#and white countertops. whisky bar | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

delirious-donna · 2 years

Text

You're Mine [Jujutsu Kaisen]

an: a huge thank you to @azurelyy for inspiring this premise, I hope Gojo lives up to your expectation!

prompt: how will your man react when he sees you getting hit on/approached by someone else?

feat: Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Itadori Yuji/Sukuna & Fushiguro Megumi

warnings: jealousy, possessive men, tiny bit of violence, PDA, heavy petting, pussy eating, overstimulation, wall sex, sukuna manifests, doggy style, rough sex, slight Neko kink, marking

Masterlist

Gojo Satoru

It had started out as rather amusing to Gojo until it wasn't.

Leaning casually against the bar, he waited for his two drinks to be crafted. He let his gaze wander over to the booth you were seated at and smirked at the male that was leaning down in an attempt to speak with you.

His snow-white hair ruffled as his head cocked to the side, wondering what lame pick-up line the unassuming man was trying to ply you.

Fingers drummed against the smooth countertop, amused at your head shaking from side to side and the obvious 'no' that fell from your parted lips.

That's my girl, he mused silently.

The bartender was back with his drink order, he paid up with a generous tip and a smile. The smile shattered as he was met with the scene of the interloper seated on the opposite side of your booth, the side that he had been occupying.

Motherfucker...

You felt his stare before you could make him out in the crowd, crashing waves of an unfamiliar emotion licked at your bones and only deepened your frown.

Your admirer seemed none the wiser to his impending demise, still trying to get you to admit that you weren't here with your boyfriend, it was just a line to keep the perverts away.

Clearly, it wasn't working.

He made you feel uncomfortable in the worst way, and although you might feel sorry for him when your boyfriend did appear, you were breathing a sigh of relief as celestial eyes met your own panic widened ones.

"Here you go, princess," he said with a smile that didn't quite reach those hypnotic eyes, "whose our new friend?"

You watched as the man opposite shrank back at the imposing presence of Gojo Satoru slid next to you, an arm tugging you into his side with all the possessive dominance he dared to display.

"No one. He was just leaving, weren't you?"

Gojo tsked, sipping his whisky before resting his chin on his fist. He stared directly into the soul of the now ashen-faced man, who was clearly trying to stammer something out but failing miserably.

"That's a shame, he'll miss the show," Gojo cooed.

In one fell swoop, the powerful white-haired male had lifted you from the plush leather seat and deposited you fully on his lap. A large hand slid up your stomach, between the valley of your breasts and curled gently around your throat.

Your back pressed tight against his chest, hips settling so your ass was directly over his cock and the other arm wrapped around your waist once he was happy with your placement.

You had almost forgotten about the clueless man, too wrapped up in the feel of your man and how this possessive side of Satoru was turning you on more than you thought possible, that was until he was literally sprinting for the nearest exit.

"Think you scared him, baby."

An answering hum met your ears, warm breath fanning against your neck as hungry lips pressed kisses to your throbbing pulse, making your head roll back giving him even more access.

The subtle side-to-side movement over his zipper did not go unnoticed, and the faint mewl did not go unheard.

"Drink up princess."

"To-toru - fuck - think imma pass out," you whimpered, white spots twinkling in your vision.

Spread out like a feast fit for a King, the granite of the kitchen island was no longer cool given how hot your bare flesh was. Snow white hair nestled between your parted thighs, one hand pinning you open as the other continued its merciless ministrations on your cunt.

Sparkling celestial eyes assessed you through hooded lids, yet his mouth never broke the suction around your puffy, overstimulated clit. The bud throbbed between his lips and yet another gush tried to force his two fingers out of your clenching cunt, but he refused.

There was no way of knowing how many times he had made you cum since carrying you in here, you were well past your limit but he showed no sign of stopping.

With a wet 'pop' he released your bud and lapped up the nectar that coated your thighs and his hand.

"Just making sure you're still mine."

Nanami Kento

Nanami hated being late, it wasn't a simple mild annoyance but a deep abhorrence of the lack of punctuality.

He was meant to meet you at the bar around the corner from his apartment thirty minutes ago, and he was already furious for being held up by the antics of Gojo along with the unrelenting traffic.

What he didn't need right now was to discover you seated at the bar wearing that too-short skirt that he loved so much whilst another man ogled at your shapely legs, drool practically hanging from his open mouth.

You didn't look at all interested in what he was saying, and that was the saving grace for Nanami's rising temper. Your short but curt nods in response to the man's questions screamed 'fuck off' in the most polite way possible.

It was time to rescue his damsel...

Glancing as discreetly as you could manage at the time on your phone, you let out a low sigh. Nanami was late and it just wasn't like him.

Worry was beginning to gnaw in the pit of your belly, only incited by the flashes of irritation at the man that you could only describe as a pervert. Not only had he seated himself despite you assuring him that it was taken, but he also openly leered at your chest and legs.

You wondered if you should try calling him, biting your lip in indecision, but it was all for nought.

Blond hair, broad shoulders, unreadable expression - Kento had arrived and was heading straight for you.

You were ready to scramble down from your stool and throw yourself into his arms, knowing that he would likely hate the obvious public display of affection but you were stopped by a clammy hand on your knee.

It wasn't there long.

There was a high-pitched scream as your view of the unwanted admired was obscured behind a broad back. His white shirt looked close to breaking point as it strained to contain the strength of your beau, muscles working as you wondered exactly what he had done.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting sweetheart. I was held up by an idiot," he soothed, finally turning to cup your chin in his large palm.

His thumb stroked along your jawline as the other hand landed on the seated flare of your hip. His hold was firm, deft fingers sinking into your plush flesh and kneading you just how you liked.

You barely took note of the man leaving the bar with his hand cradled to his chest, the fingers looking unnatural and very red. It was hard to care when you could breathe in the musky scent of your man.

"Where are we going?" you asked almost breathlessly as a strong tug pulled you from your seat and into Nanami's arms.

"Home, sweetheart."

Your spine arched off the wall, shoulders digging into the bricks as Kento held your weight as if you were nothing. He dropped you down onto his pulsing cock with fervour, swallowing your whine as he kissed your cervix.

Calloused hands smoothed your bare thighs, hiking your skirt even higher as he groped at you in desperation. It was so unlike him, to see him so raw and in need of you.

The way he had roared like a feral beast the very second his door closed behind your back, how he had forced you against the wall and caged you in with his torso.

"Ken-to..."

"Oh gods, right there," you moaned as his angle shifted to press against your front wall.

Teeth nipped savagely at your throat, marking you for all to see and the guttural-sounding words from his throat sent you spiralling over the edge of bliss.

"You're all mine."

Itadori Yuji

“Will you shut the fuck up, Sukuna?” Itadori yelled at the mocking little mouth that appeared on the back of his hand. He was weaving through crowds, trying to see over people’s heads as the King of Curses spewed his vile accusations.

“Your perfect little Angel,” he mocked, “she’ll be bent over the nearest dumpster, begging for cock.”

Itadori smacked his hand against the nearest wall, hoping to dislodge the menace or at least silence him. His patience was running thin and it only strengthened Sukuna’s ability to manifest.

He had a general idea of where you should be, waiting for him by the entrance to the festival but with the heavy crowds, it was hard to spot your petite stature.

Checking his watch he groaned at the realisation that he was more than a few minutes late now, and he worried you might have headed in without him.

The dark laughter of Sukuna bubbled in his head, yet it was soon silenced as both Itadori and the King of Curses spotted a truly ire-inducing sight.

Some random dude was chatting to you very animatedly, his hands waving around and oblivious to your stricken expression. He was slowly backing you into a corner and no one around even seemed to notice or care.

“Ours.”

If Yuji hadn’t been so pissed, he might have laughed. This was certainly a change of tune from Sukuna and obviously, he disliked the thought of someone hitting on you as much as he did.

For once, he was united with his dark presence and ready to bash skulls if necessary.

Where the fuck was he?

Once more, you peered around in hopes of spotting a head of cotton candy pink hair, but to no avail.

Your new ‘friend’ seemed entirely unaware of how uncomfortable he was making you feel and you just didn’t know how to extract yourself from the situation.

A jolt of awareness shot up your spine, tingles spreading to your extremities and you could hear the blood rushing in your ears.

The man who stood in front of you looked sick, almost green in colour with eyes as round as saucers.

You whipped around to look at what he was staring at and came face to face with your boyfriend, or well, not quite your boyfriend.

The black tattoos on his face and arms was a dead giveaway to Sukuna’s fearsome presence. Although he had always scared you on the rare occasions he had overpowered Yuji, when he reached out a hand for you, you grabbed it with both of yours without hesitation.

Hastily you were wrapped in a tight embrace, spun around so you could watch as your admirer shook like dead leaves in winter. Two strong arms crossed your chest, hugging you into his torso as his nose pressed into your hair.

You didn’t know why this was turning you on. You had never considered that Sukuna even acknowledged your existence other than to wind up Yuji, but this felt… right.

“Sorry we’re late Angel,” the deep drawl that you only associated with the King of Curses said.

Has he ever uttered the word ‘sorry’ in his extensive existence? You doubted it given what you knew about him, it made your stomach flip and your thighs press together.

It did not go unnoticed.

When the trembling man had bolted, you weren’t sure but the tightness in your belly was clouding all other thoughts. It was impossible to concentrate on anything other than the way Yuji’s hands were being controlled to caress your sides, hips swaying with you as if trapped in a private dance in the middle of a street full of people.

“Can we - can we go back to mine? I don’t really fancy walking through this crowd now.”

Sukuna chuckled, nudging your ear until he trapped the lobe between his teeth and pulled. You whined for him and you would swear he purred.

“Agreed, the brat will be returning in a second. I’m sure you know what is going to happen now…”

You were so desperate, so completely drunk on Yuji’s thick cock.

Both hands cupped your tits as he draped his torso over your back, fingers pinching your taut buds and ripping high-pitched keens for him from your raw throat.

Yuji had flooded you with his touch, covered you from head to toe in his loving kisses and left his fair share of marks along the way.

Your back arched, allowing for the angle to shift and he was hitting repeatedly against your sensitive front wall.

“Fuck, you feel so tight and hot.”

You were so close, it really wouldn’t be long before you would cream around his cock and likely fall to the mattress.

“Yuji, Yuji, Yuji!”

His hips jerked to a stop and you could cry from the loss of friction. Yuji spoke whisper quiet against the shell of your ear, “Sukuna wants to come out Angel, he wants to know what your answer is?”

You knew he wouldn’t have told you if he wasn’t okay with it, Yuji knew that he was bound with Sukuna and there was little to be done about it.

A shy nod was all that was needed, sharp fangs sank into your neck before the King of Curses spoke.

“You’re ours.”

Fushiguro Megumi

Fushiguro wasn’t entirely sure what had come over him when he had offered to take on the extra mission, despite it being his well-earned day off.

Gojo-sensei had sworn it would be a cakewalk, in and out in less than an hour, he’d said. It was his fault for trusting in the white-haired sorcerer.

Six hours later and Fushiguro was washing the ick from his hair as hurriedly as he could whilst being thorough. He ground down on his molars as he imagined your sweet little face, sad and searching for him. It was high summer and yet his mind conjured a picture of you shivering at his absence.

Clothes flew on and a comb dragged through his hair as if it would do anything to his spiky mess but it was worth a try.

You were due to meet outside a cat cafe, a treat that he was excited to indulge you in. Megumi loved watching you play with and coo over his Demon Dog but he knew that cats were your true passion.

It was only a five-minute walk but he was already running late. His pace quickened as he turned the corner, skidding to a halt as he took in your adorable appearance.

You really had gone all out with the cat-themed clothing, all you were missing was a tail and that thought alone might have been arousing had he not been glaring at a man invading your personal space.

Bastard!

The man smelled strongly of sake, his step was unstable and you were terrified. He had spotted you whilst you waited for your dark-haired boyfriend to appear, and taken an immediate interest in your attire.

He was getting too close, with every step back you took, they matched it and you whimpered as his hand reached out.

“Will you purr if I tickle you behind the ear?” he slurred, gesturing towards the cat ears sat atop your head.

Your eyes screwed shut but the touch never landed. Instead, a cracking noise followed by a scream rents the air.

Peeking through your lashes, Megumi stared back with an impenetrable expression on his handsome face.

“Are you okay? I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner. I’m going to kill Gojo-sensei,” he whispered the last part under his breath but you still heard it.

You launched into his arms, trusting him to catch you, which he did although he did stumble at the sudden affectionate attack.

“Gumi, you’re my knight in shining armour!”

Fushiguro downright blushed and it was adorable, his large palms gripped the round cheeks of your butt as you wound your legs around his waist.

The cat cafe was a complete success, however, Megumi was flooded with filthy wanton ideas and images throughout the entire session. You had sensed his dark energy, how it had reached out to coil around your limbs and caress your flesh. To say you didn’t like it would be a bald-faced lie.

You mewled for him, the dark of his room only heightening your other senses as your boyfriend lost himself in your tight cunt.

A hand groped for your exposed tits, the swell of them pressed up from the tight hold of the blouse that had been opened just enough to bare you to the cool air.

Long languid swipes of his tongue on your sopping folds were enough to make you grind against his face in earnest.

“Such a needy little kitten. You gonna purr for me?” he smirks up at you from beneath dark lashes.

His crooked almost non-existent smile flashed in the dim room before he suckled your clit between his lips.

“Need more,” you begged, fixing your lopsided cat ears and trying valiantly to coax Megumi into fucking you dumb. Your hips rolled, practically rutting yourself against him and the lust-blown pupils spoke of how affected he was by your actions.

Your stomach pressed against the mattress as Megumi flipped you over and was grasping your hips to raise your ass. The blunt, fat head of his cock teased your folds before catching against your fluttering hole.

He sank in on a low groan, making you see stars as he bottomed out in one long stroke. A hand gripped the back of your neck, pressing your cheek into the pillow as you could only just see the feral expression on your beau’s face.

“You’re mine!”

#delirious writes #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #nanami kento #itadori yūji #fushiguro megumi #gojo smut #nanami smut #megumi smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna smut #jjk x reader

805 notes · View notes

clowncaits · 2 years

Text

Summary: What’s a nicer way for an uprising boyfriend to show his appreciation; A bouquet of flowers, or asking you to moan for his song?

Pairing: rockstar!Eddie Munson x f!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, a little angsty, what’s to be expected, cliffhanger?

The sound of a loud thud had followed from the corridor of a stingy studio room that the band Corroded Coffin had officially claimed as their own for many months now. You could smell the young, hormonal, angsty teens a mile away.

Loud and ridiculous was what the parents thought of the music. But to the fans? It was their own personal version of Baba O’Riley.

Expanding from small bars to The Roxy and The Whisky was nothing but a dream to the band. But it made them realise something… Their music wasn’t outrageous enough. They felt as if they needed more shock value.

And you happened to be the perfect opportunity.

A couple months ago, you and Eddie had snuck off into his van during rehearsals, leaving everyone more than angry that you were ‘distracting him’. But there was one thing which caught everybody’s ear.

Your over the top moaning.

Porn-star worthy, and nothing but ludicrous. Something that the band couldn’t get enough of. Eddie had gloated about how great you were in bed before, but it was merely shrugged off, nobody buying it. ‘We’ll believe it when we see it.’ was all that was said. What they didn’t realise, is that they’d be hearing it instead.

You sounded just like the girls on the VHS tapes they’d watch.

Eddie had left a note on the countertop of your kitchen, a cigarette and lighter left lying on top of it to stop it from flying away. It read:

‘Come down to the studio,

the boys band wanna ask you something.

Just don’t take it the wrong way, kay?

- your lover ;)’

The thud was the sound of you knocking over a plant on the way to the recording room.

"Sweetheart!"

Eddie had stood up, arms open wide, waiting for your arms to wrap tightly around his torso. Which, they did.

You planted a small kiss on his cheek, then wrapped a single arm around his waist. "I heard my assistance was needed?" You cocked an eyebrow, desperate to hear what everyone wanted to ask you.

"Yeah, you could say that." Gareth laid back, legs crossed smugly. Over the years, their confidence shot through the roof. A room full of now cocky rockstars in leather and denim. He motioned for you to sit yourself down.

You shuffled to the corner of the room, settling for a single chair next to a bass guitar.

"So, babe, just be warned. You don’t have to do this. It was simply… a suggestion.”

You crossed your arms, worry filling you. But you nodded, and urged them to continue.

"We heard you and Eddie, last month. That time you snuck off? You guys were… Loud." Jeff chose to speak up, oddly being quiet today.

"I think you mean her-"

"Not the time, dude!"

Bickering between the four boys could be a real headache, not helping with the tint of red appearing on your cheeks. Rolling your eyes, you once again urged everyone to get to the point.

"We’ve been working on, uh, some new material, and we thought that you could get involved in a new track we’re writing. You’ve heard the song… ‘Rocket Que-"

Gareth didn’t even get to finish his sentence, your face still flushed from moments before, and your knuckles now turning white from strain. You finally realised what they were getting at. Of course you’d heard the song, but you also heard about how the girl had been treated after it was released.

"No fucking way!"

It was like a shot to the chest. Did they really think that lowly of you? That you would really have sex with Eddie in the studio, and put it out for the whole world to hear? That time the two of you had snuck away wasn’t intended to be heard. But this? Was a definite no. And there was certainly no way of convincing you.

Huffs, sighs, and knee slaps surrounded you. They had the nerve to complain?

"Just hear us out. Hear me out, babe."

Eddie walked over to you, heavy boots hitting the old floorboards. He bent down to your level, and placed his hand on your shoulder.

"Nobody will know it’s you. Not to mention I’ll be involved too. The guitar will drown out a lot of it. And with some editing? It would sound great."

Even though he made it sound just a little better, it was a low move. And it wasn’t a risk you were willing to take. You shook your head, not changing your mind just yet.

"What about… Let’s say a test round? It’ll be only us in the room with you, but you can hear how it’d sound if you went through with it." Nick, a new member of the band, seemed to somewhat understand why you didn’t want anything to do with the idea.

Under pressure was an understatement, all eyes were once again, on you.

"I’ll think about it."

A smile washed over Eddie’s worry ridden face.

"That’s great, baby!"

"Just don’t get your hopes up."

#stranger things #st imagine #Eddie Munson #corroded coffin #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson imagine #80s #rockstar imagine #guns n roses #stranger things imagine

209 notes · View notes

thethreebroomsticksficfest · 1 year

Text

Just Not Home

By: @heartstopping-waves

Prompt: Eggnog

Summary: Heartstopping-waves brings us some fantastic Romione today. Be ready to fall in love with this fic, where Hermione teaches Ron one of her cherished family traditions!

Read on AO3 here or continue below:

Hermione suppressed a laugh as she watched Ron survey the countertop warily. After a trip to the grocery store for eggs, milk, and heavy cream, and then to the off-licence shop for rum and whisky, she had lined up all the ingredients on her parents’ counter, along with the two electric mixers, several large mixing bowls, and the sugar, vanilla extract, and salt out of the pantry. Ron had put up a brave face in the car, although he had clutched his seatbelt for dear life at every turn (as if she wasn’t a perfectly safe driver! A little rusty, maybe, but she had passed her test with flying colors when she was sixteen), but faced with the actual prospect of preparing the recipe he seemed a little overwhelmed, and she couldn’t help but say, “I know your mother makes eggnog every Christmas, I don’t see what you have to be looking so nervous about!”

