#fan short story | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

freedomfireflies · 1 year

Text

Show Me*

Summary: The second part to Teach Me*

Class is in session, and this time, Harry needs a little help exploring his favorite kinks. Like...how to get somebody off underneath a table.

And you're more than happy to lend a helping...hand.

Word Count: 6k

“So…how did she like it?”

Harry laughs as he slips out of his car. “Wow, I think that’s a new record. Waited a whole thirty seconds to ask me.”

“Bite me,” you retort as he makes his way toward where you’re waiting on the sidewalk. “Well?”

He shrugs, hands shoving into his pockets. “Dunno. We never got to it.”

“So, just straight to the fucking, then, huh?” you question. “No foreplay at all? I mean, hey…if that’s what she’s into…great. But, personally, I think the foreplay is the best—”

“All right,” he interjects with a wicked yet amused grin. “That’s not what I meant. She got called into work before we could.”

“Oh.” You offer him a pitiful frown. “Sorry, bud.”

“Bite me,” he mimics as he brushes past you. “S’fine. It’ll happen when it happens.”

“That’s the spirit,” you encourage as you fall in-line beside him. “Gives you more time to find your nerve.”

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, glancing down at the concrete. “Or more time to practice…other things.”

“Other things?”

“Yeah,” he says again, one brow raising as he looks back over. “You know, like…how to eat ass.”

Finally catching onto his joke, you groan and reach out to shove him away from you, watching as he stumbles with a laugh. “Fucking hilarious.”

“Listen, I was actually looking forward to it,” he continues, hand over his heart as if disappointed. “I bet you really know how to eat some ass.”

“Ha…ha.”

“What? You do, don’t you? Cause of…Eric?”

The familiar but dreaded name sends a shiver down your spine as you recoil away and scrunch your nose in horror. “Ew.”

He looks proud. “Well? Am I wrong?”

“Yes,” you huff before sighing. “…no. But he wasn’t that great of a teacher, anyhow.”

“No fucking kidding,” Harry snorts with a smile. “You’re much better.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” he beams, reaching out for the door of the restaurant to swing it open. “After you.”

“As it should be,” you tease, winking to hint at the double entendre, and his eyes roll.

You find your large group of friends already gathered around a table near the back of the room, and quickly make your way over.

For the next few minutes, you all exchange pleasantries, catch-up, and tease Harry about his failed attempt at mating.

He’s a good sport about it, flipping everyone off with a smile before changing the subject.

Because, despite the jokes, all of you know that Harry could have anybody he wanted. Maybe his experience in the bedroom is lacking but that’s only because it was a personal choice that he made. And everybody knows it. As far as charm and seduction go? Harry Styles is a king.

Perhaps even a God.

…no, that’s giving him too much credit.

You shake your head, clearing the thought away as you listen to your friends gossip about the newest celebrity drama and reality TV scandals.

And you try to care. Really, you do.

But your mind keeps…drifting.

To Eric.

God, you could just kill Harry for re-planting that seed in your subconscious and reminding you of the worst mistake you’ve ever made.

Because there was a time when Eric was everything to you. When you were closer to him than you were to Harry. When you trusted him—completely—with your mind, soul, and body.

And of course, he just had to shit all over the self-growth and progress you’d made.

You feel your phone vibrate from its place on your thigh, and you glance down to see Harry’s name flashing across the screen.

Sneaking a curious sideways peek his way, you swipe up to read his text.

So…Pete Davidson is Kim Kardashian’s stepfather now? Am I hearing that right?

Confused, your brows pull together as you look over at him.

His explanation is to nod at your friends across the table with a smirk, and you laugh.

I don’t know, you type. I wasn’t listening.

Oh? Why not? This is fascinating stuff.

Idk. Just wasn’t.

Harry’s expression seems to fall as he studies you before his fingers are flying across the screen. You were thinking about Eric, weren’t you?

…nooooooo.

His eyes narrow.

So what if I was?

Bee…you can do better than that. Even in your head.

See, you say that, and yet…here I am.

Because you’re not doing better. You can…you just aren’t.

Yeah? And how exactly would I do better?

You catch the way his lips pull back into a Cheshire-like grin as he begins to type.

Well, you kind of already did do better. With me. The other day.

Swallowing a scoff, you type, That was only because I felt bad for you.

Think you felt a lot of things that day, Bee. But bad wasn’t one of them.

You toss him a playful glare. Are you ever gonna let that go?

Not likely. After all, you did promise me another lesson.

You don’t need another lesson, you just need to stop being so goddamn annoying.

Come on, you can’t deprive me now. Not when I know I have so much to learn.

Google it.

Ouch.

You’ll live.

It’s not living if it’s not with you.

This time, you do groan, and reach over to swat his arm. “Stop,” you hiss. “You really are fucking annoying.”

“Learned from the best,” he retorts, leaning closer to you in an attempt to conceal the conversation. “Learned a lot of things from you, actually.”

“Harry,” you huff again, but you’re smirking. “My god, you don’t really wanna learn how to eat ass do you?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t really know what I wanna learn. That’s why I need a teacher. To teach me what I want.”

You know he’s fucking with you. You can see it all over his face and yet, for some reason…your interest is piqued. “Thought that was a one-time deal.”

“It was,” he agrees. “But…the door to knowledge is never closed.”

He follows this up with a devious chuckle to let you know he’s teasing, and you nudge him again. “See? Annoying.”

For a moment, you both put the topic to bed and return to the conversation happening across the table.

But again, your mind wanders.

Wanders all the way back to your bedroom and the image of Harry’s curls wound around your knuckles.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about that afternoon quite a few times since it happened. After all, you’re only human. And Harry had done a rather excellent job. Sure, you’ve had a tad better. But for his first time…it wasn’t half bad.

And you’d waited to feel weird about it after the fact…but you never did. Which was strange. The two of you returned to your normal routine as if it had never happened.

And you were certainly glad for that. So why is it that now, as the opportunity for a relapse is placed so obviously in your lap, are you not repulsed by it?

Why is it that you haven’t immediately shut the idea down? Laughed it off? Why is it that you’re…considering it?

Again?

You almost want to shudder at the very thought, but as you look over to the chair beside you and take in Harry’s relaxed smile as he listens to your friends talk…something seems to shift.

You will admit, since your little…experiment…you’ve begun to equate those kinds of memories and feelings with Harry instead of Eric.

And that’s another thing you wouldn’t dare complain about. You like the idea of being able to associate pleasure with someone that makes you feel safe. Secure instead of unhinged.

And perhaps this is a huge mistake…but suddenly, you can’t seem to see the harm?

He gets to learn how to make a woman feel good and you get to erase Eric from your past permanently.

What could possibly be so wrong with that?

Subtly, you clear your throat as you turn your head to him, calling his attention away as he raises a brow.

“Okay, so…if I were to agree to another lesson…” you begin hesitantly as his eyes grow wide. “I’d need a little…information.”

He angles his body toward you as well, murmuring, “Yeah? Like what?”

You think for a moment. “I don’t know…what kinds of kinks do you have?”

“I don’t know,” he repeats smugly, nodding his chin at you. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to help me find out?”

You quickly glance across the table to make sure nobody is listening as you lean in and whisper, “Well…I don’t even know where to start with you. You’re a virgin, it’s hard.”

“I’m not a virgin,” he corrects with a scoff. “I just…haven’t done it a lot since the first time.”

“Mhm,” you snort. “Doesn’t change the fact that if you don’t know what you like, there’s no way I’ll know.”

He studies you for a second, seeming to think. “Well…why don’t you tell me what you like? Maybe I’ll get some ideas.”

You hesitate. What do you like? “Uh…okay. I mean, I like pretty much everything, I guess.”

“Yeah? Like what? Name something.”

Well…shit. “Um…I don’t know. Have you ever heard of…exhibitionism?”

He runs his tongue over his teeth in thought, brows lifting up with intrigue. “I’m 27, I’m not dead.”

“Hilarious.”

“Why? S’that something you’re into?”

You swallow but force a relaxed and nonchalant demeanor. “Kind of, yeah. Fun to play with what’s mine when anybody could see.”

He almost seems impressed, leaning back as he looks at you. Really looks at you. “You don’t fucking say.”

“Okay, don’t make it a whole thing,” you whisper urgently, already swatting at him in warning. “It was just an idea. We can always think of something—”

“Show me.”

You pause. “Show you…what?”

He nods his chin at you. “Show me how you’d play with what’s yours when anybody could see.”

Your expression falls. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” He nods. “I’m a vessel. Show me. Teach me.”

And maybe it’s the glass of wine offering you an extra ounce of courage, or maybe it’s the fact that you’ve already done this once before, or maybe it’s the fact that it’s Harry…

But whatever it is, you reach out, and smooth your palm along his upper thigh, just to watch his breath catch. “Are you sure?” you ask softly, careful to keep beneath the suspicion of the group across the table. “Because I need to know if you can…handle it.”

You feel him tense, his fingers flexing across the tablecloth as he regards you. “I’ll handle anything you want me to.”

Your hand drifts a little higher. “And you’ll sit here? And be a good student?”

He shoots you a coy smile. “The best.”

A little higher. “And you know your safe word?”

“‘Stop,’” he answers, teeth tugging on his bottom lip. “Don’t think I’ll need it, though.”

“You might.”

“Won’t.”

“Maybe.”

“No fucking way.”

You slow to a stop, centimeters away from the rather obvious dip in his pants. “Don’t say that. Just use it. If you need to.”

His expression softens. “I know, Bee. I will. Promise.”

“Good.” So, with that and a deep breath, you take the plunge, ghosting your touch over his covered cock.

And it’s different this time because it’s you touching him. It’s his body in your hands and this far exceeds your usual high-five.

You aren’t sure what you expected. You kind of already know he’s big from the few times you guys have gone swimming together. And he’s accidently brushed up against you before when scooting past you and worn sweatpants that did absolutely nothing to help him hide an erection (another reason why you’re never watching a Margot Robbie movie with him again).

But feeling it now…knowing exactly what this man is in possession of…feels forbidden.

You keep your expression stoic, refusing to give him the satisfaction of your awe as you watch the way his lashes flutter.

“Easy,” you warn in a delicate whisper. “Rule number one…make a sound and I stop.”

His teeth grit as he leans back against his seat. “Fine.”

“Good.” You bring your fingers together until you can cup your palm around him, adding just the slightest amount of pressure before glancing back at your friends.

They’re laughing about something, you don’t really know what, but you smile and nod along as if absolutely enthralled.

And as the seconds pass, you feel Harry grow harder in your hand. Needier. He shifts at least three times a minute, clearly struggling to keep from bucking up into your touch.

