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[wonderlandrry]

you’re only 20 and write like THAT? amazing bestie! such a raw talent

ugh 🥹 wtf don’t make me cry

[wonderlandrry]

oh this was so good 🥹

bartender!harry x you

your favorite bartender names a drink for you, and you're almost convinced its the end of the world, until your heart leads you back to him.

featuring: soft!harry, an apology, and a cat named Sylvester.

tw: 18+!!, mentions drinking, angst, lots and lots of fluff, soft smut, small itty bitty breeding kink if u squint really hard.

wc: 5k

marigold

A typical Saturday night for you looked like this: 

One too many whiskey shots, karaoke with your friends, and passed out on the way home in the uber someone ordered.

This Saturday wasn’t any different so far.

You had just gotten off the stage, out of breath from singing Strawberry Wine a little too loudly with your friends. You wove your way through crowds of sweaty bodies and made your way to the bar in the back. 

And there he was. Your favorite person on earth.

The bartender.

It wasn’t because he was the most attractive man you’d ever seen in your life, or the fact that he listened to you whenever you were spiraling wistfully through your drunken thoughts. 

It mostly just came down to the fact that he made really good drinks. 

Harry knew exactly how you liked your whiskey, at what point in the night you’d want a margarita to cool off with (usually after the karaoke), and he knew when to cut you off before you regretted it the next morning.

So when you stumbled over to the bar looking for his signature smirk, he was already sliding the glass across the lacquered surface, placing a lime on the rim once you settled yourself on the barstool across from him. He went back to washing glasses, biceps flexing and relaxing between motions under the sleeves of his black tee as you sip on your drink.

He watches you out of the corner of his eye, keeping you within earshot while some prick named Garret flirts with you. It almost hurt his feelings when he didn’t hear you rejecting his embarrassingly cheesy advances. He knew he could treat you better than any other asshole in this place, so it always surprised him when you would leave with one of them. He just wanted you to be safe, and he knew that the men that frequented his bar weren’t some of the finest to grace your presence. He would try his hand at flirting with you, tell you how nice you looked, and use his pick up lines that worked with so many others. 

But they never worked on you...or so he thought.

You were an enigma to him, a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. 

“Leave me alone, Garret. I’m not leaving with you tonight.” He heard you mumble, however, Garret was persistent. He glances over out of the corner of his eye and sees that Garret has you cornered in your seat, his arm around the back of your chair and the other steadied on the bar as he leaned into you. You were trying to create space, but he was practically pushing you up  against the wall and Harry didn’t like that. He threw the towel over his shoulder and turned to face the situation. 

“Garret, she said she wasn’t leaving with you. I suggest you get lost, unless you want to be barred from my establishment.” He says calmly, but firm. He leans his weight into his own arms placed on the bar, muscles flexing and veins popping, cocking an eyebrow upwards as he watches Garret intently. Harry's eyes never leave Garret as his flick between the two of you. He mumbles expletives under his breath before pushing from the bar and stumbling away. Harry hears you breathe out a sigh you had been holding in and when his eyes meet yours you smile. 

“Thanks. He’s relentless.” You pause. “Sometimes I go home with him so he’ll just leave me alone.” You confess and he’s never heard you say anything like this before, he's not even sure you understood what you implied. Instead of replying immediately, he listens. Listens to you ramble about Garret and every other guy that attempts to win you over with their drunken pick up lines. He was scrubbing a glass, lost in his thoughts, thinking how it would look to have you upstairs in his apartment, dancing around the kitchen with each other when you clear your throat, plucking him from his daydreams.

“I asked you a question, Har.” You giggle as you sip through the straw in your glass.

“Sorry, flower. I was a little distracted.” He peeks over, smirking. “What did you ask?” “I asked if there was anyone special in your life.” Curiosity getting the better of you, because he always listens to what you have to say and you're tired of talking about yourself. He'd never talked about a girlfriend before and you're not sure how someone as beautiful as him could be single.

“If you count my cat, Sylvester. Otherwise, no.” He informs you and you widen your eyes. 

“You have a cat?” Your words slur together in disbelief and he nods. 

“Does that surprise you?” He asks with a chuckle.

“Just don’t strike me as the cat type.” You pause, thoughts swirling through your head. “I want to meet him.” 

“I promise you don’t. He’s a terrorist.” He jokes, laughing between his words. “I found him outside under the dumpster when he was just a baby…I haven’t known peace for a single day since.” He says in a serious tone and it makes you laugh. He brings down bottles of liquor and mixes and juices from the shelf above his head and mixes up concoctions, tasting them before pouring them out. To you, it seems like a waste. You let him go on for a while longer before you decide to interrupt. 

“What exactly are you doing?” 

“Just been working on a new signature to add to the menu. Can’t get the ratio quite right though.” He mutters and you watch as his hands move expertly around the bottles, mixing exact ratios without having to measure them out.

You chat for a while longer, enjoying his company until your friends find you and they’re ready to leave. You tell him goodbye and he watches you until you disappear out the door, wishing he had the guts to tell you how he feels outright instead of dancing around the topic, and how he only has eyes for you every time you come in here.

You’re the sole reason why he works on Saturdays.

He’ll never forget the first time he saw you at his bar. He was upstairs in his apartment reading when he looked at the clock and noticed it was nearing closing time, an hour or so left until the straggling patrons would be forced out and he knew that last-call had already been announced. He went down to see if the bartender working needed help with anything before he turned in for the night, and when he stepped in he saw you laughing with your friends at a high top table. 

It was over for him then. 

He hung around for the next hour, nursing a draft in a glass he poured himself and fighting the sleep begging to take over his body. Your group wasn’t paying attention when all the lights came on, brightening the dimmed room, you didn’t notice you were the last ones here and if he was waiting for an excuse to talk to you…that was it. He made his way to you, weaving through chairs and tables and when you looked at him, finally, he almost lost the words he wanted to say. Stuttering over them, he felt embarrassed as you smiled at him and you and your friends hopped from your stools and left, but not before he mustered the courage to ask you if you were coming back anytime soon and you nodded, informing him that you and your friends had been coming every Saturday for a few months now, his bar quickly had become their favorite spot. He felt guilty that he hadn’t paid attention before, but he made sure he was the one behind the bar every Saturday since then. 

Now, here you were. Walking out laughing with your friends, like you did every Saturday, without a second look back at him…even though he willed it to happen every time. 

Yet, he couldn’t wait until next week to do it over again. 

Next Saturday comes and it’s unfamiliar territory for you this time. It was your turn to be the designated driver, you and your friends trying not to pay excessive amounts for rideshares anymore. While your friends make their way to a table, you detour to the bar and when your eyes meet Harry's, his hardened expression turns to something lighter as you approach. He’s smiling, a toothy grin that has you biting the inside of your cheek and looking at the floor. 

Maybe it was the lighting…or maybe it was the idea of him. You had never really seen him while you were in a sober mindset and this was a different dynamic. He knew the drunk you, the one who was confident and not afraid of anything. 

Truth be told, you were a little nervous to talk to him. He always pushed shots towards you when you walked in, and you were grateful for the confidence boost it gave you because otherwise you didn’t think you’d even approach him. 

But it’s hard to remind yourself that you don’t need to be nervous, it’s just Harry. 

“There’s my flower.” He greets you with the nickname he penned for you after a few weeks of chatting and getting to know you. He pushes the shot towards you but you shake your head as you hop up onto the bar stool and he cocks an eyebrow at you, confused at your refusal. “Are you sick? Do I need to take you to the ER?” He jokes and you laugh. 

“No, actually. I’m just taking on the role of designated driver tonight.” You rest your chin in your hand and sigh. He replaces the whiskey with a glass of ice water feigning hesitation, mouthing a “sorry” as he moves down the bar to take other orders. 

He’s busy for a while so you sit and watch him sling drinks and pour drafts. He’s comfortable, he’s confident, and you feel a sense of longing for him, willing him to come back over and talk with you…and you wonder why you’d never accepted his advances before. It could be that you were scared, not thinking he was serious and that he was just being a friendly bartender. You were always drunk and the alcohol clouded your judgment slightly. 

But you always knew when he was flirting. He would clear your tab, and you would walk out paying literally nothing more often than not. He wouldn’t even let you tip him because he refused to take your money and he insisted that he made enough. 

As if he could read your mind, he came back over and was breathing heavily out of breath from trying to keep up, the amount of people in the bar nearing capacity. Still, he smiles at you and as he’s catching his composure he grabs bottles from the shelf above him. 

“Remember that drink I was making last week?” He asks and you search your memory to pinpoint the moment he was talking about. You faintly recall him mixing drinks and tasting them before dumping them down the drain, so you nod. “I think I finally got it right.” He says while pouring the concoction, placing it in your view once it was complete, then he perches an orange on the rim and slides it towards you. 

“I said I wasn’t drinking.” You joke, knowing a sip won't be enough to have you feeling any effects, bringing the glass up to your nose and sniffing, the scent of citrus and schnapps filling your nostrils and when you sip, there’s a hint of something floral that you can’t quite place. It’s perfectly layered, the orange fading into yellow seamlessly like a sunrise left unblemished in a cloudless sky, shimmering just slightly in the low lit atmosphere. 

And it’s so good.

“Do you like it?” He asks, waiting for your response and shifting his weight nervously. He needed it to be perfect for you…because it was for you. You nod, swallowing and meeting his eyes. 

“It’s delicious. What are you calling it?” You ask and the corner of his mouth pulls up in a half grin. 

“I think I’m going to call it a Marigold Sunrise.” He says, the volume of his voice almost getting lost in the chatter around you both and you could’ve sworn you misheard him. 

“I’m sorry?” You almost choke, sputtering over your words. “Marigold?” “Yeah, actually. I remember one night you told me they were your favorite. I added the floral notes, I think that’s what it was missing. It's yours. I made it for you.” 

Your head spins momentarily at his words. He remembered? You were sure that conversation happened over a year ago. You stare at him, blinking with a blank expression painted over your face. You don’t know how to react. It’s not a big deal, it’s just a drink. 

Except your mind convinces you this makes things more complicated than they need to be. He’s just the bartender at the bar you frequent, this meant you were going to have to find somewhere else to go, because you couldn’t actually spend your time here anymore knowing he probably expects you to give him something in return.

But he’s not just a bartender. He’s Harry. The reason why you come here. The reason why your friends tease you incessantly on the way home every Saturday…because you’re always watching him when he isn’t looking, slotting yourself behind the bar with him in your doe-eyed daydreams. Daydreams you thought would never come to fruition. 

“Harry, this is…too much.” The words tumble from your lips before you really think about them. His brows pull together, confusion lacing his eyes.

