry carries her out of their apartment, locking the door behind himself.
Y/n snuggles into Harry’s tight hold as he walks them down the parking garage, and is reluctant to hop out of his embrace when they reach his car. He was providing her with so much aide and comfort and she was feeling so thankful for him. Despite the fact that this was the most time they had ever voluntarily spent together, he was being the most supportive and loving person ever.
As Harry slides her into the passenger's seat, she softly voices her thanks.
His jade eyes flicker to hers when he hears her voice, frail and weak from all her crying, and he assures her, “It’s no problem, darling,” while buckling her up. “Now let's get you to the doctors.”
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・
So it turns out that y/n had fractured her ankle, resulting in a wonky cast around her leg and firm orders from the doctor to avoid walking on it at all costs.
This makes her a bit more dependent on Harry than she was normally used to.
You see, y/n and Harry hadn’t even known each other when they started living together. Y/n had initially moved into her apartment with her childhood friend, Katie, but after Katie dropped out of college and moved back home (something y/n had also considered doing during many of her 1 am procrastination sessions), y/n needed to find a roommate -- preferably within the span of that same month so that she wouldn’t be forced to pay rent on her own. She spread the word to everyone she knew until finally, three weeks into her hunt, the nice boy who sat next to her in her Aristotelian Philosophy class -- named Niall if she remembered correctly -- told her that one of his best mates, Harry, was in desperate need of a flat to move into (His old apartment complex had caught on fire after the elderly woman on the top floor accidentally left a candle on, so he was forced to permanently abandon his previous place of residence).
Within three days of contacting Harry, he was moving his things into Katie’s old room.
At the very beginning of their roommate-ship, the pair made a mutual agreement to keep their private lives separate. It wasn’t anything hostile that kept them separated from each other! It was simply the fact that they were both keen on maintaining their personal space -- plus, they were in two totally different majors and didn’t hang out in any of the same social groups. The only time they really ever saw each other was in the mornings or at night, with the occasional run-in in the kitchen when they were both grabbing something to eat.
That had been their system for the past four months. Now, however, things were entirely different.
Within the three days since the accident, y/n and Harry had spent more time with each other than ever before. With y/n depending on Harry to help her move from room to room, and him being so willing to cater to her needs, it was inevitable for them to eventually start talking and getting to know each other. Albeit, it was still fairly awkward small talk... but still. They were talking with each other, learning more about their counterpart, and discovering new small details about the other. Instead of making food for themselves and eating it alone, Harry was now offering to cook her dinner and eat it with her on the couch while discussing different shows and music they liked. Or rather than isolating themselves in their respectful rooms and doing homework by themselves, they now did it together in a shared space -- like today.
Right now, they’re both in the living room, quietly sitting in each other’s presence and completing their work. Y/n’s on the couch, wrapped up in one of those fuzzy blankets and closing a textbook she had just finished reading an excerpt of. Harry is at the dining room table -- typing away on his laptop doing whatever Political Science majors tend to do -- when y/n asks “Can you grab me my laptop, please?”
He’s up in a second, responding, “Yep. S’it in your room?”
“It is, thank you.”
Harry doesn’t mind helping y/n out -- he personally knows the difficulties of having an injury (He broke his wrist once after falling out a tree. Long story.), and wishes someone had taken care of him the same way he was taking care of y/n. Plus.. he thinks doting on someone and tending to their needs is endearing in a way. He wants to have someone to take care of, to feed, to coddle, and loves the way she’s so dependent on him. It’s the weird, protective nature in himself that makes him this way.
Handing her the laptop he retrieved, y/n thanks him again, making Harry let out a breathy chuckle. “Y’already thanked me once,” he says, eying her with a teasing grin.
“Well I guess I’m awfully thankful for you then! I’ve got you holed up in here, stuck with me -- all because I couldn’t stand on my own two feet in the shower! And I keep making you do things for me, I need to lay off for a bit. I’m sorry.”
Again he laughs at her, shaking his head, “Darling, I’ve told you already that I don’t mind. I needed to do my work anyway, I’m just doing it here instead of my room.”
She almost thanks him for that as well, but catches herself just before she says it, turning to her laptop screen instead.
“Did you finish that literary analysis for Rockerfell’s class?” Harry asks her.
“Oh, er- no I haven’t finished it yet,” she answers. “How’d you know about that?”
“We’re in the same class, silly.”
“What?” She didn’t know about this. “How? I thought we’re in different majors.”
“We are,” Harry responds, “I’m in political science, but I took Rockerfell’s lit class as an elective.”