You’re being as easy on him as you can. A few squeezes, a bit of palming, and some light brushing just to tease him.

He’s gripping onto the edge of the table so tight, you’re surprised it’s not shaking. But he’s restraining himself, as best he can, and you feel oddly…proud.

You maneuver a little closer, head dipping until your lips are close to his ear. To anyone else, it might look like you're merely trying to be heard over the loud music.

But Harry knows better.

"This...is where the fun is," you tell him. "Knowing it would be so easy to have you coming in your pants. Right here, right now. In front of everybody."

You add a bit more pressure and watch the way the veins in his arms begin to strain against his skin. The way the muscles in his jaw constrict and the way his Adam's apple bobs when he swallows.

“You feel it, don’t you?” you murmur as his fingers begin to scratch down the table, desperate to grab onto something. “Feel what it does to you…to be played with. Just like this…exactly like you wanted.”

He sucks in a quiet gasp for air as his head threatens to drop back, little curls falling across his forehead.

He’s not stopping you. And you know he won’t. He’ll happily let himself go right into his trousers, in front of the whole goddamn resturant. Right here, right now.

But that wasn’t apart of the lesson.

So, just when you can feel his resolve begin to crumble…you stop.

He exhales a long, deep breath, slumping into the chair as if completely drained of all energy, and you almost want to laugh.

“So…what did you learn?” you ask softly as you lean back in.

“That Eric’s a fucking ass,” he replies instantly, shooting you a lazy grin. “And that we’re definitely not kids in a tree house anymore.”

“No kidding,” you agree. “Anything else?”

He mulls this over, eyeing you closely. “That I think I’m more of a…hands-on learner.”

Your brow raises. “What does that mean?”

His answer comes in the form of his touch, hand outstretching for your leg, long fingers brushing across the hem of your dress. “It means…I need to see for myself.”

He pauses down by your knee in order to allow you the time to understand and either accept him or reject him.

But you simply blink, focus falling from his face down to your lap. “Ah…I suppose that makes sense.”

His lips roll into his mouth. “Mhm…what do you say, Teach?”

Your nose scrunches at the nickname but you smile. “I say practice makes perfect.”

And he wastes no more time in slipping beneath the fabric to travel up your thigh and toward your hips.

Now, you’re the one forced into restraint, a gasp immediately hitching in your throat as he brushes his thumb down the front of your underwear.

It instantly brings you back to the last time, and his touch, while familiar and oddly reassuring, makes your head spin.

You slowly look over at him, taking note of the way he’s so goddamn proud of your reaction, and the way he returns his attention to your friends.

Exactly like you had.

Because this is the lesson after all. The concept of teasing and torture and watching somebody come undone so easily.

The idea of getting caught.

You could tell from the moment you reached for him that this was something he was into. But even when he was trying not to thrust up into your hand, it was obvious that his interest lied with you and your pleasure.

With the idea of putting you under this sort of duress.

He really is a sadist.

Good to know.

"How's this for practice?" you hear him murmur as you become vaguely aware of the way he's scooted his chair closer to you.

You open your mouth, lips parted and ready to respond, but you can feel the beginning of a whimper threatening its escape.

So you swallow—thickly—and nod your head once.

"Good, then?" he asks, and you have to fight the urge to cross your legs over his hand. "Bee...I need you to speak."

But you can't fucking speak. The pressure of his touch has increased, and it feels so...so fucking good. "It's....yeah. Fine. It's fi—"

Suddenly, you gasp, and thankfully, it's lost beneath the jazz music still loudly playing through the restaurant.

But it's not lost on Harry, and you watch his smug smile expand as his teasing begins to slow. "Uh-uh," he tuts softly. "You know the rules. Make a sound...and I stop."

You exhale the singular word, "Har," and he hums.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. What?"

You have to physically fight the urge to whimper with desperation. Truth be told, he’s hardly even doing anything, but his hands…

You’d fucked up by sneaking a glance down at the tattooed skin disappearing beneath your dress. Because it’s sinful to feel the cold, metal of his rings brush against your warm thighs. Sinful to know he’s pressing his thumb into you just to feel the way you’ve begun to soak the material he’s so effortlessly playing with.

He…is sinful.

And then suddenly…his touch disappears. Retreats from between your legs as your mouth just about drops open.

And you could cry at the loss of contact because it felt so safe and so exciting. Teasing or not, it was so fucking good, and you hate him for making you go without.

But then…you learn why.

His fingers move to wrap around the edge of your seat, getting a good grip on it…before he yanks.

Your chair is forced closer to his, squeaking against the floor as he begins to smirk victoriously.

“There,” he declares quietly before his hand is returning to your lap. “Much better, don’t you think?”

And it is better because now he’s so much closer, and has so much more room, and you’re so fucking close to just throwing in the towel and hurling yourself at him. Friends be damned.

“Speak, Bee,” he repriminds after a minute of your silence, and instantly, you begin to squirm.

“Har,” you whisper, both begging him for his mercy and for his cruelty.

“What?” he replies evenly. “What do you need, hm?”

You, you think. “Can’t…s’just…”

“Come on,” he tsks. “Think you can do better than that, can’t you?”

But you can’t.

“Please,” you try again, a faint request.

“Please…what?”

“Har…”

“Uh-uh. Tell me. What?”

Again, you swallow, willing yourself to stay silent. "Har—”

“No.”

“Harry—"

"...Harry?"

This time, it's Charlie calling his name, and immediately, you go deathly still as you turn back toward your friends.

However, Harry is calm as he raises a brow. "Yeah?"

For a moment, the three across from you simply stare, rather curiously before Charlie says, "Oh, I was just asking how Tina is?"

You could almost moan with relief.

“She’s good, yeah,” Harry answers cooly, pointer finger hooking around the edge of the material on your thighs to pull it aside. “Yeah, real good. Been working a lot, so I haven’t seen her much.”

“Aw, that’s too bad,” Jackie offers with a pout. “Is she nice? Will we like her?”

Harry laughs, head shaking with amusement as if he’s not dragging his thumb down your clit while you swallow a rather desperate whine. “She’s nice. I don’t know if we’ll ever make it that far, though.”

Caleb’s head tilts. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. We’ve hung out, like…twice. S’not really that serious yet.”

And you almost snort, because to you…he seemed pretty serious about her.

But you suppose eating pussy doesn’t exactly require an engagement ring, and maybe he just wants a fuck buddy.

“Well…she still needs to pass the approval test,” Jackie argues with a wink. “And the fact that she strung you along for two months is not doing her any favors.”

“She was just making him work for it,” Charlie teases. “And he needs to be humbled, so I say good for her.”

“Please. Look at him,” she snorts. “He’s too pretty to be this dumb. Okay, he can do better than Tammy—”

“Tina,” Harry corrects before slowly easing the tip of his finger in, and your entire body goes rigid.

“—yeah, whatever. The point is…you can do better,” Jackie finishes proudly, shooting a pointed look toward Charlie.

Harry begins to smirk, slowly stealing a glance at you. “Yeah. Maybe we can all do better.”

Now curious, Caleb nods at you, and you do your best to control your reactions as he says, “Yeah, speaking of which…have you heard from…him?”

You shake your head quickly, mentally damning Harry to hell as he pushes in a bit further just to make it harder for you to reply. “Uh…no. Nope. Not since that night.”

“I’ll kill him,” Jackie tells you. “No, really. I will. I’ll hit him with my car and drag his dead body out to the woods, and watch the bears eat him.”

You breathe out a laugh, but it’s outrageously forced, and Harry can tell. “It’s…it’s fine. He’s…you know, we all move on. I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Harry says with a wicked gleam in his eye. “Yeah, you seem fine.”

“Oh, I am,” you murmur through a tight-lipped smile. “Fucking fantastic.”

“Good,” he hums before you can feel him curl upward. “Hope it stays that way.”

Your hands drop to the chair beneath you, and you grip onto the sides for dear life in an attempt to keep from reeling. “Thanks for your…concern.”

“Anytime,” he beams as you feel him slip out. “Just want you to…do and feel the best that you can.”

The wet pad of his finger then returns to your clit as he presses into it just to push it in a teasing circle.

Your eyes just about roll back as you quickly turn your face toward your shoulder and fake a cough. “Fuck…sorry,” you apologize hoarsely as your friends look on.

“Are you all right?” Jackie asks softly. “Sorry, we shouldn’t have brought him up. We can change the subject.”

“No, it’s…it’s fine,” you sigh, hoping to sound casual, despite the fact that you’re teetering on the edge of a wail. “Really, he’s just…a guy. Just some…stupid…sadistic…evil fucking…guy.”

And while the group across the table snorts their agreement, you see that Harry knows that jab was aimed directly at him.

He winks.

“I, uh…I need to go to the bathroom,” you suddenly declare, grabbing onto his wrist to forcefully shove it away before standing to your feet. “Be right back.”

“Feeling all right?” Harry asks innocently as he watches you push your chair in.

“Just delightful,” you reply before brushing your hands down the front of your dress. “Seriously, keep eating. I won’t be long.”

You leave the table before Harry can make another quippy remark, quickly making your way for the extravagant restroom in the back of the restaurant.

Honestly, you thought you had a little more self-control. You thought it wouldn’t be so easy to get you so on edge, and yet here Harry is, making you clench so hard in your chair, you nearly burst a blood vessel.

You lock the door behind you and make a beeline for the sink. You flip on the cool water and gently trail it down your arms and chest to cool yourself down as you will the ache between your legs to subside.

It’ll be easy to take care of once you get home, but you’re rather impressed with Harry’s commitment to…education.

And something about looking your friends in the eye as he played with your cunt like a toy was oddly invigorating.

Far more invigorating than it ever had been with…Eric.

You’ve no sooner smirked at this thought when your phone begins to buzz from its place on the counter.

Glancing down, you aren’t surprised to see a text from Harry, but it does make you laugh.

How’s it going?

Good. Just getting myself off before I come back, you answer.

Yeah? Texting me while you touch yourself? Hot.

Well, it’s not the first time.

A good minute passes before he responds, and you can easily imagine the way his eyes went wide.

Seriously?

Seriously. Why, is that weird?

Are you fucking kidding? No, it’s…I mean, it’s hot. Very, very hot.

Your brow raises. Yeah?

Kind of rude you never told me, though. Clearly I would have been of great help.

In my defense, I was a little…busy. It’s already hard enough to type with one hand.

And even if you aren’t exactly touching yourself right now…you aren’t lying about having done it before. Not on purpose, of course. He just happened to text you right in the middle of your alone time and needed an answer ASAP.

