#bullets gerard

He had listed his spare room on Craigslist, and within the hour his inbox was already filling up. Your message stood out immediately: no profile photo, no personal details, just a brief, polite inquiry about the listing. No context or explanation. He couldn’t help but wonder whether finding your message was a coincidence or something closer to fate.

He practically did a double take when you arrived at his door for a tour of his place. Pretty eyes, dewy lips, even the way your hair fell just so, all spoke of careful thought and intention; a kind of beauty that couldn’t be bought, demanding attention whether you wanted it to or not.

Gerard didn’t expect the silence that followed your introduction. No rambling backstory, no nervous oversharing, just your name offered plainly, like it was enough. It unsettled him in a way he couldn’t quite place. Most people he met nowadays tried to talk louder, make themselves larger, fill up space. You, on the other hand, seemed content to take up exactly the amount of space you needed. No more, no less.

Gerard became painfully aware of himself in that moment. The tightness of his shoulders, the sweat building in his palms, the awkward length of time he spent perfectly still as he rambled on about god knows what. He wondered if his expression had given anything away, if his attention had been visible in the same way yours seemed controlled and contained.

You moved in about a week later, and it didn’t take long for him to piece together little fragments of your life. You were a student, working full-time to push your way through a degree that seemed to demand every spare hour you had.

He’d come home from rehearsal long after midnight, exhausted, keys soft in the lock, and still find you awake, the soft glow of your desk lamp spilling through the crack in your door.

And then there were the days you were barely at home at all, rapid footsteps down the hall, a bag slung over your shoulder. You moved through the apartment like a passing current, present just long enough to prove you lived there before vanishing back into the world that constantly called you elsewhere.

He’d try little things to coax you out, casual invitations slipped into brief conversations, an extra coffee left on the counter, a spare ticket to his show down the road. Most of the time, you turned him down, a quiet excuse slipping from your lips like it was second nature. Always polite, always respectful, leaving no room for misunderstanding: you shared the apartment and nothing else.

You’re so pretty, but always so alone, politely declining advances from anyone who tries to get close to you. You never bring anyone over, never go out, never let anyone linger long enough to get comfortable. It’s a front, the way you keep people at an arm’s length: warm enough to draw them in, distant enough to make them ache for more.

It’s wasteful, the walls you build around yourself, the way you push people away before they can reach you.

You’re a moon without a sun, and he wants to know why.

The idea starts innocently enough, a shadow at the edge of his mind. Gerard lingers outside of your bedroom door, quietly willing himself to step inside while you aren’t home. He rests his hand on the doorknob, frozen in place as he listens to the faint hum of the apartment.

Every rational part of him tells him to stop, to turn away, banish these feelings back into the deepest parts of him. But something stronger chains him in place, his breath caught between guilt and anticipation.

He nudges you door open just a crack, slipping inside without a further thought. The room feels warm, lived-in, a stark contrast to the chilling exterior you wear outside of these walls. He takes everything in slowly: books left open, notes scribbled in the margins, CD’s scattered across the floor, posters lining your walls.

Gerard lowers himself down onto your mattress, heart hammering in his chest as he runs his fingers through your sheets. He presses his face into your pillows, inhaling deeply, the lingering scent of you completely invading his senses.

Gerard’s mind spirals, each thought of you sharp and all-consuming as he ruts his hips into the mattress.

God, it’s almost too much, imagining the image of you splayed out before him, his face buried between your creamy thighs. Your eyes, hazy and lost, begging him to touch you, love you, fuck you.

He’s cumming into his jeans before he even fully realizes it, cock straining against the denim.

Fuck, he’s made a mess, an embarrassingly large wet spot darkening the fabric where you lay. Gerard exhales shakily, glancing at the clock on your bedside table, still hours before you would be home. Moving quickly, he strips the bed, tugging the sheets and pillowcases free. He gathers the damp fabric in his arms, scrambling out into the hallway and tossing everything into the wash as if it was routine.

There.

It’s as if nothing happened.

That doesn’t stop him from slipping a pair of your panties in his pocket on the way back out of your room.