“Oh wow! I didn’t… I didn’t know we were in the same class. Have you finished it?”
“Mhm,” he says with a proud smirk (he prides himself in being part of the small population that doesn’t procrastinate), “finished it yesterday.”
Y/n frowns at the thought of her unfinished classwork, really not in the mood to think about school. “I’ve got the conclusion left, but I’m shit at conclusions,” she huffs. “How many ways can I rewrite my thesis without saying the same thing over and over again?”
“Do you want some help?” Harry offers. “I could read over it if you’d like.”
“Oh would you? That would be so helpful, thank you!”
He sits next to her on the couch as she passes him her laptop, and begins reading. “Wow… I love what you did with transcendentalism and the whole ‘lack of spiritual connection with the physical world,’” he tells her. “This is golden.”
Y/n blushes from his compliment, and finds herself bashfully observing him. His left hand is unconsciously picking and prodding at his bottom lip while his eyes scan the screen, flickering back and forth. She’s startled when his eyes flash up to her, worried that he might have found her staring strange, but he says nothing of it and simply asks, “Is it okay if I type something out?” She nods her consent.
“There were a couple of little grammatical issues here and there that I cleared up, and I typed up a little outline for your concluding statement if you want to use it. Other than that it was magnificent. You really know your shit, don’t you?”
Her cheeks flush once more as she grabs her laptop from him, timidly speaking, “I like the subject, I guess. It’s really interesting.”
He lets out a hum of acknowledgment and watches as she quickly types out a conclusion. Biting at her nails, she mutters underneath her breath, “This is good enough. I doubt Rockerfell even reads our conclusions,” then abruptly turns her head to him. “Is it time for dinner yet? I’m hungry. We can get some take out if you’d like.”
Her change in character is fascinating, and he finds himself in admiration of how cute she is.
“Yeah,” he murmurs in amusement, “lets get some takeout.”
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・
On Wednesday morning, Harry wakes up bright and early to complete his morning routine -- only today, rather than just making pancakes for himself, he makes a stack for y/n as well.
He takes them to her room and carefully enters, barely seeing y/n’s head peeking out from under the covers, with her face smushed into her pillow and her hair messily splayed over her face. Underneath her blanket, he can see that her entire body is sprawled out on her bed, legs starfishing across her mattress, with her arms tightly clutching the pillow her head is resting on.
“Y/nnn,” he gently sing-songs, placing her plate on her bedside table and sitting next to her on the bed, “It’s time to get up.” Her face scrunches up for a second and she lets out a hum, momentarily gaining awareness, but it fades away just as quickly as it appears.
“Y/n, darling,” he tucks a piece of loose hair behind her ear, “I’ve made you breakfast.” She takes a deep breath and shuffles from her side onto her back, drowsily blinking her eyes open. Squinting through the bright morning sunlight, her brain somewhat begins to comprehend her surroundings as she looks around her room, eyes landing on Harry. “G’morning sunshine,” he beams at her.
“Hi, Harry,” she says sleepily. Her eyebrows furrow, “Why am I awake?”
“We’ve got our Literature class in two hours, and I’m going to drive you. Eat up. I hope you like pancakes.”
She sits upright at the thought of breakfast, shaking the tiredness out of her system and knuckling at her eyes to clear away any remnants of sleep. “Oh gosh, Harry, you’re a right angel. I can’t remember the last time I ate breakfast before one of my morning classes.”
She makes grabby hands at the plate of pancakes as Harry passes it to her and stands up from her bed, telling her, “You’ve got an hour to get ready. I want us to leave early, since you and your broken arse are going to slow us down.”
“Hey!” she whines as he walks out, “Be nice to me, I’m injured! I can’t believe I’m living with such a bully.”
He just giggles at her dramatics.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・
Harry was right in suggesting that they leave earlier than usual. Y/n hadn’t really practiced using her crutches since she had gotten injured (preferring to just be carried around the house by Harry instead) and found that she absolutely hated using them. They were a little too high for her so they uncomfortably dug into her armpits, and she didn’t understand the mechanisms of using them at all. Did she move the crutches forward and then herself? Was it one foot at a time or both of them together? How the fuck was she supposed to make her way accross campus while having to keep her injured foot off the floor for the entire day?
So when she hopped out of Harry’s car and began her trek to class with the aid of her crutches… well, let's just say she wasn’t entirely the fastest. She was hobbling around, alternating between using one of her crutches as a makeshift cane, or using them to drag her fractured ankle forward -- at a speed of approximately two steps per minute.
