new genre here

‘Tension’: (Mature) Imagine #6 ~{requested by Gabby aka prince9inch and anon}~ ((warning for smut))

My first time writing something like this, a byproduct of the collab oneshot, a continuation of ‘Stamina’ with edsheeranfanfiction (Dannii).

Kind of jumps right in, this was originally part of a bigger plot, but I’ll post it like this. As always, be gentle with format, I’m on mobile.

Hope you enjoy x


To put it simply: he’s hard from the moment he wakes up, and there’s nothing he can really do about it.

When he finally gets home, however, he shucks off his coat and shoes in the doorway, sniffling a bit from the brisk air. “Babe, I’m home,” he calls, shuffling towards the living room, where he expects to see you. “Babe?”

He sees you in the soft glow of the television screen, curled up under a blanket. “Oh, hi,” he grins, and you open the corner of the blanket cocoon up, kissing him briskly as he seats himself behind you, his colorful arm over your shoulders.

“What’re you watching?” He asks, nodding towards the tv, just as you flick it off, turning your attention to him. “Nothing now, how was your day?”

“Good,” he replied, squirming uncomfortably where his ever-growing hard-on is pressed to your thigh. “Good, yeah.”

You smirk a bit, seeing his eyes dart downwards before he adjusts the blanket in his lap, a red tint to his cheeks before questioning him. “You okay there, Ed?”

“Um,” he stuttered, the growing blush spreading to his ears. “I’m fine.”

“Oh… Okay…” You say, casting him a knowing smirk as he tightens his arm around you, looking away almost guiltily.

“Where’s the…oh there,” he says, reaching for the television remote, searching for a distraction. He finds it and turns it back to some kind of stupid soap opera that he’s only pretending to be interested in.

Unfortunately, things begin get mildly heated between the two characters, it’s not even major, just a heavy make out scene, but it’s enough. He awkardly shifts again, trying to be subtle but really failing as you see him tug at the blanket with his right hand, his left arm still around you.

You can feel the solidness of his length against you as he tries to move his hips to avoid any more friction, seeing as he’s painfully hard already.

He’s not able to sit still much longer, trying to push at it discreetly every once in a while, but it’s all too obvious to you. He avoids looking at you, the heat rising to his cheeks at the situation that seemingly cannot be solved.

“Ed, are you sure you’re okay?” You question, tone nearly innocent, and he swallows, looking to you nervously and pushing his glasses up his nose. “Yeah, yeah, I’m, gonna go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.”

You watch him push the blanket off and stand albeit rather shakily, hobbling off to the bathroom. You know better than to follow him right away, so you hang back, turning the television up as you hear the door close.

It’s only then that you start to hear quiet, breathy moans coming from the room, amplified and echoed by the walls.

Your heart gives a little jump, though you shouldn’t be surprised by the knowledge of what’s happening. Quietly, you walk to the doorframe of the bathroom, steps slow and deliberate, to where the door is barely cracked.

No matter how many times you’ve seen Ed exposed, you’ve never seen him quite like this, legs bowed, lip bitten red, eyes cast down to his fist, where he’s pumping himself with long, deliberate strokes, the length disappearing in his hand on the upstroke.

He’s gorgeous like this, whole body relaxed, the sheen of sweat beginning to form on his face, hair starting to stick to his forehead. There’s those breathy moans falling from his lips, as his body shakes with the movement, his hips bucking to chase the feeling.

His head rolls forward a bit, eyes fluttering shut and then open, glasses slipping down his nose before he takes them off and halfheartedly throws them towards the countertop. He’s panting with the motion now, veins under the colorful ink on his arms prominent against the pale flesh of his lower half.

His head falls back, and from the crease that forms between his brows and the way his mouth opens and closes, his movements into his hand becoming more sloppy, you can tell he’s close.

You’ve seen him like this a million times, know him and his body well enough to know he’s about to come.

You’d probably had let him finish himself off any other day, but the way he looks has you equally as aroused.

Quietly, trying your best not to startle him, you rap your knuckles down the doorframe with a soft, “Ed?” and push the door open, to where he sees you, stopping his hand’s movements, his head snapping forward, mouth still parted, just with a question, not a moan.

“I’m—I’m…” He fights for an explanation that he knows won’t come to him, because really, he’s standing in the fucking bathroom with his pants tucked around his package, wrapped in a snug fist. There’s nothing he can possibly deny.

There’s a silence as the red flushes down his neck and onto the pale skin of his chest, as he’s frozen in place, and even as far away as you are, you can see the rise and fall motion of his chest.

He clears his throat, unsure of rather to continue or try to go about it nonchalantly, and he just stands there ridiculously, head tilting to meet his shoulder in a ‘what are you going to do about it’ sort of gesture.

