.ᐟ summary: you’re a crew member helping choreograph the 2026 shows of the long live the black parade tour.
.ᐟ tags: age gap, tension, fake blood, dirty talk, praise, fingering, mirror sex, fem reader, gerard is a sweetheart!
.ᐟ a/n: best believe i had been WAITING to write a lltbp gerard fic and rannnn to my latop the second i saw this clip. wc: 3,138.
“Try getting on top of her, Gerard.”
You’ve been reworking the final number of Act I for two hours now, the heat hanging heavy across the soundstage as every attempt falls short. The crew’s patience is stretched thin, tension boiling around Gerard’s indecisive movements.
Naturally, the band wanted to re-choreograph the entire show for the new year, keeping the anticipation and excitement as fresh as possible. You quickly learned that this meant standing in for the regular cast members as an extra, nothing more than a placeholder while the changes were worked out.
In true Black Parade fashion, you’re on top of a gurney in the position that will eventually belong to Charlie Saxton. Since it’s still in the early stages of blocking, it makes sense for you to fill in for him for the time being.
Gerard glances at you, uncertain, then shifts his gaze back to the choreographer. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Just try it.”
Gerard hesitates a moment longer, gripping the prop that will soon become the signature dagger. He eases to the edge of the bed, the awkwardness of his movements impossible to miss, before looking back at the choreographer.
“It’ll look better if you’re on top,” The choreographer sighs.
He hoists himself onto the bed, moving slowly until he settles between your legs.
“Now stab,” the choreographer instructs.
Gerard stares back at you, shifting so he’s hovering completely over your chest. His gaze drops to yours, hazel eyes sharp and focused, intent on getting this right. You silently pray he can't hear the way your breath quickens, or the wild hammering of your heart against your chest.
“You okay with this, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart.
You know he means it causally, an endearment tossed off without a second thought, but it only makes your cheeks flush hotter. He notices, tucking a stray strand of hair from your face as you take a deep breath.
“Y-yeah,” you stutter out. “All good with me.”
“Try stabbing sporadically across the chest,” the choreographer directs.
Gerard turns his attention back to you, the intensity of his gaze almost too much to bear. He’s close enough that you can smell him, the sweat on his skin mixing with something warm and woody.
It’s undeniably attractive on him, the way it floods your senses and makes everything else fall away. In hindsight, this entire thing was absurd, you blushing over a man nearly twice your age, separated by years and entirely different lives. You tell yourself it’s normal, forcing the thoughts aside as you snap back into character.
Keep it professional, you idiot.
He brings his hand down swiftly, miming the motion as he “stabs” your chest again and again, careful and precise.
“Perfect.” The choreographer claps, satisfaction evident. “We’ll pick this up again tomorrow.”
Gerard lifts himself off of you carefully, concern flickering across his face. “Was that too rough?”
“Not at all,” you stammer, still completely flushed. “I-I thought it was perfect, actually. I’m excited to see it with you and Charlie.”
A small smile graces his lips, the corners of his eyes wrinkling ever so slightly. “Well, I appreciate you being here to help figure this out.”
The next few nights are exhausting, the two of you growing more familiar as the rough edges of the movement are smoothed out. You usually reach this scene at the very end of the day, the rest of the cast choosing to head home, leaving the soundstage quiet and empty.
Tonight, the choreographer brings in the blood packs and the actual props. It was Gerard’s idea to add entrails; always one to stick to his love of gore.
He’s early, two coffees in hand for the inevitably long night. You smile at him, moving to set your bag down before he stops you.
“For you,” he winks. “Can’t have you falling asleep on me.”
You thank him graciously, your fingertips brushing his as you take the cup.
“Oh please,” you smirk. “It’s hard to fall asleep with you on top of m— “ you catch yourself, clearing your throat. “… This.”
Gerard grins, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Tell me if it ever gets too much,” he says, pausing just long enough to let the words linger. “I can get… intense at times.”His tone is careful, measured, every bit the professional, yet there’s an undeniable playfulness woven through it.
“I think it’s perfect for your character,” you smile back.
“Let’s try it with the music today,” the choreographer interrupts. “Try the eight count like we practiced, Gerard.”
One: He steps onto the stage from downstage right.
Two: He prances around the bed.
Three: He settles at the foot of the bed.
Four: He climbs up.
Five: He crawls over to you.
Six: He clutches the dagger.
Seven: He raises the dagger.
Eight: He stabs.
It’s perfect, fake blood spraying every which way as he continues to stab, each movement precise and dramatic. The shock is exactly what he wants, the way it grabs attention and holds it.
The blood soaks your clothes through the vest as he continues to stab aggressively, carrying the scene through to the end of the song. Gerard leans down, lips brushing over your forehead ever so slightly.
“How are you holding up?” he whispers, his hand brushing yours on the side of the bed.
“Fine,” you reply, keeping your voice steady, your heart racing under the weight of his attention.
“Good.” He whispers, pressing his lips against your temple before getting up.
The next day is a fully costumed rehearsal, a chance to run through the first act from top to bottom. Everyone is in full gear, props in hand, and the energy is different, more electric and urgent as the cast moves through the setlist.
It’s exhilarating, the energy completely renewed, coursing through the soundstage. It’s your final night covering the role, and you can’t wait to watch everything come to life.