Harry, being the angel that he was, patiently waited for her, not rushing her in any way and being so supportive she could cry. Almost like a father helping his child take their first steps, he encouraged her, throwing the occasional “c’mon love, you’ve got this” and “you’re doing great sweetheart” her way.
“I didn’t realize how hard it was going to be to get around with these damn crutches!” she utters during a breather. Her voice is laced with immense amounts of irritation, but it’s masked through her intense huffing and puffing. Who knew using crutches was so labor intensive? “Feel like I’ve ran a marathon and we’ve not even made it three feet from your car!”
They kept at this pace for 10 minutes, and as accommodating as Harry tried to be towards y/n’s condition, he was getting concerned that they would be late to their class. Dr. Rockerfell was one of those professors who was extremely strict on punctuality and would lock his doors the minute class started. Nobody was ever let into class if they showed up late. Plus, the guy who showed up tardy on the first day of the semester tells horror stories of unexplained failed grades and missing assignments, and neither Harry nor y/n want to deal with Rockerfell’s wrath.
When there’s less than 15 minutes left until the class starts and they’re still in the quad (quite a while away from their class) Harry stops her. “Give me your crutches.”
“What?”
“Give me your crutches and take my bag. ‘M g’na give you a piggy-back ride.”
“Oh, goodie!” she’s squealing like a giddy little girl about to hop onto a rollercoaster and eagerly exchanges her crutches for his bag, slinging it across her back while Harry leans the crutches against a wall. He bends down so y/n can wrap her arms around his neck, the hoists her up, hooking his arms under her knees and tucking her thighs between his biceps and ribcage. With her on his back, he’s immersed in the way she feels against his back, encased in the scent of her perfume. She’s warm and soft, so soft! Her hands are soft as they rest on his chest, the material of her sweater is soft against his arms, her small breaths are soft against the shell of his ear. He’s only broken out of this trance when y/n hollers, “Onwards, my noble steed!” finally moving them forward at a normal rate.
They make it there with five minutes to spare, and for the first time ever, they sit next to each other. Harry drops her down before the walk into the classroom because she “can’t have everyone thinkin’ I’m some damsel in distress” and they both sit at the first open spots.
The first hour of their lecture is fine, with Harry typing up notes on his laptop and y/n writing them out in her notebook (they each have their own preferences in note-taking). They spend the period sharing notes and bits of information the other missed, with Harry frequently tilting his laptop screen towards y/n when she’s struggling to keep up. Going into the second hour of the lecture however, y/n is bored out her mind and Harry is dozing off. They both loved their literature class, but Rockerfell had the tendency to go off onto… irrelevant tangents. It’s been 15 minutes of Rockerfell describing his own experience of reading Catch 22 in college rather than actually analyzing the novel, and Harry’s on the verge of completely falling asleep -- but he’s woken up by y/n nudging his shoulder. He turns his head to her, but rather than being met with eye contact, he’s met with a blank sheet of her notebook pointed in his direction, with a tiny note scrawled onto the page.
I’m so tired of this story, she’s written.
How did we go from talking about a war novel to Rockerfell’s college girlfriend? I’m this close to falling asleep. He writes back.
He observes how she bites her lip as she writes down a response, and then how she looks back up at Rockerfell with faux interest as she passes the notebook back. Can he not tell when people aren’t interested in his stories? MOVE ON!
Chuckling while reading her note, he scribbles something down for her. She glances at the page, and scoffs at the game of tic tac toe he’s drawn out. For the rest of the period, they continue passing notes and playing secret games until Rockerfell finally ends his story, and dismisses the lecture.
“Where do you usually go after class?” Harry asks her as he waits for her to pack up her bag.
“Well, usually I go to the library, n’I try to do a bit of studying there. Mostly because the bus I ride home comes in two hours.”
“You sit around for two hours just ‘cos you have no way home?” he frowns, “We’re in the same fuckin’ class love, why didn’t you ever ask me to take you home?”
She shrugs. “I dunno. We just didn’t talk. Thought it might be too much to ask of my distant housemate.”
“Well you won’t be needing that anymore. Consider me your personal chauffeur, I’ll take you anywhere you’d like from now on.”
“Thank you Harry, that’s very kind of you,” she says through a giggle, cheeks tinging pink at his consideration.
“Now, did I hear your stomach growling during that lecture?” he questions, “Were my pancakes not enough for you, you ravenous beast? Let’s take you home so I can make you something to eat.”