“What? I thought—” “Whatever you thought, save it. I don’t want this. I didn’t ask for this.” Your tone is harsher than you wanted it to be. You push the glass away and gather your things, walking away from him without so much as a glance back. You find your friends, apologizing for ruining their fun but that you would take them somewhere else, wanting to be anywhere but here. 

Harry stands behind the bar, dumbfounded and lost on what he did wrong. He watches you leave, holding the door for your friends. Your head moves slightly, and he can just make out the outline of your profile. He thinks you’re going to look back at him, come back and explain to him what he did to make you react this way. 

But you don’t.

This time he doesn’t know if you’ll come back.

The street was quiet and the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, blue hue taking over the dark of the night. The bar was dark except for the light left on behind the bar and the neon hanging on the walls. He might even already be in bed. After you left earlier, your friends requested a bar on the other side of town and you drove them there on autopilot, sitting at a table staring blankly at the wall, the sounds around you muffled from lack of focus on your part. When they were ready to leave, you got them home safely and aimlessly drove around with no destination in mind. You let your mind wander, and after you finally placed your feelings you found you had subconsciously made your way back to him, back to the bar. Like your heart was making your decision without you even realizing. Like it knew where you needed to be. 

So you forced yourself out of the driver's seat and timidly made your way to the door. You didn’t know if he would be able to hear you, but you knocked on the glass of the front door anyway. You hug yourself around your torso, the chill of the night air making you shiver slightly. After a moment you’re about to give up, but you see him come around the corner and his eyes widen at the sight of you, his expression reading that he very much was not expecting you to show up at this time, or even at all. The bar closed at 3:00 AM and it was nearing 5 as you stood there waiting for him to open the door. 

“Come in, it’s freezing out there.” He says as the barrier between you swings open, the bell above ringing in your ears. You step inside, finding reprieve in the warmth of the bar. You watch him in the afterglow of the neon. It feels out of place, being here in the early hours of the morning, neither of you having had any sleep yet and he rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. You look towards the floor, fiddling with your fingers and you feel terrible that you’re keeping him from sleep, which you’re sure he’d rather be doing after the way you left him earlier. 

“I’m sorry, I’m interrupting your rest. I should just go, I don’t know why I came.” You say sheepishly, gesturing a thumb towards the door and you almost turn around before he grabs your arm before you get the chance. 

“No, I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re here. I was almost asleep.” He yawns, stretching his arms over his head and you shake your head. 

“This can wait, really. I’ll let you go back to—”

“Flower, I said it was okay. I want you here.” His eyes search yours for a moment before he looks away, towards the stairs that lead up to his apartment. “Do you want to come up? I’ll get you some water.” He nods his head behind him and you nod wordlessly, following him as he takes you to a peek inside of his personality. You stay silent as he grabs a glass from his cupboard and moves through the small kitchen. You allow your eyes to wander around his space, and it’s not anything like you were expecting. You would never think a bar owner lives here, and if you had to describe it, it would be something like a masculine dark academia with a modern twist throughout the interior. He sits the glass in front of you before leaning against the opposite counter and you feel your nerves bubble in your throat when you remember why you’re here.

“Harry…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run away like that earlier. I really am flattered that you made your new signature something for me.” You pause, collecting your thoughts for a second before speaking again. “I’ve just never had anyone make anything for me before, I’ve never had some grand gesture done for me.” You motion with your hands, ultimately letting them fall against your lap again. “I know it sounds silly, and that might not be grand to any normal person, but I got scared…” Trailing off, you look down at your hands in your lap. “I don’t even know why I got scared. I really like you, and I don’t want to scare you away.” 

The silence is deafening, the clock ticking on the wall counting the seconds as dawn creeps into the sky. You think he isn’t going to say anything. 

Then he clears his throat.

“You could never scare me away.” You force your eyes to meet his. He comes around the counter, closing the space between you slightly. He stands in front of you, searching your face for anything he can find, as if he’s memorizing every freckle, the dip of your nose, the pink of your lips, everything he never wants to forget. “I want you…all of you. Everything you’re afraid of. Every good, every bad, everything in between. I want it all.” He steps forward and takes your hands between his, bringing them to his lips and kissing over your palm once. Resting his cheek against it, you cup his face, tilting your head slightly and biting the inside of your lip to keep your emotions at bay. 

You’re both silent for a beat, conveying feelings through subtle glances ghosting over each other's features. You’d never seen him this close before.

He’s right here. 

And he’s yours.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper and you nod once, slightly sucking in a breath, preparing for him to surge forward. He shocks you when he doesn’t.

His touch is gentle, featherlight over your jawline and your exhale is shaky, nervous like you’ve never been kissed before. 

Your mind wants to wander…wants to get lost down the memory lane of bad lovers and all the times your subconscious thought of him, how it manifested him in your dreams. 

His lips brush over yours and pull you from your thoughts. His hand wraps around the back of your neck, tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck and he pulls you closer. His tongue darting out to wet his lips before he presses them to yours…and you melt, sighing against him as you fist his shirt. He was hesitant, like he was testing your boundaries. 

You wanted him to know you were all in.

He pulls away just far enough to meet your eyes and if he were being honest, he thinks you’ll run from him again. 

You’re thinking how the kiss didn’t last nearly long enough.

“Kiss me again. Please.” You whisper, and he doesn’t hesitate, bringing his lips back to yours like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing. This kiss is more than the first.

More desire…more eagerness…more everything. 

His hands find your hips and pull you closer to him, dancing lightly under the hem of your shirt and your skin burns under his touch as you part your thighs and he slots himself between them. Your arms link around the back of his neck, pulling him closer and arching against him. His hands splayed across your back, feeling his want for you growing between your bodies and it makes your belly flip. Your hands drop from his shoulders, running over the expanse of his biceps and mapping their way to his waistline, dipping below the band of his sweats and palming over the fabric of his briefs eliciting a groan that transfers from his mouth to yours. He pulls your wrists from his body and pulls away from your lips, looking at you with dark eyes and his chest rapidly rising and falling trying to catch his breath. 

“We don’t have to—I don’t expect you to sleep with me. I hope you know that I’m not just doing this to get myself off.” He places your hands against his chest, holding them there. “I meant it when I said I want all of you.” 

“I know. I want all of you, too.” You whisper and he smiles. “I just want to show you how much.” You fist his shirt again and pull him back down to you. “Please let me.” You mutter against his lips, pecking lightly and he nods. He tugs at your hand, pulling you to a stance from your place at the counter and he leads you into his room. 

Once there, he pushes you gently onto the bed and climbs over you planting kisses over the sensitive skin in the crook of your neck pulling a whimper from your mouth and he travels lower. He pushes your shirt up and runs his nose along the skin of your stomach leaving goosebumps in its path before you pull it over your head and throw it across the room. He smiles against you, crawling up and finding your face while peppering small kisses over your cheeks and the tip of your nose. His forehead meets yours and your eyes flutter closed.

“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamed of having you like this, flower.” He mumbles and you hum, a dopey smile playing on your lips.

His fingers caper down your torso, finding the button of your jeans and flicking it open with a certain expertise. You help him push them off your waist while your lips meet his once more, the naturally sweet taste of his tongue like candy on yours is something you would crave for the rest of your life. He disrobes his own clothes, barely breaking from your lips to pull his shirt over his head and tossing it towards the same general area as yours.

He spreads you open with his fingers, trailing a digit through your arousal and you shudder at his gentle touch. He teases your aching hole, petting over it continuously, drawing a whine from your throat. 

“Tell me what you want, angel.” His voice is low, gravelly in the back of his throat. “Already know, just need to hear you say it.”

“You. Just need to feel you.” The intonation in your voice is nothing short of begging, and he’s not wasting time. He doesn’t want to play, doesn’t want to tease any more than he already has—barely has. He’s just as impatient as you are, fisting his cock and pumping once…twice before he drags the tip through to collect you all over him. 

The feel of the most intimate part of him against you sends fireworks bursting through your belly. He lines up, pushing himself in and you both release a sigh, something just felt like it was falling into place. Like it was always supposed to be this way. 

He halts when he’s fully in, pausing briefly to let you adjust to the stretch. Your hands grip around his biceps, indenting the muscle beneath his skin and he sets his pace…slow and sensual. You can feel it all, a fire igniting in your heart at every grunt and every groan he doesn’t hold back from you. You let your hands wander down the length of his torso, wrapping around his back and leaving the shapes of crescents in his skin. The sensation forces him to drop his head into your chest, licking and kissing down the valley between your tits as you arch your back, wanting him impossibly closer than he already is.

His pace picks up, his hips meeting yours with more fervor than before. Your eyes flutter closed again and he supports his weight above you on one arm. His movements never falter as he wraps one hand around the back of your neck and forces your mouth on his, teeth clashing and his tongue slips in. He moans into your mouth, the sound so sinful that you clench around him. 

“Fuck, if you keep squeezing me like that m’not gonna last.” He mutters with a shaky breath. You smirk, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and sucking lightly before letting the plump skin bounce back into place. He chuckles and you push his sweaty curls away from his forehead. You pull him down to you, your mouth just over his ear and you taste the saltiness on his skin as you lick a path up his neck and he swears under his breath. 

“Want you to cum for me, Har. Please. Need to feel it. Need you to fill me.” You whine into his ear and he mutters something incoherent. 

“Need you to first, flower.” He pants through gritted teeth. His thrusts become hurried. He’s hitting every spot that you need him to, pulling his cock all the way out to the tip before sliding back into you in a way that has you so close, your resolve dancing on the thinnest of tightropes. He brings his hand to his mouth, spitting on his fingers before slotting it between the two of you, petting slow circles over your clit, and you tumble over.

“I’m gonna cum.” You say, your voice fading into a whimper when you feel the familiar burst of pleasure dance down your spine straight to your core. Your walls flutter around him, willing for him to spill inside of you. The stimulation sends him falling from his own cliff, his hips stutter before you feel his cock twitching and the warmth of him painting you and he drops his forehead to your collarbone, riding out his high slowly. 

The both of you lay there, catching breaths for a moment while you run your fingers through his hair and down his back and back up again. Your thighs were still wrapped around him, but you let them fall to the bed and he hums as he slides out, laying beside you and tangling his fingers with yours. You turn towards him and smile

Wordlessly, you revel in each other's presence. He traces your jawline with the back of his hand, you poke his cheek with your finger and he laughs. He stands, pulling you with him into the bathroom. He starts the shower, pulling you to his chest and kissing you lazily while the water heats up. 

In the shower, he spoils you a bit, washing your hair for you while you lean into his touch, your back pressing against him as he works his fingers on your scalp deliciously. He takes special care of washing over your skin with sudsy soap and if you weren’t so tired you probably would’ve entertained him with round 2 in the shower. Instead, when he rinses you off he sends you on your way and informs you what drawer he keeps his shirts in while he cleans himself. 