“Well I’ve never helped with the eggnog, have I? And she certainly doesn’t use those horrible contraptions––” he gestured helplessly at the KitchenAids, and at the look on his face Hermione actually burst out laughing. “Don’t laugh! They look like they could be used for torture!”

“I know you know what a whisk is! You can’t be scared of an innocent kitchen utensil just because it’s attached to a machine!”

“They look exactly like the type of machine Dad would bring home and make explode in his shed,” Ron stated firmly, crossing his arms. He was used to avoiding magic use at her parents’ house, since they were still nervous around the simplest charm, and he had seen firsthand how terrified they had been while undergoing memory-spell therapy in Australia. However, Hermione thought to herself, he normally didn’t have to engage with any appliance more complicated than a lightswitch. She took mercy on him.

“When your mum makes a cake or something, she sets the whisks going of their own accord, right?” A nod. “Okay, so a KitchenAid is the muggle version of that. The machine just operates the whisks so you don’t have to, the same way your mum’s spell works. And we don’t have to use them right away anyway! Look––” she pulled down her mum’s massive recipe book off the shelf, and turned it to the tab marked “NOG,” holding it out to Ron so he could look over the instructions––“we need to separate the egg yolks from the whites first, I’ll show you how, it’s kind of fun.”

Ron ran his finger down the edge of the book as he read her mother’s careful handwriting. “Did you do this a lot with your mum when you were little? Baking and stuff?”

Hermione blushed sheepishly. “Not really. Honestly, I was never that interested. I wanted to be upstairs in my room with a book.” She moved as she talked, wanting to keep busy, washing her hands and pulling two of the mixing bowls and the eggs over to the breakfast bar. “I think she would have liked it––cooking was something she and Dad always did together, he would make dinner and she would bake a dessert, and they were always trying to get me in there, wanting it to be a family activity.” Instead of finishing the thought in her head (just another way she let them down, broke their family instead of bonding), she slapped Ron’s hand away from the eggs and changed the topic: “Wash your hands first, Ronald!”

He smirked at her, the way he always did when she called him Ronald, raising his eyebrows as he said, “Sorry, Chef Granger,” and kissed her on the top of her head as he rounded the counter to get to the sink. Hands washed, he turned back to her. “Okay, show me how to do the eggs.”

Hermione began carefully cracking eggs, switching the yolks back and forth between the two pieces of shell, letting the whites fall into the bowl beneath and then dumping the yolk in the second one, explaining to Ron as she went. When they were about halfway through––separating a dozen yolks takes a bit of time––he brought her mom back up. “So, if you didn’t ever bake with your mom, why do you know this recipe so well?”

“This one I did with her every year.” Hermione bit her lip, keeping her eyes on the egg in her hands. “Every Christmas we would throw a big party––all their patients would come with their families, and all their neighborhood friends, and we would make the eggnog for the party together. Even the first few years I was at Hogwarts, even though they’d stopped throwing the parties, we would do it the first day I came home, and catch up about everything.” Another wave of guilt washed through her as her voice caught––she’d never considered why her parents had stopped having neighborhood Christmas parties, and for the first time she wondered if it was because of her leaving for Hogwarts, another thing they felt magic had taken away from them. Ron grabbed a dish towel off the back of her chair and wiped the egg off his hands before nudging her chin so that she looked up at him.

“Hey. Mione. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she said, defiantly, but it was a weak lie.

“Are you sure? Because your voice is getting all small and your shoulders are hunching over.” He ran his hand up her back to illustrate his point and she automatically straightened up, knocking her nose into his chin where he’d been leaning over her, and Ron chuckled and held her face and kissed her nose and looked at her seriously, and she looked back into his blue eyes and remembered that this was Ron and she could tell him anything.

“It’s just so hard to be here,” she whispered, “and I can’t stop thinking about all the ways I disappointed them and let our family grow apart,” and her eyes felt wet, and Ron’s gentle fingers wiped away the tears that spilled out––“and I almost lost them forever and it would have been my fault, and I just––I’m trying to be here but I’m so scared that they’ll never forgive me.” This last bit was mumbled into Ron’s sweater, where she was attempting to hide her face, but he pulled her away gently and looked into her eyes.

“But you are here now, Mione. You’re here, and they’re here and safe because of you, and they love you and you love them, and we’re surprising your mom with eggnog, and according to you she will be absolutely delighted, and––” he kissed her briefly–– “you’re always right.”

She laughed wetly, wiping her eyes. At school, without Ron, she felt like she was always holding back tears, waiting until she got to the privacy of her curtained bed to cry. Ginny sometimes heard her, if she forgot a silencing charm, and she would climb into Hermione’s bed and they would fall asleep holding each other and reminding each other that things would be okay now, but it was no substitute for having Ron by her side again. She clung to him for a minute, muttering I-love-yous, before pulling back, sniffing, and pointing a wooden spoon at him. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Ronald. The next step is the mixers.”

He put his hands up in surrender. “Whatever you say, my love. Instruct me in the use of the torture devices.”

They split up the next steps––Ron was in charge of watching the yolks in the mixer, slowly adding salt, sugar, milk, vanilla, rum, and whisky, while Hermione watched the egg whites in their mixer, very carefully adding in sugar, until they were stiff. Ron was still watching his mixer. She found herself overwhelmed with fondness at the intensity on his face, knowing how worried he was about everything being perfect, because she was so worried about it. And yet, she thought to herself, making eggnog had always been a fun activity, and Ron ought to be having a good time.

Moving slowly, Hermione carefully removed the bowl with the egg whites from her KitchenAid; and then jumped at Ron, as if she was about to dump the bowl on his head. He made a strangled sort of shriek and grabbed her wrists just as she reached him. “What are you doing, you nutter? You just spent fifteen minutes watching those eggs!” and Hermione folded herself into his arms, unable to stop laughing to get out an explanation. “Why is this funny? I thought eggnog was serious business!” Ron confiscated the bowl of whites from her and set it on the counter.

“No––wait, Ron, give it back! Look, look, I’ll show you,” and she took the bowl and turned it upside down over her own head. The perfectly stiff whites did not move.

“Oh my god, it’s magic! I thought we weren’t using magic!”

“It is not magic––” Hermione broke off when she saw the smirk playing at the edge of Ron’s lips. “You’re teasing me!”

He grabbed her around the waist and said in a very serious voice “I would never. Now kiss me under the magical eggs!” and Hermione realized suddenly that she was still holding the eggs above her head, and quickly flipped the bowl back right-side up, giggling into Ron’s lips.

The back door opened suddenly, and they jumped apart as her mother and father stepped into the foyer, stomping snow onto the doormat, arms full of shopping bags. “You’re back from the shops early!” Hermione squeaked, looking frantically around at the messy kitchen and the unfinished eggnog.

Stepping into the kitchen, her father laughed at her tone, the sound rich and deep, as he surveyed the kitchen in front of him. “Jean, look! Hermione’s giving her lovely boyfriend the family secrets!” Hermione’s mother looked up from the boots she was untying and peered past her husband into the next room.

“Oh my goodness, darling, are you teaching Ronald the eggnog recipe? That’s wonderful!” She pulled her shoe off and placed it neatly beside its partner before coming over to Hermione and hugging her tightly. “I can’t believe you thought to make it! It’s been years!” Hermione hugged her mom back, feeling warm all the way down to her toes. She caught Ron’s eye over her mother’s shoulder and saw him beaming (although he had a hint of an I-told-you-so in the glint of his eyes).

Her father clapped Ron on the shoulder. “Looks like you two haven’t quite finished––mind if we help out?”

“We’d like nothing more, Mr. Granger,” Ron responded earnestly.

“Ron, how many times must I ask you to call me Richard?”

Her parents bustled around the kitchen, washing their hands and looking over what was left to be done, and the four of them finished the recipe, her father showing Ron how to fold the egg whites into the yolks as her mother made the whipped cream to be folded in next. For the first time in a very long time, Hermione felt at home in her own house again.

#submission #ron weasley #hermione granger

19 notes · View notes

unbindingkerberos · 1 year

Text

Pouring Your Heart Out

Featuring: Amarice "Patriot" Locke and @poisonedtruth 's Kentaro "Icarus" Hawkins

Words: 948

Author's Note: First time I've wrote a fic with someone else's OC. Sorry if it feels too ooc TvT.

Tags: @unpetitoiseau @children-of-epiales @chadillacboseman @shegetsburned @infinitewhore @linoleum-ice

The door opens and Amarice's ears are greeted by the lively rhythm of jazz. She bites her lower lip as she examines the area, noting the huge contrast of the stark, sterile facility to the warm, homely tones of the bar. It was a sight and Amarice nodded in approval to some of the furniture. She compliments the taste of furniture and eyes the intricate details of the flooring and ceiling.

A spectacled man, presumably the bartender, polishes the mahogany counter with graceful and precise movements. She looks around and realises that she and the bartender were the only ones around. Guess nobody is in the mood for celebrating. For good reason. Amarice approaches the counter, pulling a stool for her to sit and dropping her duffle bag right next to her. The man stops the chore and glances up to meet her tired gaze, a smile on his lips.

"I believe you're the new operator, right?" Amarice nods quietly. "I'm here to celebrate." She looks behind the bartender, the lined liquor catching her eyes. "Have any recommendations?" The man lights up. "Just a moment." He returns with a bottle of champagne and a fluke-- lute-- flute glass (a glass is glass!). Setting the glass on top of the coaster, the man pours the beverage; the goldenrod liquid filling the glass to the brim. Amarice gives him a meek smile, before downing the liquid with one gulp.

Her tongue had never been graced with such delectable flavors. She had been so used to the rough and bitter texture of beer and the intense warmth of whisky, that her palate was overwhelmed by the smoothness of the champagne.

"Do you want a refill?" Amarice shakes her hand. "No.." Her fingers tap the surface of the mahogany countertop. "Do you mind if I stay here for a while?" The bartender chuckles, that smile still plastered on his face. "Sure, I see no problem with that."

Amarice watches the man do various chores with little interest. She returns her gaze at the empty flute glass, her reflection staring back at her. I look like shit. She wraps her fingers around the neck, tilting the glass in various angles-- her reflection warping. She lets out a heavy sigh.

"Do you feel like the world just picks someone to hate on for no reason?"

The man had just finished adding a glass to the rack when she asked. He turns, face confused. "What do you mean?" Amarice shrugs, setting down the glass. "I've joined the military to avenge my dead brother and sisters who were killed during a White Mask operation--" She still remembers their faces-- devoid of a life that once shone in bright eyes. How pale their bodies were and how her mother wailed as their coffins were lowered to the ground --"but most importantly, I've joined to make sure no one's brothers or sisters, mothers or fathers or children die-- to make the world a better place."

She clenches her fists. "But all I get in return is a dead son, a divorce and the death of my friend." They're tight now-- painfully tight her fists are. "And now," her voice croaks, "now Henry too." Tears sting her eyes as she keeps them at bay. She remembered how hesitant she felt when Henry brought it up-- joining the military. She voiced out her concerns-- her fears. But she let him. How could she? She should've done more. Amarice feels even more guilty considering she made him like this. They fed on each other's self pity and Amarice projected all her anguish onto him.

(With wide eyes, Henry made no move to resist as Amarice latched her hands on his shoulders-- shaking the boy. "Promise me!" She spat, the stench of alcohol ever present on her breath, "promise you'll never show kindness to people who don't deserve them! They deserve to die, child! If you wanna live in this world without any evil in it, you gotta snuff it out! No matter the cost!"

She cries harder.

"Promise me… Nat… I can't lose you again…"

She feels a warmth on top of her hand and she gasps. "Don't worry, ma'am." Henry lifts his eyes to meet her.

"I promise.")

A tear falls to her cheek.

"Am I going to lose another son?"

It was deathly silent as a tense ambience began building up. The jazz music made no effect nor changed and did little to no help to lighten up the mood. "Did everything I've ever done mattered?" She feels a hand on her shoulder. "You carry a heavy burden with you-- the weight of the world seemingly on your shoulders." Amarice meets the comforting eyes of the bartender, a warmthness that Amarice can't quite describe. "But it doesn't have to be that way. You could ask someone to help you carry it." Amarice scoffs, breaking eye contact, gritting her teeth. She had opened enough wounds already from this conversation and to ask someone to "help her carry the weight" is something she cannot allow. She doesn't want to become a burden; an additional weight to their list of problems. After all, they'd leave. They all do.

She suddenly stands and reaches to collect her duffle bag. "Thank you for the drink." She turns to leave-- "My door is always open if you want to talk.." Amarice stops in her tracks. His insistence is annoying yet admirable. She's close to the door, she could just leave right away and forget that the conversation happened. But for some reason…

"I'll be seeing you around--"

"Kentaro."

"I'll be seeing you around, Kentaro."

And she leaves not even bothering to say her name back.

#rainbow six siege #rainbow six oc #r6 oc #r6 oc patriot #amarice patriot locke #r6 oc icarus #kentaro icarus hawkins

5 notes · View notes

togetherwearerapture · 3 years

Text

Montage (Ethan x MC)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Elle Valentine)

Description: After returning from the Amazon, some liquor and the sight of Elle with another man makes Ethan realise that the feelings he’s been running from, are deeper and more powerful than he had ever imagined.

Warnings: Angst, alcohol, jealousy, mentions of sex, predatory behaviour, violence and injury. All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Notes: I’m back from the depths with another piece of Ethan angst (what else?). This is set at the start of Book 2, after Ethan and MC’s first week of working together again. The Dr Thorne aspect is a bit of a rewrite of Chapter 1.

Word Count: 3.4K

***************

The thrum of the music vibrates in his chest like a wayward pacemaker, the scotch burning through his veins. Tonight, Donahue’s is lively and crowded. Ethan usually stays away from the place on evenings like these, but he can’t quite bring himself to just finish his damn drink and leave.

He can’t stop watching her.

She’s not even looking at him- she probably doesn’t even know he’s here, for Christ’s sake- but still, he can’t bring himself to pull his gaze away. This enigmatic magnetism of hers is what drew Ethan in from the beginning.

Even when she was a name without a face, on top of the most compelling Edenbrook application he’d ever seen. Even when, he recalls, the moment their eyes met over an unconscious patient on the waiting room floor, back on her first day.

Her fingertips were quaking around the scalpel like the last leaf of fall around its lonely branch. Ethan remembers placing his own hand atop hers to guide her. She was delicate, and afraid, but through the adrenaline and the urgency of the situation, he could still see something irrefutably strong in her eyes.

‘A spark’ to describe sexual chemistry is such a cliché, and Ethan hates clichés, but he knows that from that moment on the waiting room floor, it has always been there. He realises that at some point, that spark became a wildfire.

And right now, with the combined kindling of the alcohol in his blood and the sight of her in the arms of another man, it’s an inferno.

And how it rages in his core.

Bryce Lahela leans in close to say something in her ear, and Elle Valentine throws her head back and laughs. Ethan knows the bar is far too loud for the sound to travel to him, but somehow, he hears it. He watches the lovely cascade of blonde hair swinging side to side down her back, as she and Bryce sway together happily on the dancefloor. As Ethan watches the surgeon’s tanned hands encircling her tiny waist, he remembers how it felt to hold her there with his own.

And then, he feels it beginning to creep into the corners of his mind. It is far too familiar now, but he has never become comfortable with its presence. It being, the torturous highlight reel of their time together. All their stolen moments, in the quietness and in the loud. It’s the montage that he had unsuccessfully tried to switch off in the Amazon by throwing himself into a pandemic for two months. For the last five days since he’s been back at Edenbrook, he’s tried to drown out its presence with his work. And tonight, he had attempted to resist its nightly arrival with alcohol.

When will you learn?

The rational medic in Ethan knows that liquor never does the job when it comes to her. He feels the montage creeping closer, and acknowledges that, if anything, the drink in his hand is the poison oil that has slickened the floodgates open.

You’re a goddamn fool, Ramsey.

And then, it’s there on the threshold again. He lets it come.

He remembers how her small hands felt as they travelled across his skin, dwarfed by the wide planes of his shoulders and chest. He remembers the way they felt that very first time, slipping underneath his tuxedo; her fingertips ten white hot points on his skin in the cold Miami air. Never before had he been touched with such tenderness and delicacy. Elle’s soft hands snaking behind his head to stroke the hair at the back of his neck was a sensation that he had etched into his soul.

He remembers when he touched her again, the first time they made love in his apartment. The feel of being inside of her, and the look of pure ecstasy on her face when she climaxed beneath him, was something that Ethan had burned into his cortex forever.

Ethan suddenly jerks as an obnoxiously drunk surgical resident knocks his elbow, leaning over the bar to signal Reggie for a round of shots. Jaw clenching, Ethan is momentarily dragged out from his reverie to snap at the resident to watch what he’s fucking doing. Surprising even himself with his irritability tonight, he returns his gaze to her. And almost immediately wishes he hasn’t.

There is no denying that she’s an absolute bombshell. She’s very clearly the most attractive woman in the hospital- hell, the most attractive woman Ethan has ever seen- but he suddenly becomes painfully aware that he is not the only one to notice this. He’s seen Lahela with her before around the hospital, flirting with her, of course. There’s also the burly paramedic who looks at her like a lovelorn puppy. And in fact, most people who come within ten feet of Elle Valentine do a double take in her direction.

And that includes tonight, too. Almost as if seeing it for the first time, Ethan looks around at the dancefloor, his hand tightening around the glass as he sees several other men cast admiring glances in her direction. The nudging, the pointing, the smirking, makes his blood boil. He tries desperately not to imagine what they are muttering to each other as they do so.

He tries (and fails spectacularly) not to think if Elle had slept with anyone else while he’d been in Brazil. Had she been with Lahela? His grip on her waist as they continued to sway on the dancefloor, looked too comfortable to be platonic. He wonders if, in his absence, if Elle had drowned her sorrows in alcohol like he had. Had she sat at this bar? Had she thrown herself into the arms of another- one of her many willing admirers? Had she had one night stands? Had the paramedic taken her out for dinner? That seemed like something he would do, he seemed the romantic type.

You have no right to think about any of this, a part of him chastises him from the depths of his intoxication. She can do what she wants, she can fuck who she wants. You pushed her away, you let her go.

The memory of their conversation here a mere five nights ago grips him like a vice.

**********

“Ethan…why didn’t you keep in touch?”

Her voice is so small, but it manages to smash his heart like a sledgehammer.

“No word from you at all, for two months? After everything that happened between us?”

“Everything that happened between us is exactly why I didn’t contact you. Elle, if we’re going to work together on the diagnostics team, we need a fresh start. Your professional development is too importance to jeopardise it with whatever…whatever it was that we had.”

“Had, past tense.”

“Yes. And the past is where it has to remain.”

**********

Past, that’s fucking rich, Ramsey, he scorns himself. The ‘It’ had never been so painfully and agonisingly present.

And so much for a fresh start for the sake of the diagnostics team. Ethan thinks of the new, cutting-edge research paper on Huntington’s that he had planned to review this evening. He thinks of it sitting, untouched, on the countertop of his empty apartment. He thinks of how he’s sitting at a much stickier countertop instead, drowning his sorrows in a scotch glass instead of a stack of paperwork.

******

“Good dancing stamina, Valentine,” says Bryce with a devilish wink, as the latest song comes to an end. Elle chuckles as they finally pull away from each other.

She stands on her tiptoes to talk in his ear above the din of the bar, telling him to go and see what the others want for the next round, while she joins the queue for the bar. Bryce nods, and with a light pat on her waist, heads back outside.