“Oh! Can you make me some of that zucchini chicken thing you make for yourself sometimes?” she pleads with a glimmer of excitement in her eyes, starting her straining trek on the crutches again. “I see your leftovers in the fridge all the time and it smells really good.”
“Of course, darling. Anything you’d like.”
“You have no idea how many times I’ve been tempted to steal your leftovers. Take me home, I’m starving!”
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・
As y/n’s ankle began to grow stronger, so did her and Harry’s friendship. Within the mere five weeks that Harry had started helping her around the house and on campus, they’d grown from barely acquantanced housemates to the bestest of friends. They spent almost all their time together.
In the mornings, Harry would always make breakfast for the two of them. If y/n wasn’t awake yet, he would rouse her gently with kind words, soft touches, and promises of food and hot chocolate. If she had woken up on time, however, she would sit on the counter right next to Harry’s cooking station and engage in pleasant conversation, while observing him as he seamlessly made his way around the kitchen.
She found that he could make the simplest actions more entertaining, creating a whole show of prepping their breakfast. He’d fiddle on his phone until his bluetooth connected to a speaker and would play them some music from his “happy morning” playlist, using his whisk as a makeshift microphone and singing along to the songs that played. Dancing around y/n, he’d perform a dramatic rendition of Queen’s Killer Queen until she was left in a fit of giggles, applauding him and cheering for an encore, before actually using the whisk to mix his batter.
While waiting for the first side of their pancakes to cook, Harry would cut up fruit for the two of them, telling her to open up and feeding small pieces to her off the knife. He’d poke and pinch at her sides while she ate, making her squirm around on the counter until the pancakes were ready to be flipped (“Ok, are you ready? Watch this.” he’d say before flicking his wrist, flipping his pancake up into the air, and landing it on the opposite side. This was always followed by a shower of compliments from y/n, “Such a skilled chef. It’s like we have Gordon Ramsey himself in our kitchen!”) then plating them up so that the two of them could eat together.
He’d drop her off at class, letting her play whatever music she wanted in the car, and he’d come back a couple hours later to pick her up, always creating a schedule compatible with her’s so that they could spend their days together. She’d come with him to the gym and play 2048 on her phone while Harry worked out, and he would help her stretch her leg when it started to cramp up after using her crutches all day (which she’s slowly but surely gotten better at using). They’d study together, with Harry quizzing y/n on her flashcards and y/n cluelessly nodding along to the Comparative Government lecture he would present to her, and they’d spend all their free time together -- talking with each other about the simplest of matters to their own personal concerns.
Most importantly, they had crossed the cuddle barrier. It started as them just watching movies together in y/n’s bed, which directly faced the TV she had mounted on her wall, only consisting of a small amount of contact, the most being y/n leaning over to Harry and stealing a sip of his tea. Over time though, it evolved into them sharing a blanket... then Harry lightly brushing their legs together... then y/n resting her head on his shoulder... until eventually, y/n was latched onto him like a leech. They would watch movies together and quip at scenes they were fond of, with Harry’s arm wrapped around y/n’s shoulders, her legs draped over Harry’s, and her head resting on his chest, right underneath his chin.
And, despite the fact that they had gone from barely seeing each other three times a week to spending a majority of time with each other for the better part of the past month and a half, they still weren’t tired of hanging out. They were just so compatible -- it shocked them that they hadn’t become best friends sooner.
It was a new fact in the world: Harry and y/n were best friends. Even everyone else noticed how friendly the pair were getting.
“Do you want to come out with us today, mate?” Adam asks Harry as the two of them (and Mitch) walk out of class together.
Harry responds mindlessly, more focused on his phone (aka where he’s texting y/n) than the conversating at hand, “Not today, I’ve got to get home.”
“You’ve been spending a lot of time at home,” Adam acknowledges, “barely spend time with us anymore. Seems like you prefer your roommate over us.”
“Yeah, I thought you two never talked. What happened to that?” Mitch pipes in.
“Dunno, she broke her foot so I’ve been helping her out. She’s really cool.” he mumbles, head still in his phone.
“Yeah a proper cutie too.” Adam hums, a wide grin plastered on his face. “Are y’planning to make a move on her or something?”
This catches Harry’s attention, as he looks up from his phone, lips parted in pique and eyebrows furrowed. “Why do you say that?”
“You’ve spent the entire month cooped up in your apartment with her,” Adam explains, “And when you aren’t in your flat, you’re still glued to her hip. Hell, even now when we’ve got you alone you’re off texting her like a puppy in love.”
“Either she’s doing your homework for you, or you’ve got a mad crush on her, lad.” Mitch resolves.