Clad in an old, washed-out band shirt, you flop onto his bed and under the covers, exhaustion quickly setting in. You hear the water shut off, but not before you feel the mattress sink from some other presence in the room. Your eyes open and see who must be Sylvester coming closer to you and you grin, extending your hand to him and he sniffs before nudging his head against your fingers. He makes a spot beside you, curling his tail around himself as Harry steps from the bathroom. 

He dresses himself and joins you, a look of confusion passing over his face in the orange glow of the rising sun filtering in through the window. You mirror it back to him and he laughs.

“He doesn’t even do that with me.” He informs you, gesturing to Sylvester fast asleep by your legs and you smile tiredly. “Now you really can’t leave.” He whispers, planting a kiss to your forehead before finding his own comfort under the duvet. 

And lucky for Sylvester, you didn’t plan on going anywhere.

[wonderlandrry]

Writing advice from my uni teachers:

If your dialog feels flat, rewrite the scene pretending the characters cannot at any cost say exactly what they mean. No one says “I’m mad” but they can say it in 100 other ways.

Wrote a chapter but you dislike it? Rewrite it again from memory. That way you’re only remembering the main parts and can fill in extra details. My teacher who was a playwright literally writes every single script twice because of this.

Don’t overuse metaphors, or they lose their potency. Limit yourself.

Before you write your novel, write a page of anything from your characters POV so you can get their voice right. Do this for every main character introduced.

[wonderlandrry]

you. reading this. don't forget your daily clicks

[wonderlandrry]

you seem so genuinely cool and nice 😭

omg thank you 🥹

[wonderlandrry]

the intimacy of knowing what someone's hands feel like

[wonderlandrry]

[wonderlandrry]

just sharing before part two 🩵

hi, this is my first ever attempt at writing on tumblr!! the story could be more than one part if you like it (maybe three or four parts). this is also my first time not writing in first person pov so hopefully it doesn’t suck complete ass. (not really edited and idk how to format either so GREAT first impression, friends.)

pov: best friend! harry x you (aka i tried my best lmao)

blurb: you and harry have been best friends your whole life and one night changes everything.

contains: friends to lovers, bad girl x good boy if you squint, smoking green 🍃, smut, cussing, oral (giving and receiving for both characters), praise kink, and size kink if you squint really hard again and read between the lines lmao.

word count: 5k

• NOT RAMADAN FRIENDLY •

just friends

“You sure you don’t want me to come up?” Rylan’s honey eyes flick from your dorm bulging back to yours. The tension from tonight’s argument is fresh in those crinkles next to his eyes that you used to love. Fucking adore.

Parting your lips, you sigh, “See you around.”

“Don’t be like that,” A ringless hand runs through his dark hair. You’re not exactly sure why you’re focusing on that but here we are. “It was a joke, come on.”

Your hand rests on the door handle, silently contemplating on freaking the fuck out again. This isn’t the first time he’s made jokes, very public jokes about your best friend. The very first time you let it slide with a warning because some people don’t understand that you can be just friends with the opposite gender. They can’t wrap their heads around that not every relationship revolves around sex. You understood but tonight? He went too far.

“Saying Harry follows me like a stray dog,” You have to take a deep breath because Rylan doesn’t know what Harry’s been through. That only pisses you off more. “Was too far.”

“He doesn’t have any friends, Lil, just you.”

“Because he’s smart, he doesn’t have friends because he’s fucking brilliant.” It was true, Harry focused more on school and baseball than friendships. He got a full ride to Calloway University reliant on grades and his pure, raw talent. Some would stop there but he took it a step further by studying physics. Now it’s your turn to run a hand through your hair because this is the fourth fight over your best friend. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Do you not see how fucked that is?” He hisses, making your head snap in his direction. “You’re supposed to be dating me, not him.”

You scoff, “So that’s what this is?”

Rylan’s hold tightened on the steering wheel, so tight that his knuckles were almost white. “Look, I don’t care that you’re friends with him but you spend too much time-”

That confirmed everything for you. Your long friendship with Harry wasn’t the problem. Rylan knew how much Harry meant to you and how your friendship was all you had sometimes. He knew yet the fact that he didn’t have your full attention every waking moment of the day was the source of cruel jokes.

“You’re threatened, huh?” His knuckles blanched even more as the words left your mouth. “Listen to the words coming out of my mouth, Ry. Harry’s been my best friend since I was seven. Nothing has and will never happen between us. I would never sleep with him and ruin our friendship.”

“I see how you guys look at each other.”

Your whole face heats, it’s literally on fire. “You’re seeing things because we’re just friends.”

“You’re in denial.” Fuck. This.

Those three words were enough to push you. Push you to fling open the car door and launch yourself onto the pavement. They were enough to heat your whole body to the point that chilly winter air wasn’t enough to simmer down your anger. You don’t even bother slamming the door shut because that asshole can get out and shut it himself. That’s what he gets for constantly trying to pry a confession out of you. A confession that doesn’t exist but he still won’t accept it. The security guard gives a weary smile as you pass him, an obvious witness of the whole shit show. You look over your shoulder just in time to watch Rylan peel out.

He doesn’t follow you, shocker. Not that you wanted him to but you also didn’t expect him to. He acts like he cares but when push comes to shove, actions don’t match the words constantly flying out of that stupid mouth.

Unlocking and relocking the door with a soft click, your dorm is oddly dark and quiet. It looks like no one has been here all day. This is a possibility since Ellie spends most nights with her boyfriend. You slide off your black vans and place your bag on the hooks by the door. Seniors get a common room and separate bedrooms in student housing and you love the privacy. Honestly? It’s hard as fuck to hook up sharing a room with someone. El never cared who you brought home but felt weird as hell, yano?

From: ball boy (11:35 pm)

you home?

To: ball boy (11:36 pm)

yeah

You loosen your claw clip and honey-blond waves tumble. Walking into your room, you slip out of the cute-ass outfit you spent an hour perfecting and into some random band shirt with no bra and spandex shorts. Such a shame because you looked hot, too bad the night didn’t end with Ry ripping this lacy, black corset off you. Sucks for him.

From: ball boy (11:42 pm)

open the window before Mack catches my ass.

Your eyes snap toward the only windows in your room. The sheer, black curtains were closed but they did a shit job keeping the sunlight out so, honestly, how good were they for privacy? Your heart hammers thinking about Harry seeing you. How he could’ve seen all of you, not just what you choose to show off. The thought made your heart hammer.

From: ball boy (12:46 am)

don’t tell me you’re fucking someone right now

From: ball boy (12:47 am)

fuckin’ sick, lil

Annoyed, you rip open the curtains to find Harry’s cocky expression staring straight at you. It’s too dark to make out his full face but you can tell by the smirk tipping the left side that he’s amused. Making your favorite dimple dent even deeper. In one swift motion, the latch unlocks letting him in. He’s done this a million times, yano? Sneaking in your room for late-night study sessions, movie nights, or sleepovers. You’ve shared a bed countless times but never crossed that line, he’s your best friend. There are rules in place to save your friendship. He means more to you than one night of pleasure. Always has.

“Nice shirt, been looking for that everywhere.” Evergreen eyes bounce across your face, “Thought you had a date.”

You blow out a breath, “Not anymore.”

He smirks, dimple popping, “Obviously.”

“Thought you had plans.” You counter because Harry may not have many friends but that didn’t mean anything when it came to his sex life. He had trouble talking to girls but that didn’t seem to matter because they flocked to him. There was just something about him that drew people in, you included especially you. Maybe it was his ability to make anyone in the room feel special; wanted by having his undivided attention.

His lips purse, “Nah, not tonight.”

“Why?”

He gives you a pointed look giving away that he knows, “You know why.”

Guilt settles into your stomach, that stupid sinking feeling of being caught hit full force. He had the same argument with Grace that you did with Rylan tonight. They seem to argue more though and it kills you seeing him upset. You know he cares about her but he loves you. Maybe not romantically but definitely platonically and that means something to him. Every time they have this conversation, you know you should walk away. It's always your first instinct to protect people you love and you love your best friend. But, you’d rather die than let him go and that’s selfish as fuck but true. You sigh, “Harry-”

“I’m good,” He closes the distance and wraps you into a hug and it feels like home. Your favorite type of hug. “Worried about you.”

You smile against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart hitting your cheek, “Nothing a Star Wars marathon won’t cure, Stud.”

His face lights up, “God, I could kiss you, Lil.”

“Whatever you say, ball boy.” Your heart flutters violently but you ignore the feeling. He always jokes like this in secret and maybe that’s the reason no one believes you’re just friends. But, they’re just jokes, yano.

“Ball boy?” He scoffs, making you tilt your chin to meet his gaze. When your eyes finally focus, Harry’s staring at you with his stupid, dimpled smile. Just because he’s your best friend doesn’t mean you’re completely immune. He’s handsome and you’d be dumb to deny that because, well, you have eyes. Currently, he looks even better from this angle. His hair’s tousled as neat as those chestnut curls will allow and dimples seem more prominent. Deep, inviting indents. The black, backwards hat only adds to the contrast of those evergreen eyes. Your favorite shade of green. A sliver of metal trapped between perfect teeth as he cocks his head. He chuckles, squeezing you tighter, “That’s fucked up.”

Pulling back, you shrug, “You’re the one who plays with them all day.”

His tongue clicks, cheeks hollowing, “Baseball, I play baseball.”

You dismiss him with a wave, walking into the common room. “Whatever helps you hit balls with your bat, Ball boy.”

“Better watch that pretty mouth of yours,” He warns in a low tone, so low that everything tingles. Reaching into his hoodie, he pulls out a bag of weed before plopping on the couch, “because I don’t share with bad girls.”

“Watching Star Wars high?” You grin as he nods. “Man of my dreams.”

Harry smirks, all boyish and full dimples, “Don’t tease.”

After pressing play and settling into the couch, you glance over at him just as the credits begin to roll. He’s lighting a joint, brows set in concentration, pink lips puckered around the paper inhaling slowly before passing it to you.

The next forty minutes fly by in the best, blissfully buzzed way. Time doesn’t have an exact science. We’re happy and having a good time. All the anger from earlier dissipated from you and Harry just being together. His nose found its way under your jaw, right next to your pulse point, some time after fifteen or so minutes. He’s always been affectionate when buzzed but holy fuck, was he toning it down before. You don’t know what changed but his hands haven’t left your waist and he keeps hugging closer to your chest with little sighs and hums of contentment. He smells so fucking good like peppermint, fresh laundry, and smoke.

Your breathing is slow and steady. Completely wrapped in him. Fingers twisting the curls at the nape of his neck until your fingertips tingle to touch him elsewhere. You don’t allow them to go lower than his throat, feeling how harsh each swallow was each time you’d get below the hinge of his jaw. He hums against your neck, nuzzling deeper into the column dangerously like he can’t get enough, “Feeling better?”