You don’t seem to notice anything off when you get home, offering him a small nod in greeting, keys jangling softly in your hand, expression as composed as ever. No suspicion. No pause.

Then you disappear down the hall, shutting yourself into your room with a light slam of the door.

Gerard watches you for a second too long, pulse thudding in his ears, half-expecting you to re-emerge, to do something, say something, look back at him in disgust.

But nothing happens.

The apartment settles into its usual rhythm, and your door stays closed.

Another night, it happens again. Gerard, getting back late from rehearsal, bones weary with exhaustion, trudging down the hall and into his room. He collapses onto his bed, shoes half kicked off, eyes heavy.

But even in that haze, even on the edge of unconsciousness, there’s you, sharp and vivid, slipping in uninvited. And just like that, sleep doesn’t come as easily as it should.

The hours crawl by, thick and restless as he tosses and turns. His room is too cold, too quiet.

His mouth is also painfully dry.

With a frustrated exhale, he forces himself up and out of his room to get a glass of water, eyes heavy, mind foggy.

No.

Oh fuck.

The sounds of wetness hit him like a physical blow, teasing and beckoning him over to your door. Every nerve in his body tightens, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he leans in closer. Just like that, his mouth is no longer dry, tacky with drool and desire clawing straight through him.

It’s almost as if he’s in a lucid state, completely entranced by the soft and breathy moans echoing through the thin walls. He palms mindlessly at the bulge in his shorts, pressing his forehead to your door.

Gerard wants so badly to go in, to show you how it feels to have someone who really sees you, someone who cares, who wants all of you completely. The desire isn’t just physical, no. It’s deeper than that, an incessant ache of wanting to be in your life, to matter to you. He means it with such conviction, even as he’s spitting into his hand and pulling his boxers down to stroke himself in time with your moans.

He sighs to himself, panting softly against the doorframe, his other hand curling into the wood as he lets the fantasies of you run filthy and free.

Your soft lips, tenderly wrapping around the head of his cock, suckling happily, taking him deep down your throat. The positions he could take you in, the speeds; devastatingly cruel, the way you command his affections, keeping him shackled to you.

A soft cry escapes from the inside of your door, the noise dripping with intensity.

“Fuck yeah.”

Gerard bites back a needy moan, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the thought of your cunt clenching and pulsing around him. The very thought has him shooting ropes into his palm, pumping himself relentlessly to coax every last drop out. The scent of your arousal lingers faintly in the air, and damn, you smell sweet. How he’d love to taste you…

He sighs, staring down at the load he just blew. He’s despicable, and he knows it.

The next morning, Gerard forces himself to keep last night’s memories at bay, waking up early to cook breakfast for the two of you.

He smiles as he hears your door creak open, drawn out by the delicious smells drifting through the apartment. You pad into the kitchen, hair tousled, dark circles under your eyes, looking every bit as exhausted as he feels. The unguarded sight of you makes his chest tighten, thoughts of last night gnawing at the edges of his composure. He swallows hard, readjusting, forcing his signature smile.

“Morning,” you murmur, rubbing at your eyes.

“Good morning,” he replies, keeping his tone light, sliding a plate across the counter toward you. “Coffee?”

You nod, sliding into a chair. “Thanks… you didn’t have to do all of this.”

“I wanted to,” he says, forcing a casual shrug, though his fingers twitch as he sets your mug down, betraying the calm he’s trying to hold. “Besides, when was the last time someone cooked for you?”

You pause, a faint flicker of surprise crossing your face. “I… can’t even remember,” you admit softly, eyes downcast as you stir your coffee. “I’ve been so busy studying for midterms that I haven’t had a moment to think about anything else…”

Gerard nods, his expression soft and full of understanding. “I’m sure you’re doing great,” he says, voice steady and reassuring, offering a quiet confidence meant to ease some of the weight he can see pressing on you.

You shrug, a tired edge to your movements. “It’s the same old stuff. Honestly, I just want to finish my degree and get my own place as soon as possible.”