It’s then that Elle finds herself alone at the bar, and also alone with her thoughts. The thoughts she’s been desperately trying to push aside. She tries to focus her attention on the new happy hour cocktail list above the bar, but the Mexican Butterfly and Blood Orange Sling fail to captivate her thoughts.

Unable to keep her mind from wandering to him, Elle finds that her eyes do too. She allows her gaze to roam to his favourite seat at the bar…

And with a sudden jolt, sees that the seat is taken by the very man himself, and the piercing blue eyes that she’s been dreaming of for months, are already fixed on her own.

Feeling her heart rate begin to rise, Elle briefly considers breaking the eye contact. But perhaps it is the fact they are both alone, with no distractions, no one else to question them, that she allows herself to indulge. The shared gaze feels intimate, powerful, and almost illicit to her. He doesn’t look away, his eyes full of longing. Elle feels somehow naked there, as if they are the only two people in the room and he is devouring her with his eyes alone. She takes in the khaki jacket, the beard that she had dropped a hint at him to keep (and it doesn’t escape her notice that he took it), the neat whisky in hand.

She feels a sudden heat between her legs, and god, by the way his lips part just a little at that very moment, she swears he can feel radiating from her.

A jacket-clad shoulder suddenly steps beside her at the bar, and the moment is broken. Hiding her fluster, Elle swallows and shoots Reggie an understanding smile as he says he’ll be with her as quick as he can.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing all on your lonesome? I could fix that.”

Startled, Elle turns to see that the owner of the jacket-clad shoulder is the one making the grotesque advances. Dr Garrett Thorne, a plastic surgeon she recognises from Edenbrook, is leering over her.

“I’m not alone. And I’m not interested, sorry,” she says, turning pointedly away from him and back to the bar. Her fingernails drum anxiously on the counter. She hopes Reggie comes over soon.

“You know, I’m a plastic surgeon,” he drawls, completely undeterred. “Most of my female clients would kill to get a body like yours.”

He leans closer, and Elle shrinks into herself; the usual scenario when trying to get rid of unwanted male attention. In a safer setting, or if her friends were, Elle would love to put Thorne in his place. But he’s far bigger than her, and he’s clearly not the type of man who would take no for an answer. Instinctively, she cranes her neck back around to the other end of the bar, hoping to meet Ethan’s eye again in a plea for help. To her dismay, she sees that the stool is empty.

“I said, I’m not interested. I want you to leave me alone-” she says firmly.

“But I can tell yours is all real,” Thorne raises his voice to speak over her. Elle isn’t sure if it’s the reek of his overpriced cologne or his words that make her feel suffocated. “It’s the proportions, you see…the shape. You just can’t get that with cosmetic adjustment.”

“Will you fuck off, you creep?” she snaps, disgusted.

“And of course,” he sneers, with a twisted, veneered smile, “you can tell for certain, by the feel.”

Elle barely has time to flinch away as Thorne’s hand touches her backside. Then, a flash of green collides with the plastic surgeon with the force of a freight train.

“Don’t touch her, you son of a bitch!”

******

Ethan pins Thorne against the bar, forearm pressed to his throat. Donahue’s whirring disco lights continue to throw out every colour under the rainbow, but all Ethan sees is red.

“Get-off-me-Ramsey!” Thorne splutters, squirming under Ethan’s unwavering hold.

“She told you to leave her alone, and you just didn’t listen.” He towers over the surgeon, his voice low. “If you ever touch her again, I’ll break your fucking hands, and you won’t operate for a year.”

Through the red haze, Ethan realises Reggie has appeared at his side.

“Easy Ethan, I’ll take care of him. I won’t have any creeps in here.” He lays a hand on Ethan’s shoulder, and one of the other barmen appears. Reluctantly, Ethan releases his grip on Thorne, watching him slither pathetically against the counter, his overly polished shoes slipping on the hardwood floor.

As Reggie and the barman march Thorne outside, a voice breaks through the sea of red.

“Ethan?”

He turns to see Elle, shaken. Her lips were slightly parted, her breathing quick.

“Elle, are you alright?” he says quickly, his hands settling on her with a gentleness that was completely alien to him a few moments before. He looks her over. “Did he hurt you, did he-”

“I’m fine, Ethan,” she interrupts him gently. She places her small hands on his arms. “Are-are you?”

He meets her eyes, and for a split second, the fairy lights above the bar could be stars in the sky above their hotel balcony. The draft from the back door could be the breeze over the Miami sea.

Then the memory is gone. The world that has disappeared to him for some time, jolts violently back into existence. Ethan glances around. Everyone in close proximity is staring at him. There are whispers.

“Elle, what’s going on?”

Ethan looks up and sees Lahela wading through the crowd, his gaze settling on Ethan’s hands on the junior resident’s waist.

Hurriedly, he drops his arms to his sides.

“As long as you’re alright. I should-”

He trails off, acutely aware of the many pairs of eyes around the bar still fixed on him. The staring burns him like fire, and he can feel it prickling at the back of his neck.

His cover has been blown. Was that an appropriate intervention, for a man making unwanted advances towards a woman in a bar? Wouldn’t a “back off, Garrett”, or a yanking of his arm have been enough? Was it necessary for him to pin him against the bar in a chokehold? To threaten to break his hands? Would he have reacted like that had it been any other woman?

She’s not just any woman to you. You know it, she knows it, and now this whole goddamn bar knows it too.

“I should go.”

“Ethan, wait!”

But it’s too late. He turns on his heel and walks away, as she pleads him not to.

He is acutely aware it’s not for the first time.

Now he is on the move, he becomes aware of the depths of his intoxication. The bar spins a little, and he almost stumbles as he reaches under the bar to retrieve his car keys that he’d given to Reggie earlier in the night.

He strides out of the door into the night. He barely registers Reggie and the barman shoving a protesting Thorne into the nearest cab. He just keeps walking, and walking.

He crosses over the street to Edenbrook, heading for the car park. The rows of stationary cars blur and dance in front of his eyes, and he knows he’s stumbling.

When his own car finally swims into view, Ethan fumbles with his keys to unlock it, half-falling into the driver’s seat.

He shoves the keys into the ignition. He knows how wrong and dangerous this is, but there is that gnawing desperation to be in control. To not be garnered by rules, and humiliation, and professionalism. He craves so badly to do something wrong, to rebel, and most of all, to get away.

He decisively turns the key, and the engine springs to life. As he fumbles for the gearstick to shove the car in drive, his fingertips trace something small and smooth. He glances down.

There, in the gearstick well, is Elle’s coconut chapstick. A fossil of her presence in his life.

And then the montage is there again, invading his mind before he even knows it’s there.

All the car rides they shared together; after they found the frog for Dolores, after the opera, after staying late at the hospital to work on Naveen’s case, after he dropped her off at her apartment the morning after they first made love.

Her laughter ringing through the car at him shaking his head, after she decisively switched over the stereo to a pop station, after enduring several hours of sombre classical tunes. Her singing along, with that beautiful voice of hers, which was entirely lovely to Ethan despite him rolling his eyes.

Their last night together…

He had made a conscious choice to engrave the vision in his mind, memorise every detail.

He remembers brushing her sweet spots with his lips; the hollow of her collarbone and the inside of her thigh. The feel of her goosebumps erupting under his fingertips as he did so, and the delicious sigh that escaped her lips.

He remembers every look on her face; the spectrum of her warm gentle smile, to the expression of pure ecstasy on her face as she came in his arms. He remembers all of it, the sight burned in his retinas forever.

That final morning. Elle laying in his arms, watching her sleep. He remembers running his hands through her hair, relishing in its softness, a golden halo around the pillow. He remembers watching her stir, then turning to stare stoically at the ceiling as he felt a lump grow in his throat, knowing he could never hold her like that again.

He finds his hands picking up the chapstick, throwing the cap carelessly aside. Fingers shaking, he presses it to his lips, and closes his eyes. The memory of every one of their kisses is so vivid, it’s almost cruel.

His throat burns and he chokes out a sob. Defeated, he turns off the engine. It feels as though an iron fist is closing around his neck. His eyes snap open, and he desperately fumbles to roll down the side window for air.

His reflection in the wing mirror catches his eye, and he glances up. He is terrified by how broken he looks.

A grown man, in tears over a woman’s chapstick. You’re pathetic, Ramsey.

His fists blasts into the mirror, the burning in his knuckles incomparable to the inferno in his soul. He can feel the pain; physically feel it- in his chest, and it feels like it’s ripping him from the inside out.

He is shaking, heaving with sobs now, his head in his hands as he feels a hot trickle of blood travel down his arm. He wonders what it is inside him that makes him torture himself in this way. That makes him deprive himself of the only woman he’s ever loved, the one every fibre of his being screams for.

He swears he can almost feel the warmth of Elle’s hand resting atop his knee, almost hear her voice ring out in the empty car, speaking words she’d said many times before.

“I’m here, Ethan.”

“I know.”

But she is not. Not anymore. And for that, Ethan knows he only has himself to blame.

#ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #dr ethan ramsey #open heart #choices open heart

70 notes · View notes

fullmetalscullyy · 4 years

Text

this originally started out as a moms made fullmetal week piece but it went in a completely different direction than intended so scrapped it. i’m not 100% happy with it but didn’t want to waste it completely tho so i hope u enjoy

rated: t | words: 984

Roy took a deep breath as he stepped through the back door to his mother’s bar. It was quiet, but it was barely even time for breakfast. Placing his black coat over the back of chair, he looked around to get his bearings.

It had felt like an age since he’d last stepped in this house. It had barely been a year, but after everything he’d been through it felt like an eon. The last time he’d been in here he’d been young and innocent. A fool. He was still a fool, but he just knew now where he’d gone wrong. He knew how badly he’d fucked everything up.

“Roy Boy,” Christmas greeted in surprise, pausing on the bottom step.

He sucked in a breath as he turned, letting it loose. Seeing his adoptive mother standing there in her dressing gown and her hair in curlers, it made him feel like a boy again. He wanted to sit with her while he spilled all his failures and wrongdoings over a bottle of whisky. He wanted her to patch her up like she had done in the past. However, Roy knew nothing of the sort would make him feel better now.

“Madame,” he greeted in return.

“You’re home?” Her eyes flicked down his body to his uniform, then back up to his face. “But not for long, I take it?”

“I’m afraid not,” he swallowed. “I didn’t want to leave town before saying goodbye.”

Christmas shook her head. “So sentimental,” she muttered as she entered her kitchen. “Take a seat,” she gestured as she began pulling two mugs out of her cupboards. “Still okay for coffee?”

“I’ll get it,” Roy offered, standing from the dining room chair. Effortlessly he slipped into making coffee, not realising that his aunt was staring at him as he worked. “What?” he faltered, noticing where her attention lay.

“Do I want to drink coffee you make?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“I’m all right at it,” he grumbled.

Christmas snorted. “Then you’ve learned something useful in the military.”

Roy shook his head. “Not from the military,” he replied without thinking.

“Oh?” Christmas enquired. “Where, then?” she asked innocently, and Roy noticed his slip up.

“Oh, um, just –” he stammered.

“Roy,” she snapped. Chris’ own way of telling him to cut the shit. To be honest, that was what he needed more than anything right now.

“At the Hawkeye’s,” he admitted.

“Ah.” That revealed all, apparently. “You should stick with that girl.” Christmas met his gaze head on. “She’d done you the world of good.”

Roy’s spine stiffened.

Why are soldier, who ought to protect citizens, killing them instead? Why is alchemy, which out to bring happiness to the people, being used for murder?

She’d been so angry with him…

Roy took a deep breath, turning quickly. His hands hit the countertop and he gripped it tightly. His fingertips began to ache with the pressure he was putting them under.

She’d maybe done him the world of good, but he’d betrayed her. He’d failed her. He’d failed them all.

Roy was spun in place so quickly he was left reeling. His face was met with the softness of his mother’s dressing gown. He was too shocked to move as Chris’ arms encircled him, squeezing him tightly.

“I know what happened over there,” she stated lowly. Her voice was measured and calm, as always. Like a rock in a stormy sea, Roy had always thought. Grounded. Roy latched into it, gripping her torso tightly in return. “I know what you did.”

White hot fear slammed into him. Would she push him away? Cast him out? He’d done unspeakable things. That wasn’t what he’d envisioned, or what he’d been raised to do. He’d failed her.

“I know how horrible it was. I have people everywhere,” Chris continued. “And I could see how much it has affected you just by stepping through the door. So, the question now, is, what are you going to do to make it right?”

“Wh – What?” Roy stammered.

“You regret it. Big time. So, what’s the next move, soldier?”

“I failed everyone,” he mumbled, burying his face into her dressing gown. He didn’t deserve the comfort, but he was a selfish bastard and let himself have that moment.

“You were pushed in the wrong direction but awful people. Grumman and I are already working on a way to bring them down.” Roy froze in her arms. “Are you in?”

Of course he was, but his emotions had stolen his ability to speak. There was a lump in his throat as his adoptive mother’s embrace surrounded him. Suddenly, he felt like a child again. He’d been so naïve going off to the Academy and then to war. He’d been so childish. It was all hitting him at once.

“How do you stop this from happening again?” Christmas prompted.

“Helping you,” he choked out finally.

Christmas nodded. She pulled away, her stern gaze studying his face closely. Despite the harshness of her expression, he saw a softness in her eyes. “I’m proud of you, you know?”

Roy looked horrified.

“Look, we’ve all done things we aren’t proud of –”

“My murder count broke the thousands,” he choked out. “Don’t trivialise it.”

Chris shook her head. “Let me finish,” she snapped. “You were a boy those bastards took and moulded into a killing machine for their own pleasure.” Roy noted the slight snarl on her face. “I’ll never forgive them for that and it’s time to make them pay. Are you in, or are you going to wallow in your wrongdoings forever?”

He swallowed. Then nodded once. “I’m in,” he whispered.

“Good answer,” Christmas smirked.

Before he could pull away, she drew him in for another hug. Although surprised, he wasn’t going to pass this up. He needed the comfort. He selfishly needed the reassurance that he wasn’t a complete failure.

#fma fic #fma fanfic #fma oneshot #emma writes

24 notes · View notes

greenglasslov3 · 5 years

Text

Forget Me Not - Chapter 8: Black Orchid

A/N: Soundtrack for this chapter is Billie Eilish’s Bad Guy and many thanks to @missclairebelle for our writing power hours and giving me a swift kick in the pants when I need it.

Ch.1 / Ch.2 / Ch.3 / Ch.4 / Ch.5 / Ch.6 / Ch.7

Chapter 8: Black Orchid

Later that night…

The throbbing base pulsed loudly around Geillis and Claire as they entered the club. Heavy and intense, the latter’s teeth rattled in her skull with every undulation. Acrid smoke billowed from a hidden fog machine and filled her nose with its bitter perfume. Neon lasers and phosphorescent lights cut through the darkness, a spattering of technicolor rays against a black canvas. With each flash, a new tableau of writhing bodies appeared - flickering scenes in the high contrast black and white of a classic film. A husky voice echoed from the speakers, hypnotizing the club’s patrons further into her clutches with her siren’s call.

Creeping around like no one knows Think you're so criminal Bruises, on both my knees for you Don't say thank you or please I do what I want when I'm wanting to My soul? So cynical

And Claire wondered how in the hell she got here.

Geillis.

The moment Geneva (she carved the name in blood red ink and underlined it three times in her diary to commit it to memory) left her shop she’d texted her partner in crime.

S.O.S. I cocked it all up for sure this time. And btw we need to find a boyfriend named Tom.

It didn’t take much to rally the troops. Within half an hour, the blonde arrived at the flower shop, a flask of very potent whisky in hand. She cackled loudly, rivaling the witches of lore when Claire unearthed the champagne intended for her earlier meeting. Their giggles only increased after they’d drained a bottle each before venturing out to the club.

Claire squinted against the glaring strobes and blamed the bubbly spirit for her heightened sensitivities. Her surroundings reminded her of some perverse circus - too brash, too bright, too blunt. Typically, she preferred intimate pubs and live music provided by local entertainment - cozy yet worn upholstery, richly stained mahogany, and a pitchy tenor with a guitar. They were comfortable and casual like an old uni jumper… but she was on a mission where slubby, misshapen yarn would not suit.

“Tonight, I’ll make you my pet,” Geillis had promised.

Bubbly in hand, the pair had ascended the staircase to Claire’s messy flat, where they rifled through endless piles of laundry - all clean, but limp and wrinkled carelessly deposited in enough mounds to create a small mountain range throughout the florist’s bedroom. Geillis critiqued every article of clothing she owned, holding the offending articles with pinched fingers, arm fully extended and nose wrinkled until she found the ensemble worthy of bringing all men (and probably most women) to their knees to worship at the altar of St. Claire of Little Flowers.

“Black Orchid,” Geillis had explained as she spritzed her friend with some sickeningly sweet perfume. “It’ll drive the lads wild.”

Hair painstakingly straightened, eyelids dusted in smoky shadows, and torso tightly corseted in the thick wrappings of a crimson bandage dress, Claire leaned against the bar. First and foremost, she wished to relieve her aching feet from the tortuous stilettos that bound her ankles with flimsy ribbons (she wondered how ballerinas managed such feats of graceful athleticism when she could barely stand). Secondly, she gripped the cool stone ledge for balance as the swirling light show and the bottle of champagne (on an empty stomach, mind) left her feeling more than a tad off kilter. Thirdly, Geillis had vanished the moment they arrived at the club, abandoning her morals along with breaking one of the holiest laws in girl code: one does not leave one’s friend alone at a club.

Claire hissed as her elbows collapsed onto the sharp counter’s edge. Though it didn’t hurt much now with her ragged nerves numbed into submission with alcohol, her fingers massaged the tender skin of the joint. She’d certainly have bruises tomorrow, but she didn’t care. Nothing could rival the wounds that marred her heart.

Her reputation ruined…

Her competency questioned…

Her relationship with Jamie further tangled in the web of lies she wove...

“Oi!” The bartender’s cries rang out above the din, and Claire’s head snapped upwards suddenly in response. Hasty hands roughly push a glass across the counter towards her, sloshing excess liquid over the rim and onto Claire’s fingers as she intercepted the tumbler.

“From ‘im,” he explained as his head jerked sharply to the left, towards the opposite end of the bar where she spied a man.

A handsome one at that.

While the flashing lights against the pitch darkness of the club around them did little to reveal the specifics (the color of his eyes, hair, and skin a mystery in high contrast black and white), they highlighted his attributes brilliantly. He perched on a stool, reclining back against the bar on his left elbow as if he were sunning himself in the harsh rays of the violent lasers. The glaring strobes highlighted the peaks and valleys of his well-defined musculature visible beneath the simple cotton tee that clung to his frame. His right arm hung by his side, the fingers of his right hand gripped the top edge of his glass with casual confidence. He brought the dram (color and liquor choice imperceptible at Claire’s distance and state of inebriation) to his lips. He swallowed and his jaw flexed, clenching and relaxing as the liquid trickled down his throat. As she watched him, she found herself hypnotized by the stubble on his chin and the fullness of his lips, secretly wishing to taste them herself.

Even if it was only to wash away the bitter sting of lost love.

Pressing the glass to her lips, Claire tossed back half its contents (wincing slightly at the sharp tang of gin and lime on her tongue) before slipping into the crowd. A snake in the grass, she silently slithered through the narrow spaces between the bodies that separated her from her prey. She sought him out, lids narrowing as she honed in on her target. When fate left the seat next to him perfectly empty, she stole her chance, sliding onto the vacant stool.