“Yes.” You breathe as he hugs tighter, not stopping your feather-like movement through his soft curls. “You?”

“Yeah, that feels good.” His words come out sleepy and deep and gravelly. “Your t-touch always feels good.” Warm evergreen holds all your attention as he kisses your cheek, “Thank you for being here with me. You make everything better, always have.”

Your face tilts, noses inches apart, and whisper. “You make everything better for me too.”

Harry’s the type of man that goes from beautiful to devastating with a change of facial expression. Your hazy brain can’t stop taking him in for some reason. It’s involuntary. That beautiful, sculpted face is hidden at nightfall but you allow yourself to appreciate how much time someone put into crafting him. It’s like you spent the last fifteen years with blinders on and can finally see.

Sage burns into evergreen as his lips roll a few times like he’s trying to come up with a safe response. The irrational part of my brain wants to feel his mouth on you again so bad that you almost crave him. Your lips part at the same time waiting for the other to make a move or do something drastic. Three heartbeats of your mouths seconds apart. Three heartbeats in your own hazy, happy world. His nose nudges yours once before dropping back to your throat. His arms wrapped around you tighter and your breathing synced again. Instead of calm and steady, now it’s erratic and fast.

Fuck, you have to be high, right? Best friends don’t look at each other like this. Especially you guys.

He leans closer, left hand planted on your thigh as we just stare at each other. Almost like he feels it too. Your fingertips ache to touch the stubble dusting his jawline so bad they tingle but you can’t seem to move. Completely lost in the hypnotic desire clouding the calm green of his irises.

Not wanting to put pressure on Harry to make the first move, you close the distance. Not sure why you did that but your mouths part at the same time. His in surprise and yours in want, yet in perfect sync. Pressing your lips to his, he immediately kisses back, cupping your jaw. One second everything’s moving slowly and the next, he’s lifting his shirt over your head. Touching every inch of exposed skin like he can’t get enough. His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts as yours find his jeans. The kiss breaks as he leans back just enough to look at you. You’re looking at each other in silence but it’s so fucking loud.

“We should-” He swallows harshly, columns of his throat tense, “Don’t wanna finally have you if you’ll regret-”

“Won’t ever regret you, H,” Your voice is hushed yet full of so much want and sincerity. “Don’t stop, we’re okay.”

“Yeah?” He breathes out in relief pressing another kiss to your lips that sends trace currents through your body full force. Finally giving into the sweetest temptation you’ve ever tasted. Forbidden and delicious. This was like an avalanche of feelings and lust in motion, couldn’t stop the cascade if you tried. The aftermath would eventually come but everything would be okay. It had to be.

“Yeah, just friends,” Your lips move with his again but lazier, a slow pace that makes everything come to life. “This doesn’t change anything.”

You lied because this meant everything but you can’t stop.

He blinks like he can see right through your bullshit.

You blink back hoping he doesn’t.

“Just friends.” He repeats only the first half of your lie between kisses, pressing your body further into the couch with his hips.

The words come out breathless.

The words come out easily.

The words come out in cool peppermint.

He starts to drag your shorts off at the same pace the kiss and you lift a little to help. Being this vulnerable, letting the other fully see the other is something you can’t put into words. Your eyes rake his body as his lustful, dark gaze mirrors yours. There aren’t enough fucking words to describe how beautiful he is. Taking in every single detail from his tattoos to his cock pressed between your open thighs. The desperation; everything fucking aches for him. He leans forward, lips parting, eyes darkening by the minute, leaving open-mouth kisses along your jaw until they meet your mouth. The warm metal of his tongue ring claiming every inch of your mouth. He tasted like charged temptation in the best way, like something you didn’t know you craved until now.

Harry whimpers as your legs wrap around his waist. His cock throbs between your thighs and he groans against your lips. The sound vibrating with need; so fucking desperate. Strong hands grip your ass as the kiss deepens. He’s kissing you like you’re oxygen and he’s hungry for air. Almost like he can’t breathe without tasting you. Without having you like this. Staggered, harsh breaths hit the left side of your as his lips descended. Sucking and biting gently at your throat until they reach your chest and wrap around your nipple piercings. Metal clanking salaciously as his tongue swirls, toying with each little bar. His cock throbs again and your head falls back into the throw pillows with a loud moan. The arrogant smirk against your already heated skin only sends fire dancing.

Crackling and humming with each touch. They say fire needs oxygen to grow and Harry was yours. Always has been, he ignites all your fires.

Pulling back slightly, salacious evergreen meets thunderous oceans as he speaks, “So fucking pretty.” His words come out as a rasp, full of raw desperation. “Wanna taste you so fucking bad.” Kisses pepper your face, “Wanna make you feel so good, please? ”

“Y-yes,” You breathe, unable to finish the sentence as his kiss-bruised lips meet yours again and again, his fingers digging into the sensitive skin of your already open thighs, while yours run through his soft curls. Tangling and twisting as your lips move hungrily, desperately. Your teeth trap his tongue ring gently tasting and the sound that escapes his throat is feral. His body pushes against yours as you devour each other. Urgent, hungry, and like you might run out of time or change your mind. Hot, open-mouth kisses descend from your lips to your jaw then stop at the base of your throat.

“Fuck,” The word’s rushed, nearly a pant, as he pulls his sweatshirt over his head. The view of his gorgeous, toned body sends a shiver down your spine. The butterfly on his chest fluttered with each rapid breath. His abs jutting and rippling like it took everything in him not to lose it right then and there. Rough yet gentle hands feather your ribs, gliding effortlessly until they pause at your hips, leaving trace currents branding me with each tortuous touch. The rings on his fingers dig into the sensitive flesh of your hips despite how gentle he’s being. A surprised gasp leaves my lips in a whimper as his grip tightens holding you into place. Your hips tilt, wanting to feel him and he groans, nostrils flaring like he’s in pain, “Want you so bad,” His nose runs against your jaw, “Not gonna last if you keep moving, Lil.”

“Sorry,” You breathe letting your head fall back as it swims with every effortless emotion you feel for him.

“Shh, you’re perfect, so fucking perfect, look at you.” He whispers, the gravelly tone of his voice sending vibrations between your thighs making you ache. A completely desperate ache for him that would be embarrassing if it was anyone but your Harry. Suddenly, he’s kissing you but lazily this time. His lips moved so painfully slow and tender against yours. Kissing like you have all the time in the world. As soon as you match his pace, he breaks the kiss sighing deeply against your parted lips. He studies your face, evergreen locked on blue, as he slowly drifts between your thighs. His hands follow him, traveling down your inked body with ease, until they lock around your upper legs.

“What’re you doing?” You ask breathlessly, trying to keep up with his pace. He ignores you, placing drawn-out kisses trailing from your left hip to inner thigh. Soft moans leave your parted lips each and every time his mouth touches your skin. His kisses are getting closer and closer, nipping and sucking, teasing and torturing. It’s too fucking much. “Harry-”

“Need something, Lil?” He sucks harder on your hip, leaving a purplish bruise on porcelain skin, tilting his head up to meet your gaze with a lazy smirk. So effortlessly sexy.

“Please-” Desperateness clings to the word as your head falls back, unable to handle seeing him between your legs.

“Please what?” Harry smirks against heated skin as your hips move forward, “Use your words, pretty girl.”

“I want-” The sentence pauses at the tip of your tongue. No one’s ever asked what you wanted before. “I’ve never-” Your brows push together trying to find the right word but he reaches up, fingers smoothing the line between them like he understands.

“It’s okay,” He runs the flat of his tongue against your clit and your knees almost push together from pleasure, the round of his tongue ring hitting perfectly. Like he knows exactly what you need. Burning evergreen disappears into the back of his head as he moans against you, fingernails digging into your skin. “Taste so fucking good, Lil. Knew you would, so fucking sweet.”

“Fuck,” The whimper that comes out of you is pathetic as he lifts your leg, draping your right knee over his shoulder, tongue circling with no mercy. Flicking and sucking and teasing as he changes pace. Your head falls back feeling his piercing tease your entrance with each flick of his perfect tongue. Your fingers laced into his wet curls, tugging as he pulled back, eyes meeting yours. Bringing his left middle and ring fingers to your lips, manually parts them until his fingers push past your bottom teeth. The cold metal of his rings hits your warm mouth. Evergreen dances darkly as they glide across your tongue until you gag around them. He exhales roughly, head cocking, “Mmm, suck. Such a good girl for me, yeah?”

Your lips wrap around his fingers as your eyes lock. He moves them in and out a few times before withdrawing. Never breaking eye contact, pink lips puckering around my clit as his fingers tease your entrance. He watches you intensely, so fucking intensely as his fingers match the pace of his tongue. Your eyes flutter in pure fucking bliss as your grip on his hair returns. Pulling and tugging, making him groan so deeply, “Lil.”

Your name came out of his mouth with the same electricity that courses through your veins whenever he’s around. Hot, entrancing, unfuckingdeniable, and your undoing. White, hot pleasure hits so hard that you try to close your legs but his hands wrap around your thighs, keeping them open, easing you through it. Your breathing evens out as Harry watches you between your open thighs. His head tilted upward, lips parted in amazement, evergreen bouncing around your face like he’s committing every muscle movement to memory.

“For fucks sake.” He exhales, blinking in complete astonishment.

“Hmm?” The word comes out lazily, so fucking easy like your smile.

He hovers, face inches from yours, hazy eyes blazing with lust. The end of his cross necklace bounces off your bottom lip a few times. “So pretty when you cum, Angel.”

Fuck, in one swift movement, you push his chest backward completely straddling him as his back hits the couch. Long, ring-clad fingers grip your jaw as he presses his lips to yours, kissing slowly, tongues tangling lazily. He tastes like you and it makes your head spin. His fingers tangle into your hair, blond waves fall, as he collects them wrapping the strands around his wrist. Breaking the kiss, your hands glide across his skin, feeling every harsh breath and ridge before settling between his legs. Every flutter of his butterfly as he breathes, how his abs constrict with each breath like he wants you so badly that it’s painful, and the vein resting next to the perfect v-line of his left hip. Taking a deep breath, your head tilts, meeting his hungry, beautiful gaze as your lips wrap around his head.

He lets out a loud moan, abs jutting, as your tongue twirls and teases. His head lolls back, lips parting while the moans come out so fucking feral; desperate. The grip on your hair loosens as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks with each suck. Honey curls fall you around like a curtain as he cups the back of your head, pushing you to take him deeper, never breaking eye contact. You almost wanna shut yours seeing how much adoration and attention and lust swims in his pretty irises. He starts moving his hips slowly, testing, and relaxing your jaw. His jaw tightens with each thrust, moaning so fucking loud, lips puckering around a needy exhale, “I-fuck-I’m not gonna last.”