So…you’d answered.

Yeah? Do you need an extra hand? he replies next, and you chuckle under your breath as you lean against the sink.

Why, do you know someone?

Funny.

Thank you, I thought so.

Is that a yes, then?

I think I’m managing just fine.

Yeah? So you’re pinching your clit nice and tight for me?

You feel your breath hitch. This certainly isn’t helping. Obviously.

And you’re clenching around your fingers for me? How many you using? One? Two? Maybe three? Know you like to feel stretched.

“Fucking hell,” you whisper to yourself as you glance off into the bathroom. He’s trying to kill you.

Can’t really clench around anything when I have to keep answering these texts. Go eat your food and leave me to it.

And what kind of student would I be if I did that?

An obedient one.

And does that sound like me?

“Nope,” you respond aloud, but type, You have been so far.

Think I’d be more obedient if I finished what I started.

I mean…maybe if you knew how.

You wait to watch the bubbles roll across your screen, but when they don’t come, your heart sinks.

And then…there’s a knock.

A rather fervent and determined knock that makes you jump as you look toward the door.

“Bee…let me in.”

Shit. “I…uh, I’m a little busy.”

“I know,” comes the deep, sultry reply. “So, let me in.”

“Har—”

“Open the goddamn door, Bee, before I break it down.”

Clearing your throat, you put your phone aside and cautiously tiptoe toward the door.

After sliding the lock over, you pull it back just a hair, and peek through the crack. “Uh, hi. Sorry, this bathroom is a little occupied at the moment—”

His large hand comes out to press against the wood as he forces it open and steps inside. “Are you okay?”

You blink at him before scrambling to push it closed and relock it. “Uh…yeah? Why?”

He strides a bit further into the bathroom before turning around to look at you, almost as if suspicious. “Honestly? I kind of thought you came in here to hide from me.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know.” His arms cross over his chest. “I know you didn’t actually come in here to fuck yourself, so I thought…maybe you just felt uncomfortable.”

“Oh, yeah? And how do you know I didn’t come in here to do that?” you retort.

He smirks. “’Cause you always use both hands. And if you were texting me…you weren’t fucking yourself.”

“And how do you know I use both hands?”

He shrugs. “You told me once.”

Oh…right. “Well…maybe I was multi-tasking.”

“You weren’t,” he rejects immediately. “No, I think you either came in here to hide from me…or because you were upset about what they said. You know, about…him.”

An invisible fist snaps closed around your heart as you stare at the man across from you. The devious intentions and teasing from before are long gone as the man you’ve known for years, your best friend…stands before you.

The concern is evident on his face as you take a step closer. “Har…honestly, I’m fine. I wasn’t hiding from you, and I really don’t care about Eric. I came in here to keep myself from coming all over your fucking hand.”

The corner of his mouth twitches with the temptation to smile, but his gaze remains skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” You nod, taking another step. “Come on, I think it’s a little late to start questioning me now, don’t you?”

He sucks on his teeth. “Well…I can never tell with you.”

“I feel like I made my enjoyment quite clear.”

“I thought so, too. Until you made me stop.”

Now, only inches away from him, you come to a halt. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly feel like explaining why I moaned to our friends, you know?”

His thumb rubs across the skin of his arm as he peers down at you. “Thought that was the whole point of exhibitionism.”

You shrug, eyes falling across his features. “Yeah…or maybe I just wanted to keep you to myself.”

His brow cocks up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You know…like a secret.”

Instantly, he grins, exhaling a laugh at the reminder of the pact you two made when you were younger. “We are good at secrets.”

“The best,” you agree giddily before the laughter dies out, and something seems to shift within his expression.

“Then I think it’s only fair we finish the lesson,” he says quietly, leaning a bit closer as you begin to still. “After all…I still need to show my work.”

Your lashes flutter, the smell of his cologne beginning to overwhelm you. God, why does he always smell so good? “Guess…guess that’s only fair,” you agree faintly, and he seems pleased.

His head dips, nose brushing yours as he works to catch you off guard. “Then tell me what to do, Bee. And I’ll do it.”

It comes out before you can stop it. “Kiss me.”

He’s surprised by this request, going momentarily quiet but you don’t miss the way his focus falls to your lips, as if pondering.

“Kiss me,” you repeat, fingers itching to latch onto the back of his neck. “And this time…do it right.”

He seems impressed as he fights an arrogant smirk. “Right, huh?”

“Yeah.” You straighten up, bringing your mouths a tad closer, but still without contact. “Know you can. Know you know how to be gentle, don’t you?”

And almost as if in retaliation, his hands find your hips, squeezing rather harshly as he begins to back you up toward the wall.

When you collide with it, he grins. “Dunno about that.”

“Try,” you whisper, hands dancing up his chest. “Trust me, you’ll get a lot more points that way. The right kiss can do everything, and I promise…she’ll love it.”

He considers this for a moment, studying you closely before you feel his palm delicately cup your cheek.

He tilts your head back as he moves in, deliberately slow. “Everything, huh?”

You smile, nodding once. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Everything.”

He kisses you.

Soft, and careful, and sadistically tame. He kisses around your mouth, peppers kisses to your bottom lip, to your cheek, to the line of your jaw.

He keeps his tongue from you, and you almost huff because after everything, you think you at least deserve a taste.

And finally, once you’re moments away from wilting in his hands, he takes that taste for himself.

Your head spins and your mind goes blank and everything makes sense.

Because kissing him is fun, and it makes you want to laugh, and kiss him forever, and never leave this one spot.

And you’re so enchanted by this revelation that you don’t notice his hand traveling between your bodies to return to its home between your thighs.

But he slips underneath your dress without a moment's delay, fingers returning to their work of pulling your panties aside to finish what he started. And when you gasp into the kiss…he swallows the sound with ease.

“Is that right, hm?” he teases as he slides in. “That good?”

Your lashes flutter closed as he presses his forehead to yours, and you don’t offer a response because he already knows.

His precision just about kills you. In, out, in, curl, twist, pinch, pull. You can feel the drip down your thighs, can hear the sounds he’s making, can taste his desperation in each kiss he gives you.

And when you suddenly whine and squirm in his hold, he smiles. “There it is, yeah? Right there…s’what you needed, isn’t it?”

It is. It’s exactly what you’d needed, and he strokes the spot with fervor and just a touch of wonder.

It’s cruel and it’s wonderful and it feels so fucking good, and nothing else makes sense to you except him.

Just him and the way you’re about to come undone by his hand for a second time.

You nuzzle your face into his neck, lazily kissing under his ear, and he seems to sigh with contentment as he braces you both against the wall to continue.

“Come on, Bee…know it’s gotta hurt, doesn’t it?” he coos, but his voice is thick. “Know it hurts, so give it to me, yeah? Just give it to me. Let me make it better.”

And it overwhelms you, consumes you, controls you. His smell, his touch, his words. The past, the present, him. Just him. Only him. Right now. Everything.

The sound that rips from your throat feels foreign to you. It’s loud and desperate and eager, and he presses his lips to yours to be a part of it.

It goes for what feels like hours, but time doesn’t have a place here. It could have been ten seconds; it could have been ten minutes. You don’t know, you don’t care.

You just…let it.

And you don’t realize the way you’ve slumped into his embrace as he holds you up, keeps you steady.

You don’t realize he’s speaking to you, murmuring words of encouragement with just a hint of teasing.

You don’t realize he’s refusing to let go.

But once you do, you realize something else, too:

You don’t want him to let go.

"Think we might have a problem," he whispers after a moment, lips following the curve of your shoulder as he offers a few parting kisses.

Your head falls back against the wall and you take a few deep breaths. "Yeah? And what's that?"

"Well...you kind of fucked up," he begins as he moves to the other side of your neck, sucking on the vein just below your ear. "You gave me a taste, showed me what I've been missing."

You can feel yourself smile through the haze as his hands continue to grope at your waist.

"I mean, just knowing..." he continues, nosing under your jaw, "...you've been keeping so much knowledge from me...this whole time."

Your laugh is airy as you reach up to comb through his curls. "Is that right?"

He hums as he nods, the palm of his hand slowly smoothing up your stomach, pushing the hem of your dress along with it. "And now I don't know if I can go without. Feel so fucking insatiable...just thinking about what else you might be hiding from me."

With this, his fingers delicately ghost under the curve of your tit, forcing you to arch into his touch as he smirks.

"And what is it...you want to know?" you manage to reply, voice soft and nearly inaudible.

He pulls back and meets your eye.

"Everything."

Shit.

"Everything?" you murmur, subtly tugging him closer.

"Everything," he repeats. "Anything. All of it. You. Me. Us. Every fucking second, every fucking way."

You know what he's proposing. Know exactly what this means, but you don't know if a friendship would survive.

And you don't know which is more important.

"So...what do you expect me to do?" you ask breathlessly, still squirming beneath his hold.

He smiles. "I expect you...to show me."

"Show you," you repeat, as if in a trance.

"Show me," he whispers, moving back in to lick at your bottom lip. "Teach me. How to be better. How to be right. How take care of you. Wanna give you everything you need."

"Everything," you breathe.

"Everything." His other hand gently comes up to cradle the back of your neck. "Whatever you want, whatever you need. Tell me and I'll give it to you. Promise."

But what do you need?

"Are you sure?" you ask, softly pushing on his chest to garner his attention. "It's not like teaching you to play pool, Har. Exploring kinks is...delicate. Sacred. It's not a game."

"I know," he replies, sobering ever-so-slightly. "That's why it can't be anybody else. It has to be you."

It has to be you.

"Why?" you challenge.

He simply offers you a knowing look. "Why wouldn't it be?"

You chew on the inside of your cheek, looking for a reason to say no. Looking for the strength to know better.

But maybe you don't know better.

Maybe you just know him.

"Teach me," he says again, thumb stroking your jaw as those familiar eyes bleed right through to your heart. "Make me better."

Better.

Everything.

Nothing else makes sense. Nothing else feels right.

Just him.

"Okay," you agree quietly, and his entire face lights up. "For science."

"For science," he repeats, dipping down to press his lips to your cheek in thanks. "But only if you're sure. I'd never want you to agree just because of me. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know."

He leans back. Frowns. He's unconvinced. "I mean it, Bee. I'm not asking just because I can. I’m asking because…it feels like something we both want. But if it's not—"

You kiss him again, stealing the rest of his argument. "I know how to say no to you, Harry. Think you should know that by now."

He smiles against your mouth. "Guess so."

For the next minute or so, you don't speak. He simply takes hold of your face with both hands and paints his gratitude across your tongue.