“Thank you…” Claire bellowed, desperately trying to make her request breathy and wanton yet still heard over the throbbing base. Swiveling on her stool, she crossed one leg over the other and leaned in towards the man in question, tipping her chest forwards to offer him the best angle to appreciate her dress.

He didn’t turn, shoulders squared and gaze straight ahead as he sipped his drink.

“Thank yer friend,” he shouted back in between nips, nodding towards the throng writhing on the dance floor. “She said ye were lookin’ for me?”

Flipping her hair back, Claire cast a glance over her shoulder just in time to catch Geillis at the edge of the crowd. She shimmied in time with the music as she walked, her hand clasped firmly in the grasp of a much older man (the glare of blinking strobes against his completely bald head betrayed his age). She winked towards the bar and offered her approval with a quick thumbs up before disappearing behind the curtain to the VIP section.

That bloody witch.

“... I’m Tom,” he turned to her then as his introduced himself.

One eyebrow cocked, Tom flashed her a smile - an almost wolfish grin that revealed pearly white teeth. In the flashing disco lights, his eyes twinkled with a hidden mischief perfectly intended for nights such as these. The tip of his tongue darted out to wet his lips, and Claire wondered if he truly knew the affect his boyish charms had on women (and men for that matter).

“Tom Christie.”

With the second utterance of his name, the brilliant machinations of one Geillis Duncan slowly clicked into place in Claire’s inebriated state. She certainly found him handsome enough, and she thanked her past self for offering Geneva a first name (and a common one at that) for her aforementioned beau. She might even have a little fun playing this game of revenge with Jamie and his child bride...

“Well, Tom…” she repeated his name, allowing the letters to fill her mouth. The T zinged against the roof of her mouth and tickled her nose like the fizzy champagne she’d enjoyed just an hour ago. The O and the M blended together in a harmonious chant, a breathy moan rumbling deep in her throat.

The smile fell from Tom’s face, his expression turning mercurial. Claire smirked behind the lip of her glass before downing the second half of her drink. She slapped the empty tumbler against the countertop and grabbed for Tom’s hand, pulling him from his perch.

“Let’s dance, shall we?”

She took three… four… five steps before her elbow locked stick straight and her body recoiled backwards, the bungee cord of her tendons snatching her just before she fell. Rather than tripping over her own two feet, Tom gathered her to his chest, capturing her in the iron bands of his arms. The aftershocks of her near nose-dive rocked them both. With Claire nestled in the triangle of his thighs, they slowly swayed - nose to nose, chest to chest, hip to hip. Her pulse pounded in her ears in time with the thundering base in the club.

So you're a tough guy Like it really rough guy Just can't get enough guy Chest always so puffed guy

“No’ so fast…” he murmured, his lips inches from hers as he released one hand to motion for another round of drinks. “Ye owe me a wee favor as well…”

“Oh?” Claire sighed, rocking back on her heels.

Their replenished drinks materialized, a magic trick produced with the snap of Tom’s fingers and his devious smirk. He tapped the rim of his glass against hers before taking a generous swig. Claire matched his pace. She found the icy yet tart liquid now refreshing as it cooled the boiling blood that now raced through her veins, flushing her skin pink.

He bent his head, bringing his lips to the outer shell of her ear to whisper all sorts of naughty secrets. The gesture flooded her mind with memories of that afternoon, when Jamie had done just the same… She shivered at the chill that ran up her spine, her body shimmying closer to her present admirer, and she felt him smirk against her cheek.

“Ye see her?” Tom whispered, his breath tickling the soft skin along her neck. His free hand left her waist to point towards the dance floor, where Geillis had been just moments before.

Claire turned her head and brought her drink to her lips, using the glass to disguise where her eyes chose to wander. As she spied the girl in question, her breath hitched, nearly choking on her limey tonic. She was a total stranger, though the florist’s stomach turned with queer recognition at the sight of her.

She was a slight thing - petite in build and stature. Her milky skin glowed in the dark cavern of the club. Her willowy limbs danced above her head, swaying like branches bending in a breeze. Dark hair crowned her head, thick tresses gathered into a tight ponytail piled painfully high on her skull. Her lithe frame writhed against some guy (could’ve been Tom… could’ve been Jamie…) as her eyes narrowed to snake-like slits, zeroing in on her observer from across the room. Their gazes met through the murky lens of her drink, and Claire’s stomach dropped suddenly.

Tipping her head back, she finished the final dregs of gin before the glass slipped from her fingers and clattered loudly against the counter. She swallowed hard against the bile that bubbled at the back of her throat. Eyes shut, she inhaled deeply through her nostrils before slapping her hand down twice, signaling for a third round.

It couldn’t be...

Ghostly visions of Jezebel temptresses danced behind her closed lids. First, Geneva appeared with her cruel smile and child-like demeanor. Her ostentatious diamond glittered on her finger as she waggled it dramatically in front of Claire’s face. She spun suddenly, pivoting on her heel while she rolled her hips. When she returned to face the florist once more, she was gone… and Malva stood in her place. Her prized pupil mocked her with feigned sweetness, while poison dripped from her lips. Her fingers smoothed a striped tie dangling between her breasts. It’d been Frank’s… the very same silk that had bound the student’s wrists when she discovered them in his office one afternoon…

The glass bottom of a decanter met the wood counter with a loud thunk as the barkeep deposited two more drinks before Claire and Tom. She shook her head before she grabbed at the glass and greedily sucked down the liquid, hoping to quell any further nightmares staring the ghosts of mistresses past. Still, her hands trembled as Tom clasped one within his own.

“She’s my ex - Mona,” he spat, glaring daggers at the dance floor. “Cheated on me with my own brother.”

Cheated.

Claire knew the term intimately - strongly steeped in her morning tea, lurking behind the shadowy corners in the house she thought they’d made a home, hidden within the luscious petals Betrayal left the deepest of wounds weeping with infection, never to fully heal and scars always newly pink and raw. It was a vile toxin that flooded her body with jealous fevers and that left the bitter taste of uncertainty on at the back of her mouth.

“Care to help me make her jealous, hmm?” Tom’s question broke through her reverie.

Could she?

Claire’s eyes quickly darted between Tom’s smile and his outstretched hand and back once more to his face. Now with his face inches from hers, the steely blue-grey of his gaze turned her knees to water. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, and the only thought dominating Claire’s mind was the image of her sucking the plump skin there between her own lips. Her mind cried out in protest, battered and war-torn with cautionary tales of what happened when she fell for mysterious men too fast… but the alcohol flowing freely in her veins encouraged her to be bold and to satisfy that hungry basal need gnawing deep in her belly.

She placed her hand in his, signing a deal with this silver-eyed devil.

With a hand gently pressed to the small of Claire’s back, Tom guided her to the edge of the dance floor where the undulating throng lapped at their limbs, brushing against them like the tempting, warm waves of a late summer sea. They swayed on the outskirts, hips pressed together as they slowly waded further and further from the shore. Bodies wound around them, a revolving current that held them in the deep. Entranced by the siren’s song that called out above the hypnotizing swell, they were drowning in an ocean of each other (skin, breath, heat)...

...but it wasn’t Tom Claire was dancing with…

Once she’d spun herself around in the circle of his arms, it was all too easy for her mind to wander. In the dark - and after so many drinks - he could be anyone. The strong hands that gripped her hips matched the make and model of a certain red-headed client, and her skin still erupted in goose flesh as he traced the lines of her body (just as he’d done in her dreams). The firm muscles of his chest that braced her back were the perfect balance of firm-meets-soft (just as she’d hoped when she thought of resting her head there). The small Scottish noises he mumbled against her ear brought her just to the precipice…

The base bottomed out with a gasping whoosh, the water in their imaginary sea sucked down an imaginary drain. Claire’s eyelids fluttered open - completely unaware that they’d even been shut - only to meet the gaze of her arch rival.

Malva. Geneva. Mona.

She was back - the mysterious being who embodied all three women at once. Her piercing gaze bore holes straight through Claire’s chest, where her heart hammered against her ribs. Crimson painted lips parted into a sneer before a sinister cackle bubbled forth, taunting the florist with their youth and their beauty. Fear gripped her belly and pushed her over the edge. She pressed herself into the body (Jamie’s or Tom’s she was no longer certain) behind her. Her hands wandered over his frame before reaching upward and tangling her fingers in his unruly locks. He pressed his lips against the nape of her neck, sighing as she arched further into him. The siren faded from view, and it was Claire’s turn to smirk.

You said she’s scared of me? I mean… I don’t see what she sees but Maybe it’s ‘cuz I’m wearing your cologne...

Her head fell back against Tom’s shoulder as she pulled him closer, bringing his ear just to her lips.

“Let’s get out of here,” she murmured huskily before grasping his hand and pulling him through the crowd behind her.

The act of walking through a doorway is said to cause one to forget why they entered that room in the first place - a sort of temporary amnesia. Coupled with copious amounts of alcohol, however, crossing a threshold could wipe one’s memory completely clean.

Once Claire exited the club, her short-term recollection flew away on the wings the brisk night air. The rest of the evening came to her in a series of flashes, moments frozen in photographs preserved for posterity with the stories in between hazier than the early morning mist. First, they were in a cab, hands roaming while mouths greedily nipped at fleshy lower lips. Then, they were on the stairs of her flower shop, tripping on the uneven pitch and laughing at each other as they both fell flat on their backsides. Finally, they were behind the closed door of her apartment and tumbling towards her bed - shirt, dress, and pants all carelessly tossed aside before they sunk into the pillowy depths of her mattress.

And then it all went black.

The violent light of midday streaked across her face and blinded Claire even with her eyes closed. She scrubbed her eyes with balled-up fists in hopes she could block out some of the brilliant summer sun with her hands. The pulsing base from the club found a permanent behind her temples, painfully throbbing before she had even fully awoken. Her throat burned and her mouth tasted of cotton from the champagne and the three (or was it four?) gin and tonics she’d had the night before. Every muscle in her body ached from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head. She groaned aloud as she wondered if she’d gotten in some sort of fight last night (positive she’d have some bruises to make a seasoned boxer blush).

An even louder moan followed her own whine, and Claire froze, each joint in her body becoming rigid. Her breath came short, panting as she tried desperately to fill her lungs to no avail before she finally cracked open one lid…

… only to find a naked Tom Christie lying next to her.

To be continued...

#outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #forget me not #forget me not au #florist!cl #jamie x claire #witchie words

260 notes · View notes

lilshoroscope · 5 years

Text

Everybody Knows Part 3

Hiya!!!! It's ya girl back with the Part 3 y'all wanted!!!!! Please remember to like and reblog, and to let me know if you want a part 4!!

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, suggestive themes, angsty mc angst angst.

A/N: I actually worked really hard on this chapter, so please, please, tell me what you think. Sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger 😊

Loosely inspired by the song Arsonists Lullabye by Hozier.

Enjoy!!

Ask if you wanna be on my tag list!!!!!

You laid on your bed, facedown in the soft pillows that littered the mattress. You'd cried yourself out and were just lying there, unable to move. You knew that you should be up and doing stuff, but you just..... couldn't.

"Y/N, I'm home, darling! And I brought Mary and pizza!" Freddie called out from downstairs. Mary giggled and smacked him, the bright, joyous laughter floating up the stairs.

You slowly dragged yourself up, gathering the strength to go out and face your friends. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. Trying to avoid your reflection in the mirror- you looked hideous- you left the room and padded downstairs, only to be hit with the mouthwatering aroma of pizza.

God bless Freddie.

"Hey Freds, Mary." you said, slinking into the kitchen. Freddie was on a stool, already hacking into the pizza, while the other female in the room sipped delicately from a tall bottle of red wine. Mary took one look at your dishevelled state and cried out, rushing to gather you into a hug.

"Oh, I knew it was bad... but Freddie obviously didn't tell me the details.... oh, Y/N, I'm so sorry!" She whispered, rocking you back and forth.

"Oi! I told you most of it- but look at her, Mary! She's shattered!"

"I CAN hear you, you know." You quipped, breaking away from the hug and snatching up a piece of pizza.

"I knooooow, darlinggg."

You smiled, trying to force some cheerfulness into your face- for Freddie's sake, at least. Maybe if you acted happy, you'd feel happy.

"So, how did rehearsals go? Please tell me you guys didn't do anything stupid." You asked, perching yourself on the stool next to Freddie, who exchanged pointed looks with Mary.

"Um, no, darling. 'Course not." He mumbled through a mouthful of pepperoni pizza.

Mary lightly whacked him, her tinkling laughter echoing through the lonely house. "Don't be stupid, Freddie. Roger came in, all over this other girl already." She said, turning her attention to you. "Brian marched over and yanked them apart and practically FLUNG the girl out of the studio. Then Roger was all like 'wot the fuck woz that for?' and then Deaky punched him."

"I'm sorry- DeAkY pUnChEd HiM?" You yelled, spluttering through your mouthful of food.

"Yeah. And then Freddie here went over and yelled at Roger, completely bitch slapping him. And after that, Brian yelled at him and punched him. He's not gonna come near you anytime soon, trust me.”

Your eyes widened as you glanced over at your best friend, who looked like a deer caught in headlights.

"To be fair, darling, he deserved it." Freddie grumped, pouting. You all continued to chat, until the ever familiar ring of the telephone sounded. You jumped up, clambering to the next room to answer it. You grabbed the receiver, bringing it up to your ear.

"Hello?" You asked, smiling for what seemed like the first time in forever.

"Freddie, I need- oh. Y/N." a familiar voice said. The smile dropped from your lips as you felt the flood of memories that you had been holding back come bursting in, triggered by the sound of his voice.

The feel of his hands upon your heated skin.

His unique smell, a strange yet comforting mix of whisky, gasoline, cigarettes and aftershave. The smell of home.

The feel of his lips, soft upon yours.

The light of the sun illuminating the white blonde streaks in his long, beautiful hair.

The endless blue of his eyes, so deep you could drown in them.

"Hello? Y/N?" The tinny voice echoed from the phone, ringing in your ear. You stifled a sob as you shoved the receiver back in its cradle. Collapsing on the floor, you hid you face in your hands, only moving when Freddie yelled out from the other room, asking where you'd gotten to. You quickly stood up, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand. Time to be strong.

You strode back out into the kitchen, faking a blissful smile, making up an excuse about how it was a wrong number. You mockingly gasped as you spotted the empty pizza box lying on the countertop, clasping your hand to your chest dramatically.

"Freddie! How could you!" You laughed, feeling your heart internally break in two. You suddenly craved the familiar buzz of alcohol, the comforting numbness that spread through your head and body as it eliminated all feelings.

"Freddie, darling, how would you like to go down to the pub? I need something to take my mind off things and getting shitfaced sounds like a great way to do it."

Mary whipped her head around, shocked. Freddie just grinned.

"Now your talking, darling. I think we could all use a drink." He said, looking to Mary for confirmation.

"Oh, why the fuck not."

"Great! Gimme 15- I need to have a nice, long, hot shower."

----------------------------

You walked into the dingy pub, feeling the bass from the band vibrate through your veins. You made a beeline for the nearest bar, asking for the strongest drink they had. You had to get so shitfaced you didn't remember anything.

Sculling your drink as soon as soon as the bartender slid it across to you, you turned, intending to find Freddie. Instead, you were met with a pair of ocean blue eyes. The type you could drown in.

"Roger."

Tag list:

@mxrcury-love @dreamer821 @will-ptx

#bohemian rhapsody #roger taylor #brian may #mary austin #john deacon #john deacon x reader #roger taylor x reader #brian may x reader #ben hardy #qwilym lee #joe mazzello #rami malek #queen x reader #queen band #i need to sleep #i need to get a life #writing #x reader

109 notes · View notes

casismybumblebee · 6 years

Text

I Want to Break Free Chapter 3

Sorry, but it’s basically all filler. But next chapter we meet Castiel!

Chapters 1, 2 ; Character Page ; About the World

Birds chirping irritatingly close to his window is what him up the next morning. The sun slanting through the blinds across from his face made the dancing dust motes visible as Dean sat and stretched, popping his neck and wincing when his movement made his nose twinge.

Sam’s house had a nice guest room, Dean had to admit. The walls were a dusty light green, like the color fresh-cut grass trimmings were. The bed, a queen, had a thick white down comforter and more pillows than strictly necessary. And the air smelled faintly like ink, like brother, mixed with the harsh scent of cleaning chemicals.

Today he would have to deal with the fallout of last night. Would Bobby and Charlie forgive him? The possibility that they wouldn’t had Dean hiccuping and crying quietly, staring out the window uncomprehensively and choking on his sobs. His nose throbbed from the crying but Dean knew he deserved it, deserved the bruises and aches too.

A knock on the door sent Dean scrambling to clean himself up, wiping his eyes and hoping the sadness had vanished from his scent. “Come in, Sam,” he called tiredly. But when his giant brother entered the smell of Alpha sent his brain into a panic. It seemed to chant unsafeunsafeunsafe and it made Dean back away, the bed knocking his knees out and he causing him to fall onto the fluffy mattress with a distressed whine.

Sam, bless him, froze immediately and put his hands up. “Dean,” he whispered, voice practically oozing peace and serenity and family, “it’s just me.”

The fog of fear eased slightly and Dean took a deep breath, shaking so hard his teeth chattered, “Sam. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Dean. I’m going to close the door but I’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast if you want?” Without waiting for an answer Sam gently closed the door.

Dean sat up and took a deep breath, taking in the ink and leather of his brother and trying to clear his head. He was safe. Alastair wasn’t here. And Dean needed to be strong. Eyeing a neatly folded change of clothes, Dean stood and robotically dressed, hardly noticing that Sam had brought his favorite AC/DC shirt and worn stonewashed jeans with a hole in the left knee. Even that bitchin’ outfit couldn’t really crush down Dean’s anxiety. He sat on the bed when he was done and stared at the door, he was able to notice a scrap that revealed a weird yellow paint underneath the white. And there was a ding in the wood by the soft tan carpet that revealed the dark color of wood the door had originally been. The minutes ticked by and his manic microanalysis of the door started feeling ridiculous, even to him. So he stood and walked out of the room, back straight, and his best don’t-fuck-with-me face plastered on his features.

Downstairs Sam bustled around his brightly lit kitchen with a light blue apron on and a look of immense pain on his face. Seated at the breakfast bar were Charlie and Bobby, each with cups on coffee, and twin carefully uninterested looks on their faces. Dean sighed and treaded from the stairs and to the kitchen with a petulant air about him. He stopped before his family and crossed his arms, waiting.

Charlie looked at him first. The red-headed Alpha only managed a quick glance before she squeaked and leaped up, looking ready to launch herself at him. At the last second she stopped and instead fluttered around him, “oh Dean!”

That made Bobby look up. Just a quick flick of his eyes and he was grunting and glaring at the marble countertop like it was to blame, “you okay, boy?”

Sam, for his part, was busily burning pancakes and trying to keep his long hair from being incinerated by the flames from his stove. When Bobby spoke Sam signed softly and twisted the knob on the stove to the ‘off’ position, instead grabbing frozen waffles and popping them into his toaster.

Dean’s chest tightened and he stepped away from Charlie. The Alpha seemed hurt for a moment before understanding flared in her eyes and she retreated to the other end of the kitchen, back to her seat. He felt horrible about the pained look she gave him and mumbled, “sorry, Charlie. I’m just-”

“Don’t apologize to me,” she said in a rush, her usual pleasant voice now colored with concern. “I wasn’t thinking. How are you? You nose looks...um, on the mend.”

Dean shrugged, “s’okay, I guess. Doesn’t hurt. I’m good, I’m just sorry I went and got myself attacked.”