Flattening your tongue, a hum in appreciation and that makes him break. The soft green of his eyes darkened as control slips with each thrust. “God, look at how pretty you look wrapped around my cock.” He groans even louder and you gag around him. His hips slow, “You can take it, just like that, so fucking good.”

Your cheeks hollow as his movements grow more frantic. More fucking desperate. Twirling your tongue, he pulls out, cupping your jaw again as he cums. Painting your chest in the most filthy way. Head tilted back, eyes shut, pumping his cock as he whimpers. Blush spreads up his throat, neck vein popping in the sexiest way, and perfect lips parted in pure ecstasy; pure bliss. He’s the most devastating man you’ve ever seen. The minute your gazes meet, your breathing halts. So many emotions battle to come to the surface as lush forests meet raging oceans. The push and pull that is us. This is a moment where you just stare at each other in understanding. Letting your eyes say what you’re afraid to admit out loud.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” Harry’s voice is gentle and soothing while his fingers trace your jaw before disappearing. You count his footsteps but don’t respond. The weight of what happened crashed into you like a freight train. Your breathing accelerates instead of steading as everything plays out. You don’t want to lose him when this doesn’t work out. The thought comes quickly and like a bucket of ice water. Panic setting in because you can’t lose him. You can’t lose him over one night of weakness. Shit, the uncertainty feels heavy on your chest, heavier than it should because there’s no one you trust more. He’s your best friend.

“Lil?” Hesitantly, your eyes snap to your favorite shade of green. Allowing them to travel his peaceful features, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. Everything about him is relaxed and unguarded as he starts cleaning you up with a warm washcloth. The light stubble on his sharp jaw to pink parted lips to the freckles on the bridge of his nose that you wouldn’t see unless you were close enough. Your fingertips ache to trace the path, feel each little freckle and plane of his face, until they’re touching his pink lips. Sometimes, you wish memories worked like photographs or something so you could accurately remember how being in his arms feels. How finally being his feels until unrelenting reality hits. You’re not his, Grace is, and that hurts worse than you thought. His lips tip into a left-sided smile, “There she is.”

“Here I am,” You smile back, cheekbone gently compressed by his long fingers.

Dark curls sticking up in different directions, evergreen eyes following every detail of your face, a red hue dusting across his cheeks, and his once parted lips tugging into a sleepy smirk, “You still with me, Lil?”

“Always.” The word came out fast because you were with him. Maybe too with him. “Gonna get dressed real quick.” A giggle escapes your lips, “Don’t have the money for Ellie’s therapy bill if she walks in.”

“Fuck,” He chuckles, running a hand through long curls, “She’d probably ask to join.”

Your phone buzzes two times and something inside you freezes. You know it’s Rylan, no one else but him and Harry text you this late. The playful expression on Harry’s face slowly drains into something that resembles pain as he hands it to me. The sudden change makes your stomach turn in the worst way.

From: Ry (2:30 am)

Sorry about tonight.

From: Ry (2:31 am)

Can’t lose you over a stupid argument, Lil. I know you and Styles are just friends and you wouldn’t touch him. Sorry for being a jealous prick.

That stomach-sinking guilt comes back full force and causes your mouth to flood with saliva. You pull the Nirvana shirt over your head and turn to explain but he’s already looking at the wall. His jaw tense, so tense that the hinges are bulging, but expression is stoic. He swallows, the columns in his throat tense then relax showing just how hard the salvia was to get down. You linger on his side profile for a second, appreciating the beautiful yet masculine planes of his face, before clearing your throat. He blinks a few times before turning slowly to meet your eyes. The words rush out of your mouth, “Harry-”

Playful evergreen darkened to forest green, “I better go.”

You jump to your feet, following behind him quickly, desperate to explain. His back to you, broad shoulders sagging, as he works to unlatch your window. The glass opens with a thud and you expect him to leave but he doesn’t. Ring-clad fingers grasp the ledge, knuckles blanch, as he just breathes. You count to fifteen waiting for him to look at you but he doesn’t. 240 long, excruciating seconds pass. Exhaling harshly, his voice is hoarse, “We need to tal-“

“Friends?” You blurt, not letting him finish. Needing to know you’re okay, eyes volleying between him and the notification on your phone.

He pauses, hand resting on the windowsill, so much pain in those evergreen eyes you love so much. There he was, always taking care of you. Even if it means hurting him.

“Yeah, Lil.”

Your attention stays on the window as he slips out without giving you a chance to respond. Everything smells like him, a mouthwatering mixture of fresh laundry, peppermint, and something earthy like the wind. Even your skin has traces of him that you don’t think you’d be able to wash off. The memory of tonight permanently embedded into you and there is no denying it. How his mouth felt, his hands on you, the sound of his raspy voice slowly ruining you for anyone else.

What the fuck did you just do?

[wonderlandrry]

[wonderlandrry]

sneak peek of just friends part two 🩵

•UNEDITED TEASER•

“Avoiding me?”

You swear he’s damn near magnetic because your eyes slowly make their way to him. His gravitational pull is stronger than your will power. He’s leaning against the wall closest to the window, left foot crossed over the right, pointer finger resting on his bottom lip. Your mouth goes dry and it takes everything inside to control your facial expression taking in his green trousers, brown knitted sweater, and freshly washed curls. That one curl, the one you love most, is hanging just above his right eyebrow. Black framed glasses perched on his nose. You can’t help but notice how tired, worn out he looks as he studies your mostly blank face. Long, ring-clad fingers pulled at his bottom lip, not happy about your silence but accepting it.

“You got a haircut,” You breathe out because you notice the little things about him. He looks more handsome than ever and it physically hurts to look at him. He’s devastating. 

“He calls you Lil.” His hurt gaze flashes to yours a second before it settles on his feet to defuse. Tattooed arms crossing against his broad chest.

You wince, nose scrunching, “Sometimes.”

Evergreen fades into forest green, “He loves you.”

“No, he doesn’t.” The sentence comes out as a whisper. A quiet confession. “He just said that to fuck with you.”

Harry nods a few times, “Did you tell him?” His jaw tenses so much that you see the hinge. “About us.”

Shame settles in your chest, “No.” This hurts so bad, “Did you tell Grace?”

“No,” He admits, leaning forward, “can’t bring myself to tell her.” Because he cares about her, he cares about her feelings enough to try and protect them.

[wonderlandrry]

"Oh, you haven't read the classics..." I'VE READ THE CLASSICS

✨Dramione edition✨

Manacled by senlinyu

Rights and Wrongs by LovesBitca8

Isolation by bexchan

The Fallout by everythursday

Breath Mints / Battle Scars by Onyx_and_Elm

Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love by isthisselfcare

Wait and Hope by mightbewriting

Meet Your Match by morriganmercy

Measure of a Man by inadaze22

Love In A Time Of The Zombie Apocalypse by rizzlewrites

Secrets and Masks by EmeraldSlytherin

Remain Nameless by HeyJude19

Bring Him To His Knees by musyc

The Eagle's Nest by HeartOfAspen

Dragon's Heartstrings by pinkinku

[wonderlandrry]

First, love just friends so much. Will there be more parts? Where did you get the inspiration because that tension? The annnnngst? wheewwwww 😮‍💨

there will be 3 (probably 4) parts!

actually, i have a book on wp called ace with a similar idea. i just took my favorite parts about them and made them more….idk the right word but yeah.

[wonderlandrry]

part two please bestieeee😭

but honestly? you are so talented and im sorry wp wasn’t as accepting but WE welcome you with open arms. keep writing!! your imagery is unmatched

you guys are too nice 😭 thank you so much for reading and being so so so sweet! part two is being finished as we speak 🩵

[wonderlandrry]

BESSSSSSTIE!!! you’re gonna go far on here i can just feel it! your writing is immaculate! those details like i swear i could touch him and see everything like a movie. who cares if you named the reader? you did amazing, sweetie

that’s so nice, wtf 😭 thank you for reading and enjoying lil & harry as much as i did writing them 🩵

[wonderlandrry]

Hello! I loved your story! Could I request you to add a "keep reading" sign? Thank you :) have a good day!

done :)

[wonderlandrry]

i seriously couldn’t thank yall enough for the love on just friends 😭

seriously inspired me to write more when wp made me wanna stop. working on part two of just friends: in between and another short story: boxerry x cafe worker called deliverance 🩵

[wonderlandrry]

Pillow Talk*

Summary: The one where you and Harry both have insomnia, and decide to spend one very strange night together.

Word Count: 7.2k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, daddy kink, mentions of drugs, angst (w/ happy ending!), not suitable for Ramadan!

“Oh, absolutely not.”

“Come on. Just one time.”

“No. Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Probably. I haven’t slept in 32 hours.”

You huff as you hide yourself behind your door. You don’t even want to see him. Because you don’t want to have this conversation or entertain this idiotic idea. This is what Harry does. He plays games. He tricks and he ruins and if you open this door, you know you’ll regret it. 

“Poppy, please,” he calls, and you hear his forehead land on the wood as though to brace himself. “I’ve tried everything else, okay? It always works with you. I just…I wanted to try. See if it still does.”

You frown. “You realize how wildly inappropriate this is, right? Asking if you can come in just so we can sleep together?”

“Yeah, but that’s all I want to do. Sleep,” he insists again. “Really. I’ll keep my hands to myself and I won’t even talk to you.”

You consider this. Truthfully, you haven’t slept all that well since the breakup, either. And sure, you’ve longed for the nights when the two of you would fall into such an easy, simple, and incredibly effective routine. 

But he broke your heart. And now you’re both paying the price.

“Just one night,” he pleads again. “And if it doesn’t work, I swear I won’t bother you ever again.”

There’s a subtle ache in your chest. Just hearing his voice reminds you of the pain. Of the joy. Of every good moment and every bad one, all wrapped up in the same silky cadence.

You take a deep breath. Perhaps you’re curious, too. Even if you don’t want to be. Because maybe this will work. Maybe you’ll finally be able to rest and get on with your life.

Or maybe it won’t.

But at least if it doesn’t, maybe you can find some closure.

So, with that thought…you open the door. 

He looks worse than you’ve ever seen him. Which makes you just a touch happy if you’re being honest with yourself. His usual curls are askew and unkept. The bags under his eyes are dark and his clothes are wildly wrinkled.

And you’re surprised. He’s been up for longer than 32 hours before and handled it much better. You wonder if his age is catching up with him or if there’s something else keeping him awake.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

But you don’t fight with him. He’s not here to fight and you accept his terms as you widen the door and allow him to step inside.