"So...where do you wanna start?" you ask when he finally allows you a second of reprieve.

"You tell me," he reminds you, and you feel yourself smirk.

"All right," you agree before slipping your fingers through the loops on his pants.

His eyes go wide.

Then, you tug.

"Let's start...with everything."

You bet your ass there’s gonna be a part 3, because now that they’ve opened the door…there’s no closing it 😗 and Harry’s got a long list of new kinks to discover! And I’m strangely excited about it?? This is concerning?? Pray for me???

Next Part:

~ Hurt Me* (Pt. 3)

Previous Part:

~ Teach Me* (Pt. 1)

~ Full Teach Me Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Tags:

@tiaamberxx @harrystylesfan2686

4K notes · View notes

sinusoidaldisfunction · 1 month

Text

Princess Orca. CEO of baby murder.

#wings of fire #wof #wings of fire fanart #wof fanart #wof orca #wings of fire orca #dysfunction's designs #she's my POOKIE #if there's one thing i want from the wof fandom is to be known as orca's number one fan i love her so much #I've written like. two short stories about her and her mother and her feelings about animus magic and the legacy of albatross and fanthom #also shout out to my buddy Dragoncarrion for orca with gold accents. you are so right bestie

481 notes · View notes

ducktracy · 6 months

Text

a short placing heavy emphasis on Hungarian Rhapsody No. II is a rite of passage for golden age cartoons. Bugs Bunny did it! Tom and Jerry did it! Daffy and Donald! but one thing Woody Woodpecker has above the competition is that he is held hostage by a group of gangsters and is forced to entertain, lest he get executed. amazing

#fans of Mickey's Trailer will note the similarities at the beginning of the moving van stretching out the fence--that's because #this was directed by Don Patterson who animated that absolutely BIZARRE cut in Trailer #please look it up if you haven't because it is some of the best animation you will ever see. it is insane #i'm so sad i didn't know this short existed until yesterday because i love it. i love musical cartoons and the story/hook of this one #genuinely made me laugh. and Daws Butler voices the gangsters and cop!#Hungarian Rhapsody No. II... gangster is named Mugsy... it's almost a Friz Freleng short! almost #Hugh Harman did write this one though which is bizarre to me. yes that Hugh Harman who established and ran the first 3 years of the Warner #studio with Rudy Ising #(and Herman Cohen animates on this who of course was a longtime WB animator!)#i love cartoons #ww #convict concerto #patterson #vid #also i am team Rhapsody Rabbit on the RR vs Cat Concerto debate i'm sorry Tom (and Jerry)#but one short has Bugs Bunny killing a man in cold blood and the other doesn't

800 notes · View notes

welcometogrouchland · 4 months

Text

I understand that literature nerd Jason Todd is kind of overblown in fanon compared to it's actual presence in canon (a few issues during his pre (and post?)crisis Robin tenure that highlight it) BUT consider that I think it's hilarious if the unhinged gun toting criminal has strong opinions on poetry

#ramblings of a lunatic #dc comics #Jason Todd #batfamily #it's just a fun quirk! it's a fun lil detail and I simply cannot slight ppl for enjoying and incorporating it into works #like obviously jason isn't the only one. I'm a big believer in the batfam having over lapping interests they refuse to bond over #i know dick canonically used the robin hood stories (which are pretty flowery in their language far as i can tell) as inspo for Robin #and i know babs was a librarian and even tho her area of nerddom is characterized as more computery she probably knows quite a lot-#-about literature as well #duke is a hobbyist writer i believe? i saw a fan mention that- which if so is great and I hope he's also a nerd #(i mean he is canonically. i remember him being a puzzle nerd in his introduction. but i mean specifically a lit nerd)#damian called Shakespeare boring but also took acting classes so i think he's more of a theatre kid.#Tim's a dropout and i don't think he's ever shown distinct interest in english lit and i can't remember for Steph?#I'm ngl my brain hyperfocused on musician Steph i forget some of her other interests I'm sorry (minus softball and gymnastics!)#and then Cass had her whole (non linear but it's whatevs) arc about literacy and learning to read #went from struggling to read in batgirl 00 to memorizing Shakespeare in 'tec and is now an avid read in batgirls!#she's shown reading edgar allen poe but we don't know if it's his short stories or his poems #point to all of the above being: i know Jason's not the only lit nerd in the batfam #but also i do need him to be writing poetry in his spare time and reading and reviewing it #jason at the next dead robins society meeting: evening folks today I'll be assigning all of us poems based on laika the space dog #damian and steph who have been kidnapped and brought to jasons warehouse to hangout: LET US GO BITCH #speaking of^ random poem i think jason would like: space dog by alan shapiro #wake up one morning in an unfamiliar more mature body with a profound sense of abandonment. the last four lines. mmm tasty

471 notes · View notes

watermelonlovershigh · 8 months

Text

The Birds and the Bees /blurb/

AN: i randomly thought of this concept and finally decided to write it out. hope you enjoy and please make sure to leave your feedback.

This story contains: mentions of sex, slight angst, mostly fluff

{ dadrry - soft!harry - au harry - daughters Jane (10) and Juniper (5) }

word count- 874

While you announce your pregnancy to your two daughters, your oldest decides to blurt out the word sex in regards to how babies are made and that leads to your curious five year old asking a million questions.

This was not how you intended on having the sex talk with your five year old daughter. You meant to explain how a baby got in your tummy on a more kid friendly level but your oldest, Jane, just had to blurt out the word sex as you were announcing your pregnancy and it kind of forced you and Harry to give a brief explanation as to what sex was.

>>>

"Your mummy has a baby growin' in her belly. She's gonna have another baby." Harry shares to your kids as they sat at the dinner table. You wanted the pregnancy announcement to be simple so doing it over dinner just felt right.

Your ten year old Jane jumps for joy. "Yay, gonna be a big sister again." Your five year old, Juniper, sits there with a bit of confusion on her face.

"But mummy," Juniper begins to ask, "how did a baby get in your tummy?"

"Well......" you start but get interrupted by Jane blurting out, "They had sex." Both you and Harry's face pales over. How does your ten year old know what sex is and why did she blurt it out for your overly curious youngest child to hear.

"Mummy, daddy, what's sex?" Juniper questions.

<<<

Let's just say you and Harry tried explaining what sex was without getting too graphic and hope that satisfied her little brain.

Now, a week later, Juniper's teacher has called Harry and yourself into the school for a parent-teacher meeting. You hope everything is alright. Juniper is usually very well behaved. Just sometimes you know she can get a little hyperactive and she does talk a bit too much at the wrong times but she gets that from her daddy.

You and Harry shake Juniper's teachers hand as you enter the small private room. "Hello, Mrs and Mr Styles. Welcome, come in."

"Is everythin' alright?" Harry questions as you both sit down across from Ms. White.

Ms. White has a gentle smile on her face and answers honestly, "Oh, well, almost alright. See, Juniper is a bright young student. She has a very bright imagination. Loves learning new things. But, over this past week she's been overly sharing that well, her parents had sex and are having a baby. Even telling other students what sex is. I'm all for sex education and teaching them young but for her to be sharing it with other five and sex year olds, it can become a problem."

You and Harry sit there, faces going pale as embarrassment washes over your features. "Um, well me and my husband announced to our children we are having another baby and um..."

Ms. White interrupts with a small, "Congratulations." which you both reply with, "Thank you." at the same time.

Then you continue, "Basically our oldest daughter Jane, she sorta blurted out the word sex when Juniper asked how the baby got in my stomach. So of course we had her asking questions of what sex was and we thought it was only right to give her answers so she wouldn't have to hear it from her peers later on. We had no idea she'd come to school and share the information we told her."

"We will definitely have a talk with her when we get home." Harry adds and that was the end of the meeting.

Now later in the day at home, Harry and yourself sit down with Juniper to discuss what Ms. White had talked to you about earlier.

"Juniper baby," Harry starts softly, "you know how we explained to you a few days ago how the baby got inside mummy's tummy?"

Sitting across from him on the couch, she nods and rambles, "Yes, you and mummy had sex. When you put your magical wand inside mummy and gave her seeds that grow a baby."

You roll your eyes at how Harry had explained sex to your five year old the other day. Like you said earlier, you didn't want to be too graphic so you dumbed it down for her little brain to hear. But you also didn't want to lie and say a stork brought a baby to you.

"Yes," Harry answers, "you're right. But, that's something you don't share with your friends at school, okay. It's private. You can tell them your mummy is havin' a baby but you can not tell them your parents had sex. That's totally inappropriate for school. Sex is NOT a bad word but it is a word that refers to somethin' grown ups do in private. Understand?"

Juniper looks a bit confused but nods her head anyways and replies, "Okay, I got it."

"Thank you, sweetheart. Me and daddy loves you alot and we don't want you to get in trouble again at school for speaking and sharing that word with your classmates." you say, reaching out to hug your daughter. Harry joins in and you three have a group hug.

You're sure that when Juniper is older you and Harry can greatly embarrass her with the story of the time she found out what sex was and shared it with all her peers. But for now, you wish Juniper can stay small forever and be your baby for a while longer.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(no more tags are allowed because i've hit my number limit. sorry : ( )

tag list: @one-sweet-gubler // @harryscherrysugar // @hsfanficsrecss // @lollypopsx // @harrycanyonmoonn // @itfeelslikemytherapisthatesme // @damnasstyles // @mrsstylesharry // @softmullet // @meetmyblondemuffins // @thegirlnextdoorssister // @stanleystyles // @haarrrys // @michellekstyles // @skyangel57 // @the-gardener-31 // @lhharrylilpumpkin // @yousunshine-youtemptress // @clairestylessss // @kissmyaxe140 // @goldenmelonsugar-hi // @kaitieskidmore97 // @florencepughily // @alienorknight //@dancearoundthelivingroom // @swiftmendeshoran

// @luv-flor7777 // @alohastyles-x // @tenaciousperfectionunknown // @sleutherclaw // @siredtohybrid // @whoscamila // @a-strange-familiar // @golden-elodie // @mrspeacem1nusone // @goldenkhae // @lntwithharry // @shadowygladiatorlight // @manifestrry //@mendesblurb // @sunshinemoonsposts // @depersonalizationsucks // @academiaghost // @zendayassimp // @reveriehs // @vsnnstuff // @dancinsunflowerkiwi // @quinnsgrapejuice // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @justlemmeholdyou // @hsonlyangelxo // @luvonstyles // @howdey

______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fan fiction #dadrry #dad!harry #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #softrry #soft!harry #harry styles short story

454 notes · View notes

caffeinewitchcraft · 1 year

Text

Cinderella Doesn’t Believe in Fairytales (pt 7)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3). (Part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

This, Cinderella thinks, is a fairytale.