The sudden scrape of a chair made Dean jump, eyes trained on Bobby as the older man stood abruptly. “It ain’t your fault, ya idjit. That man is to blame. You should walk where you please.”

Really Dean shouldn’t have been surprised about their reaction. Other than John his family had never shown anything but understanding and love towards him. Of course, he’d also never been the victim of an attempted rape before, so perhaps he couldn’t have really known.

Still, there was no anger in their scents and Dean felt himself relax completely. They wouldn’t hurt him or cast him out. His fear of them seemed to evaporate and he took a seat in the barstool on the end of the counter. “Thanks, you guys.” Charlie grinned, Bobby sat back down with a huff, and Sam slid a plate of unappetizing toaster waffles to him with a sheepish smile. He really was lucky to have them.

Charlie, with her coffee and white chocolate scent, was perhaps the most un-Alpha Alpha there had ever been. There was never any aggression from her and she was a bigger nerd than he was. Just as much as his wardrobe comprised of band t-shirts, her’s had graphic tees of just about any show, movie, or book in existence. Today, he noticed, she’d warn her Harry Potter shirt. It was his favorite because they’d both been sorted into Slytherin together from a quiz online and she’d immediately ordered over a hundred bucks in Slytherin gear, including two matching shirts for the two of them. He grinned at her and she smiled back, taking her own plate of waffles from Sam unenthusiastically.

“Boy,” Bobby began, clearing his throat, “I was thinking about giving you some time off at the shop. Give you a chance to catch up in school and maybe relax some.”

“What? Bobby, no! I’ve gotta work, what about rent?”

“I ain’t going to let you go broke,” the older Beta barked, “it’ll be a paid leave. You can make up the hours later if you want.”

Sam interrupted diplomatically, handing a final plate of waffles to Bobby, “it might be a good idea, just until your nose heals up a little and you can be around Alphas again.”

It was a blunt statement but it got the point across to Dean. He sighed and bit into this waffle to stall the conversation, chewing slowly. “Alright,” he grumbled finally, “alright. But just until I can be around Alphas again.”

Bobby nodded in agreement, sliding his plate of waffles back to Sam without touching them, “you eat ‘em, son. I’m not touching your sad little waffles.”

Sam laughed and snatched the plate up, seemingly unbothered by the unpleasant packaged taste of his Eggos. Dean studied Bobby, trying to see if he really meant what he said about coming back to work. Bobby Singer was like his father, better even, because John Winchester had been about the worst father in the world to him and Sam. Only the presence of Bobby had helped shape the boys into something more than their father, something healthier. His engine grease and sour milk scent went unchanged from what it had transitioned to after the death of his wife, Karen Singer. The boys had grown up with Bobby’s scent and the sour milk went almost completely unnoticed now. But Dean never stopped hoping to smell it switched back to its previous fragrance.

Sour milk scent accompanied the break of a scent bond, usually in death, as in Karen and Bobby’s case. If they’d been a regular couple Bobby’s sour scent likely would have faded as he moved on from the relationship. But Karen and Bobby had been soul bonded, basically soul mates, and that made it harder to move on. In all the years since Karen died, Bobby’s scent had never changed back. And it might never. John Winchester had smelled of sour milk too, though Dean wonders if the anger had kept the scent there instead of soul bonding.

He chewed his gross breakfast and let his mind wonder along it’s own path, content to just watch his family without really seeing anything. He watched Charlie slide chunks of waffle into a napkin without eating them and Sam wolf his down without seeming to care about the flavor. Watched Bobby looking just as checked out as he was.

When breakfast was done and the dishes washed, the family took their leave. Sam was off to teach his law studies class, which reminded Dean he needed to email professors about missing school today, Charlie had a brunch date, and Bobby went to open up the shop. One-by-one, his family embraced him or clapped him on the shoulder, and departed Sam’s house.

The sudden stillness was slightly unnerving to Dean. It took him about five minutes of tiptoeing around the house to know he wouldn’t be able to spend the whole day here. But the thought of going outside alone made him just as jumpy. In the end, the doorbell saved him.

Cautiously, he went to answer his brother’s door. Peering through the peephole he caught a glimpse of a man with medium length light brown hair and crisp brown eyes, like whisky with ice in it. Dean swung the door open and regarded Gabriel warily. “Hey there, Gabe.”

If Gabriel objected to the nickname he didn’t show it, instead smiling brightly, “Dean-o! I’m glad to see you up and about, your nose even looks better!”

“Thanks,” he replied uncertainly, “why are you here? Sam’s not home.”

“I know, he mentioned he taught at the college. I actually came to see how you were.” The Alpha looked slightly uncomfortable now, as though waiting for Dean to tell him to beat it. But Dean owed Gabe a lot and the Alpha, who he could now tell smelled of clay and cherries, didn’t make his skin crawl like he thought it would. It seemed his head found no reason to fear the shorter Alpha.

“Oh, I’m good. Tired, I guess, and I’m wondering if I should risk it to spend the day running some errands.”

Gabriel nodded seriously, “if you want company, I’d be happy to ditch work.”

“Where do you work?”

The Alpha took that as an affirmative and sailed passed Dean, snatching up his brother’s house phone and dialing a number. “I’m a Kindergarten teacher, and boy let me tell you I needed a break from those booger-lovers. Oh, hello Ms. Rosen, just wanted to let you know I won’t be attending school today. Sorry about the short notice, family emergency.”

A faint high pitched voice rattled on the other side and Gabriel laughed winningly, “thanks, Becky. I’ll see you tomorrow. Mmhm, okay, yeah. Bye Beck!”

He hung up and placed the phone back in it’s cradle, turning to Dean with his arms spread out, “alright, where to first?”

“The auto shop,” Dean decided, “I’ve gotta get Baby picked up. Hopefully Bobby has Rufus finishing her.”

Gabe nodded and gestured grandly to the door, “after you, my boy.”

Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed his leather jacket from the little table in the foyer, draping it over his arm and heading out the door to Gabriel’s crappy Civic. Gabriel followed, whistling the tunnel song from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. What a day this would no doubt be.

#destiel #supernatural #fanfiction #my first ever soooo #i need a beta #just in case anyone is interested #i have problems with commas so i need someone to control me lol #a/b/o dynamics

1 note · View note

fireofmyloins19 · 7 years

Text

Two can play that game

Requested - With Tommy, prompts 19: “Does your life revolve around embarrassing me?”, 33: “Oh my gosh is that blood?” and 84: “You’re so lucky you’re cute”

Thomas Shelby - Two can play that game

You threw the wet cloth back onto the bar and began to scrub it yet again, determined to get the stubborn stain off of the wood and also finding the concentration of cleaning took your thoughts away from the rowdy and drunken punters of the Garrison. You let out a huff and threw the cloth to the side when your arm quickly began to ache, continuing to stare at the stain and showering it with profanities in your mind.

“Two whiskies please love, Irish”

You looked up towards the voice wearily, staring at him for a few seconds before the words sunk in and you remembered where you were and what you were actually meant to be doing. You pulled yourself away from the bar and began to rush around, juggling with the glasses and pulling off the top of the Whisky bottle in one swift and practised movement. You weaved the bottle up and down as the contents fell into the glass, finding yourself in some sort of trance as your sleep deprived mind watched the Whisky trickle out.

You muttered the price to the man whilst arranging the final touches before glancing out over the people in the pub whilst he rummaged in his pockets. Your eyes quickly landed on Arthur, who was seemingly very proud and content with two young women beside the bar.

“OI!” a few heads shot in your direction, no one sure who you were referring to and it seemed just about everyone had heard but Arthur. Deciding shouting again would only draw more attention and his inability to hear you only increasing your annoyance resulted in your bar towel now circling towards his head. “I agreed to help you behind this bar but I’m not standing here working my arse off if you’re not even bothering yourself, it’s your bloody pub Arthur!”

Without another word, merely a scowl and some muttered cursing, he apologised to the ladies and soon found his way back behind the bar. You had been watching him carefully with a frown, making sure he was following your orders when you heard the man stood in front of you chuckle. You snapped your head towards him in a rage, thinking he was laughing at you but finding a warm smile on his face.

“You holding this pub up on your own two feet ey?” he spoke jovaly, giving you a little wink as he wrapped his hands around both glasses you had placed before him. You shook your head with a small laugh, resting a hand on one of the beer pumps.

“It certainly looks that way doesn’t it” you gave the man a wide smile, him giving you the same in return until a firm hand landed on his shoulder with some force, causing the man to turn and be greeted by the most feared man in Small Heath, if not the whole of Birmingham, staring down at him. You rolled your eye at his presence, knowing exactly why he was stood there and letting it get to you.

“Tommy” you spoke in a warning tone, closing your eyes tight with frustration before meeting his; tainted with jealousy and hostility. “We were just talking”

“Yeah well, now you’re just not” Tommy’s voice was raspy and monotone as he spoke, a clear sign of the anger driving through his body. Calm and collected on the exterior, his structured expression and low words causing your worry to set in. Your eyes darted to where Tommy’s hand lay as the man winced, Tommy’s rough fingers squeezing harder and the whites of his knuckles making your stomach turn. You looked back to Tommy desperately, your strained eyes pleading with him to stop and you sighed in relief when he did, seeing his chest drop as his grip loosened, his eyes not once leaving yours.

“Yes Mr.Shelby” the man’s voice broke as he responded, he grabbed onto his drinks tightly and began to step away from the bar, stumbling on his words as he hurried away. “Sorry Mr. Shelby”

You watched the man push his way through the crowd in a frenzy, having seen him go from smiley and confident to a quivering mess in a matter of minutes unsettled you, all from the touch of the man stood before you in his peaked cap.

“What the bloody hell was that for?” you scorned Tommy, turning away from him and busying yourself in order to avoid his stare, yet finding yourself angry when you knew his eyes were still locked onto you, “Does your life revolve around embarrassing me?”

“You find it embarrassing that I don’t want another man talking to my soon to be wife” his voice was a murmur below the hum of the music but you could hear it clearly; gravelly and low. You cursed yourself when you found a smile creeping onto your face at the mention of the fact you were soon to be a Shelby, but being sure to stay facing away from him as you didn’t want him to see your irritated exterior break so quickly.

“Yes Thomas I do. I do when it is just conversation and purely that” you finally turned back to him with a huff and a raised eyebrow as though to question his actions. The same blank expression resided on his face. “Am I not aloud to talk to anyone other than you now?”

“Not when they’re a seedy young man and you’re stood behind the bar looking like that” his tone of voice hadn’t changed and you stared at him for a few moments lost for words before you saw the glimmer in his eye and a small smirk making its way onto his lips. You spluttered a small laugh and went to smack his arm lightly where it lay on the countertop but being stopped when his hand moved faster and grabbed onto your wrist.

“And what would ‘that’ be, Mr. Shelby?” you rested both elbows against the bar and lent forward, biting the side of your lip playfully and being sure to look directly into his eyes now.

“Oh” he looked to the side slightly before looking towards your chest that was presented to him hovering over the bar, “I think you know.”

You hurried through the door in order to escape the winter chill outside, your bags of shopping blocking your way as you tried to push them through the small gap, fumbling with your keys. You let out a loud sigh, rolling your lips together and vocalising your shivers. You dropped the shopping to the floor and looked up with a smile, seeing the Peaky Men gathered around the table deep in conversation and not a single head turning to greet you causing you to pout like a child.

“Oh hello Y/N lovely to see you” you stormed around the table to your kitchen counter, grabbing hold of the teapot only to huff again when you felt its cold exterior and clear absence of tea. All the men began to mumble hello at once but you chose to ignore them, turning back to pick up your shopping and sneaking a look at Tommy who sat with his arms resting against the table, one hand lay upon the other and a look of concentration on his face as the men sat watching him and listening intently. You found a small smile appearing on your lips at the sight of him, until you went to look away and caught a glimpse of the blood stains on his shirt, looking around the analyse the situation more and seeing all the men were covered in it, and now your kitchen was too. Your face knotted together in anger but before you flew into a rage you thought better of it, realising playing Tommy at his own game was much more entertaining and rewarding on your part.

You continued to walk swiftly to your shopping as though you hadn’t noticed a thing, picking it up from the floor and walking back to the counter where you would usually unpack it but being sure to gain Tommy’s attention as you looked towards him this time.

“Oh my gosh!” you cried dramatically with a gasp, dropping the bags and throwing a hand towards your mouth as though to emphasise your shock, rushing towards Tommy, “is that blood?”

You crouched to the floor beside where he sat and began to fuss over him, the look of confusion evident on his face as he stared at you was enough to make you laugh but you fought against it, wanting to pull this off. You pouted, giving him a sympathetic look as you gripped onto his blooded shirt, raising a single finger and stroking it against his cheek gently. You could feel the men gawping at you in both shock and confusion, you had seen Tommy covered In blood plenty of times, almost everyday and they had never seen a reaction like this. Neither had Tommy, who now glanced to the side at his men, a foreign blush rising to his cheeks but he didn't move under your touch, more than likely unsure what to do for the first time in his life.

“Are you going to be okay?” You put on your sweetest voice, raising it a few octaves and trying to sound almost cute whilst you tilted your head to the side. You knew by his stare he hadn't caught on yet. Deciding he needed you to give him a push in the right direction, you tilted your body towards him slightly and lent forward, speaking softly. “I'm not embarrassing you, am I?”

You lent back fighting the mischievous smile from your lips while looking at his now understanding expression. He clenched his jaw for a moment before breathing heavy, biting the side of his mouth and almost laughing at your persistence to teach him a lesson. He cleared his throat and sat up straighter, finally pulling away from your finger but you staying close.

“I'll go get something to clear you up” you gave him a cheeky grin, just slyly enough that the other men wouldn't catch on; not wanting your hard work of embarrassing Tommy to come undone. You pulled yourself from the floor and turned to head for a cloth before you felt Tommy’s large hand wrap around your wrist as it had before. He pulled you close to his face, feeling his heavy breath tickling your ear caused your breath to catch in your throat and an excitement race through you; as always did around Tommy. You glanced to the side at the men apprehensively who continued to watch, curious as to what was happening but being sure to look away when they caught your eye, your attention quickly being drawn back to Tommy when he spoke. His voice was gruff in your ear yet you heard the playful tone, speaking low enough for only you to hear.

“You're so lucky you're cute”

#tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fic #tommy shelby fic #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby fic #peaky blinder imagine

321 notes · View notes

idonthinkyoureadyforinformant · 4 years

Text

Reggie's eyebrows rose. "Wow, no offense, but that's a rough neighborhood. A lotta crack heads and gangbangers out that way. You like it there?"

The server arrived just in time with Mia's second drink. She slugged it down with a grimace. "No, not really."

"So, what brings you here tonight, Mia?"

Mia began relaxing from the four shots of whisky she had consumed within 10 minutes. She decided to go for broke with her reply. "I'm trying to score some coke tonight."

Reggie managed to keep a straight face despite almost laughing at her. She was a poor informant, perhaps the worse he had ever encountered. Was she that naive to believe a big-time drug dealer like himself would carry coke around with him and deal directly with some bimbo he just met in a club, as if she was in a 1980s episode of 'Miami Vice'? She was trying to hook him like a fish, not realizing that he was doing the same to her. He was going to have a lot of fun playing this gullible white girl. "Don't have any coke, baby, but I might be able to get some Molly tonight. You in?"

Mia wore a puzzled look. "Molly? Who's that?"

Reggie raised his eyebrows at Mia's ignorance and clarified, "It's really pure Ecstasy, the best stuff out there." He turned his head from side to side. "Mmm, mmm, I might be able to get some from my suppliers. You in?"

Mia had heard something about Ecstasy a long time ago, but had never tried it and didn't remember much about it, other than it was illegal and a growing problem. She could not believe her good fortune — how easy it was proving to get information about this dirty drug dealer and his suppliers for Detective Sanchez so suddenly. Soon this low-life and his associates would be in jail where they belonged, and she and Josh would be free to live their lives together again.

She nodded affirmatively.

Reggie smiled at how easily this little whitefish swallowed his bait. "Come on, then. Let's get outta this place."

**************

A limousine took them to Reggie's high-rise. During the ride Reggie sat across from Mia. She looked out the window unaware of how he studied her gorgeous legs, her small waist, flat stomach and even the indention of her naval — all perceptible, as well as her firm c-cup breasts — through the sexy miniskirt that clung to her beautifully curved body.

The miniskirt, a sleeveless type with only thin straps over her toned shoulders holding it on, was made of grey material interspersed with silvery threads. Beneath it, a sexy thong and bra waited, Mia wrapped as an unknowing gift for Reggie from Detective Sanchez.

Reggie's cock had been hard all night, since he first saw Mia. Yet unfortunately, she had never looked directly its way. And in the shadows of night his dark baggy slacks and sports jacket helped obscure the horrific bulge that would have deterred Mia from going anywhere with this dangerous criminal had she noticed it.

Giving his hardness to Mia and putting it inside the soft, yet tight wetness of her pussy became all he thought about.

While she looked away buzzed from alcohol and completely ignorant of his growing desire for her, he quickly adjusted himself to alleviate some of the discomfort his abnormally large penis gave him during erections. He needed to relieve his hard-on with her soon, he thought.

"Is this your place?" Mia asked as they pulled up to a 50-story high-rise in a very expensive part of town. A doorman wearing a navy-blue suit stood at attention. Double glass doors immediately to his left, and a revolving door next to them, trimmed in polished brass, led to the lobby where a crystal chandelier hung above the concierge desk. It looked like the extravagant hotel in New York City Mia had briefly visited during her honeymoon with Josh.

The man in the navy-blue suit opened their limo door and Reggie giggled a reply. "No, not the entire building. Just the top floor."

"Good evening, Mr. Johnson," the clean-shaven, middle-aged doorman said as he closed the limo door behind them and proceeded to open the big glass door to the lobby.

"Thank you, James," Reggie answered.

An awkward silence filled the elevator as they travelled to the top of Reggie's high-rise, Mia's ears popping as they passed the 38th floor. Finally, the doors opened. Two big, burly black guys greeted them as they exited the elevator.

"Hey, boss, you want me to check this one out," one of them asked Reggie.

"Yeah, you better just to be safe." Reggie turned to Mia and said, "Sorry, beautiful, but they gonna check you out for a bug. I'm in a business where I need to be careful about that kinda thing."

"Sure," Mia replied, holding her arms out while the big black guy waved some wand up and down the front and back of her body.

"She okay boss."

Reggie opened the door to his penthouse for Mia and smiled, reeling his whitefish in, he thought. "This way."

Mia entered and sauntered over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that comprised the eastern wall of his living room. She gazed out over the million-dollar view of the illuminated city, the numerous lights like countless stars through the lens of a telescope aimed at some distant constellation. "Wow, this is a really beautiful place you have."

He went to his wet bar. "Want another drink?"

She was already intoxicated, but handled her booze well. "Just water."

He fixed himself another Crown and fetched her a bottle of chilled water. "A good choice for Molly."

"I beg your pardon?" Mia asked.

He swallowed a mouthful of whisky. His tumbler clanged as he set it down on the black granite countertop. Mia saw the tiny blue pill he held between his two black fingers as he approached with her bottle of chilled water.

"For Molly," he repeated. "It tends to make users dehydrated. Now open your beautiful mouth for me."

A user? That's what this loathsome black drug dealer thought she was? Mia's eyes grew wide. Aside from smoking a tiny bit of marijuana on very rare occasions, she had never used any type of drug. "N-n, no," she nervously laughed, her lips drawing tight, revealing lovely white teeth and a hint of a gorgeous smile. "I wasn't planning on taking it tonight."