He leans back slightly, nodding again, though a subtle panic creeps in. He doesn’t want you to leave and get your own place, the thought twisting uncomfortably in his chest. Silence stretches between you, thick and expectant, and in the quiet, an idea begins to form in the back of Gerard’s mind.

“We should watch a movie tonight. Get your mind off of things for a little.”

You tilt your head, eyes locking with his, uncertainty flickering across your face before you retreat back into that familiar, stoic composure. The softness vanishes as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the careful restraint you always wear.

He notices immediately. “C’mon,” he says, soft and insistent, leaning a little closer. “You deserve a little break, don’t you think?”

Gerard catches the faintest trace of a smile tugging at your lips, fragile, but nevertheless a crack in your carefully constructed armor.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Night comes sooner than expected.

Gerard picks the movie, a random slasher flick he’s seen dozens of times, loud and familiar enough to blur into the background. It’s not like he’s really watching anyway; his attention locked entirely on you, though he’s an expert in not showing it.

You settle onto the couch beside him, close enough your knees almost touch. Almost. The opening credits roll, synthy music swelling, screams slicing through the room. He pretends to focus, nodding along like this is all normal, like his body isn’t painfully aware of every shift you make.

“Have you seen this one?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says. A beat passes. “Couple times.”

There’s something in the way he says it that makes you glance at him. His eyes are fixed on the screen, jaw tight, the cold flashes of the movie casting long shadows across his face. When you look away, his gaze slides to you instead, hungry and expectant.

A shrill sound cuts through the movie and you flinch, your arm instinctively brushing against his.

Gerard doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t move. 

Doesn’t breathe. 

“Sorry,” you murmur, not pulling away right away.

“It’s fine,” he says. Too calm. Too collected.

You laugh at a cheesy line of dialogue, unaware. Comfortable. Safe. 

He notices your shifting, the way you can’t seem to sit still, knees drawing in and then stretching out again relentlessly.

“Are you cold?” Gerard asks, voice casual, almost gentle.

You glance at him, surprised. “A little.”

“C’mere,” he says softly. “I run warm.”

You hesitate, the pause stretching long enough for him to know that your guard is on high alert. Slowly, almost reluctantly, you scooch closer, the faintest brush of your shoulder against his sending a jolt he doesn’t try to hide.

Without warning, Gerard’s arm snakes around you, drawing you fully into his side, the heat radiating from him immediate and inescapable.

“There,” he murmurs, voice low and satisfied. “That’s better.”

You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest as the movie drones on, blood splattering across the screen, screams echoing. He shifts again, hands on your waist, pulling you fully into his lap. His arms wrap around you, not tight, not entirely gentle either, just enough to hold you there.

“You’ll be more comfortable like this,” he murmurs.

The movie keeps playing, screams and strings swelling in the background, but it’s clear his attention is no longer on the screen. You can feel it in the way his body stills, the subtle quickening of his breath, the slow, absentminded circles his fingers trace on your hips. When you don’t pull away, his hands drift lower, settling on your upper thigh, the same deliberate, teasing rhythm continuing as if testing the space between you.

It’s subtle enough to almost pass for comfort. Gerard’s thumb brushes close enough to make your breath hitch, retreating slowly before returning again, testing, measuring. He doesn’t rush it. He never does. If anything, his grip on you only tightens, anchoring you there, as if afraid you might realize what’s happening and slip free.

You’re well aware of the game at play, shifting around slightly in his lap, the softest grunt escaping him as your cunt brushes the ridge of his hardening cock.

You take it as a sign to push further, hands grazing his chest, playing with the hem of his shirt.

Gerard’s heart is pounding, the feeling of you so impossibly close making his mind spiral. He’s enjoying this too much, hands sliding to rest on the small of your back.

You reach up slowly, brushing the bangs from his face, your fingertips trailing over his temple. You’re fully straddling him at this point, hips flush against his as he shifts around uncomfortably.

There isn’t a need for words between you two, not as you’re grinding down on the bulge in his pants. The sound that escapes him is pitiful, strained, air completely escaping his lungs. You can see it in his eyes, the devotion, the quiet desperation to please. He’ll do anything you want, give anything you want, whatever it takes for you to open up to him, let him be a part of your life, be a part of you.