The nobles are bowing to the Prince, to her, and the air smells like the desserts on the table to her left. The music is still going, a sweet flute that serves a placeholder until the greetings to the prince are done. Over the bowed heads of the dancers nearest them, Cinderella can see her stepfamily curtsying to the arrival of the Prince.

Curtsying to her.

“I am glad that my tardiness did not hold up the festivities,” the Prince says. He inclines his head to the dais where the Queen and King sit. “We should resume.”

The Queen and King.

The Queen is as beautiful as the rumors say. Her long, black hair, streaked with grey, falls around her shoulders like vines, pinned into curled shapes against her violet gown with pins that sparkle like the night sky. She wears a simple gold circlet that glitters in the candlelight. Is it encrusted in jewels?

The King wears a heavier crown in burnished copper. His eyes remind her of the Prince’s, hawkish and knowing when he looks at them. He’s dressed completely in black except for the sash that crosses his chest. That is the same violet as his wife’s cape and his son’s jacket.

Cinderella is prevented from curtsying by the way the Prince presses her hand against his arm. She bows her head as best she’s able, heart thundering in her chest. Somehow looking at the Queen and King reminds her of the rainbows in the meadow. They swim in her vision as if obscured by power.

“Hold your head high,” the Prince whispers to her. His breath is hot against the shell of her ear and when she glances at him out of her peripherals, his eyes are warm. “You’re with me.”

Cinderella has never been with someone. She’s always been trailing behind, packages in hand, or at their knee with a hairbrush and sewing kit in hand. Even as a little girl she was never with her parents. She always felt like she was a step behind them, watching as the distance between them grew into an ocean.

She doesn’t feel like that now. The Prince’s arm is warm under her fingers and the gaze of so many people makes her face hot even if she knows the Prince’s magic protects her from being recognized. Cinderella has never felt so keenly in her own skin as she does in this moment.

Cinderella pulls her shoulders back and looks right over every noble to the blooming mosaic on the other side of the hall.

Well done, the voice in the back of her head purrs. There’s satisfaction curling in Cinderella’s stomach that feels foreign and heavy. She likes standing tall. She likes feeling bold and confident. Very well done.

“I know I promised you champagne,” the Prince says. He waves his hand and the music begins to play again. The nobles don’t resume their dance right away, their eyes fixed on the Prince’s every move. Expectant? Hopeful? Envious? The Prince only has eyes for her. “But I am jealous your first dance wasn’t with me.”

“Perhaps if someone had been on time it would have been,” Cinderella says. The Prince snorts and Cinderella’s smile widens. “Your highness.”

The Prince leads her onto the dance floor. The band is gently coming together again, string instruments rising underneath the lonely flute, the pianist adjusting on their bench in preparation. The nobles part for them like water, sliding back into their places without a word.

The Prince comes to a halt in the center of the dancefloor. If he notices the way the nobles stare, it doesn’t seem to bother him. He slides his arm out from under Cinderella’s hand, but doesn’t relinquish it. He kiss the back of her hand and asks, “May I have this dance?”

Cinderella must be beet red. She breathes in through her nose and smiles on the exhale. “Yes.” Then, because he is her friend, “You’ll be the first to have a dance from me, if that makes you feel better. The rest only shared one with me.”

Does the Prince’s gaze soften? Candlelight catches in his eyes, setting them ablaze. “Having or sharing, it doesn’t matter,” he says. “As long as it’s with you.”

Cinderella is speechless. The Prince takes the opportunity to sweep them into their first dance together, one hand on her hip, the other still holding her hand aloft. She’s not ready or at all prepared for it and has to rely on his grip for support when she stumbles.

“Where on earth did you learn to talk like that?” Cinderella hisses. She kicks at his shin and scoffs when he evades it easily. “Ugh.”

“I’m fairly certain that’s not how this dance goes,” the Prince says, tone mild. He’s smiling when she turns her glare on him. He whispers, “You’ll need to be faster if you want to kick me.”

Laughter bubbles in her chest. Cinderella fights it down. “You’d better show me how this dance works before I give into the temptation.”

“My pleasure.”

Dancing with the Prince is better than any of the other dances, though she doesn’t think she can bear to tell him that when he’s grinning like he knows it. He doesn’t guide her like Cy, her first masked partner, pulling and navigating her through the steps like a teacher might. He doesn’t make it a competition like Iz did, doesn’t change the rhythm whenever she manages to catch up to his pace. He isn’t considerate like Morrigan, waiting for her to catch her breath after a particularly tricky step.

Dancing with the Prince is like…it’s like being in the meadow. It’s like laying underneath the oak tree and watching the sun through the leaves, his gentle voice in her ear and the feeling of his magic chasing the chill away. It’s the feeling of being together where anything she says or does will be welcome or celebrated.

She doesn’t know when the other dancers join them, but she notices when the Prince nearly runs into a pair. She neatly takes the lead, spinning them to avoid a collision. The Prince startles and then scowls.

“I would have noticed,” he says. His gaze is dark on the dancing couple as if he’d like to curse them for the near accident.

“But you didn’t have to,” Cinderella says. Somehow she knows he isn’t that irritated. She thinks about spinning him but decides against it. She’s never tried spinning her partner before and is afraid of throwing him into the swirls of skirts and tailcoats that now surround them. She follows him away from the couple who nearly collided with them, surrendering the lead easily. “I did.”

“You did,” the Prince says, an inscrutable look on his face. It only lasts for a moment before he’s quirking an eyebrow at her. “Another song?”

Cinderella doesn’t feel tired at all. “Yes.”

They dance.

-----.

The night is a dream.

Cinderella holds onto it even after the Prince escorts her back to the Emerald Castle, after Helga pulls the pins from her hair, after she gulps down water and fruit before climbing into bed. They never did manage to have a glass of champagne. Cinderella can’t bring herself to regret the missed opportunity.

I’ll just have to try it tomorrow, Cinderella thinks with a thrill. Tomorrow. She’s going to the ball tomorrow.

She danced with the Prince all night. He delighted in each song with her, always keeping up with her mood and inviting her into faster steps or higher leaps. They talked and they laughed and, looking back, they must have seemed like children to everyone else. Cinderella felt like a child, free and excited in a way that she hasn’t been allowed to be in a long time.

She closes her eyes and can’t wait for the Prince to come pick her up for the ball tomorrow.

-----.

The carriage lurches and jumps as it transitions from the smooth Royal Road to the rougher cobblestones of the royal town. The silent occupants seem to wake up from their stupors all at once, the jostling as good as cold water on a dreamer.

“Mother,” Drizella whines. She doesn’t understand what went wrong. She did everything her mother said to do! She curled her hair and wore her lilac dress and didn’t dance with anyone other than the Prince. Except— “He only danced with her all night!”

“I have never been so embarrassed,” Anastasia says. She bites her thumb. Visions of the woman in green spin across the back of her eyelids every time she blinks. “We wore the same color! How dare she?!”

Baroness Ramsey doesn’t answer her daughters. She promised herself when she married the Baron that she would never allow anyone to guess at her non-noble past through her conduct. So she lets her face remain impassive and thinks carefully before she speaks.

Inside she is seething.

“That woman was in the wrong,” the Baroness says at last. She lays her hands daintily over her lap. “A ball like this – well. It’s for all noble ladies, isn’t it? The Prince was meant to dance with others. I’m sure the King and Queen will talk with him tonight. Tomorrow…”

She trails off. Her girls misunderstand as she meant them to. They perk up at the mention of tomorrow and the idea that the Prince will be different then. Anastasia begins debating what jewelry she will wear to compliment her gown tomorrow, going over the pros and cons of each one (“That woman wore gold tonight and won’t tomorrow, so the gold necklace might be the safest choice. But the prince wore silver tonight and might again and if I wear silver we could match.”) while Drizella pulls at her curls, lost in the daydream of what tomorrow could bring.

Inside the baroness is not so sure.

“A second invitation will be sent to those the Prince has taken an interest in. Expect news by dawn.”

They are not high nobility. It is only through the baroness’ hard work and clever deals that they’re nobility at all. Perhaps it would be different if her husband were better at networking like her, but he’s not (if he’s still alive at all) so they have no advantage through title alone. Their only advantage lies in her daughters’ beauty being recognized and – thanks to that woman – that didn’t happen.

Maybe I was hasty to leave Cinderella at home, the Baroness muses. Cinderella would have caught the Prince’s eye. There’s always been something…unsettlingly compelling about that girl. To be honest, the Baroness has always been a little afraid of Cinderella. Even as a child she always seemed to look through the Baroness rather than at her. With her golden hair and odd, light eyes, Cinderella would have been enough to compete with the woman who had captured the Prince’s attention. Then, when the second invitation arrived, the baroness could have kept Cinderella away to leave the real work to her girls.

She eyes her daughters. No. She could not have chosen any differently. It’s been hard work ensuring her daughters never grew afraid of their strange stepsister. Imagine if they were forced to watch the prince be bewitched by her? The baroness was right to leave Cinderella at home, dressed plainly, rather than allow her daughters to see through the soot and rough clothing to the strange, menacing woman beneath.

“We will stay up all night until the invitation arrives,” the Baroness announces. She won’t be able to sleep anyway. “I want each of you to go over every detail of tonight. Who did you notice? What could you have improved on? We will need to be even better tomorrow.”

Anastasia and Drizella complain, but the Baroness tunes them out. She knows what’s best for her daughters. If she says that they need to go over noble greeting they say, every pin, every broach, every conversation, they will.

It will come, she tells herself. The Prince may not have noticed her daughters, but the Queen was certainly interested in them. She seemed particularly interested in Drizella. Perhaps she will be the one to choose the prince’s bride. Yes, that must be it. She was too attentive to my daughters for that not to be the case.

The second invitation will come. The carriage squeaks to a halt outside of their inn and the baroness waits impatiently for the coachman to open the door. Yes, her earlier concerns were born from anxiety. Obviously the Prince won’t choose his own bride. Clearly! He’s a prince and princes must marry based on their parents’ wills. She, a baroness, wouldn’t allow her daughters to choose their husbands. Certainly the Queen, a fellow noble mother, feels much the same.

Cheered, the Baroness doesn’t yell for the coachman to hurry up helping her daughters down from the carriage. Anastasia does it instead and her Capital accent is even beginning to sound convincing! Drizella nearly falls when the coachman supports her step down too weakly, but her recovery is much quicker than it would have been two years ago.