He nods gratefully as he slips into your living room, but his eyes linger on your face. Almost like he doesn’t recognize you, and it makes your insides turn as you shut the door and put a few feet between you.

“What?” you huff.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, you look…different.”

“Okay…?”

“You changed your hair.”

“Yeah.”

“Hm. It’s nice.”

You cross your arms. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Another pause, and the silence feels heavy.

“Well…do you wanna…?” you eventually say, and he nods.

“Right, yeah.”

“Okay.”

You turn to lead him to your room and it’s…unsettling how normal it feels. Like an old habit rearing its ugly head once again.

When you get there, his surprise returns. “You changed your room, too.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Why?”

Your eyes roll as you angrily toss your blankets back. “This is the one room I associated with you the most. And short of moving, I needed something you hadn’t touched or tainted. So I made the room mine again.”

He thinks about this, attention lingering on the new paint on the walls and the new furniture in each corner. “I like it.”

“I don’t care.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“Great. Can you get in the bed please so we can get this over with?”

Obliging, he slips off his shoes and joins you under the duvet. “Never thought I’d hear you say that again.”

“Never thought I’d have to say it.”

“Mm. You changed your mattress.”

“Obviously.”

“And the sheets and blankets, too.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is there anything in here you didn’t change?”

“The carpet. But only because my landlord said I couldn’t.”

“Right.” He’s smiling again. “But you did get a rug.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice.”

“Bite me.”

He laughs now and you want to smack him. “I see you still get grumpy when you’re tired.”

“No, I get grumpy when my asshole of an ex shows up to my apartment at 3 in the morning demanding to be let in so he can sleep in my bed with me like a fucking child,” you argue. And you know you’re being snippy and maybe even rude, but he deserves it. After everything he’s put you through, you deserve to be in charge of your own emotions. 

You turn the lamp off and the dark room grows incredibly quiet. You’re both stiff, unable to relax when you’re this close. You don’t want to touch—not the way you used to. And you don’t want to be close or let your guard down, although you suppose you’ll have to in order to sleep.

And then he says, “I really did try, you know. To find another way to sleep.”

You look up at the ceiling and release a soft exhale. “Okay.”

“Melatonin, light therapy, cut out coffee. Even drank those…sleep mocktail things everyone talks about.” He shifts. “I don’t know, I guess my brain just wouldn’t turn off.”

“Yeah. I know.”

More quiet.

“I haven’t done any since we broke up,” he finally says. Gentle, like he’s afraid to break the silence. 

Your lashes flutter. He doesn’t have to say it for you to know what he means. “Great.”

“Yeah.” Another beat. “I thought it was work, I guess. Maybe the stress or something. I’ve been sleeping fine, but these past couple weeks…”

“Right.”

“And I just figured—”

“No, I got it. It’s fine, let’s just…let’s just try to sleep,” you say and he nods.

The bedroom settles and you try, you really do. But you can’t when he’s breathing so goddamn loud and shifting every two seconds and sighing like he’s in pain.

“What?” you eventually hiss.

“Are you dating someone?” he asks.

“What?”

“Are you dating someone?” he repeats. “Josie said you were.”

You hesitate. “I don’t know. Kind of. I guess.”

“You guess?”

“We’re…we’ve been on a few dates. It’s not official.”

“He hasn’t asked you to be his girlfriend?”

“Why does it matter?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t. I just figure you deserve someone that actually wants to date you.”

“Oh, do I?” You roll your head to look at him. “Funny, you didn’t seem to think so when you were dating me.”

“All right, touché,” he mumbles. “I could have been better, I know that. And I know I took advantage. You did a lot for me and I didn’t…I didn’t care.”

Surprised, you twist your fingers together. “Uh…yeah. Right. Thank you.”

His head rolls, too. And even with the dim-light, his eyes find yours. “I’m sorry, Poppy. You really did deserve better than me. And if you found it with this guy…I’ll be happy for you.”

You swallow before sighing to yourself. “I mean, I don’t know if I did. He’s…he’s really nice. But he’s so…he’s just…”

“Vanilla?”

Your eyes widen. “Yeah. How did you—”

“He was wearing Crocs with tube socks.”

You laugh—loud. “Oh my god, how did you know?”

“I might have looked him up,” he admits through a grin. “Wanted to make sure he was worth your time.”

“Yeah? And?”

“And he wears Crocs with tube socks. He can’t make you cum.”

Your features scrunch together as you gasp and look away. “Ew, Harry. It’s not about that—”

“It’s always about that. Come on, am I wrong?”

“You—yes. What he wears has nothing to do with what he’s like in bed—”

“So he’s not vanilla?”

“He’s…” You pause. “He…look, he really tries—”

“So, he is,” Harry finishes for you. “Well, at least you got some.”

“I…yeah. Uh-huh.”

Instantly, he turns onto his side, head resting in the palm of his hand as he studies you. “He couldn’t get it up, could he?”

“Harry,” you groan, and reach out to swat him. “Stop, it wasn’t that. We just…we were taking things slow. We did some stuff. Just not…all of it.”

“So what he’d do?”

“Harry—”

“Come on, we’re adults, just tell me.”

“Ew, no—”

“Listen, you used to get fucked good. I’m just trying to help you get back to that.”

You frown but do oblige. “I don’t know. He ate me out and I blew him. That’s it.”

“And…?”

“And…I don’t know. He was fine. He was good.”

“Sure.”

Your eyes roll. “Okay, he…he wasn’t really all that into it. He stopped after a few seconds and asked if I came. Then he said his jaw was tired and that maybe we should just switch.”

Now, Harry’s features scrunch, too. “Shit. What a fucking pussy. Ironically.”

“I guess. It could have been worse.”

“Really? Eating you out was always my favorite. What kind of asshole just stops if he doesn’t have to?”

You feel a rush of heat through your body as you look away. “I guess they can’t all be you.”

“Damn fucking right,” he scoffs. “Seriously, you still wanted to see him after that?”

“He’s cute,” you argue. “And nice. And yeah, maybe he’s not that adventurous but that’s okay. I don’t need wild sex all the time.”

He’s quiet. “How about just one time?”

You turn back. “What?”

“I—okay, I was just thinking…you know, one of the things we would do when we couldn’t sleep was…fuck, so—”

“Oh, absolutely not.” You sit up, as though to put some distance between you. “No. Forget it—”

“Poppy—”

“Don’t call me that,” you huff. “You don’t get to call me that ever again. Okay, I’m not gonna fuck you just so we can sleep—”

“It wouldn’t be just for that,” he argues, sitting up as well. “It would also help your mood, too—”

“Oh, my mood?” You glare at him. “My mood is just fine, actually. In fact, I’d say it’s pretty good if I agreed to let you in my apartment in the first place—”

“You didn’t have to. I’m just saying, if sex with him is gonna be bland, might as well get in one last good fuck before you commit to a lifetime of boring—”

“Oh, my god. It’s not a lifetime and you’re a fucking asshole—”

“Yeah. We’ve established that. Doesn’t change the fact that you need it.”

You stare at him. “Is that why you’re really here? To trick me into sleeping with you?”

He leans back. “What? No. I don’t trick people into having sex, it was just a suggestion—”

“Yeah, a pretty dumb one. Did you honestly think I’d say yes?”

“Yeah,” he admits haughtily. ���Yeah, because we didn’t break up over the sex. We broke up because you’re an uptight—”

“What? Say it,” you sneer. “Say it. I’m an uptight bitch because I wouldn’t let you do cocaine.”

He scoffs again and looks off into the dark of your room. The argument lulls. “I could never do anything right.”

“That wasn’t the problem and you know it.” You pull your legs to your chest. “I wanted to move forward and you kept going back. You’re almost 30 and you still act like you’re 19.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to get married and do the whole white picket fence life,” he says. “Maybe I liked things the way they were—”

“No. No, you liked parties with your friends and doing drugs that kept you up for hours  and getting fired and leaving me to pay all the bills—”

“You didn’t pay all the bills and I told you I would do what I could to help—”

“Yeah. But apparently that included getting fucked up and staying out all night just to crash the next day.” You study him closely. “You were never around anymore. I never saw you. We were on two different paths and the only time we ever talked was when you asked if I wanted to fuck.”

“So, that’s it, huh? I’m just a villain in your story. You were this perfect fucking princess, and I was a monster that ruined your life?”

“No, obviously not. I wasn’t perfect. I know that.”

“Do you?” His eyes flick between yours. “You didn’t want me to move forward with you. You liked your new job and your new friends because they didn’t remind you of me. Of who we both used to be.”

“So? I’m not proud of what I used to do. And sure, maybe I wanted to make a better impression on the people paying my salary and keeping me employed. Is that such a fucking crime?”

“No. But you didn’t want me to be a part of that impression and you know it.”

“Right. Because you were shit-faced all the time.”

He opens his mouth, ready to retort. But then he closes it. He closes it and he stares at you and then…he surges forward.

Even if you were given at least two seconds to prepare, you’re not prepared for the way his hands feel on your cheeks as he kisses you. As he presses his lips to yours and steals the labored breaths in your lungs.

But you don’t fight him. You know you should. Know you should push him off and berate him. Yet you let him kiss you. And you kiss him back. And it’s far too easy to slip back into this routine as his tongue slides against yours in such a teasing way.

Your stomach flips while your hands land on his lap. You’re desperate to be closer, to feel his body against yours. His skin, and the way it melts beneath your palms like butter. You dance this devious dance and before you know it, you’re stripping each other of the few clothes you have.

He starts with your shirt. Ripping it over your head before his mouth lands on your chest. Bare and beautiful to him. His kisses are wet and sloppy and you arch yourself closer as you drag your fingers down his scalp.

The only reason he stops is to let you peel his t-shirt off, too. And then his jeans and socks. And you move so fluidly, you’re nearly naked in under a minute. The only thing left between you now his underwear and yours.

He lays you down, gentle. Surprisingly gentle, given the anger that brought you here. And he gazes at you in a soft, unspoken way that says everything you don’t exactly know how to say. 

His fingers brush down your cheek as his body settles atop yours. He still fits between your legs like he was always meant to and the weight of him almost feels good.

“Are you all right?” he finally whispers, and he doesn’t sound like the same man from before. He sounds like the man you fell in love with. “Is this okay?”

You nod quickly, scared that if you think about it, you’ll ruin it. “Yeah. Go.”

He doesn’t. “We don’t have to,” he says. “You were right, it’s probably a dumb idea—”

“Yeah, but…it always works.” You shift beneath him and reach for his briefs, rolling them down his hips. “And I’m tired. Tired of fighting with you, tired of not getting any sleep…tired of pretending I hate you. You were right, our sex is good. So let’s do it. And then we can sleep. And we can finally move on.”

Not the most romantic of speeches, but it works. At least right now. He kisses you again and drags your underwear aside in order to tease you with the tip of his cock.