Your lips brush the corner of his, the tension boiling over, hips slotting against his in another cruel, unforgiving roll. “I’m trying,” he rasps. “Trying so hard to be good for you.”

He leans in so your foreheads touch, eyes boring straight into yours. “Anything. I’ll give you anything you want.”

“Anything?” You tease. He doesn’t waste another second, lips crashing into yours, urgent and claiming.

To his delight, you accept, tongue dancing with his, hands sliding into his greasy hair. Finally, just his like in his dreams, you reciprocate, eagerly at that, moaning into his mouth as he grinds you down onto him. He wanted you to be enthusiastic, but this… this is heaven.

Gerard swallows all of your noises whole, fingers tugging at your shirt. “Get this thing off,” he grunts against your lips. The chill of the room hits your skin in an instant, goosebumps rising along your arms and down your spine, electrifying every nerve.

“Fuck, baby,” he says in quick reverence, leaning foreard to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. “You’re so beautiful.”

Gerard’s hands are rough, calloused, hoisting you out of his lap and onto the couch cushions in one swift motion. He’s back on top of you in an instant, the weight of him warm and heavy, working his lips against the delicate skin of your neck.

“You gonna let me take care of you?” He grunts against your skin, hands palming the swell of your breasts. You nod, head thrown back from the intensity of him, his mouth frantic along your jaw, pulse, anywhere he can reach. His fingers trail lower, hooking on your waistband, helping you kick off your jeans.

Without wasting another second, you grab a tuft of his hair, yanking his face straight into your clothed core. Gerard doesn’t hesitate, greedily lapping at you through the fabric of your panties, his hands snaking around your thighs to keep you spread.

He dips in slowly, his nose brushing up against your clit with every swirl and flick of his tongue. He’s always been proud of the way he eats pussy, and tonight is no exception. Gerard can feel the impatience wafting off of you in waves, but he’s a patient man, kissing and nipping at your folds just enough keep you needy and wanting.

You huff, desperate for more heat, more friction, panties completely soaked through in a mixture of Gerard’s tacky spit and your own slick. You tug at his hair again, unsuccessfully attempting to grind on his face, Gerard’s arms keeping you pinned to the couch cushions, looking up at you devilishly. He stops completely, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“What is it?” He teases. “Use your words, baby.”

“God, please,” you whine, his lips moving back onto your folds. “N-need your tongue, Gee.”

He hums in approval, the use of his nickname not lost to him, finger hooking on the seam of your panties to pull them down. You’re embarrassingly wet, eyes rolling to the back of your head as his tongue extends a long, flat lick against your slit.

You’re a mess underneath him, lewd curses escaping your lips as he drinks from you like honey, sucking and swirling his tongue with even pressure, devouring in every sense of the word. He moans deeply from the taste of you, head swimming with every candied cry he coaxes from you.

It’s humiliating, the way he works you so well, the speed at which you’re unraveling under his touch. Sure, you’ve received head a couple times in the past, but never like this. Gerard seems to know this, a smug grin on his lips while his eyes connect with yours. One of his hands leaves your thighs, fisting at the bulge straining against his pants.

Gerard lifts his hips just enough to pull himself free, his cock springing against the cushions in an obscene slap. Pre cum leaks steadily from his tip, seeping out all over his clothes and skin. He wraps his hand around the base of his painfully hard cock, pumping himself in time with the rhythm of his tongue inside of you.

You’re rapidly approaching the edge, vision blurring with every brush of his nose, every curl of his tongue. Gerard is utterly blissed out, every part of his lungs protesting as he refuses to pull back for air.

He doesn’t need it.

He is a singer after all, trained in breath control for months and months now.

“Please,” your voice wavers shakily. “M-make me cum, Gerard.”

Your body nearly double over in pleasure, sinking deeper and deeper into the intensity that is him. Gerard squeezes his palm around the base of his cock to stop himself from cumming, letting his cock twitch against the cushions in anticipation of being inside of you. One look into his eyes is all it takes, juices squirting all over his face, cunt clenching around nothing as you writhe in his arms.