Harry thinks for a moment. Does he have a crush on her? Sure he loves spending time with her and would do everything in his power to make her smile. And, yeah he wants to dote on her and cook her food and snuggle up with her every night. And ok, maybe he spends an extra minute stroking her cheek when he wakes her up in the mornings, or admiring her lips, imagining how sweet they would taste, how nice they would feel to suckle on… but that doesn’t mean he has a crush on her!
“Stop talking shit,” Harry grumbles, rolling his eyes and standing up, “She’s just one of m’really good friends. A lot more fun than you wankers.”
They let out offended squawks as Harry packs up his bag, “Anyway,” he carries on, “I’ve gotta run. Y/n’s class s’gonna get out soon ‘n I told her I’d pick her up.”
He gives them a parting wave and a ‘see you later’ before turning around, heading toward the Literature department. He doesn’t see the knowing glance his friends share in his eagerness to see y/n, and definitely doesn’t hear what Mitch says as he walks away.
“Just friends, my ass. He’s bloody in love with her.”
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・
“I’m tired of this week, it’s been crap. I can’t wait to sleep tonight.” y/n says as she makes way towards Harry, who’s waiting next to his car, one leg propped up against his car with his phone in hand.
“Rough day?” Harry asks.
“You don’t know the half of it.” she groans, climbing into the passenger’s seat of Harry’s car. “I don’t even want to think about my classes.”
“Come on then,” he says, starting the car, “you can pick t’night’s movie, n’then I’ll give you a cuddle. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds splendid. Wake me up when we get home.”
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・
Their movie night goes swimmingly well. Y/n chooses Pride and Prejudice as their film of the night (the 2005 version because Kiera Knightley can like… get it), and like usual, they fall asleep half-way through the movie. Legs tangled together and y/n snuggled underneath Harry’s arm, fully latched onto his side.
It’s in the morning when they run into some trouble.
Like almost every other morning, Harry wakes up earlier than y/n. He’s still in that sweet spot where he’s only somewhat conscious and (for the most part) is still unaware of his surroundings, not fully comprehending his thoughts. He can tell that the morning air is blissfully quiet, and that the warmth that he’s feeling on his face is the early morning sun shining through the window. He can tell that he’s bundled up underneath the covers, safe like the way his mother used to tuck him in. He can tell that he’s inhaling a familiar scent of roses and vanilla that makes his heart flutter. And he can tell that, overall, he’s feeling warm, fuzzy, and completely relaxed.
He can’t figure out what he’s cuddled up to, but he can tell that it's soft… and that if he shifts his hips just right, his cock nudges against whatever he’s cuddling so tightly, sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body. It’s overwhelming for him to feel this good when he’s just woken up, and he really can't tell how or why he’s feeling this way -- but he knows that if he ruts his hips forward just a little bit, there's a delicious friction that sends his body into overdrive.
So that’s exactly what he does.
He thrusts his hips forward once, and it’s heaven. He does it a second time, and feels nothing but euphoria. The third time he does it, he drags it out. Rolls his hips into whatever sensual thing is in front of him, completely nestling his cock against the plush seduction. His mind is still groggy but it just feels so good, and he can’t stop himself. Can’t stop himself from grinding forward. Can’t stop himself from groaning out in sheer pleasure.
Can’t stop himself until he hears y/n whimper out his name.
It’s only then that he comes out of his senseless state, understanding what he’s doing.
Sometime in the middle of the night, Harry had latched onto y/n and pulled her so close that her back was pressed flat to his front and his face was nuzzled into the back of her neck. The alluring object that he had been rutting his hips into had been y/n’s backside, the scent he had been inhaling had been the scent of y/n’s shampoo, and the dirty thoughts that had aroused his actions had been about y/n.
Even worse, in the midst of his unconsciousness, Harry had snaked his hand underneath y/n’s shirt to cup her bare chest. His palm had been encasing the swell of her breast, his thumb had been grazing her pert nippled, and he had latently been grasping onto her tit whilst grinding against her ass.
“Fuck.” He hadn’t meant to do this. Hadn’t meant to ruin the dynamic of their friendship. Hadn’t meant to let the tiny, niggling thought of an inchoate crush force him into a difficult position. Hadn’t meant to put y/n into such an uncomfortable situation. “I’m so sorry. Fuck.”
There are thousands of thoughts running through his head (most of them scolding himself for being a perverted idiot who thinks with his dick instead of his brain) and he hears an incessant blaring in his head, screaming at him that he’s majorly fucked up. It’s horrendous and never ending, a terrible reminder that he’s ruined the best friendship he’s had in a long time.