Yes, the baroness must not lose herself to anxiety. She’s raised her daughters well and that will all pay off when she sees one of them married to the prince. Perhaps she should talk to the Queen herself tomorrow? Mother to mother?

Yes, that’s the best plan. She’ll leave her girls to the business of catching the eye of the prince. If they prove successful, wonderful. If not?

The Baroness hides her smile. There’s a reason she came to the ball despite the invitation not including mothers of the potential brides.

-----------.

Three important invitations are delivered at dawn.

One is snatched by the Baroness who breathes a sigh of relief that she must hide from her daughters.

The second is handed to Helga who rolls her eyes at the redundancy and promises to deliver it to her charge once she wakes.

The third is delivered via raven to a lone man on the road on horseback. He holds his arm above his head as soon as he recognized the purple ribbon tied around the bird’s neck, barely flinching when its talons cut through his thin, traveling shirt.

“A summons?” the man asks. The bird does not answer. It takes off as soon as he unties the message from its leg. He flips the letter over to examine the seal. His stomach lurches. “From the Queen?”

He can’t ignore a letter from the Queen. With a sigh, the man turns his horse gently before even breaking the seal. The Queen only accepts replies in person. A bitterness coats his tongue.

Another letter has brought him back to his ancestral home. A very important letter from someone he’s been forced to leave alone too long. And now, barely four days’ ride from the sender, he’s forced to ignore her once again.

I’m coming, Cinderella. Just a little longer.

Baron David Ramsey has been away from home for too long.

If you’d like to read more parts of Cinderella a week earlier, please consider checking out my Patreon (X)! On top of posting all my stories a week earlier there, I also post Patreon Exclusives.

#Cinderella fan fiction #my writing #cinderella retelling #this is turning into a full novella #this is why i write short stories #BECAUSE BOOKS GET SO LONG #long post

1K notes · View notes

devildomwriter · 3 months

Text

Miraculous Recovery | Simeon x Reader

.6K | GN! Reader | CW: Slightly suggestive

Simeon approached your bedroom door and knocked lightly. “___?” He called anxiously.

“Sim…” you croaked weakly and he stepped into your room to see you a sniveling mess.

“___,” he cooed sadly and frowned. He slowly made his way over to you, stepping over the hundreds of tissues that’d missed your trash can.

The bed creaked as he sat down beside you and pressed his hand against your forehead. “You’re burning up,” he commented sorrowfully. He looked around the room and saw a rag on your nightstand.

“Let me go wet this for you,” he offered and quickly left to wash it under cold water. He rang out the excess water and paced back to you. He laid it on your forehead and you smiled weakly.

He frowned and with his gloves on quickly gathered the tissues into the trash and ran to switch out the trash bags. Your eyelids fluttered shut and by the time he returned, you were already asleep.

He smiled, glad you were temporarily relieved of your flu. As you slept he continued picking up your room, he even sneakily switched your blankets. A few hours later you woke up to a cold breeze on your face and you smiled in relief. You glanced around the room and Simeon heard you stir and got up from the table where he’d been reading.

“___, how are you feeling now?”

“A little better,” you rasped and he shook his head.

“Not by the sound of it,” he disagreed and felt your head was just as warm as it had been an hour ago.

He glanced around the room as if you were being watched and hummed to himself. He knelt and moved your hair out of your face.

“I’m not really supposed to do this but…since it’s you,” he whispered and kissed your forehead. You blushed and instantly cheered up, but that wasn’t all. A warmth flowed through your body and as it left your throat no longer ached, your fatigue was gone and your nose was clear.

You sat straight up and stared at Simeon. He could do that the whole time? Why didn’t he?

“Simeon?”

He held a finger to his lips, “we aren’t really supposed to interfere with minor colds,” he admitted and you nodded and heard footsteps outside the door.

“Quickly, lie back down,” he hushed and you nodded and laid back down with a grimace. Simeon chuckled as Lucifer opened the door quietly with a bowl of soup.

“How are they?” Lucifer asked quietly and behind him, Mammon, Leviathan, and Asmodeus’s heads peaked in.

Simeon shook his head, “not much has changed, I’ll keep looking after them for now.”

Lucifer nodded and thanked Simeon, handing him the soup.

Lucifer sat down to talk with Simeon for a while as you pretended to sleep. When the coast was clear Simeon grinned mischievously, “They’re all gone.”

You rolled over in bed and chuckled, “Why am I pretending to be sick still?”

Simeon tilted his head innocently, “Oh, you know… because demons don’t know how to properly treat sick humans, so…”

“So you get to be here alone with me as long as I’m sick.”

Simeon modded and you laughed but covered your mouth, hoping it hadn’t been too loud.

Simeon handed you the soup and sat by your bed.

“Now that you’ve miraculously recovered, we can spend the night however we want,” he whispered and you grinned.

“Are you sure you’re an angel?”

Simeon shrugged and shook his head, “well, who knows really?”

You laughed at his casual response and he took a moment to look you over. Your hair was a little tangled and your clothes were messy from the days you’d spent with a cold.

“You may still be covered in germs…” he pointed out, “why don’t we go wash you off?” He suggested and you grinned slyly.

“Doctor’s orders.” you agreed and followed him to the bathroom for a thorough cleansing.

#obey me shall we date #obey me simeon #omswd simeon #obey me simeon x reader #obey me drabble #obey me x reader #obey me shall we date simeon #obey me nsfwish #obey me fan fic #obey me story #obey me x you #obey me short story

266 notes · View notes

starry-bi-sky · 8 months

Text

okay so i was thinking of a joke earlier about how in DPDC Amity Park's slogan "a great place to live" is not only city propaganda but also the city lording it over the rest of America for being normal. But then I remembered that, despite how many DCU Cities with heroes in it there are, the amount of cities in America without heroes still far outnumber the amount of cities in America WITH heroes.

So I did a little digging so the joke would still land. Something most heroes have in common is that they operate in major cities. What makes a major city? I found that the general consensus is that the population is roughly over or around a million. THEN I looked up the populations of cities in the DCU that I thought of off the top of my head. So Gotham, Metropolis, Starling City, Central City, Jump City. All of them ranked up to millions in population (most of them were in the tens of millions).

Amity Park's wikipedia describes it as being similar to specifically Philadelphia, Chicago, and San Francisco.

Philadelphia's Population: 1.576 million as of 2021 Chicago's Population: 2.697 million as of 2021 San Francisco: 815,201 as of 2021

Whiiich means that Amity Park if we take that from canon, is probably a major city. There are approximately 19,000 cities in America with probably less than a hundred that are major cities. Adding the DCU major cities wouldn't skew the data too much.

Which MEANS that I can make the joke that Amity Park's "great place to live" is not only just typical city propaganda, but also its Amity Park lording it over the other major cities for being one of the only major cities that doesn't have problems bad enough to warrant a superhero or a vigilante. Cue stage left the Fentons and Phantom :)

Amity Parkers were probably SO proud that they didn't need a superhero. They didn't have to worry about things like 'world ending threats' and 'super-powered individuals' and 'staggering property damage'. And then enter Fentons.

It also could be used as an excuse for why nobody took notice to Amity Park getting ghosts if folks like me aren't huge fans of the notion of a media blackout via Tucker, Technus, or the US Government. Or if you want to keep Amity Park as its urban city self. Amity Park's news on ghosts gets drowned out in a week because there's news on more popular, well-known cities going on every other day. The shit going on in Amity Park is every other major city's regular Tuesday and it gets filtered as such.

#dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dpdc #plus amity suddenly going 'we have ghosts' could be seen as a case of city-wide FOMO finally hitting so nobody believes them #and thats if the belief of ghosts not being real is as strong as it is in dp canon #the media blackout could also be /city-induced/ too #where amity parkers are so proud of being 'normal' and 'not having superheros' that many of them try and deny the existence of Phantom #and the mayor and news sources themselves just. stubbornly refuse to let news of ghosts get out to the other cities #do you know how much shit they'll get?? they'll be a laughingstock!#gothamites would never leave them alone. neither would central city or the metropolitans or starling city or--#the other big cities will make fun of them :(#my new favorite hc that stemmed from this is that every major city in the dcu is rivaling with each other #there's a lot you can experiment with this idea imo lmao #this whole post sums up my writing and thinking process pr well tbh #this stemmed because im making a childhood friends au short story doc and wanted to avoid the typical tropes about how AP went undetected #from the rest of the US. bc. im not a fan of the media blackout idea via tucker/technus/gov and i wanted to keep AP an urban city #so i had to come up with something else #hence me looking into DCU cities and how many there are and realizing that there is a decent amount of other cities other than the main #popular ones and being DELIGHTED because then i could use that as an excuse for why amity went overlooked. bc there are many cities with #heroes in it. so its not surprising if another city gets a hero TOO. plus the news also focusing on more popular heroes and cities so again #the news of amity getting a hero gets drowned out by whatever new thing the JL or someone from the JL did that week

392 notes · View notes

softpine · 4 days

Text

can i just word vomit for a min...

there was a point in late 2023 where i felt like i overstayed my welcome on simblr and i planned on just wrapping frozen pines up as quickly as possible and moving on. continuing to write when it's clear that the audience for it is dwindling felt so embarrassing that i almost didn't even want to put effort into it anymore, because i was afraid it just looked pathetic (obligatory disclaimer: no one made me feel this way, you're all so lovely, it's just the nature of seeing a community change over 7 years). writing already feels very personal to me and it's becoming increasingly harder for me to put my work out there (again, for reasons unrelated to simblr and entirely related to mental illness 🤙🏻). i know my story is so long that it deters new readers, and so sporadic that it makes old readers drop off with time. this has really been bothering me lately because i don't know what i can do to fix it. i don't think there IS anything i can do.

but. okay. don't make fun of me for saying this. dan and phil returning to youtube kinda changed my mindset? they may be pulling a fraction of the views they got in their peak, but they're happier than they've ever been and they're working on things they actually want to do, not things they think will be particularly popular. seeing that has made me realize that it is possible to keep finding joy in a community that has largely moved on without you. obviously my little blog is nowhere near the same scale, so this feels kind of silly, but i've been thinking about all the things i used to do on simblr that were never fun for me, i mainly did them because i knew they would get notes or because i felt like i had to do it. making cc, lookbooks, sim requests, reshade help (oh my god the reshade help), lot downloads, etc. they DID get notes, but i can't imagine spending my time doing any of that stuff ever again tbh.

on top of that, it makes me sad to scroll through my dash and realize that i don't recognize most of the people i see anymore. i still talk to some wonderful people here who i consider friends and that's invaluable to me (💖), but the broader community aspect is something i no longer feel a part of. and believe me, i know i'm at fault here because it's not like i'm going out of my way to talk to new people or participate in trends like i used to. i don't blame anyone except the passage of time!!