Gerard pushes you through it, keeping his face buried between your thighs until he’s fully satisfied. He slips up from between your legs, crawling over you to kiss you once more. You can taste yourself on him, the flavor salty and incredibly erotic. He wraps you in his arms, hoisting you up and off of the couch, your arms clinging to him in your post-orgasmic high.

He carries you down the hall to your bedroom with ease, not bothering to turn on the lights, lowering you gently onto the bed. Your hands help him fiddle with his belt buckle, the rest of his clothes flying off by the wayside.

Gerard is fast and sure with his movements, his fingers gripping your hips in a vice as he eases himself inside of you. Your cunt sucks him in easily, the filthy noises escaping you pure music to his ears. He gives you time to adjust before moving again, feeling your walls clench and unclench around him.

It’s taking everything he has not to just slam into you, going deeper and deeper with steadfast rolls of his hips. Gerard leans down to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss, bottoming out with a final push. He’s just of a mess as you are, moaning shamelessly into your mouth at the feeling of being buried so deep inside of you.

“F-fuck,” he whines, “Been wanting this for so long.”

Gerard sets a steady pace, canting his hips over and over and over into your gummy core, grunting and nipping at the shell of you ear. You bite down on his shoulder to silence yourself, tilting your head up to suck a thick bruise onto his pulse. His reaction is immediate, his entire body pressing into the warmth of your lips.

“More,” you cry out, nails digging into his shoulder blades. “Need more of you, Gerard.”

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he grunts, picking up the pace with a harsh snap of his hips. “Tasting so good, feeling so good. If I had known you’d behave so well for me I would’ve fucked you last night.”

“Y-you heard that?” You hiss. Gerard digs his fingers into the meat of your thigh, wrapping your leg around his hips to angle you deeper. His other hand clutches the headboard, the bed frame rattling with every fuck of his hips.

“Of course I did,” he coos. “Heard you moaning and begging so sweetly like the desperate little slut you are.”

Gerard’s slamming into you now, one of his hands snaking down and rubbing messy circles onto your clit. His cock touches everything inside of you, the wetness of your cunt a paradise, obsession and devotion clawing its way to the surface as he worships and praises you. Even in the darkness, he can see his length sliding in and out of you, just barely, but the thought has him keening, pressing his hand down to feel himself. Fuck, he’s inside of you, pleasing you so thoroughly you can hardly speak, desperate whimpers grating past your throat.

“You gonna cum?” He moans. “Gonna come from just my cock inside of you?”

Your hands find him in the dark, pulling him down to kiss you as your release rips through you deep and slow. Gerard forces you through it, your helpless cries egging him on, grunting so loudly he’s sure the neighbors will hear. His is fast approaching, cock twitching inside of you with every creamy push.

“No more shutting the door on me, yeah? You gonna let me have you whenever I want?”

“Yes, promise, promise,” you sob, too fucked out to form a coherent sentence at this point.

“Good girl.”

Gerard can feel it coming, and fuck it, he’ll dump his load inside of you, several more intense powerful thrusts and he’s snapping your hips flush against his, shooting straight against your cervix. You whine as he continues shallowly thrusting, prolonging his pleasure, arching your back into him completely at the feeling of him using you. He collapses on top of you, completely spent, and you press close, listening to his heartbeat settle against yours. After a few minutes of heavy panting, he slips out of you with a sigh, streaks of cum coating your thighs from such a heavy load.

Gerard falls to the mattress beside you wordlessly, still catching his breath. You loop one of your legs around his, drawing him closer, pressing your lips softly against his sticky chest.

“I meant what I said, you know,” he mumbles, blowing his bangs out of his face. “This isn’t a one time thing.”

You laugh, voice low and horse, leaning up to kiss him sweetly.

“Anytime you want me to take care of you, I’m here.”

“Mmhmm. I promise, Gee.”

And you keep it.

Little by little, he slips further into your life, until he’s everywhere. You start showing up to his shows, laughing at his jokes, leaving the door to your room wide open so he can come and go as he pleases.

He wanted this once, dreamed about it in quieter moments.