He’s hastily moving away from her, pulling his hips back and retracting his hand from the grip it had on her breast. Trying to make her impending rejection easier on the both of them. Flashes of regret pulse through his body, and he’s just about ready to fall off the face of the earth, until he hears the smallest squeak from y/n.
“wait…”
It’s hushed, but Harry hears it. Pausing, he stays absolutely motionless to listen to what she says. “That's… it’s alright… you don’t have to…”
Her words diminish, in hopes that he’ll understand what she’s implying, but when he’s still frozen -- hand half-way off her tit and still in position to launch himself into the bathroom -- she utters it out.
“it’s okay… you don’t need to stop.”
Is she- is she telling him that she’s okay with him getting off on her?
“What? A-are y’sure?” he anxiously wonders.
“Mhm. I want you to.”
And who’s he to refuse?
Gently, he lowers himself back down to her figure, grazing his nose against the slope of her neck and inhaling deeply, breathing in her scent. He’s grabbing her chest once again, fitting his hand around the underside of her breast, and delicately palming it. Dimpling the lush skin with his fingers as he fondles her breast, making her moan as he pinches at her nipple.
He drives his hips forward again, burrowing his cock into the curve of her ass, and shamelessly moans when y/n rocks her body into his. She can feel his erection rubbing against her, shifting up and down, and can’t help herself from shimmying backwards and pressing herself into him. He’s panting into her neck, “Y’so soft. Couldn’t help myself.”
The vibrations of his voice resonate through y/n’s chest, making her mewl out as she grinds her hips backwards, his hard cock snug against her ass. His fingers are still toying with her tits, rolling the hardened nub of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, sending jolts of pleasure down her body. It’s as if a wire connected Harry’s hands with her core, shooting electric ecstasy throughout her body with every touch of his fingertips. Her chest flutters every time she feels his hands groping her breasts, head spinning as she feels his length rubbing against her.
He releases her breast and traces his hand down her stomach, feeling it quiver as he skims his fingertips down her ribcage, to the waistline of her shorts. Toying with the material there, he whispers in her ear, “Can I touch you? Please, ‘m dying to.”
She moans out a ‘yes,’ voice dripping with desire, before Harry slips his hand down her panties, sinking his fingers in the wetness that's pooled just below her clit. They groan out in sync -- y/n at the shock of his cool fingers dipping into her warmth, and Harry at her soaked state. With his fingers coated in her fervor, he circles up to her clit rubbing tight circles onto her nerves, each swipe of his finger coiling the spring of her orgasm just a bit tighter.
He dips two of his fingers inside her and she moans out as they deftly feel their way around, finding their way to her sweet spot of pleasure. The trigger to her climax. Her walls clamp down on his fingers as he strokes it once, twice, three times. Then he’s adding the sweet pressure of his palm against her clit for her to grind down on, igniting waves of bliss all throughout her body.
Each time Harry surges his hips forward, it pushes y/n forward just the slightest bit so that she’s pressing harder against his fingers, the arousement of her nerves intensifying in the most heavenly way. He keeps his strokes at her walls deep and his caresses consistent, nudging the underside of her clit where she’s particularly sensitive, until she’s cumming.
And god, it’s so good. She’s seeing stars and shuddering with pleasure as he continues to stimulate her clit. The anticipation that had led up to her climax had tipped over, sending a whirlwind of exhilaration through her body, her hips jerking forward to meet Harry’s movements to make it last as long as possible.
Harry’s groaning into her ear, coaxing her through her climax, whispering nothing but filthy adorations. “Y’feel so good baby, s’pretty when y’cum.” Even through the confines of his sleepwear, his humping and thrusting has managed to kindle him, bringing him to the edge. It’s with her sweet moans and the convulsing of her body that he’s finally able to let go, releasing himself into his boxers. Sure it’s messy, but it’s absolutely mind-blowing. The build-up, the tension, the pure lust, had all escalated to an eruption of nirvana, in what Harry could only define as one of the best orgasms of his life.
He lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment in a post-orgasmic haze, before he springs out of bed to get himself out of the absolute disaster in his boxers. Stepping into the bathroom, he wets two towels (one for his own thighs, currently covered in a copious amount of cum, and one for y/n), and hurries back to her figure in the bed, wiping her down so that she’s no longer messy in between her thighs. He rests his hand on the side of her face as he looks at her, cheeks flushed and eyes drowsily blinking up at him.