Reggie looked at her inquisitively. "You want me to get some of this from my suppliers without trying a sample of it yourself first? You an informant or something?"

The inquisitive look on his strong brown face began to show a mixture of distrust and anger.

Mia realized her plan was in danger and that she needed to alter course. The thought of Josh's career as a teacher ruined by a felony record for drugs, twelve years separated from each other as they each served prison terms flashed through her mind. She could not risk losing Reggie's trust — not now after getting so close. "It's just that it's getting late. My neighborhood, as you noted, is rough. I don't want to be out on the streets that late."

She played this game very poorly, Reggie thought. "Don't worry, I'll have my limo driver take you home a little later. If you like this stuff, I'll give my supplier a quick call tonight for more. You can meet him."

Mia tried to stall. "How much are we talking? I don't have a lot of money right now. Maybe we should do this tomorrow or the next day? You can talk to your supplier tonight and I'll get money for a deal tomorrow."

"That's okay. You can pay me when you get the money. Now open up for me."

Again, he outmaneuvered her. She nervously looked into his eyes, like a trapped prey, as the bottom of her jaw slowly opened.

He placed the small blue pill on her tongue and her mouth closed.

"Good girl," he said, the plastic cap of the water bottle snapping as he unscrewed it for her.

She took the clear plastic bottle of water from him — cold condensation running down its sides wetting her hand —and pretended to take a sip while slipping the pill he had put in her mouth under her tongue.

"I need to use the bathroom."

He knew what she was up to, but he wasn't going to let her get away that easily. He had reeled in this whitefish, practically had her in his net. "Let's kiss first." His huge muscular arm suddenly wrapped around her tiny waist and drew her to him.

"Whoa, not so fast," she said, trying to squirm from his embrace and pushing against huge muscles in his chest. She felt something else through their clothing as he pressed against her — something hard and incredibly large in his pants, but she became distracted by the awful, bitter-sour taste of the pill rapidly dissolving in her mouth.

"Kiss me now," he repeated, attempting to attach his lips to hers.

She turned away to avoid the kiss. "No, wait a minute. I'm sorry. I need another drink first. There's a funny taste in my mouth." She raised the water bottle to her lips again to swallow the remnants of the dissolved pill she had wanted to spit out in his bathroom.

Reggie smirked as he watched her really drink the water this time, and swallow a very large and powerful dosage of the drug — pure stuff, not the cut down crap sold by street dealers. He was eager to get her fucked up on it. This pretty whitefish was now in his net and it was time to haul her on board his boat to spear.

She finished the water, determined to somehow fight getting high.

"Let's kiss some now." His mouth locked to hers and his tongue forced its way past her lips. He pulled her with him onto the sofa.

"Mmm, no, mmm, wait, please, Reggie. I can't." She hated kissing him, and wiped his nasty saliva off her face with the back of her hand.

"Why not?" He secretly searched her eyes for tell-tale signs of the drug entering her bloodstream, but it was still too soon.

She was happily married to Josh. She would never cheat on him. Reggie was a nasty black man and a slime-ball drug dealer. But as a confidential police informant, she could not tell Reggie any of that. "You're going too fast."

Pretty whitefish was trying to escape from his net, but it was too late. He was going to bring her on board and spear her regardless of how much she tried to flop away. "We just kissing, baby. But you asking me to take a big risk and get this stuff for you without letting me get to know you first. Maybe we should just forget the whole thing. I don't know anything about you. Maybe you be five-o. I'll take you home now."

Betraying her husband by kissing this disgusting black man and drug dealer repulsed her, but Reggie threatened to cancel everything when she almost had what she needed. She remembered Sanchez' warning. She was running out of time. She had to make Reggie trust her.

She gently touched his muscular arm. "You can trust me, Reggie. I'm not a narc and I don't want you to take me home yet. Just kissing, though, right? Nothing more tonight, okay? I've just met you and I'm not that type of girl."

Mia was playing right into his hands. She obviously never tried Molly before and held no idea of its strength. Even inferior formulations and lower dosages altered emotions, mood, and perception. Something as benign as kissing easily became much more lascivious under its influence.

Reggie smiled and nodded his head. He was on his way inside this sweet little white girl's panties and she didn't even realize it. "Okay, we just gonna kiss for a little while until you see if you like the Molly. If you like it, I'll call Luther. Now lay back for me."

Luther — was that the name of Reggie's supplier? Mia wondered as she reclined on the sofa beneath Reggie's big hard body. She had to remember that name, she thought. But her mind quickly strayed to how different Reggie was from Josh — stronger, firmer, and larger. She felt his huge penis through their clothing press against her again, but the meaning of its terrible size now failed to fully register in her brain because a warm, wonderfully peaceful feeling began to creep up on her.

"Wait, Reggie. How long does this stuff take to work? I think maybe I'm feeling something."

Reggie noticed her pupils already displacing much of the blue in her eyes.

"It gonna take at least an hour to even start affecting you," he misleadingly told her. In an hour, she would be heavily 'rolling' as they said. Too fucked up to fully realize what he was doing to her.

"It's going to be late then."

"Don't you worry none, baby. I'm gonna take good care of you."

His promise to 'take good care of her' should have been a warning to Mia, but instead she believed him, the concentration of MDMA in her bloodstream rapidly increasing. They began French-kissing again.

"Mmm, oh, Reggie, mmm, oh."

His tongue probed deeper and deeper inside her mouth and then occupied it like a victorious foreign invader. Fleeting thoughts of Josh went through her brain, but she was doing this for him.

"Oh, I'm getting so warm," she murmured after nearly 30 minutes of French-kissing Reggie without interruption, the drug raising her body temperature, altering her perception of time. The miniskirt she wore became saturated with her sweat and stuck to her body. "Can you make the air conditioning colder for me? It's really hot in here."

"Sure, baby." Reggie quickly got off Mia and turned the temperature higher instead. It would make convincing her to undress easier, he reasoned.

They resumed kissing when he returned to her, and Mia found herself running her hands underneath his shirt and up his back. His smooth black skin and hard muscles felt so good, she thought. "Oh, I think that stuff you gave me is doing something already. Let's stop now and get some more from your supplier."

"Latter. You getting hot. Let's get this dress off you before you overheat."

"Huh?" Mia asked, not quite comprehending what he said to her. Her eyes looked dreamy. He pulled the straps of her miniskirt down her shoulders.

"No, what are you doing? Stop it — just kissing."

"I know, baby, but you gonna over-heat with this on. It's dangerous if you get too hot. Look at how much you sweating. We have to cool you down."

"No, mmm, oh," Mia moaned, as he resumed French-kissing her while inching her miniskirt lower — down her arms until it puddled around her waist.

"Oh, it's so hot in here," she gasped when he finally removed his mouth from her lips again, beads of sweat forming on her face and body.

"I know, baby. You don't need to worry. I won't do nothing. Now lift up for me"

Euphoria from the Molly greatly clouded her judgement and she trusted him. She raised her butt and he pulled the miniskirt past her hips and off her legs.

"That's a good girl. We gotta get you to cool down."

Mia now wore only a bright red bra and matching thong made of silk. His strong hands ran up her flat stomach, feeling the contours of her defined abdominal muscles, and slid underneath her bra, cupping her soft, full breasts and tweaking her nipples.

"No, Reggie, don't touch them like that. You promised."

"Yeah, you rolling good now. Let me get this off you. You still way too hot."

"What? Don't take my bra off!"

His cock throbbed painfully for her pussy, and this hijacked all his thoughts. He had to have her. He ignored her and unclasped her bra. Her young tits required no support and perkily stood out from her slender body. Her small areolae further confirmed her glorious youth in their pale pink color.

Mia recognized that something was terribly wrong, but the realization was brief, veiled by the effects of the drug and the resumption of their French-kissing. She somehow forgot that he was a black drug dealer who had her almost completely undressed — and most importantly, that he was not her husband.

Rolling and at peace with the universe, she only felt love for everything and everyone, including this black man, and allowed his hands to caress her breasts, explore her young body. One of his strong hands finally released her erect nipple, descended to her flat tummy, and slid into her thong like a stealthy invader, his finger expertly locating her clit.

She remembered Josh. "No, don't touch me there — please!" She grabbed Reggie's wrist and tried to pull his hand away from her vagina. "Stop touching it, no don't, Reggie."

"Shhh, it's just touching and just for a little while, baby. Nothing else. If you want me to trust you, you gotta trust me a little. Otherwise, our deal is off."

Mia sort of trusted him, a consequence of the Molly, and she remembered that she needed him to trust her. She had to find out about his suppliers. But he was touching her clitoris. It was so inappropriate and dangerously intimate. She sighed deeply and released his wrist. "Okay, but only touching and just for a little while."

"That's a good girl. Just touching and just for a little while," he repeated back to her. He knew how suggestions and reassurances combined with the relaxing effects of the drug and clouded judgement. "It won't hurt anything to let me touch it a little bit. I'm not gonna do anything else. You so beautiful."

He knew Molly heightened sense of touch as he tenderly caressed her most touch sensitive organ — a calculated, strategic place to target in seducing her. His little while continued and his little bit turned into expert masturbation. He awakened the countless nerves in her clitoris and they began bombarding her brain with their pleasurable signals.

His finger got wetter in her pussy, and he felt her clitoris become fuller and firmer as he touched it more. "Yeah, that starting to feel real good now, huh?"

"Oh, oh, ah, ahh, no, please, ooh," she moaned.

While masturbating her, his other hand grabbed the delicate fabric of her thong and began tugging it down. She noticed him pulling it off her too late, when it already hung from one of her ankles. She panicked. "No, don't take my thong off!"

She was not going to stop him now, he thought. Little whitefish was on board his boat almost ready to spear. He forced her legs apart and brought his face within inches of her fragrant pussy, which radiated an irresistibly inviting warmth.

She was smoothly shaved with only a neatly trimmed, pencil thin landing strip. His fingers stretched her soft lips in opposite directions — wide open — exposing the lovely pink of raw womanhood with her clitoris susceptibly waiting for him to make it the center of her universe.

His nostrils inhaled more of her sweet female scent — a pleasant, almost flower-like aroma consisting of perfume and her natural pheromones that called to him. His mouth attacked her pussy and he began sucking on her clit.

"No, don't do that," she cried, sitting up and shoving his head away from her.

Reggie scowled at her. "Trust is a two-way street. If you want me to get more drugs from my supplier tonight, you gotta trust me now, let me get to know you better and go down on you some. Only a close girlfriend can know about my business. Do you wanna quit crying, be my girlfriend and let me do this or do you wanna go home?"

Tears ran from the corners of her eyes down the sides of her face. Mia was confused and couldn't think clearly anymore. She realized she was high on a potent drug. She didn't want to be his 'girlfriend', but she had to pretend otherwise and convince him to trust her. She wished she could stop Reggie and still get out of this mess Josh had put them in. Instead she had to let this strange black man, a low-life drug dealer, perform oral sex on her.

"Answer me — do you wanna be my girlfriend and let me eat your pussy or do you want me to take you home?"

Mia cried, "I want to be your girlfriend."

Reggie smiled. How fortunate. This naive white bitch was completely clueless and he was going to exploit her. His mouth returned to her sex. He resumed his attack on her married white pussy with renewed determination for total victory. He was going to make her cum, and more than just once.

Ch. 3

0 notes

sippin-on-red-wine · 7 years

Text

High Tide | Chapter 1: If You’ll Have Me

Title: High Tide: An Original, Ed Sheeran Mature Fan Fic | Chapter 1: If You’ll Have Me Author: @sippin-on-red-wine Rating: 17+, Mature (Smut comes in at the end of this chapter) Word Count: 10,478 Author’s Note: This is my first ever attempt at writing fan fiction, let alone that of the smutty variety. I started to read it recently and wanted to take a stab at my own story. I am SEEKING FEEDBACK of any and all kinds! Please feel free to drop me a message, an ask, on anon -- ANYTHING! I want to know how you like the story, the characters, do you relate to them? What did you like? What is missing? Any requests for future installments? HIT ME UP. Enjoy!

**Please like/re-blog!**

************************************************

Ed set his glass down on the kitchen counter and poured himself another whiskey, neat. He had lost track of how many he had, though he knew the whiskies were only perpetuating his bad mood. Usually he was a fun drunk, bit of a boozy idiot actually, but that was when he was with his friends. Drinking alone didn’t warrant any celebration. Especially considering the events that had transpired in the last several weeks. Luckily, his mates were due to arrive here tomorrow afternoon.

He strode back upstairs to the master suite of his friend’s summer home in Southport, ME. She had been there when shit really hit the fan and offered up the house to Ed for as long as he needed it. She said it was the perfect place to stay out of the public eye. It was a gated community, the beaches not accessible to the public, and most people only summered there anyway. Labor Day had come and gone, and she assured Ed he wouldn’t be bothered.

He had a few dates to finish up on the Asia leg of his tour and had planned on flying back to London to start work on his next album until he was due to continue touring in the States, and actually be able to spend some time in his own god damned house. But he couldn’t face going home, the home he had built with her, not after what had happened. So he gladly took his friend up on her offer, heading to New England instead.

Ed walked barefoot across the plush carpet toward the electric fireplace. From the bits he heard on the news, it was an unseasonably warm September on the East Coast, but the nights were still really cool. He clicked the fire on and instantly felt a tick better, taking a moment to watch the flames flicker and fade.

He strode over to the big bay window next and, with a different button on the same remote, sent the blinds up. He looked down at the neighboring house, peering into the big, open windows of the living room.

Right, well wasn’t she having a better night than me? Ed looked down and studied his new neighbor. She looked to be maybe in her late twenties, tan skinned and dark hair piled all up on top of her head, rectangular specs perched on her nose. She was wearing tight black leggings and a long-sleeved red T-shirt with “Wisconsin” spelled out in white block lettering.

She walked gracefully into the living room, holding a glass of wine and a very large book. Ed watched her lie back on a black leather couch, whose back was up against the large windows facing him, and slide on some reading glasses that had been left there. Setting her wine down on the table and tossing a throw pillow behind her back, she opened up her book and settled in. Ed wasn’t sure why he was still watching, likely because he had fuck-all else to do, other than finish his whiskey.

A few beats passed and Ed decided he was being creepy, and turned to grab the remote to lower the blinds back down.

****************************************************

I slowed to a jog as I jammed the speed button down on the treadmill. I looked down at the controls and saw my stats for this run, I had gone for almost 40 minutes longer than I normally did. I slowed to a walk for a few minutes and then shut the machine off.

My hair was pulled back into a ponytail and tucked into an old baseball hat which was now drenched in sweat. I walked across my home gym over to the attached bathroom, peeling off my cap, tank top, sports bra and running tights, depositing them in the laundry chute. I tugged the elastic out of my hair and slipped into the shower, turning the faucet to just barely warm enough.

I stood under the spray, ruminating on the events of the last two weeks.

I had woken up at the asscrack of dawn yesterday to drive Ed’s friends to the airport. They had planned on just getting a cab, but I had insisted. The last two weeks spent with them here would be stuck in my memory forever. They were so upbeat, really bringing me out of my social black hole I’d been rocking for the last couple of years. And holy shit, I thought I drank too much on my own, but I had really punished my liver while they were here.

Ed rode along to bid his mates farewell, sitting shotgun and toying with my shifting hand throughout the entire two hour drive. We dropped them off outside the airport, hopping out to help them unstack their luggage from the back. They each hugged Ed & I, promised to see him again soon, and thanked me for my hospitality again.

The last two weeks had been nearly a non-stop party, chock filled with laughter, booze, bonfires, meals shared at my dining room table (the first time it had ever been used, by the way). But there was something more.

I hadn’t known, but Ed had been living in the house next door for two weeks before I met him. His friend Pete had seen me sitting out on the beach in front of my house on their first night in town, I had headphones in listening to a podcast when he tapped me on the shoulder, scaring the SHIT out of me, making me spill wine all up and down my front. The poor guy felt bad about that for at least a week. He had invited me over to join their bonfire, a friendly act that led to a chain of events that might actually have changed my life.

I must have looked like a total idiot, because I didn’t realize Ed was Ed Sheeran until the third night, when someone brought a guitar out to the fire and passed it around. The group was surprised when it came to my turn and I set my drink down, burying the stem of my glass in the sand, and plucked out a mediocre-at-best rendition of Miranda Lambert’s ‘Oklahoma Sky’. A party trick I probably wouldn’t have broken out if I hadn’t A) Been thoroughly liquored up and B) Knew I was in the presence of the largest male pop artist in the fucking world.

“Anything you can’t do, love?” Ed had chuckled as I finished, clapping along with the group. “The lady can sail, she plays guitar, and makes the best fucking lobstah mac n cheese in the whole world.” He imitated the classic Bostonian accent on ‘lobster’, sending me into a tizzy. His American accent impressions were freaking hilarious.

“Ah, well, you caught me. I know like, three songs. How does that saying go? ‘Jack of All Trades, Master of None’ ? Yep, that’d be me,” I said, passing the guitar to Ed on my left.

Night had just fallen. The air felt like a shade of navy blue with silver-white stars starting to freckle the sky above us. Ed picked up the guitar and started strumming out this beguiling melody.

“You look so wonderful in your dress, I love your hair like that. The way it falls on the side of your neck, down your shoulders and back….” I was in awe. The beautiful tenor of his voice sang out, fingers plucking the bronze strings of the guitar, his eyes closed the whole time. “So in love, so in love, so in love…” It was such a touching song.

He was barely finished when I asked, “Who sings that? That was a beautiful song, wow.”

A beat passed and no one said anything. Lauren, a strikingly tall brunette, stood up and strode over to me, hooking her arm through mine, “Let’s get a refill, yeah?” Well this is awkward.

“Erm, sure,” and I walked with her, arms still linked. She flung open the sliding glass door and I followed her into Ed’s kitchen. It was quite similar to mine, all white, with marble countertops and a large island which was currently being used as a makeshift bar.

“Love, you know who Ed is, right?” She said, looking down at me. Okay, so she didn’t bring me in here for a fill-up.

“Uh… I don’t follow?”

“Are you bullshitting me right now?” She said, taking a step toward me.

“Whoa, okay, can you please clue me in on what we’re talking about here?” I was quick to jump on the defense.

She exhaled loudly. “Ed Sheeran… you know… like, super huge pop singer? Won Grammy’s n shit?”

I racked my brain, trying to find an association with the name “Ed Sheeran”. The puzzle must have played out on my face, because Lauren dug into her pocket, pulling out her iPhone. She quickly tapped the screen a few times, and suddenly a song started playing out of the little speaker. “White lips, pale face, breathing in the snowflakes,” sang out. I suddenly felt like I had a rock in my stomach. She was tapping away at her phone again, another haunting melody beginning, playing in super-speed as she drug her finger across the screen, fast forwarding. “...keep me inside the pocket of your ripped jeans, holding me closer til our eyes meet, you won’t ever be alone - wait for me to come home.”

Holy shit. I set my drink down on the counter and gripped the edge. I didn’t live *completely* under a rock and had heard these songs on the local pop station, both here & back home. I saw Lauren look outside at all the guys still sitting around the fire. She pulled up another song, a sort of xylophone beat playing out, “The club isn’t the best place to find a lover, so the bar is where I go..”

“Okay, I get it.” I said, wanting her to shut the dang thing off. “I had no idea.”