He feels like you remember. And maybe you find just a touch of comfort in that. There are no awkward pauses or confusion about what to do next. You don’t have to find your rhythm or anticipate the next step. You know him. And he knows you.

Your rub your clit in order to stimulate yourself. You aren’t exactly wet enough for this to be enjoyable, but you don’t expect him to do what he did before. The foreplay is up to you now and you’re more than all right with that.

However, he’s not. And he instantly swats your hand away in order to do it himself. Allowing his fingers to drag up and down your pussy until you shiver before he slips the tip of his middle finger inside.

“Shit,” he whispers. His forehead drops to yours. “Fucking missed this.”

You bite the inside of your lip to keep from grinning. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He starts to pump, bending your body to his salacious intentions until the unmistakable sound of wetness echoes throughout the room. “I know you missed it, too.”

“Hm. Don’t push it.”

“Why not?” He presses a kiss to your cheek. Then to your jaw. Your lips. Your nose. Your neck. Everywhere you used to love. “Are you really gonna tell me you didn’t?” 

“Maybe.”

“So Crocs with Tube Socks is better, huh?”

“…not exactly.”

“Right.” He adds a second finger and your eyes roll back. “Don’t worry, Poppy, I’ll fix it.”

“Don’t…call me that,” you pant again, and he chuckles.

“Don’t know what else to call you. You were always my pretty Poppy.”

“But now I’m not,” you say. “Now you call me nothing. Because I’m not yours to call.”

He sighs but does seem to obey, at least for now. And the faster he thrusts his hand, the needier this growing feeling becomes. Stronger and louder until you finally grab onto his shoulders and say, “Just put it in already.”

He smirks. “How romantic.”

“It’s not supposed to be. Just come on.”

So, he does. He takes hold of his cock and he slips it through the gathering arousal until he can push in. And you both reel.

Truthfully, you’ve missed the sounds he makes when he’s turned on. The way he groans and grits his teeth together. The way the muscles in his arms strain until you can see those beautiful veins you used to love to run your tongue over. 

He’s stunning. Even now, in the soft light of the moon through your curtains. His silhouette is unholy as it hovers above you. Strong hips beginning to thrust as you both work in tandem to find release.

And it’s closer than you expected. There’s something about him that can get you there even without much effort. Something Crocs with Tube Socks could never seem to figure out. 

Because he’s not Harry. And only Harry can play you like an instrument and make such symphonic music all with the flick of his finger and a thrust of his cock.

He kisses you again and you both feel anxious. Soft murmurings of praise and, “Keep going,” that have you arching from the bed and moaning into his mouth.

You’re sweating and gasping for air and clutching onto his back as you attempt to meet his rhythm with rolls of your own. You need this. You need to cum so you can find release and you need to cum so you can finally sleep and you need to cum because then you’ll finally be able to let him go. To close the door on the chapter of you and Harry and move the fuck on.

But how can you move on when you’re still under him? How can you insist that you’re fine and doing great if you’re so easily convinced to fuck him just so you can both get some sleep?

There are other remedies to insomnia that don’t involve his cock and maybe you should have tried that before you let him into your apartment. 

Either way, you’re coming before you can think twice about it. Raking your nails down his back and whimpering his name as he pulls out and finishes on your thigh. 

And just like that…

It’s over.

You find him in the kitchen about an hour later. You managed to sleep at least a few minutes before you felt the sadistic hand of insomnia pull you back out. But when you woke, Harry was gone. His clothes were still on the floor, so you knew he hadn’t left. But he wasn’t with you.

He’s staring out your kitchen window when you slip into the living room. You’re not sure if he hears you or not but if he does, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he keeps himself braced against the sink, clad in nothing more than his briefs.

Curious, you call, “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. Silent. Contemplative. “I used to love this window,” he eventually says. Soft, like he’s reminiscing. “The way the light looked in the morning. The way your little crystals would put rainbows on the wall and you’d get so excited. How you’d make me dance with you to some Elton John song while we were literally in the middle of cooking.”

You blink. “Um…okay.”

He turns and his eyes find yours. “I fucking loved this apartment. And this kitchen. And that couch. And your room. And even the hallway. I loved being here, all the time. I hated going back to my place because it never felt the same.”

The silence grows louder now as you look down at your feet and pull your robe just a bit tighter. “I know,” you finally whisper. “That’s why I changed it.”

“I know,” he whispers back. His expression falls. “You changed everything. This apartment, your life…us.”

“Because I had to,” you argue, glancing back up. “I had to, Harry. I couldn’t keep going in circles. I couldn’t drag you along behind me into the future when you clearly wanted to be anywhere else.” 

“Because the future you always painted didn’t seem to have room for me,” he huffs. “Okay, with all these dinner parties and fancy houses and good school districts. You’d planned out the next 30 years and I didn’t see myself anywhere in your picture.”

“I didn’t fucking care about the parties or the school districts,” you nearly yell. “God, I—I didn’t want the white picket fence life. I didn’t want the 1950’s American Dream shit you keep thinking I did. I just wanted you. Yes, I wanted a good job with insurance and stability. But I wasn’t gonna trade what we had just for that—”

“But you did. You didn’t tell your parents we’d moved in together. You didn’t even tell half of our friends. You went on trips without me and you stopped telling me about your day and we never talked—”

“Because you were never around! You were either out with your friends getting drunk or high or you were in there playing video games because you’d had a ‘hard day.’ So, no. I didn’t want to talk to you when I knew you weren’t even listening in the first place.”

 He leans against the counter and crosses his arms. Angry. Indignant. “You resented me. You resented the fact that we were together and you resented that I wasn’t perfect like your precious new friends—”

“Oh, that’s—” You pinch the bridge of your nose and force in a deep breath. “No. I didn’t want you to be like them. I didn’t want you to act pretentious and stuffy and talk about the stock market every goddamn second of the day. The only thing I resented…was the fact that you wouldn’t take care of yourself.”

“I was taking care of myself—”

“Bullshit. You were doing drugs—you were doing cocaine—and you weren’t eating, you weren’t sleeping, you nearly drunk yourself to death—”

“Right, but I wasn’t doing it all the time. It was just…it was occasionally, and it wasn’t a lot—”

“I don’t care. You shouldn’t have been doing it at all, Harry,” you finally shout. “You…you scared the shit out of me. Every time one of your friends would call and say you were passed out, I thought…I thought this was it. I thought I was gonna lose you. Do you know how many times I just sat on the floor and cried because I was so scared? Because you never wanted to listen when I told you to stop? Because you were so sure you were invincible?”

He seems pained by this, features wilting as he takes a tentative step forward. But he stops when you move back. “Poppy, I wasn’t trying to scare you, I…I didn’t know—”

“Yes, you did,” you scoff. “I told you, over and over that I didn’t want to lose you, but you thought I was being dramatic.”

He nods once. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yeah. I am.” He looks at you. “S’why I stopped after we broke up. You were right, I needed to get my shit together.”

You nod, too. “Good. I’m glad.”

His gaze dances around the kitchen. “I hate that you changed everything,” he says again, and your heart wrenches. “I hate that it doesn’t look like it used to. I hate that I hurt you so bad that you felt like you had to erase everything I ever touched.”

You step closer and wipe a tear from your cheek. “Yeah, I hate it, too. I hate that I had to. I hate that stupid mattress and I hate that my kitchen doesn’t look like a rainbow anymore and I really fucking hate that I have no one to dance with when I cook.”

His eyes soften as they find yours and in only a few seconds, he’s reaching for the belt on your robe and tugging you to him. Wrapping you in his arms as he presses you against his chest, the way he always used to when you were sad.

“No,” you argue weakly, although you do nothing to stop him. “No, you can’t…you can’t—”

“Yes, I can,” he retorts quietly. You feel his lips press to the top of your head. “You don’t get to cry over me anymore. You’re better than that now. You did what I couldn’t. You moved on. And I don’t get to ruin that for you.”

You sniffle as you run your hand down his stomach. “It wasn’t about moving on. I just needed to learn how to be strong enough for both of us.”

“Poppy,” he breathes and holds you tighter. “You shouldn’t have to be.”

And deep down…you know he’s right.

“Shit, just like that…a little closer. Good girl, hold yourself open for me, baby. Yeah.”

Doing your best to oblige, you slip your fingers between your folds as Harry nudges his nose closer. Kissing his way along your thighs before allowing his tongue to lick a very generous stripe up your pussy.

Round 2 is on the couch. Harry wanted the kitchen counter—nearly insisted on it, in fact—but you knew you didn’t want to ruin your favorite breakfast spot. And you weren’t about to just for him.

So, the couch it was. He complained about it as you got settled. He hates this new couch, too. The color, the lumpy cushions, the way it feels like you’re sinking when you sit. 

You told him you didn’t care. You loved it and if it annoyed him, that was a bonus.

Thankfully, he swallowed his complaints in favor of swallowing you. He tossed your robe open and pulled your thighs apart. And then he buried himself between the warmth of your pussy the way he always used to.

And you decided that maybe you don’t mind insomnia so much if this is the remedy.

“Missed this, too,” he says now as he nips at your clit. “God, you’ve always tasted so fucking good. S’fucking crazy, baby. Can’t ever get enough.”

“Sure,” you snort, head dropping back. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls—”

“No.” He shakes his head and his nose nudges the sensitive nerves as you whine. “No, there’s no other girls. Come on, did you really think there could be?”

“With a mouth like that? Yeah,” you admit. He laughs. “That’s how we met. You were such—fuck—such a player.”

“Maybe,” he concedes before mouthing at you again. “But nobody else has ever made me feel the way you do.”

You snort. “Where’d you learn that line?”

“It’s not a line. It’s the truth.”

“Harry. Come on. I know you.”

“Then you should know I don’t say shit I don’t mean.” He smooths his palms down your thighs in order to spread you just a bit further and see the way your hole flutters. “Oh, pretty girl. S’just drenched, hm? All sensitive from the last one…need Daddy to make it better?”

You scrunch your nose. “You don’t get to call yourself that anymore.”

“No?” He grins. “Why not?”

“Because I hate you and Daddy is reserved for someone I like.”

He tsks. “I don’t know, kind of seems like you still like it. Keep clenching around my tongue like you wanna hear me say it again.”

You hesitate as you weave your fingers through his curls. “Never.”

He hums and the vibration against your cunt makes your thighs twitch. “Come on, baby. Don’t be mean to Daddy.”

You want to glare. Slap at him, refuse him. But he’s right—you have missed the moniker. If only just because of how good he sounds when he says it. So, you let him tease you and taunt you as he tastes you. You let him do whatever the hell he wants because your second orgasm feels stronger than the first and you don’t imagine you’ll survive this one. 