“M’sleepy,” she mumbles, leaning into his palm and snuggling under the covers once again. Despite haven woken up not even half an hour ago, she’s so fucked out that she’s ready to crash down once again. Plus, she would still be asleep if it weren’t for Harry’s… prodding.
“Sleep then,” he whispers to her, “we have nowhere to be.” Wrapping an arm around her, he lays by her side and allows her to rest her head on his shoulder.
He falls asleep engulfed in the scent of roses and vanilla.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・
When y/n wakes up, she’s alone in her bed.
It’s not a particularly strange occurrence -- she’s been waking up alone for the majority of her life -- but on this particular day, she’d sort of expected to wake up next to Harry. Not alone.
Was that wrong of her to expect? She’d just been fingered by her best friend that she’d secretly had a crush of for fucking forever, and he’d left her in the morning. Couldn’t she have at least gotten an explanation? A good morning? This just felt dirty and cheap… like a one night stand. Was she expected to do the walk of shame too? To where... the kitchen to get breakfast?
It’s disheartening. The small giddy part of her that had been excited about possibly taking things with Harry to the next level was absolutely crushed. Any fluffy feelings she had prior to waking up were replaced were embarrassment, disappointment, and honestly, a little bit of heartbreak. Wouldn’t anyone else feel the same way after being abandoned?
Was that a casual thing for him? Did he do that with all his friends?
Faintly she can hear the sound of music coming from the kitchen. The smell of breakfast is filtering through the room, inviting her to the kitchen, but she’s really, really dreading any confrontation with Harry.
Did he regret it? Did he not want that? Had he felt obliged to get her off?
God, she doesn’t even want to think about it! She liked Harry so much! He was nice and gentle and he’d helped her when she was helpless. He’d cooked for her and watched movies with her and given her cuddles and hugs. And he was pretty -- so pretty!
He had pretty green eyes that looked just like emerald gems in the light. Green eyes that made her feel at home, and all lovey dovey inside. That would gleam bright when he would wake her up in the mornings, and be soft and kind whenever she was rambling to him.
And his lips were so pink and lush. He had the prettiest, most perfect taffy lips, she had decided. Round and plump lips that perfectly dipped into a heart shaped cupid’s bow, and pouted out whenever she wouldn’t finish her pancakes, or spread into a smile whenever she was clumsy and fumbled around their apartment on her crutches. Lips that were so soft whenever they brushed against her ear as he whispered something to her in Rockerfell’s class.
And his hair, don’t even get her started on his hair. His beautiful hair that she would run her fingers through whenever he laid himself down on her lap. His hair that tickled her whenever they cuddled, because his curls went down to his shoulder and she always rested her head on his shoulder. His hair that smelled like her, because “i just love the way you smell. Smell all rosy and vanilla-y, can’t blame me for wanting to smell like you.”
He was so nice and pretty and kind and soft, and then he had the audacity to let her wake up alone in the morning??
Her racing thoughts are interrupted by a knock at her door, and a happy Harry peeking his head into her room. “Oh good, y’awake. I’m making us some brekkie.” he says as he pops her a cute little grin.
‘Damn him and his morning voice and his good cooking and his dumb dimples,’ y/n thinks to herself while he continues. “Won’t start without you, hurry up.”
‘He’s acting so normal,’ y/n thinks, hauling herself out of her bed, ‘does this mean he doesn’t want to talk about it? Are we going to pretend like it never happened?’
He’s plating a bunch of pancakes when she walks into the kitchen, and brings them to their breakfast table as she takes a seat. Flashing her a dimpled smile, he plops down into the seat right next to her, throwing out a “bon appetite” before he digs in.
She’s deep in thought as she takes her first bite, staring directly at Harry while she hyper-analyzes his every move. He’s just taken a massive bite of his pancakes, tongue peeking out the slightest bit as he shoves a forkful into his mouth, jaw defined everytime it clenches down, his cheeks absolutely stuffed as he chews with pursed lips. His eyes catch her’s, noticing her gaze, but she looks away immediately, dropping her sight to the plate in front of her, cheeks tinging red.
“Is something wrong?” Harry asks, putting his fork down.
“No nothing,” she hums, eyes still downcast and voice a pitch too high.
“Yes there is,” Harry knows this. Y/n is never this shy and blushy, and she answered him too quickly. She’s obviously worrying herself, and it’s more than likely that she’s thinking about the event that occurred earlier that morning. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not if you don’t want to.” she replies, far too fast.
She’s clearly not going to be able to face the topic head on by herself, so Harry takes control of the conversation. “I think we should talk about this morning.”