“Look, I’m sorry, I’m the one that made it weird. I just thought you would want to know. Ed is totally chill. Let’s go back out by the guys. C'mon.” She handed my wine glass back, hers in tow as well.

I was reluctant, not really knowing what Ed's reaction would be. Would he think I was lying? Would he be insulted? I followed Lauren across the cool tile of the kitchen floor, out onto the patio and back down onto the beach. Ed turned his head as we approached, the guitar abandoned in the sand next to him.

“I’m guessing Lauren just blew my cover, yeah?” He joked.

“Sorry, I totally didn’t realize. I don’t do like, social media or anything, and I mostly listen to country on the radio.” I shrugged, feeling the need to explain myself.

“Don’t worry about it.” Ed reached out and rubbed my shoulder blade. “I need that ego check sometimes, I think.”

“Bloody hell ‘e does,” piped in one of the other guys, everyone laughing and chiming in with their own similar sentiments.

And things were totally back to normal after that.

The next ten days were a blur of too much food, too much alcohol, a lot of laughs, and a blossoming interest in my new neighbor. I found myself drawn to him, and he, to me. It was a few days after the “revelation” when I had taken the gang out on one of the ocean charters my company operated during the tourist season. We went out a couple hours before sundown, hoping to catch a glimpse of some of the whales that would be heading back down to warmer waters now from up in Nova Scotia. We were not disappointed. The six of us were out on the bow of the ship, a 50 foot beauty, new to the fleet this year. There was a small pod of humpback whales that were delighted to play in the foamy bubble spray that was kicked up by our propellers. We were exhilarated, watching the water for bubbles and dorsal fins, waiting for the next breach.

The biggest momma whale propelled out of the water, crashing down, creating a huge splash - I looked over and saw Ed’s face light up, head thrown back, mouth open with silent laughter. I couldn’t help but grin at his childlike wonder. He peeked at me out of the corner of his eye and caught me admiring him. He was up against the railing, I was standing back about a foot away, on deck. He twisted away from the rail and reached out to me, both hands coming to clasp mine, and he drew me into his chest, wrapping me up in a big hug, resting his chin on the top of my head. I closed my eyes, squeezing my arms around his ribcage, inhaling his slightly sweet scent of cinnamon.

I had butterflies in my stomach. I knew that I had started to develop feelings for him, but it was so early, and I didn't think he felt the same way. But when he drew me into his chest, out on the open water, I didn't know what to think anymore. I decided to play it cool.

I was re-watching these scenes in my head, and a few more days passed by. It was Saturday night and the gang was feeling particularly energetic. We set up a game of beer pong and played each other in teams of two. Once that got boring, we switched the flippy-cup, 3 on 3, playing a few sets of that. I was feeling particularly juiced up, not used to drinking any type of alcohol at such a fast pace. The boys turned on some music and we gathered round the kitchen island, grabbing out a deck of cards to play Circle of Death and pouring shots for everyone.

After the first “Waterfall” of the game, I desperately needed some air. It seemed like there were five different conversations going on at once, and the bass of Ed’s rap music was thumping throughout the kitchen. I slipped out the patio door and sauntered down to the beach, not thinking anyone had noticed me leave.

I walked down to the shore, where a few small boulders created a miniature version of Maine’s signature craggy rock seashore. I picked a smooth, flat stone and sat down, leaning back on my hands. The salty air was cathartic and I had hoped it would help sober me up a bit.

I heard the barely-there sounds of footfalls on the sand and turned back to see Ed walking toward me, looking devilishly handsome in a plain white tee and jeans. His hands were stuffed in his pockets as he came and planted himself down on my rock, hip to hip.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey yourself.”

“Something wrong?” He asked, sounding mildly concerned.

“Yeah. You Brits are born with too high of an alcohol tolerance. I simply cannot keep up,” I sassed.

He cackled, “Ha! Don't repeat that to them, it will only egg them on more.”

He reached down for my hand, lacing his fingers in with mine, and leaned his head onto my shoulder. We sat there, just like that, in total silence but for the lap, lap, lap of the tide coming in to meet the beach.

And then he kissed me. He tilted his head up from my shoulder, using his free hand to bring my face in towards him, those perfect pink lips just slightly parted, his hand still cradling my face. His mouth sought out mine and I happily obliged, melting into his, the delicious feel of his tongue slipping past mine, swirling so tenderly. I could taste the cool whiskey and coke on his breath. His ripe berry-colored lips pressed into mine once more, and then he retreated.

“Come on, love, let's head back inside.” He said, standing up and offering out his hands to help you up.

Later, I laid in bed, wondering what the hell that had been about. Was he just tipsy? He had stayed fairly close to me for the rest of the night, once we re-joined the party, resting his hand on the small of my back at one point. But when I insisted I needed to head home to bed, he wished me goodnight with a hug and kiss on the cheek - as did every single one of those drunk Brits. I decided not to over think what this was, or wasn't, or where it was going. It felt nice and I just wanted to roll with the punches.

I snapped back to reality. The water in my shower was running cold now - I jacked the dial up toward the Hot side and went to work on washing my hair. I soaped up my loofah and sloppily scrubbed at my body while my conditioner soaked in. I made quick work with my razor and rinsed my hair one last time. Popping out of the shower, I dried myself thoroughly, wrapping my hair and body up in towels and headed upstairs to my room.

After Ed and I got back from the airport yesterday, we both went our separate ways, and I had resolved myself to leave him be for a while. That was just yesterday morning and now, the next afternoon, I was already yearning to see him again. I dropped my towel, tugged on a pair of black leggings, a white and grey long sleeved baseball tee, and some no-show socks. I bent over, shaking the towel out of my hair and using it to scrunch up my long, brown locks a bit. Then I grabbed a hair tie and piled it all on top of my head in a damp messy bun.

I flew down the steps and out the door into the garage, grabbing the keys for my Wrangler on the way out. My brain was on auto-pilot as I drove into town, calling up my favorite pizza place and ordering a large pepperoni & garlic bread to-go. If I had learned anything about Ed in the last two weeks, it's that his fridge was devoid of anything edible at almost all times. I thought surprising him with a pizza would be a good excuse to “pop in.”

I jammed a bit to the Beatles on the way to and from the pizza shop. It wasn’t a terribly long drive though, so I was pulling back into my driveway in no time, my car just absolutely reeking of delicious cheesy pizza goodness.

I parked in my driveway and crossed the lawn over to Ed’s, knocking on the front door. A beat passed, no answer. I knocked again, then tried the doorbell. I was just starting to get worried when the door swung open.

I was greeted by a tousled Ed...still wearing the same clothes he had on for the drive yesterday. To be honest, he reeked of booze, and not in the sexy whiskey-coke-kiss way that we shared the other night on the beach. I heard bass thumping faintly from somewhere in the house, and it looked like most of the lights were off inside.

“Um, hi, love, whaddya got there?” He was leaned up against the door jam, clearly needing its support to stand. Nice.

“I just thought you might like to, ah, share a pizza? Is this a bad time?” I asked, offering him an out.

“Nope,” he said, popping that “p” sound like he was known to do. “Come on in.”

He beckoned me inside, turning and walking through the foyer, clearly moving slowly, trying to focus on his steps. I walked ahead of him toward the kitchen to set down the pizza boxes. The kitchen was in total disarray; empty, half-crushed beer cans littered the counters and filled the sink. There were ashtrays filled with cigarette butts, frozen burrito wrappers. To be honest, the place looked like a shit hole.

Ed stumbled into the kitchen, plopping down in one of the stools at the island. He put his head in his hands, staring down at the countertop.

“Kendra?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry that you are seeing me this way.” His voice was stone cold now.

“Is this why I didn’t know you were living here for two weeks before your friends came to visit? This is what you were doing?”

I folded my arms across my chest, feeling all of the joy and wonder and magic of the last two weeks slowly seep out in my deep exhale. This was a straight-up turn off. It was clear that he had been on a total bender, alone, since what? 30 hours ago when I dropped him off here after holding his hand in the car? This was like a totally different person. I could just walk away now, cut my losses. I had done this shit before, in a past life, and had no desire to repeat that history.

But then he looked up at me from his hands, tears in his bloodshot eyes. He looked utterly defeated. Where was the cackling, ginger-haired man child? Was this because of his friends leaving? I didn’t understand. I mean, you barely know him, no shit you don’t understand.

I made a decision then, straightening up and bringing my eyes up to meet his.

“Okay, we’re going to talk about this another time, but why don’t I get you a glass of water and some of this pizza? To be honest, I think you could stand to sober up a bit.”

He nodded solemnly. I turned back to the cabinet and pulled out a glass and a plate. I cracked open the pizza box, snagging a slice and taking a quick bite of it myself, then threw a couple slices on the plate and slid it in front of him. I walked over to the fridge, filling the pint glass with crushed ice and then filtered water. I began opening drawers, rummaging through their contents, trying to locate a straw. I spent three months as a bartender, once, where I learned that drunk people will always drink more water if they’re sucking it down through a straw.

I brought the glass of water over to him. He was eating the pizza, good. I set to work cleaning up the kitchen, turning a few lights on, clearing up the beer cans, booze bottles, and rubbish from the countertops. Another quick check in on Drunky McSheeran told me he was drinking his water, too, good.

I quickly took the trash out, and flitted back inside to open a few windows. It was cool outside and this place definitely needed some fresh air. I found the stereo that was on and switched it off. Ed was helping himself to some of the garlic bread, that was a good sign. It felt good to be productive at least. I wandered back over to Ed and sidled up in the barstool next to him, reaching over him to grab myself a piece of pizza.

He rested his hand on my thigh. “I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to do allthis.” He stumbled over his words.

“Hey,” I rubbed small circles at the top of his back, “It’s okay. I got you.”

He dropped a pizza crust onto his plate and slurped down the rest of his water. “I think I should lie down,” he mumbled, “not feeling s’hot.”

“Okay, why don’t you lie down on the couch over here.” And in the meantime, I’ll locate a puke bucket.

He stood up from the counter and sauntered over to the couch, crawling on top of it and lying on his side. I opened his walk-in pantry and saw a stack of mixing bowls, grabbing the biggest one and taking it over to him.

“Here, Ed, in case you get sick…” I said, setting it on the floor beside his head.

For someone who had totally brought this on himself, I was kind of feeling bad for him now. He looked so small; curled up on the couch, hugging a throw pillow to his chest, in yesterday’s clothes.

I thought he at least deserved a proper pillow & blanket, so I took off upstairs to grab one from the bedroom. I located my supplies and headed back down to the couch, spreading the throw blanket over him. He was passed out already. That's probably for the best. I looked up at the clock; 6:30 PM. Well, this was not exactly how I thought I'd be spending my evening. I lifted his head to slip the pillow underneath, for support, but my hands lingered there in his curly red locks.

I sat down on the oversized chair adjacent to the couch, not knowing what to do next. I probably could go home, but what if he like, threw up in his sleep and choked or something? Not likely to happen, but it was still a possibility. I grabbed the TV remote and clicked it on, selecting Netflix from the tv menu and turning on Lost, Season 1, Episode 1. Ahhh, old faithful. This could keep me occupied for a while.

I must have dozed off too at some point, because I awoke with a start and it was now dark outside. I glanced up at the clock on the mantle, it was a little past midnight.

Ed's POV

I came to, but didn't open my eyes at first. Quick assessment: ok, I feel like shit, but nothing out of the ordinary for this kind of liver abuse. Fucking thirsty. Need water. Where am I?

I cracked my lids open then. No glasses, hmm..okay, I'm sure they were around. I was covered in a pale grey fleece blanket with a paisley design on it, and there was a feather pillow under my neck, but I was stretched out on the living room couch. What the? And then it all came flooding back. My heart sank. Kendra.

I sat up, and saw her then. Curled up in oversized chair, she was asleep with the TV remote in hand. To be honest, she looked adorable: messy bun all piled up on top of her head, no makeup, just a tee shirt and leggings on.

Oh, shit. Here I had gone on a dark & twisty, solo bender and this gorgeous girl had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I checked my surroundings. The pillow and blanket was definitely her doing. I'd slept in a lot worse conditions than just a couch while pissed up, God knew that. Next I spotted a large stainless steel bowl on the carpet beside the couch. Shit, I hope I didn't...

There were three bottles of water next to the bowl too, and I scooped one up, tossing the cap and drinking nearly the whole thing in one go. I turned and surveyed the kitchen next; gone were the piles of rubbish, and there were pizza boxes on the island countertop. That must have been Kendra's work too, because he had discovered earlier that no pizza joints delivered to this neighborhood in the off-season.

I felt a sick knot in my stomach, realizing what she must think of me now. Such a fuck-up. She must have wanted to share a slice with me, maybe cuddle up on the couch and finally talk about what had been going on between us, now that the rest of the group had gone home.

Instead she got this. I could just fucking picture it, here I am, reeking of sweat & shame, having just boozed & chain-smoked my way through the past 24+ hours.

She woke up, then, with a jump. I watched her eyes open, clearly also confused for a sec on where she was.

“Oh. Good morning, Sunshine,” she said, sarcasm just rolling.

“...hi…”

“Can't imagine you're feeling too hot. What, you slept for about 6 hours? Think you’re even below the legal limit yet?” Well shit.

“Shit, Kendra, I don't know what to say. I'm sorry you had to see me that way.” I didn't have an excuse to give.

“Yeah, you said that before. I mean, it's none of my business what you do really. I just didn't want you to choke on your own vomit and die.”

This girl took no prisoners. She was calling me out on my shit. Usually everybody around just put up with my antics, either because they were on my bankroll, or didn't want to offend me. It was honestly like a breath of fresh air.

“Look, Ed, I'm sorry -- that was harsh. I don't know you that well, and I have a feeling that you're dealing with some shit right now. I can't pretend to know what unique set of problems come with, being, well.. You...and Christ, I have a drink to relax or take the edge off after a long day, but that’s not what this is..”

She paused, closing her eyes for a minute, and looked back up at me.

“No,” I said, cutting her off. “There’s no excuse. You’re right.”

She got up from the chair and walked over to the kitchen island, reaching for her purse which was slung over the back of one of the barstools. I stood up from the couch and crossed the short distance to her.

“Wait, Kendra, please don't leave,” I felt like a real dick, asking her to stay, after she had already sat here most of the night watching over me, but I couldn't stand to see her go.

She stopped in her tracks, and turned toward me. “Why, Ed?”. Her big, almond-shaped mahogany eyes were looking straight up at me, pleading.

Shit. She knew, why, I'm sure. She wants you to say it out loud, you asshole.

“I...I really like you, Kendra.” Once the words spilled out of my mouth, I wondered why I hadn't said them before. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.”

Those big eyes were looking up at me again.

Kendra’s POV

“Why are you here, Ed? You’re not on a leisurely vacation or spending your time off work with family. Why are you here in this house and not at home?” I was prying now.

He sighed. “....A couple of months ago, I found out my girlfriend was cheating on me. Like, not once or twice. She had an affair the entire time we were together. I finished up my Asia tour dates, thought I was holding it together just fine, but then work stopped for a while and I didn’t know what to do with myself anymore. I didn’t want to go back to England. I wanted to be by myself for a while,” He said, avoiding eye contact with me.

Oh, well that explains some things.

I dropped my purse on the kitchen counter, and walked over to take a seat on the couch. Ed followed suit, taking up the seat on the opposite end. I turned inward, my back up against the armrest, drawing my legs up into my chest. He remained seated forward, talking to the floor in front of him.

He went on. “I told myself I was coming here for ‘solitude’, but that’s not really the truth. I was coming here to wallow. And I did. But then my mates flew in, wanting to cheer me up, and my pissed up idiot friend spotted you from the kitchen window and immediately fancied you, so he invited you over. I was just trying to keep my distance. But as I got to know you, I couldn’t do that anymore.”

He looked at me then, sorrow contouring the lines of his handsome face.

“Honestly, it felt like a trick, to stumble upon you after that….disaster. I love music, I love my job, my life… but it’s not a normal life. Relationships need normal. It never works out for me. I’m away too much, or people see me as a way to get what they want. When I met you, here, it kind of felt like the Universe giving me a big F-U.”

Wow is he dropping some truth.

“You’re beautiful, and smart, and funny, and you’re so good at, like, everything. You’re independent and I’m envious of that. I can’t even be left alone for one day. You deserve better than me, Kenn.”

He finally fell silent.

“That’s not your call to make,” I spoke at barely above a whisper. My anger had totally dissipated. He was so raw, so honest with me. I felt like I owed it to him to be the same.

“Do you know why I’m here, Ed? This is my home, now, but when I came here two years ago, I was a total wreck.” His ears perked up now. “About a year prior to that, I was particularly pissed off after a long day of getting my ass handed to me at work. I stopped off at the store and bought a bottle of vodka and.. a powerball ticket. I tucked the ticket into the visor of my car and went home and drank at least half that bottle. But I won. I had every single number right and I won. A lot. It was amazing, at first, like living a dream. But within weeks, word got out and I had to change my phone number and shut off all of my social media accounts. Within months, I practically had a nervous breakdown, every single person in my life had their hands out and I wanted to give them everything they wanted, all of them, and I could have, but they weren’t there for me. I couldn’t handle it, so I just left. I didn’t say goodbye to anyone but my Mum. And that’s why I’m here. I can’t date; I can’t make friends. Once people find out what I have, it’s all they care about. I see it in their eyes.” I laughed, “You think I’m a strong, independent girl by choice? It’s because I’m the only person I trust. You have nothing to be envious about. It’s fucking lonely.”

God, it was like an anchor had been lifted from my chest. My eyes were stinging, welling up with tears. I fought them back.

He lowered himself from the couch to the floor and scooted over in front of me, wrapping his arms around my hips and laying his head down in my lap. We stayed like that for a few striking moments, not saying anything.

He sat back, withdrawing his arms.

“We're pretty fucked up, aren't we?” He said, out of nowhere. I couldn't help but burst out into laughter, nodding. Ed laughed along with me, too, his throaty cackle causing me to geek out even harder. We were delirious for a minute, like our bodies just needed to do something to shake up the feelings about what had just transpired. We both died down, falling silent again.

“What I feel for you is real, Kendra. I've never felt anything like it. I'm just drawn to you,” He squeezed my hand, those pretty blue eyes looking right into mine.

“I feel that way about you, too, Ed.”

“Then let's give this thing a proper go. I don't have much time left to spend here, maybe another six weeks, but I want to spend it with you. I want to do it right, too, take you on dates and spend hours talking until the sun comes up. I want to know everything about you.”

Gone was the defeated boy that lay here just hours earlier, this was a man, with resolve in his voice.

He went on, “I think, though, this means taking things slowly. I hope you understand. I want to do this right, Kendra, if you'll have me.”

I leapt down to the floor, pressing my body against his, holding him tightly. We kissed then; softly, sweetly, his hands coming up to cup my jaw.

Our lips broke apart. “Yes.”

It was the start of something beautiful.

****************************************************

Ed was back to his cheery self the day after our talk. He knocked on my door late-morning, a bouquet of fresh daisies in hand. He was wearing a dark chambray button-up shirt with a crisp white tee underneath, matched with black jeans and sneakers. He had a pair of aviators tucked into the top of his shirt. The effect was quite stunning.

“Hey, love, I got somethin’ for you,” he said cheekily, handing the flowers over and plopping a kiss on my cheek.

“Thank you! They're beautiful,” I brought them up to my nose to inhale the fresh floral scent. “Come in, I'm just finishing up in the kitchen.”

He kicked his sneakers off, abandoning them by the front door.