frozen pines, and simblr by extension, played such a gigantic part in my life when i needed it the most. and that's not to say that i don't still care about it, because i absolutely do, but it's a different kind of feeling. i've always promised that i would give frozen pines a satisfying conclusion rather than silently abandoning it someday, and though i do intend to keep that promise, i know it's possible that i might never get there. but i don't want to let my own insecurities get in the way of something i really enjoy doing. writing is an intrinsic piece of me that i'll never quit doing, but sharing my writing on tumblr is something that can't (and shouldn't) last forever. i know that. but i'm going to enjoy it to the fullest while we're all still here together 💞

to anyone who's still reading my silly story after all these years (especially those of you who still check in on my blog even though you're not on simblr anymore): thank you thank you thank you THANK YOUUU. you don't have to change a single thing about what you're doing. this is not me fishing for compliments or putting down an ultimatum, this is just me trying to make sense of my feelings.

but with all this being said, i've decided to quit simblr and start my own exclusive streaming service for $60 a year, i hope you'll all support me as i increase my production value 😌

(just kidding. ily. okay that's all)

#to be 100% clear this is not a goodbye - i'm literally halfway done with the next story post #just sort of an update on the state of my brain #👍🏻#btw...... sorry to Watcher fans lmaoo you guys really got the short end of the parasocial relationship stick..... </3 #that's not relevant to anything i've said here i've just spent way too much time thinking about how youtube has changed in the past 20 year #because i'm a loser that got really into youtube when i was 11 and never looked back #and then the watcher thing happened. and i was like ohhh if dan and phil did that to me i would have to die about it.

88 notes · View notes

marlynnofmany · 9 months

Text

Starseed Apples

“Here you go,” I said, putting down the last box. “Uncut fabric, plumbing supplies, and three cases with a fungus biohazard label. Do I even want to know what’s in those?” I cast a curious look at my fellow human as I handed over the signing pad. She was shorter and rounder than I was, dressed in a crisp uniform of a type I didn’t recognize. Big pockets everywhere.

She signed with a wry grin. “Those are dirt.”

“Dirt?” I repeated, looking around the admittedly spotless loading dock of this particular space station. “Dirt warrants a biohazard here?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” she said, handing the pad back. “Organic mulch that could contain anything from decomposed animals to fungus to poop? With uncountable amounts of bacterial life and potential germs? We’re lucky they only focused on the mold aspect!”

“Hm, good point,” I said.

Zhee, who was busy moving boxes off the hover sled, muttered something disparaging. I expected him to complain about how gross it all was, since he was always the first to point out when humans did something to offend his bug-alien sensibilities, but it sounded like he was griping about the strict station rules this time.

The human continued. “We have to keep a clean room between the greenhouse area and everything else. Even there, most things are in pots. We’ve got a great crop from Johnny Starseed right now!”

I’d heard that name before. “Oh, was he the one who sells little potted—”

“Apple trees, yeah,” she said. “Tiny and convenient, but they make an impressive number of apples as long as you feed ‘em quality dirt.” She bent down to pat a box.

Zhee finished freeing the sled. “Reasonable business plan,” he said, sounding almost complimentary.

“The guy named himself after Johnny Appleseed,” I told Zhee. “A human from centuries ago who got famous for traveling around and setting up apple orchards on Earth. Everybody likes a guy who brings food wherever he goes. And drink — I think some of those apples were supposed to be the cider variety.”

Zhee flicked his antennae. “Sounds like a very human thing to do,” he said drily.

“Have you tried the Starseed Reds?” the other human asked. “They’re very good.”

“No I haven’t, but I’d like to!” I said. “I’ve heard good things. I was kind of hoping to cross paths with him at some point. I wouldn’t mind a tiny apple tree in my quarters. Of course, the cat might get at it, and I’d probably have to find a grow lamp…”

She opened a boxy hip pocket, and pulled out the shiniest red apple I’d seen in a while. “Here you go.”

“Thank you!” I said, taking it eagerly. “That’s very generous!”

She waved it off. “Like I said, we’ve got a big crop. And I’ve got a different one that I’m saving for when I get off shift.” From another pocket, she produced a red apple with distinct orange stripes. “Which should be as soon as I get the supplies back to base.”

I laughed. “Is that the booze kind? I didn’t think those were real!”

“Oh yes,” she said with relish, putting it back in the pocket. “Starseed Cider Apples, no fermenting required!”

Zhee cocked his head, faceted eyes looking at both of us. “Poisonous apples?”

“Alcoholic apples,” I corrected, knowing full well that he considered that to be the same thing.

Zhee pushed the hover cart back toward the ship with a dramatic head tilt and antennae swirl. “Now that sounds like a human thing to do.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there,” I said with a smile. I thanked the other human and followed him, taking a bite of my non-alcoholic apple. It really was good.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come!

#hm new posting interface #not a fan #SURELY there's a way to do this without having to add in the paragraph breaks manually #good thing today's story is a short one #annnnnyways...#my writing #the Token Human #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs #writeblr #science fiction #short stories

353 notes · View notes

venichors · 6 months

Text

chap 14

#I CAN QUOTE TSUKASA FROM MEMORY #nenekasa fans when wxs majn story chapter 14 is at the function:#nenekasa fans when nenekasa confession scene is at the wxs short animated story:#pjsk #prsk fa #project sekai #prsk #tsukasa tenma #nene kusanagi #nenekasa #wxs #my art

240 notes · View notes

kate-komics · 1 year

Text

Scars of the Protector

A (very) short story about how Wrecker got his scars.

This started as a warm up drawing then morphed into this. I'm just in a very Bad Batch mood lately. I've always been curious about Wrecker's scars. I had a dialogue going on in my head what drawing so I thought I'd practice a little writing too! Let me know what you think! I'm always very nervous to share my writing because I have no idea if it's any good 😅 so any constructive criticism is welcome!

Star Wars- The Bad Batch

Word Count: 660

Warnings: Angsty as hell, vague descriptions of battle, vague descriptions of panicking

Scars of the Protector

His hulking form was barely contained in the Bacta tank. The medics seemed doubtful he’d even fit. For the first time in his life, he looked small. Over a day now he floated in the salty healing water, motionless. His brothers watched on in suspense as the hours sluggishly rolled on. If they got him here sooner he’d already be healed and there wouldn’t be scarring like the medics predicted. He’d still have two working eyes and hearing in his left ear. If they actually worked as a team this wouldn’t have happened.

Hunter was always their unquestioned leader, but Wrecker was the protector. Despite his gentle nature, he knew how the regs saw him. A threat. A brute. He took on the role with great pride, always willing to step up. Always willing to fight the battles for his brothers.

This is our fault.

The unspoken words made the air in the small sterile room heavy. There was no point in saying it out loud, they all knew. The guilt was so evident on their faces. They all panicked and now their brother was paying the price.

From the moment they were born, they were told they were special. Different in a good way. It made them better than the rest. The perfect soldiers. Out there, it made them cocky.

It was their first mission. A battlefield they’d trained for and dreamed about their entire lives. Finally fighting the war they existed for. It should have been second nature, and in a way it was. In the beginning, they flowed with the action flawlessly. The commands and formations drilled into their heads. Was it really this easy? It was, until their numbers started to dwindle. They were forced into a corner in the heat of battle.

After gurgling hours of fighting they were the only ones in the squadron left, surrounded in the rubble with no way out. How could it have gotten this bad? They were better than this, weren’t they? Instead, the prodigy Bad Batch had been reduced to cowering children in the bodies of men. They’d ceased firing. The march of the remaining droids was deafening. They’d all froze, fear gripping their quivering limbs. All of them, except for him.

Their strongest brother. The explosives expert still had something left to save them. He gathered his final handful of thermal detonators and armed them all quickly. It was more than enough to take care of what clankers were left. He removes his helmet to get a better aim before tossing the charges over their rubble barricade.

He turned to smile down at his brothers, as he had so many times before, to assure them it was going to be okay now. He’d protected them like he always had. They were safe again. Before he could speak, a single detonator was returned, Wrecker taking nearly all of the blow.

The battle was won. Medics took hours to arrive.

Most men would be dead, but then again he wasn’t most men. A bred killing machine. A freak. Their brother. And now the only one to wear the evidence of the horrors they’d seen on his face. Something to remind them how they failed him that day, and a quiet promise they’d never let it happen again. They’d all make sure of it.

They knew he wouldn’t be angry when he woke up. He was never angry. Still, they were afraid of what had changed in him. Would this be the same brother they knew? Would he still smile and laugh the way he always did? Could he even still do that?

Only time and healing will tell, and they stay by his side for all of it.

They all drift in and out of sleep in the medical bay, but none of them ever notice the small eyes peering around the corner. A vigilante gaze, like theirs, that also makes sure her brother would be okay.

#the Bad Batch #Star wars #Clone Wars #Wrecker #Fan Fiction #Short Story #I have no Idea what I'm doing #comicart

645 notes · View notes

deans-queen · 2 months

Text

Romantic Getaway 🌊☀️

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader (Y/N)

Plot: You (Reader) and Jensen go on a much needed vacation to Bora Bora to rekindle your love for each other.

Inspired by the song: More by 5 Seconds of Summer (also including lyrics from …Ready For It by Taylor Swift)

Warnings: SMUT, p in v (wrap it up kids), oral (female & male receiving), skinny dipping, mature and sexual language.

special credit to my best friend for helping me with the smut

Readers P.O.V.

This past month has been super stressful. Jensen has been gone non-stop working on Supernatural and we’ve barely had any time together. And when we do, it’s usually in an argument. It wasn’t good for our relationship. I really wanted to talk to him about it but I couldn’t find the right words to express how I was feeling. I just know we needed to have a conversation.

We’re speaking different tongues communicating

Right through the bedroom wall

And as we fall time is frozen

I was in the living room sitting on the couch when I heard the door open.

Jensen was walking in and he was on the phone. He seemed stressed.

“Yeah, Jared I know. We’ll get the scene right. I gotta go.”

He hung up the phone and set it down on the counter.

I got up and walked towards him.

“Hey sweetie, how was your day?”

“Long and exhausting, Jared and I are still working on this one scene and we can’t seem to get it down.”

“Ah,” I said. “Listen, there’s something I wanna talk to you about.” I said, while taking his hands.

“Yeah, and I think I know what it is..” He said.

“You do?”

“Yeah, we haven’t spent much time together and I'm so sorry about that babe. But I'm gonna make it up to you. I know I’ve been distracted with work but that's gonna change from now on. I wanna get back to us because we used to have more.”