She can’t bring herself to make eye contact with him. “It’s okay if you want to ignore it,” she quietly tells him, “we can pretend it never happened.”
Oh.
Well he hadn't expected that. He thought she liked it… did he misinterpret the situation? Like she did say yes, but was it a pity yes? Did he imagine that they were having a moment or was she not as into it as he was?
“Do- do you regret it?” he timidly asks. Had she been grossed out? Did she think he was some sort of perv who couldn’t keep his prick in his pants?
“No,” she mumbles, “but I understand if I crossed a line.”
He doesn’t get it. How could she possibly think she had done anything wrong? “If you...what? If you crossed a line? I was the one who was dry humping you in my sleep...”
“I- well,” she blushes as she stutters, “I mean you wanted to leave. I was the one who told you to stay.”
“and then I was fucking beggin’ to get you off!” He doesn’t get it! Hadn’t he been obvious in his affection for her?
She’s silent, cheeks still tinted pink as she stares blankly at the table. “You weren’t there when I woke up. I just assumed…”
Oh. Oh no.
He’s such an idiot. He’d gotten out of bed to make them breakfast without even thinking of the way that might come off to y/n. He treasures her! He adores her! He thinks she’s the sweetest thing on the planet, the prettiest girl in the world! And yet he’d gone on and made her think that he’d just humped n dumped her. “Oh, lovie, m’so sorry I didn’t mean for you to feel that way. I was just gonna make us some breakfast.”
Cupping her jaw he lifts her face so that he can look into her eyes. He pushes the small strands of hair that fell into her face out of the way so that their eyes could meet, and leans in close to her. They’re only a couple of inches apart as he softly tells her, “I should’ve stayed in bed with you. Given you the proper good morning you deserved.”
He brings his hand up to her mouth and gazes it at it longingly as he runs the pad of his thumb back and forth on her bottom lip. Mesmerizes himself with the way her lips feel, how soft they are, how plump they are. The way her bottom lip indents under the lightest pressure he puts against it, and how it bounces back into place when he tugs on it just the slightest bit.
“Could’ve woken you up with cuddles and kisses, n’told you how much I like you. That y’my best friend, but you’re also the prettiest girl in the world, n’that I’m always thinkin’ about how cute y’are.”
She’s listening intently to every word he says, watching him speak. Watching how his lips sculpt every word, and how he enunciates all his syllables. Looks at his eyes that flicker between her eyes and her lips as he pulls her closer and nudges their noses together.
They both shut their eyes as Harry rests his forehead against hers, taking in the intimacy of the moment. She’s just a breath away, so close to him that he can feel her eyelashes fluttering against his skin. So close that he can feel every breath of hers, every puff that leaves her tingling lips. He worships her.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispers to her, grazing their lips together. She’s inhaling each of his words as he speaks them out into the meager distance between them, mustering up enough composition to respond to him with a delicate ‘please.’
He brings his hand down to the shadow of her jawline and rests his thumb on the curve of it, sliding his fingers into her hair as he captures her bottom lip between his, and suckles on it. And, god, she’s so sweet. She tastes sugary and syrupy as he licks at the seam of her lips, relishing in the taste of her. Her lips are soft and plush as they pucker against his, and her skin is warm and smooth underneath his thumb that’s grazing back and forth on the edge of her jaw. And when he starts to nip and nibble at the lip that’s slotted between his own, she lets out the sweetest little moans into his mouth, whimpering and reaching out to grab at him in any way she can.
She mimics him and slips her fingers into his hair, tangling them into the curly strands and tugging at them in a way that makes Harry just groan out in pure ecstasy. He thinks that he’s been sent straight to heaven with this divine kiss from his angel, and really doesn’t want it to ever stop -- but he can tell that she’s running out of breath. So he pulls away slowly, lips clinging together as he pulls away, and just about melts when she whimpers into his mouth in protest of him releasing her lips.
Dreamily blinking her eyes open, she looks at him with heart-eyes, trying to catch her breath and huffing out small puffs of air onto his lips that she’d just been latched onto. She’s floating through Harry-land, and she’s all blushy and rosy while Harry gazes down at her fondly. She just can't resist from flitting forward to press the sweetest peck against his lip, and then nuzzling her cheek into the hold he’s maintained. “I think I really like you, Harry.” she dazedly tells him with a cute smile, blinking her doe eyes up at him.
“Yeah?” he says, lovingly stroking at her face, “Well that’s good then, because I really like you too angel.”