I quickly located a vase and cut the stems of the daisies, submerging them in water. My kitchen was a total mess, dirty pots and sauce pans and measuring cups strewn about, ingredients still sitting out on the countertop. It was my weekly ritual to prep a few meals and desserts for Augie, the captain who kept my boat tour business afloat, quite literally. I had met Augie at a dive bar over in Boothbay when I first moved here, and he and his wife kind of took me in. He was older, late sixties I think. We formed a fast friendship and he started taking me out on the water, teaching me how to pull up the big lobster pots, expertly navigating the harbor. He taught me to sail, too, though I wasn't comfortable going out too far without him. Augie had worked his whole life as a fishermen, having retired just before we met. He told me his dream had always been to run a boat company and well, I made it happen. He and his wife had showed me so much kindness, it was the best way to repay them.

“Sorry for the mess, I'm just making a few things to bring over to Augie for the week. I'm just about done and then I was going to run into town to drop this off for him.”

Ed had met Augie that first week when we went out whale watching. The two had hit it off instantly.

“That's sweet of you, love. What's the occasion?”

“Oh, his wife passed away last Spring, and I've been doing it ever since. They were married like, 45 years or something, and she did all the cooking before..” my voice trailed off.

“Here, let me give you a hand with this stuff,” he began clearing dishes off the counter. I wasn't about to argue, technically he did owe me from the day before.

I had an oldies station playing softly in the background. Together, we made a good team, Ed rolled up his sleeves and set to work washing dishes while I packaged up the different entrees I had prepared. Danny's Song was playing, and I heard Ed start to hum aloud. I couldn't help but smile.

Minutes later, he shut off the faucet and wiped down the counters. I stacked up all the containers in a big brown bag, threw in a bag of homemade cookies on the top, and with that, my care package was complete.

“Are you busy today?” I asked, “Do you want to run into town with me?”

“I am all yours. Let's go.” He wiped his hands and came over to kiss me, leaving a little taste of those delicious lips on my own.

I drove us into town, stopping first to drop the care package off at Augie's house. We cruised over to the harbor then, parking in the big lot and walking around downtown. I bought Ed his first whoopie pie, which he loved - such a sweet tooth, that one. We picked a few flavors and took a box to go.

He kept his sleeves rolled down and sunglasses on, but we were still stopped by a mom and a young girl on the sidewalk. Ed was so gracious, giving them both a hug and taking several silly selfies before saying good-bye.

We strolled down the boardwalk, hand-in-hand, stopping in some of the souvenir shops to see who could find the silliest item. We ended up leaving with matching Moose slippers and a few other knick knacks.

Hours had flown by like minutes. It was late in the afternoon, then, and neither of us had eaten lunch. We decided to grab a lobster roll & blueberry soda at one of the roadside stands.

“I really love it here,” Ed said, stuffing his face. “Would you be embarrassed if I ordered a second one? This is sooooo good.”

I laughed, “Go ahead babe, I don't blame you.” He walked back up to the order counter and was clearly charming the lady working, as I heard her laugh ringing out like a bell across the little gravel eating area.

He slid back into the picnic table bench with another sandwich. “What's next on the agenda, babe? Do you want to rent a movie to watch tonight?”

“Sure, there's a Walgreens up the road, we can hit the RedBox on the way home.”

We cleaned up from the buttery sandwiches as best as possible with moist towelettes, then headed back towards the car.

He let me pick the movie and we were on our way home, opting to watch at his place. Ed brought out a bottle of white wine, pouring two glasses and we snuggled in on the couch together to watch the flick. I finished mine, instantly feeling sleepy. Ed noticed right away and motioned me over to lie down with him, spooning on the couch. I shut my eyes just for a second and...

The first thing that registered was the feeling of calloused fingers brushing hair off of my forehead. I had this intense feeling of longing, like I had just been reaching for something just out of my reach, and then it was gone. Was I awake, or dreaming? I felt disoriented. Oh, holy shit. I fell asleep next to Ed on the couch...and he's still here.

“There she is,” he said with a sort of chuckle as my eyes opened and I assessed the situation. I was pretty sure I fell asleep as the little spoon, but now I was turned inward, facing Ed, our legs intertwined, my arms laced up and around him.

“Hi”, I said with a yawn.

“Some dream you were having, yeah?”

“Huh?” Ugh, my brain was foggy.

He cracked a smile, just a half grin, one side of his mouth tugging upward. His ocean blue eyes twinkled.

“I was just saying, you must have been having a great dream….you were, ah, a bit vocal in your sleep.”

Shit. I became acutely aware of the slight dampness between my legs. No….

“What? Did I say something? Oh my God, I am so embarrassed.”

“I wouldn't really call it talking...but there were a lot of adorable little mewing sounds..and, ah, little tiny moans…” he said, dropping the hard 't’ sound in little like he was prone to do.

I pulled my arms out from our cozy embrace and covered my eyes. How fucking embarrassing.

“Shit. I am mortified. I didn't even mean to fall asleep…”

He pulled my hands down from my face and planted a big kiss on my forehead.

“Don't worry about it. It was pretty adorable, actually.”

“How long was I out?”

“About an hour, I reckon.”

“I guess last night caught up with me. I never, ever fall asleep while the TV is on usually.” Nor do I normally dry hump someone's leg in my sleep, but I left that thought in my brain.

He closed his eyes, then, and his pretty pink lips came and landed on mine. He pulled my body in closer to his.

“What do you say we hit the hay, properly? This sofa isn't too comfortable. Let's go up to bed.”

“You want me to spend the night?”

“Yeah, well, if you want to? It's okay if you d--”

“No, it's ok, we can do that. I probably should run home and grab some PJ’s though.”

“Oh, you can borrow something of mine to sleep in, love, let's go upstairs.”

We untangled our limbs and got up from the couch. Ed clicked the television off and gathered up the empty wine bottle & glasses as I stretched my arms upward, and rolled my neck back and forth a bit, I was a bit stiff from the sofa.

“Want a glass of water for your night stand?” He asked.

“Yes please,” I replied.

“I'll get this then, why don't you head upstairs and find something to sleep in? Help yourself to anything.”

He deposited our stemware next to the sink, opened a cabinet, grabbed down two glasses, and strode over to the fridge and began to fill the first glass with ice. I turned and walked up the stairs, feeling the plush carpet between my toes. My stomach was in knots, my nerves kicking in. I really hadn't slept in bed with someone else in...shit, a long time? In the few short-lived relationships I had had, we always hung out at his place and I always went home, no matter how late it was.

But then again, I felt comfortable with Ed. Clearly. I was honestly still shocked that I had even fallen asleep with him downstairs on the couch. Very unlike me.

I pulled on the top dresser drawer, finding it stuffed full of boxer briefs. Hmm, okay. Next drawer was all tee shirts. I peeked at one of the labels, a size Medium. Probably not the best idea, I wanted something to cover my ass at least. I walked over to the large walk-in closet and pulled a soft, long sleeved flannel shirt in various shades of blue from a velvet hanger. I undid my jeans, shimmy-ing them off, and pulled my plain white tank top off over my head. I unclasped my nude bra and off that went too, I kicked my clothes up into a pile and shrugged on the flannel. It was just right, me being only 5’2, it came down to about mid thigh. The sleeves were a bit long so I cuffed them up once. I pulled together all the buttons, then thought twice and undid just the top two. I was wearing white lace boyshort panties, luckily, and not a thong.

Ed came in the bedroom door, “Solid choice, love, that's my favorite shirt. Not much use for it here in the blazing fucking heat, though, for me at least. Looks good on you.”

“Thank you,” I beamed. “Do you have a spare toothbrush by chance?”

“Um, I'm not sure… I'll check.” He set the glasses of water down on the dresser and headed into the bathroom. I could see him pulling drawers open at random, shuffling through each one's content. “I guess I don't, sorry. If it doesn't gross you out, you can use mine? I don't mind.”

Luckily I'm not a germaphobe. “That will be fine, thank you.” Ahem. So proper, all of a sudden. I joined Ed in the bathroom, standing in front of the sink while he wet the toothbrush and squeezed some Crest out for me. He handed me the toothbrush with a wink and I went to work on brushing. Meanwhile, he was back in the bedroom, turning on the gas fireplace. I lost focus on brushing, though, when I saw him strip down to just his boxers. Oh. Those knots were back in my belly again. I rinsed my mouth and tapped his toothbrush off, leaving it on the side of the sink

He came round to my side of the bed (“my side??” what the fuck, K) and pulled the corner of the white duvet back, patting the grey sateen sheets. “All set for you, love”.

I climbed up into the king sized bed, pulling the pretty duvet up to my chin. I watched Ed take up place in front of the bathroom sink and brush his teeth, too, it sounded like he was humming something. I couldn't take my eyes off of him; I hadn't seen him shirtless before and had no idea that his entire chest was covered in the same bright ink that danced up and down his arms. He finished up in the bathroom, switching the light off in there and then the bedroom, and walked around the bed to climb in the other side.

I flipped over to lie on my other side, facing him, and he stretched his arms out toward me, so I scooted closer. He wrapped me up in a tight embrace and inhaled deeply, nose buried in my hair.

“Mint shampoo? This smells nice.”

“Yeah, you guessed it.”

“Kendra?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for staying with me tonight.”

“Is it weird if I tell you I'm a bit nervous? I guess I'm just so used to sleeping alone. But.. I like this,” I said, tracing the outline of his shoulders and biceps with my fingers.

“I know what you mean. I feel that way too. Would you... if you want, you could call me Teddy, y’know.”

I reached up to his scruffy head of hair and twirled one of his curly copper locks between my fingers.

“Teddy,” I said, trying it out, “I like that.”

The fireplace was blazing on in the corner of the room. But that wasn't the only burn happening here. I felt that burn through every inch of my body, yearning for this man, here right in front of me. It was like, just being that physically close to him had lit a fire in me. A fire that hadn't burned in a long time.

I kissed him, then, hard and longingly. He was quick to reciprocate, pushing his tongue into my mouth, exploring. His hands came up my shirt but stopped at my waist, just grabbing and pulling me into him even closer yet. I took initiative and pushed him so that he was lying flat on his back, climbing on top and straddling him.

He broke our kiss. “Kenn,” it sounded like he was protesting. “I don't want, I mean, I didn't ask you to stay the night, expecting this..”

“Shhhh,” I sat upright now, directly at the top of his pelvis. The fireplace gave just enough light in the room that I could make out the brilliant tattoos on his chest. “I know, Teddy,” I said, tracing the outline of the great lion’s mane. “Do you want me to stop?” Damn girl, you bold.

He was wide eyed, looking up at me in the glow of the flames.

“No.”

I leaned back down and planted a messy, fast kiss on his perfect pink lips. I then moved to his earlobe, leaving a little bite there and sucking it before moving back to his mouth. I could feel his bulge growing hard beneath me, and his hands were roaming my body freely now, grabbing onto my hips and giving me the friction I so desperately wanted.

“Will you sit up a bit for me?” I asked at a whisper, grabbing a pillow and tucking it behind him. His torso was propped up a bit now, those delicious lips even closer to me. His hands moved from my hips and up the hem of his soft flannel shirt, fingers grazing over my stomach and floating up to my waist.

“Can I unbutton this?” He asked.

I nodded, biting my lower lip. Hearing him ask that out loud had my blood just absolutely buzzing.

He started with the bottom button, moving ever so fucking slowly, up, up to the top. The valley between my full breasts just barely exposed. He took my right hand with both of his and slid it out of the cuff, tugging down gently to free my arm. The flannel shirt fell away from my right shoulder then and he quickly repeated the process on the other side.

My breasts were fully exposed now, I could feel those little sensitive buds beginning to harden under his intentful gaze. He brought his hands up to them, cupping them, so gently. He brushed his thumbs over my nipples simultaneously, sending a lightning rod through the nerves of my body right down to my core. His fingers expertly rubbed, and skimmed, and tugged, while my mouth fell open with barely-audible moans spilling out.

My hips were acting of their own accord, grinding out big circles over his pelvis. I could feel his rock hard cock so easily through my lace boyshorts and the thin fabric of his boxers.

“Teddy,” I closed my eyes and tilted my head back.

He took his hands from my breasts then, placing one on the small of my back and wrapping the other one behind my shoulder, pulling me down to him. He kissed me, hard, on the mouth, breathlessly muttering “You are so beautiful,” and proceeded to cover my whole neck with kisses, moving down my chest, planting those warm, wet lips on every square inch of my tanned skin. He brought his hands up to the indent of my waist and then took a breast into his mouth, expertly sucking and twirling and nibbling over my hard nipples. Another moan escaped my lips as he moved his mouth to the other breast, quickly using his hand to replace where his lips had just been.

Fuck, this boy was good with his fingers. And mouth. And oh, he's pushing back up into my pelvis now as I'm spreading circles over his. I am so aware of my slick wetness down there. Ed finishes sucking on my hard nipple and brings his lips up to meet mine, opening my own mouth with his skilled lips and tongue, a soft moan spilling out of his mouth this time.

I sit back up, pushing off of his sexy, strong chest and straddling him properly again. For a moment, his eyes just glare into my own and I can almost see him thinking, considering his next move or searching for the right words to say.

“Penny for your thoughts, sir?” I say, half teasing, half really curious as to what's going on behind those beautiful baby blues.

“I'm... just.. thinking about how it was my idea to take this slowly, and now you're practically naked in my bed, on top of me... panties soaking wet,” He brushed his thumb over the sheer fabric of my panties, right over my slit. “and you're so fucking beautiful, and cool, and now I want to do anything but take it slow.”

“Oh.” Yup. I got nothin'.

“I want to do right by you, Kendra, but I so badly want to make you feel good, right now, too.”

My heart like, basically just stopped. I must have looked like deer in the headlights, I could see the worry growing in his eyes every second that I was silent. He openened his mouth again, probably to apologize, but I quickly put a stop to that by bringing our lips together, yet again, trying to put all of my feelings into a single kiss, like some unspoken conversation, and I think Ed felt the same way too. He rolled to the side and, hands on my hips, guided me to lie flat on the mattress, his heavenly fucking body coming on top of mine.

His weight on me felt so good, so right. His mouth is everywhere, biting my ears, suckling on my neck, planting wet kisses all over my decolletage.. my hands come up and grip is muscular back, trying to touch every square inch of him to me. I'm moaning now, freely, as his hands grip up and down my body from my breasts, to my hips, up to my waist, over my stomach, and travel back downward, Ed shifting his whole body down towards my center, leaving kisses the entire way.

My entire body felt fucking electric.

Ed sat back on his heels, gently pulling my pelvis up into his lap, kind of at an upwards angle. Holy shit. He traced the outline of my panties, fingers dancing over the edges. He looks up to me, like he's waiting for the green light, and I nod my head, yes, it’s all I could muster.

He reached back to grab my ankle, bending my leg and bringing it forward, leaving little kisses all up and down my calf in the process. Putting that foot down flat on the bed, he took in my other ankle and does it all over again. I am silently whimpering at this point, the anticipation just fucking killing me. I have never been this turned on and he’s barely even touched me.

He hooked his fingers around the elastic of my panties and lifted my ass a bit, peeling away the white lace fabric from my body. My panties were stuck around my thighs now, as he picked up my left knee, threading the panties off around my foot, and wrapping my leg around his waist. Once more, same on the other side, I watched him tuck my ankle snugly around him, finally free of the last piece of fabric covering me. I tightened my grip on his torso a bit and heard a little groan escape his lips. He scratched the top of my thighs lightly, and brought his hands up to cover my lower belly, his thumbs just barely resting on my mound.

There was something so sensual about it… just barely enough light in the room for me to watch him, gazing so intently down there, at me. He moved one of this thumbs down to the bottom of my wet slit, dragging upward so slowly, barely dipping in, opening me up just a bit... and with that, it was fucking real, and suddenly the logical side of my brain turned on, realizing that I could count on one hand the number of times that I’d actually been able to come from someone else stimulating me. I froze.

“Teddy,” I choke out. “Wait.”

His pretty pink lips were parted, still staring straight down. He stopped immediately, bringing his gaze up to mine.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to… I, um, I have a hard time.. getting there.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Kenn, that doesn’t matter to me,” Another beat passes. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” I answer, without thinking.

He swept down to kiss me, no tongue, his lips just pressing up against my own. He brushed the hair off of my forehead, his chest covering my own, and I couldn’t get over the feel of his skin on my skin. He moved his mouth over to the side of my faced and whispered in my ear, “Don’t worry about it, I’ve got you, love.”

I wrapped my fingers up in the tousled locks on the back of his head, pulling his forehead to my own, staring up into those endless eyes. I nodded again, giving him a non-verbal yes.

He sat back on his heels again, making direct eye contact with me, biting his bottom lip, and shifted his gaze back down to my glistening nether regions.

He laid one hand flat on my pelvis, kind of grounding me. And then that thumb was back on my slit, dipping in, running bottom-to-top, again and again, deliriously slowly. I pushed my pelvis up towards him, my body reacting on its own, seeking friction. Ed added another finger into the mix, slipping further into my folds. It was both torture and bliss; his almost-rough fingertips just exploring me so patiently. I watched him watching himself touch me and holy fuck that was such a turn on, I thought about feeling self-conscious about it, but the horny side of me won that battle out pretty quickly.

His thumb came up to the top of my slit and rubbed slow circles in one direction, then back the other way. I grabbed fistfuls of sheets on either side of me and rocked my hips up towards Ed again. “Mmm, more, baby,” I muttered. He smirked then, and sunk his perfect middle finger all the way inside me.

I flexed my feet out, toes curling in, taking in the sight of this sexy man, all strong shouldered and rainbow design. Ed switched hands, removing his left from my pelvis and sinking his thick thumb into my opening, and picking up the rhythm on my clit again with his right hands, small circles and then bigger ones and back to small, all clockwise now.

“God, you are so fucking sexy,” Ed muttered as he slipped another finger inside me, picking up the tempo a bit and adding a little twist into his movements.

He was so steady, unwavering, so focused on what he was doing, and I bucked my hips up and pointed my toes and felt a faint warmth building low in my body.

I closed my eyes, letting my head fall to the side. “Fuck,” I whined, “just like that, yeah,” The warmth was building, Ed's fingers slipping in and out of my wet opening in perfect time with that rhythm he was playing in circles over my clit, he had me balanced out on this precipice of pleasure. The warmth was turning into a dull ache now, my back arched, and Ed was right there with me.

He sped up his rhythm just a tick and it intensified everything. “Baby…” I groaned out, turning my eyes back to see him watching my face now, biting on his lower lip again. Fuck.

He switched to a 'come hither’ motion, then, stroking my walls in just the right spot, and I fell over the edge instantly. I cried out, contorting my torso, squeezing my legs around his waist, still holding onto the sheets with my small fists for dear life.

I rode out the small aftershocks, stunned, and loosened the grip I had on Ed with my legs. I looked up to see the Smirk™ plastered across his face. He set my pelvis down, slipping out of his sat-back position and came to lie down next to me, threading his arms around me and nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck. I was still practically panting.

“That was… so good, Teddy, I can't believe I --”

“You are incredible, woman, come here.” and he nuzzled in closer, pulling the duvet back over our bodies. I turned to lie on my side, letting him be the big spoon again. I was very aware of his penis, hard, against my back. I wanted very much to make an introduction, but before I knew it, my heavy lids closed and sleep took me once again.

#ed sheeran #teddy sheeran #ed sheeran smut #ed sheeran fan fic #ed sheeran mature fan fic #smut

54 notes · View notes