Why does it feel like we're missin' out?

Like I'm standing behind the door

I just wanna get back to us 'cause we used to have more

He handed me two plane tickets, with a destination to Bora Bora on it.

“Oh my God, Jensen! This is amazing, I can’t believe you did this for us!” I exclaimed, kissing his cheek.

“Well believe it baby, now go pack your bags. We leave in an hour!”

When we got to Bora Bora, I couldn't believe my eyes. It was so beautiful and peaceful. The weather was warm but not too hot. Palm trees swayed in the clear blue sky. I couldn’t believe Jensen did this for us.

We got to our hotel and it was so beautiful. The room was huge, it had a King size bed with roses in the middle. A big master bathroom and to top it off, a balcony with a beautiful ocean view.

We decided to change into our swimsuits and head to the beach.

Jensen put on some swim trunks and I put on a sexy white bikini that showed off my body flawlessly. It also complimented my tanned skin.

When I walked out of the bathroom, Jensen was practically drooling.

After doing fun beach activities such as snorkeling, swimming with dolphins and playing together in the ocean we wanted to relax and just listen to the sound of the waves. We walked around and found this secluded area so we could experience some alone time together.

Island breeze and lights down low

No one has to know

In the middle of the night

In my dreams

You should see the things we do, baby

Jensen layed down a towel and I layed down right next to him. We got right down to business. Jensen grabbed my face with his strong hands and started making out with me, sucking on each other's tongues while rubbing his hands all over my body.

He whispered “You want this baby?”

I replied with “Yes Jensen, I do” I said breathlessly.

“This bikini is very sexy but I’ve been wanting to take it off you all day.” He said while kissing my neck.

He untied my bikini top carefully and slowly, being very sensual. My nipples were hard and glistening with sweat coming off my body. Jensen took my boobs in his hands, running his fingers around my nipples. He took his tongue and began sucking and flicking each one. I moaned and threw my head back in pleasure. He kissed down my belly button and ripped off my bikini bottoms, untying the strings with his teeth. He then began to lick and suck on my pussy, making me moan and scream his name “Oh Jensen! Yes right there.” I said. Our hands intertwined while he was licking my pussy. At this point I told him to stop, I could no longer wait. I needed him now. I wanted him to stick his dick inside me. He looked at me with his sexy smirk and decided to tease me. He pulled down his swim trunks and began rubbing his dick all over my clit, just barely putting it in and taking it out. I was getting sexually frustrated. He looked over at me and laughed. His green eyes glistened under the sunlight.

“You’re so eager for me baby.”

“Yes, I know Jensen.” I said, smirking at him.

One last time he rubbed his dick on my clit super fast to the point I started to squirt. By then he stuck it in and we both started to moan.

“Feel good baby?“He said while gazing at me.

I said "Oh yes baby.” I grabbed onto his arms while he was thrusting inside me back and forth in missionary and within minutes he told me he was going to cum.

He pulled out and came all over my face, he said “Oh fuck baby I didn’t mean to cum all over your face“ he said chuckling.

“It’s okay I don’t mind.”

I was in shock because I actually enjoyed the thought of his delicious cream all over me.

I kissed him and said while winking at him, “Well I’ll be in the ocean when you’re ready for round two.”

By then, the evening came around. A few minutes later we both ran and jumped into the ocean naked, the water was freezing but we didn’t care. I instantly jumped into his arms and he placed me right on his dick. I wrapped my legs around his body holding him tight while thrusting back and forth on his cock. He kept telling me “Don’t stop sweetie” with a cute giggle.

I told him not to pull out, he smiled and said “Are you sure?”

I said moaning, “Yes baby, I want you to fill my pussy up.” Within seconds I started to feel the warmth of his cum fill me up. We released our orgasms together while moaning in one another’s ears. We both looked up at one another, both smiling and giving each other a passionate kiss.

We ended the evening by setting up a cute campfire, cuddling by the fire.

This was the best romantic getaway ever!

Authors Note:

Hope you enjoyed this story!

Feel free to let me know what you think!

Like & follow for more !! Xoxo

Check out my other stories!

Master list 📝

79 notes · View notes

fkmarrycill · 5 months

Text

One Shot: Pre-Gaming

(Pic added after the original post because it totally fits the vibe of the story. 😌)

1191 words, 🔞 for that smut

Notes:

Can you tell I'm really, really concerned about how our man will survive awards season? ☺️ I'm not sure if he'll attend any of the shows (really hope he does), or if he has any rituals for situations like this, but this is where my imagination took me. 😈

This is pure fiction, and in this scenario, Cillian is in a relationship, but not married and no kids. I read Cillian as an intelligent, decent, sometimes awkward guy who is also capable of being spicy when needed or desired. 😌

It's M/F dynamic, and I often keep the lady leads generic in description so more people can imagine along. 😉

Thanks for reading! ❤️

Cillian had gone silent. His arms were crossed, and he was staring out the window. Maybe he saw the city cruise by, or maybe he was too lost in thought to notice; she couldn't tell. All she knew was that he was relaxed at the hotel, but as soon as the limo door shut, his mood had changed.

She'd had her hand on his thigh for the whole ride so far. That subtle reminder of her support wasn't enough for him, she realized, but she knew what would be.

“Cill?” She addressed him gently.

“Mmm?” He responded absentmindedly.

Definitely lost in thought. “You need to relax. I'm going to make you feel better before we get there. Would you like head, or a quickie? Neither is not an answer.”

“That obvious that I'm fucking nervous, eh?” He chuckled in spite of himself. “Of course, I would’ve rather stayed home, but…” He trailed off and watched her kneel before him and begin to unzip and lower his tuxedo pants.

“What?” She said in response to his quizzical expression. “I thought maybe this would help you decide.” She looked up at him and winked. At this moment, she was glad she'd chosen the little black lace number instead of the gown with the train. She'd be able to move more freely for him, and it would be harder to mess up the dress.

“Now, what’ll you have, Mr. Murphy?” She placed her hands on his thighs and caressed them softly.

He glanced at the closed partition between them and the driver, checked his watch, and a mischievous grin bloomed on his face. He leaned forward. “Looks like we have plenty of time. Hmmm… Film award nominees tend to get special treatment, isn't that right? Give me both, love. Your mouth first, then that irresistible cunt.”

“Spoken with the confidence of a winner, whether it's tonight or another night. It's coming, either way.”

“Just like me, in a matter of moments, thanks to you.” He tried and failed to stifle a laugh. “Christ, we sound like some dreadfully unimaginative 70s porn! Let's stop talking, before we turn each other off.”

“Excellent idea.”

Both of them laughed, partners in crime with the same sense of humor.

She gave him one last affectionate smile, then began to caress his thighs with long, soft strokes that made him shift on his seat. She traced the same path with her lips, on one thigh, then the other, nuzzling the expanses of skin.

He turned the volume up on the music, in anticipation of giving in to wherever she led him. She stretched herself higher and loomed over his lap, then tugged at his underwear. He shifted on the seat to help her efforts in removing her last barrier. He placed his hands on her head and squeezed softly, a gentle request for the warmth of her lips on his hardened, eager cock.

He groaned softly as her lips surrounded his girth and her hands connected with him, and he hissed, eyes shut tightly, when she teased the sensitive underside of his dick with her tongue.

His million-dollar face contorted–jaw clenched, brow furrowed, nostrils flared, full lips parted–as he savored her work. By then, she had taken more of him in, feasting on his length with her enthusiastic licking and sucking.

He began to grind his hips, arching into her mouth to feel her deeper and more intensely.

She loved seeing him like that, focused on the sensations, thoughts as far away as possible from cameras, paparazzi, and all the sequined and bow-tied cogs in the Hollywood machine–everyone they'd be unable to escape for hours once they left their mobile love nest. Giving him release was the least she could do for him. She was well aware of all the effort and sacrifice he put into his celebrated performance as Oppenheimer, and she thought he deserved to be in the right mood to enjoy his moment of recognition, win or lose.

She knew she was wet already, from the way her body throbbed in excitement. She had one more ace to play, one more thing to share that would push him past the point of no return. “I was going to surprise you later,” she murmured conspiratorially, “but this will give you something else to think about in your seat…”

He watched her through glazed, darkened eyes as she climbed into his lap, hiked her dress, and sank down on him, inch by inch.

“Holy fuck,” he gasped. “No fucking panties… Are you trying to kill me?”

“No, babe, I'm just trying to fill your head with good thoughts before we get there.” She rolled her body at a brisk pace and kissed him deeply.

He grasped her hips and overtook the pace of her thrusts, writhing against her in a controlled manner that made both of them wail. She rocked into him and edged closer to being completely undone.

One of his hands crept up to the small of her back, while the other meandered down her leg to find her clit, which he massaged the way she loved, ratcheting up her cries in the process.

Their rhythm quickened some more. A lock of his hair fell down, toward his eyes, and she brushed it back into place. She desperately wanted to clutch her hands in his hair, like she normally did, but quickly nixed the idea, remembering the effort that had gone into his sophisticated look. There'd be plenty of time later for reckless behavior, she thought–on the ride back to the hotel, or in the bed, regardless of whether they were celebrating or preparing to return to their usual pace of life.

“Oh, fuckkkk…” His breathing was shallow, and his face flushed as his eyes rolled back. “I'm gonna…”

“Me, too, baby,” she said, equally breathless. The tightness that had built up at her core gave way to waves of bliss, and moments later, Cillian tensed as his own climax tore through his body.

He held her in a tight hug and kissed the top of her head while they caught their breath.

After a while, she moaned contentedly and looked up at him. “Feeling better, Cill?”

“You have no idea, lass. Thank you.”

“Anytime, my dear, beautiful boyfriend.”

He kissed her softly, then looked at his watch. “We should be there soon, better get ourselves back together as best as we can.”

They scrambled to straighten up and return to their initial positions in the car.

“You know,” started Cillian, as they rounded the corner to the venue, “At some point tonight, when I can't stand it anymore, I'd love to steal away with you to a bathroom or somewhere else that we can be alone…”

“I like the way you think! But what if we get caught?” She gathered her purse and prepared to exit the limo.

“I think ecstatic award winner caught fucking his girlfriend will be much better for my brand,” he said with air quotes, “than those pics of me pissing on the side of the pub, don't you think?” He winked and kissed her passionately.

Before she could respond, he opened the car door and they emerged. They were quickly besieged by camera flashes, and the huge smiles on both their faces were real.

#cillian murphy #oppenheimer #fan fiction #my writing #short story #one shot #fkmarrycill library

87 notes · View notes