You can already tell you’re getting far too turned on by the whole situation, feeling the wetness building between your legs as you pad towards him on the tile floor.

“So that’s what you were doing,” you say, as if you didn’t already know, “And why was I not invited?”

He curses as you walk closer to him, trailing your hand up his side, and then back to his waist, down where he wants you.

You can feel him shiver under your palm as you lift the bottom of his shirt, having him let go long enough to slip it off of him, and for you to do the same for yourself.

“Off,” you say simply, tugging at the waistband of his boxers and pants, and he obliges without hesitation, letting his belt loose and his clothing pool at his feet while you follow suit.

You keep your hands on him, warming them up on his skin, tracing the line of hair on his belly.

“So fucking hot, Ed,” you whisper, and he leans into your touch a bit needily, turning the words over in his mind as your hand gently takes him, replacing his own.

“Yeah?” He breathes, mainly to himself, and you flick your thumb over the pink tip of it, drawing a sharp breath from him.

He moans deep in his throat, a raspy sound that goes straight to your core. “Ye-yes,” he chokes out as you pump him, moving his hips a bit too eagerly. “Theretherethere—”

You slow your strokes, wanting him to last, and he looks almost disappointed, a hurt look flashing in his eyes before they’re closed, a whimper of protest barely heard before your mouth replaces your hand, earning a louder groan from him.

His eyes fly open, pupils dark and blown, as his hand threads itself in your hair, pulling you in closer. He can’t control himself, and he’s already so close that you stand up, to a betrayed look, and press him against the wall before continuing.

You pin your hand to his hipbone, splayed out in an effort to prolong the whole ordeal, and he looks nearly dismayed but regains the pleasure in short, sharp thrusts into your mouth.

His head lolls against the wall, with a soft ‘bump,’ and then his eyes reopen to make eye contact with you, the entire picture of it all a lot for him to handle at once.

His hands still tight in your hair, and yours still tapping at the freckles dappled on his hips, he chases the pleasure until you suddenly draw away, his hands falling loose and not forcing anything.

“What?” He stutters, looking like he’d just gotten slapped, “What?”

You shake your head, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand before continuing.

“I don’t want to finish like this, I want to last,” you state simply, throat feeling suddenly raspier, and he nods in understanding, a fervent gesture that has him leading you to the bedroom.

You lay down on the bed, propping yourself up with pillows so you’re nearly sitting upright, fully ready to continue what you’d started.

He has other plans though, as his soft palm splays on your back, thumb stroking over the ridge of your shoulder blades, and his other arm bracing beside your head as he holds your chest to his, kissing you slow and deep, gentle but firm as he fumbles with getting a condom on.

His lips are full and soft against yours, and you’re so captivated by them that you barely realize the absence of his hand supporting you on your back, as his knuckles come to rest against the pillow, supporting his weight enough to where he can slip a warm hand between your legs.

You’re not expecting it to say the least, but that’s not to say that you’re not ready for it, and as his pointer finger moves over you suddenly, you keen up to his chest, arching your back.

Your hand instinctively reaches down for him again, grappling at his waist, but he hums in protest against your lips, laying you back against the pillows to draw your other hand up from his erection.

“No, ju-just lay here, yeah,” he breathes, clasping your wrist and placing your hand on his back, where you automatically start to dig your fingernails into the freckled, fair skin.

“I’ve got you, let me,” he pants out, cupping his hand flat between your legs and you gasp, his other hand kneading at your breast.

He lets you work yourself up, quivering beneath him, slipping his fingers inside and moving them slowly, up until the point where he can tell you’re close.

Just as your body rocks forward into his hands, the knot of pressure coiled in your belly about to unwind, he draws his hand away, the feeling sinking back, leaving you sensitive and desperate.

“Please, please…Ed,” you beg, catching your bottom lip in your teeth as you try to grind up against him, craving any sort of pressure, but receiving only the nudge of his knee.

He looks at you with a devilish smirk, but his eyes still empathetic, as he whispers a pitiful little sympathetic sound accompanied with a ‘it’s no fun is it, baby?’

You tuck your face into the crook of his shoulder and neck, the tacky contact of your forehead to his shoulder, nearly crying with need, repeating his name over and over. “Just…Ed…I need…”

“Yeah,” he says, nearly mockingly-sweet, “yeah, I know baby, I know, I’ve got you, hang on.”

You can only nod into his skin, as he nudges his knee between your legs, spreading them further, as he readjusts himself over you, bracing himself on one arm, the colors of his sleeve blurry at the edge of your vision.

He brushes the rough fingertips of his left hand over your eyelids, wanting to lock eyes with you for your approval, something he’d always done, no matter how rushed the sex got.

You nod, and he bites his lip, locking his arm and taking himself in his hand again, slowly guiding himself into you with a ‘relax, babe,’ accompanied by a long sigh as he rocks up gently into you, lowering his body to yours.