He slips a finger in as well. Beckons your pleasure closer with every curl of the large digit. It’s practiced. He sucks and licks and nips and thrusts and curls and pumps all at the same time.

Then, he pulls back and brings his palm down in a sharp smack to your pussy. 

“Stop squirming,” he instructs, then shoots you an obviously pleased frown. “Don’t be a brat.”

“M’not,” you whimper. “Not a brat…just wanna cum.”

“Do you, hm?” He licks you again then adds two fingers. “Should I let you?”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously?” He’s smirking now as he starts to go faster. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you do deserve it. Yeah? After being so nice as to let me in.”

You pout. “Mhm.”

He’s so happy. He’s always his happiest when he’s suffocating himself with your pussy. He does everything he knows you love. He leaves teasing kisses to the inside of your thighs. He slaps at your leg, your clit, your hip. He helps rock you against his tongue and even lifts you from the couch to find a deeper angle. 

And he does all of this out of sheer enjoyment. 

“Harry,” you whimper as you melt into the cushions. Your limbs feel like jello. The pleasure is everywhere, and he looks like a god. His face is covered in you, glistening about as bright as the stars.

“I know, Poppy,” he says. He kisses your pussy and then smiles at you. “I know.”

You like the way Harry’s chest feels. Warm and soft and painted in the tattoos you used to trace with your finger.

He’s gently scratching your back as you both lay in bed. The room is quiet—you haven’t spoken in minutes. Still, neither of you can seem to find sleep and you know you’ll desperately need it soon. 

But this is nice. Even if it is the last time. You like getting to reminisce—pretend for even a moment that things are the way they used to be. When you were happy and safe and content to be together.

You weren’t sure you’d ever feel this kind of peace again.

“I missed you, too, you know,” he whispers after a moment.

You glance up. 

“I didn’t just miss your apartment. I missed you.” He takes a breath and runs his palm along your spine. “I miss our Sunday mornings and I miss when we’d watch scary movies just so we could make out and I miss the way you used to dance around in your underwear to some stupid musical you were obsessed with.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. “Har…”

“And I don’t know what happened,” he says. “I felt like…I felt like I was watching you do all these amazing things and I just couldn’t keep up. You were getting promoted and moving up and I was still at the fucking bar serving drinks. And you knew what you wanted to do. I didn’t.”

“I didn’t know,” you argue gently. “Not really. I hate my job. I hate that I don’t enjoy it the way I used to. I mean, I like that it pays the bills, but maybe that shouldn’t be enough.”

He presses his cheek to the top of your head. “You should do what makes you happy.”

“You used to make me happy.”

The soft strokes against your spine slow. 

“You did, Har,” you tell him. “So happy. That’s why I hated that we started fighting all of the time. I hated that you were gone or that I was gone or the fact that I was too ashamed to tell you that I missed you. And that I was scared we were losing each other.”

“Maybe we needed to lose each other,” he says and you feel sick. “Maybe we needed to be apart to see what we really wanted.”

You think about this. The idea sounds nice. Inviting. A happy end to a rather dreadful story.

But you both know better. Five months has taught you better.

“There’s a reason we broke up,” you finally murmur. “We didn’t…we didn’t like each other anymore. We were holding each other back—”

“I liked you,” he says softly. “I loved you. Yeah, I was mad, but I didn’t just stop loving you.” 

“Maybe you should have. Maybe it would have been easier for us and we wouldn’t be…here.”

More silence. It stretches for what feels like hours.

And then, “I can’t sleep because of you.”

You suck in a quiet breath. “What?”

“When Josie told me that you were seeing someone, I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And she showed me a picture she took of you guys and you were so happy. Smiling at him like you used to smile at me and I just…I didn’t know what to do.”

Another pause. You don’t know what to say.

“I put my fist through a wall,” he tells you. “And somehow, that still didn’t hurt as much as knowing you’d moved on.”

You snake your arm around his middle and snuggle closer. “Harry, you knew we both had to move on eventually.”

“Did we?”

“Harry…”

“But so soon? It’s only been five months.”

“Yeah. Five months to grieve you and cry over you and realize I did this for you.” You close your eyes. Tight. “We’re better people now.”

“No, we’re tired people now,” he teases, and you smile. “And I think I’ll be losing sleep over you for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I mean it. I’m always gonna think about you. Think about what I did wrong. What I could have done better.”

“I fucked up, too,” you argue. “I should have told my parents. And our friends. I should have talked to you more, asked you to do more things together. You’re right, I was ashamed of you. Of this…routine we’d fallen into. And I’m sorry.”

He says nothing. After all, there’s nothing more to say.

But he kisses the crown of your head and it speaks louder than any words.

“Fuck…fuck, Poppy, please—”

You grin as you lick your lips. He’s always sounded the most beautiful when he’s begging. And his best begging always tends to happen when his cock is down your throat. 

“What, Daddy?” you ask innocently. “What do you need me to do?”

His eyes roll back and he grips the sheets in his fist. “Please…”

You reposition yourself over his legs as you dip back down to have another taste. You lick and you suck and you stroke until he’s making another strained noise that sounds like sex.

You hope your neighbors can hear. You bet they missed him.

“Good boy,” you purr, squeezing his thighs as you take him even further. 

He sucks in a sharp breath through gritted teeth before his hand finds your hair and he squeezes. “Easy…easy, baby. S’been a while. Don’t hurt yourself—”

You respond to his instruction by inhaling through your nose and relaxing the muscles in your throat. Allowing him to hit the back the way he always used to.

His head drops into the pillows. “Shit—Poppy, I mean it. M’not gonna fuck your throat. It’s gonna hurt and I don’t wanna hurt you anymore.”

It’s an oddly thoughtful gesture but it does nothing for you now. Instead, you shake your head and pull off, a string of saliva dripping down his cock in your wake. “I’m fine, H. Trust me, I can take it.”

“Yeah?” He pushes up onto his elbows. “Is Crocs with Tube Socks hung or something?”

You grin. “No. But that dildo you got me last year is.”

He blinks. “You…fucking hell, you fuck your throat with that?”

“Mhm.” You swirl your tongue around his tip as he curses. “And then I fuck myself. And I pretend it’s you.”

He tightens his hold on your hair and forces your eyes back to his. “Are you serious?”

You nod, now feeling a touch shy as you wipe your mouth with your knuckles. “Yeah…I know that’s…probably weird, but…I mean, you got it for me, so I thought I’d be weirder to think about someone else—”

“No, it’s…” He stops. Struggles. “Shit, I really needed to hear that.”

“Oh, you did, huh?” 

“Yeah. I wouldn’t want you to think about anyone else when you used it, either. It’s got my fucking initials on it.”

You laugh, louder than you mean to and it makes him grin. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it? It was a pretty good gift, I’ll admit.”

“S’a fucking perfect gift,” he retorts. “We had a lot of fun with that dildo.”

“We did indeed.”

“But apparently not as much fun as you’re having with it.”

“Fucking myself helps me sleep,” you remind him. “So sometimes it’s necessity.”

“Is that right?” 

“Mhm.” You squeeze the base and he twitches. “You used to watch me. Remember?”

“I do.” His eyes get darker. “Do you fuck yourself a lot?”

“…these days, yeah. Apparently, I can’t sleep all that well, either.”

“And does it work?”

“Most of the time, yeah.” You turn your attention back to his cock in order to avoid his curiosity before you quietly admit, “Sometimes I pretend you’re here. Sleeping next to me. And…that helps, too.”

He reaches for your wrist and pulls your attention back. “Poppy—”

“No, don’t look at me like that, it’s dumb—”

“I imagine you, too.”

You blink. “You do?”

“Every night. Except the past couple weeks. Cause now I just think about you and him. And then I can’t fucking sleep.”

You turn your hand so your fingers brush through his. “Shit. We’re a mess.”

He smiles. “Yeah.”

The conversation falls away as you dip back down to resume your work. Squeezing his balls, moaning as you take him on your tongue, and milking him for every last drop. 

Turns out, you missed the taste of him, too.

Morning comes before either of you find a moment of rest. But you can feel yourself growing tired. Your eyelids are beginning to droop, and your body feels incredibly spent. 

Turns out, round 4 is where the magic happened. He brought out your favorite vibrator and teased your poor, swollen clit with it until you squirted. It was easy and quick and he seemed rather delighted to be bathed in you.

Until, of course, you insist on an actual bath to clean you both.

The shower felt good. The warm water washing away the sticky sweat on your skin. And the two of you fell back into a similar routine. He ran the soap down your arms and you washed his curls with your favorite shampoo. A shampoo he claimed he looked everywhere for after you broke up but could never find.

He said he missed the smell. The way it made his hair so soft. And the way it would make his pillowcase smell just like you.

You were grateful that the shower hid your tears.

You both crashed on the couch after you had dried off. The sheets still needed to be cleaned and neither of you could be bothered. But, as it turned out, the couch was growing on him. And he begrudgingly admitted it was rather comfy as the two of you curled up in your usual spot. 

You know you’re both close to sleep. Finally, after all your efforts to get here. But you also know that once you wake up, Harry will leave. 

And there’s a chance you won’t see him again.

You know that nothing has changed. The two of you still want different things, even if you want each other. And you hate that that’s not enough. That what you want and what you should want don’t align.

Instead, he’ll move on with his life and you’ll move on with yours.

But you don’t want to learn how to fall asleep without him.

“Make me a deal,” you whisper.

He hums. Lashes shut tight as the morning light slips in through the window. “What?”

“If I wake up, and you’re still here…we do this again. Not…as a couple. But as two broken humans that find rest with each other.”

His eyes open.

“But if you’re gone,” you continue, “then we don’t. We don’t do it again, we don’t see each other again, we don’t reach out again. We cut ties. Officially. Block and move on. For real.”

He seems saddened by this, and you hate that you’ve made him sad. But you both know it’s for the best. This won’t be sustainable in the long run. And maybe it’s a bad idea to continue at all, but maybe you want to hold on to him anyway. At least for a little while.

Even if it’s just as friends.

Exes.

Two broken humans that used to make each other whole.

His lips press together and he nods once. “Deal,” he agrees, and you can tell by the look on his face, he’s already made a decision.

You aren’t sure which way, but you suppose you’ll find out soon enough. So, you allow your eyes to fall shut and your dreams to take hold. Melting into his arms and into the sofa as you finally find sleep quicker than you have in months.

You’re not sure how long you’re out. It feels like hours. A heavy slumber that leaves you rather refreshed as your eyes eventually flutter open. 

You don’t see Harry as you slowly adjust to your surroundings. And you don’t feel him, either. But you’re too afraid to really look. To sit up and realize that he’s gone. For good.

And then, just when you think you’ve lost him…you hear the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Good morning, Poppy.”

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