With his full length in you, he stays still, his right arm still bracing and his left hand replacing itself between your shoulders, moving your body flatter and more comfortably on the bed.

He remains still, until you confirm his tentative little ‘You’re okay? Can I…?’ with a short nod, your hands raking down his shoulders as he starts to gently move.

Your eyes roll back, a blissful smile threatening to appear on your face at how well he knows you, rolling his hips to meet yours, one hand holding your cheek to kiss you.

His whimpers roll off his lips to yours as he picks up the pace, getting deeper each time. You’re caught between wanting to scream and being so overwhelmed that you’re not sure you could if you wanted to, so you just let out breathy moans into his ear, biting at his earlobe in between kisses.

Without any warning, you feel the pleasure start to build, and he can tell just how close you are by how you look and sound, how needy you are beneath him. He reaches his calloused fingertips between your bodies, tracing them down your hips until he whispers an ‘I’m close, fuck, I’m close’ which you nod in agreement to.

He swallows, lip bitten so hard with focus that you can see his dimple playing out, and you take a hand off of his shoulder to trace down it.

“Ed,” you pant out, so close to the edge, and he knows that tone, knows it all to well. “Ed.”

His left hand reaches further, pressing two shaky but rough fingers against your clit with a simple raspy, “Come with me,” and you’re gone.

He keens forward once more, pushing deep and then staying still, a whine working its way out of his throat, as he lowers his body nearly flush with yours, each of you gasping into the other’s neck.

He comes undone, his thrusts slowing, but fingers still working to let you ride your own orgasm out.

He repeats your name as he comes, the muscles in his back and arms working under the ink of his tattoos, veins prominent as he chases the feeling for as long as he can, for both of you, before kissing your lips and your sweaty forehead, gently drawing himself from you, throwing the condom away and laying beside you at last, breathing uneven.

“Wow,” is all you can say, not able to regain your breath, shaking your head as he ruffles his sweaty hair, folding his hands over his chest, where he can feel his rapid heartbeat.

“Yeah,” he agrees, ever the eloquent one, smiling as you speak his thoughts, “That was amazing.”

He smiles, turning to face you with a sex-drunk grin on his face, pulling the covers up over your lower halves.

“You’re beautiful,” he states simply, using a shaky hand to tuck a strand of sweaty hair behind your ear, “and I love you.”

“Love you too,” you reply, leaning into his hand as his knuckles brush your cheek, hearing him sigh as his breathing starts to even out.

He pulls your back to his chest, his arm around your waist firmly but gently, something that’s always made you feel safe.

And here it’s best, with his heartbeat against erratic yours and your breathing still too quick, as he presses you to him and you try to mimic his breaths.

He snuffles against the nape of your neck, suckling a lazy mark there, nudging at your hair with his nose, before settling down against the junction of your neck and shoulder, fingertips tracing up your arm in a touch that had goosebumps rising.

He slings his legs with yours, a comfortable sort of entertwining, and rests his arm over you, a deadweight to protect you.

You move back towards his chest, seeking the warmth he seems to radiate, and you latch onto his familiar scent, at its best right now.

He kneads at your arm until he hears your sigh and your body relax, breathing even again, before he presses a kiss behind your ear with a gentle ‘sh, sleep,’ and he waits for you to do so before he follows suit.

I’m not sure why or how I wrote this but here


A comiXologist Recommends (her favorite comics of 2015)

Transformers: Holiday Special #1

IDW’s Transformers Holiday Special is out this week, just in time to take its place as once of my absolute favorite single issues of 2015. It’s made up of three short stories from IDW’s Transformers continuity, all of which had me laughing out loud on every page. I would recommend picking this issue up to anyone with even a passing childhood remembrance of Transformers, if only for the hilarious Christmas poem about a grinchy, scroogey Starscream.

Of course, because I’m a die-hard More Than Meets The Eye fan, the highlight for me is Silent Light, a cheeky side story which, in typical fashion for the series, gets in some quality jabs at your heart and a bunch of juicy character development in between 10 pages of hijinks. Kotteri’s art in this story, accompanied beautifully by Joanna Lafuente’s colors, is lively and bursting with personality in every line. After seeing all these characters (especially Whirl) come to life in this style, I’m really hoping Kotteri lends their wonderful work to the main series someday in the future. Finally, my favorite Former-Decepticon & His Dog duo Thundercracker and Buster star in their very own holiday film noir (it’s a new genre.)

It’s still balmy here in New York City, but when I read this comic I swear I heard sleigh bells ringing… or maybe that was Lightbright and Sparkstalker’s wedding bells?

EMILY FORSTER is a Digital Editor at ComiXology and a cartoonist. These days, robots kissing is all she can think about.