Gerard is there, front and center.
He’s stunning, absolutely radiant, commanding attention and owning every inch of the stage.
You watch him from stage right, utterly entranced, his costume layered with more intricacies than before. The buttons, the pins, the emblems… even the lining on his jacket is flawless, catching the light with every little movement.
Your eyes follow him as he moves gracefully around the, completely in character, every gesture and expression perfectly in sync.
The crew pulls you offstage for the final song, leaving you a moment to rehearse it in your head, running through each movement and cue with careful precision. You slip the blood packs into place under your costume.
You step out during the interlude, settling onto the gurney exactly as rehearsed. A few seconds later, Gerard returns to the stage, the eight-count kicking in as he moves to you effortlessly. He climbs up onto the bed, settling directly on top of your legs.
Gerard raises his gloved hand, pausing for a beat before slamming the dagger into your chest. You can feel the bags puncture, the air getting knocked out of your lungs as blood shoots everywhere, hitting you clean in the eye. He continues to stab you, laughing manically, climbing off the bed and tugging at your entrails.
He gets back up onto the bed, forcing the dagger into your chest again and again and again. Blood splatters across your skin, your hair, both of your costumes, carrying the song to the end.
For a moment, there’s silence, broken only by the sounds of your and his heavy breathing before the crew erupts in cheers. You can tell he’s still in character, eyes wild and uneven from the adrenaline of the scene.
You look at him wearily, your exhaustion mingling with a sense of relief.
“Thats a wrap!” The director cheers, snapping you both out of the intensity of the scene. “Great job, everyone! Let’s get things set up for tomorrow.”
You rise to get up, pushing Gerard off of you.
“I’m gonna… clean myself up,” you say awkwardly, scurrying past him to the nearest restroom.
“Wait—” you hear him call behind you, but you don’t give him another second.
You reach the bathroom, taking a slow breath and staring at yourself in the mirror. You’re soaked in the blood, the droplets dripping down your forehead and clothes onto the floor. You try your best to clean up using paper towels, but the blood won’t fully come off, leaving streaks and stains across your skin.
You move to wipe your face, reaching to grab more towels before a quiet knock on the door interrupts you. Gerard’s there, costume still on, blood dripping off of his jacket. “Are you alright?”
You nod, stepping back to give him enough room to enter the tight space.
“Jesus, it looks like some of it got in your eye,” Gerard huffs. “C’mere.” He guides you to the sink, turning the faucet on so you can rinse it out.
An awkward silence settles between you two before he speaks up again.
“Fuck… I’m so sorry,” He mutters. I’ll be more gentle next time, promise.”
“No need,” you say softly. “Besides, Charlie’s put-in is tomorrow.”
“Ah…” he pauses. “Right.” An awkward silence hangs between you for a moment before he clears his throat. “Well, if there’s anything else I can do…”
“Gerard,” You interrupt. “Thank you. For all of this… for everything.”
His expression lightens, a touch of warmth in his eyes. You continue. “It’s been a pleasure working with you. I’ve learned so much, and it’s truly been an honor over the past few weeks. I can’t wait to follow the tour along and…”
Gerard cuts you off, stepping forward and trailing his hand up your neck. He settles on your chin, tilting your face up to his ever so slowly before he leans in, pressing his lips against yours.
Your eyes widen as the reality of the situation kicks in, your heart racing uncontrollably as you shakily return the kiss. Little by little, the surprise melts away, Gerard’s lips moulding to yours perfectly.
He deepens the kiss, hand sliding to cup your cheek as the other rests lightly on your waist, pulling you closer. You wrap your arms around him instinctively, losing yourself in his warm scent.
Gerard is gentle with you, moving you backwards until your hips press against the counter. He hoists you up, sliding you until your back is flush against the mirror.
He finally pulls back a little, breaking for air, his forehead resting lightly against yours.
“Tell me,” he purrs, his voice low and warm against your lips. “How long have you been thinking about this?”
“I—” You hesitate, the words catching in your throat as you swallow thickly. “For… longer than I can remember. Before… all of this…”
Your admission lies heavy between you, thick and heavy with meaning.
“I’ve… wanted you so badly I can’t think about anyone else,” you continue with baited breath. “I’ve tried to talk myself out of it, bury the feelings, be professional…” You pause. “But… nothing works.”
Gerard goes quiet for a moment, studying you, your glassy eyes, flushed cheeks.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I know.”
There’s not a single ounce of arrogance in his tone, just honesty, stripped bare and laid out in front of you. “I feel it too,” he pauses, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Turns out I’m not very good at pretending either.”
He leans in again, capturing your lips as he leans closer, hand reaching to slip off his jacket.
“Wait…” you murmur, blushing, your fingers pressing lightly against his chest to stop him. “C-can you… keep it on?”
He pauses, pulling back just enough to look at you, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before it softens into something amused.
“It’s just…” You start hesitantly. “I had a little… crush… on you back in the day and…”
Gerard cuts you off again.
“You don’t have to explain yourself, sweetheart.” He pauses, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your arm as his gaze lingers on yours.
Gerard drops to your neck, his nose brushing the sensitive skin of your pulse before trailing lower. He presses his lips against your collarbone, sucking a tender bruise onto the skin before moving back up. He kisses a slow path back to your jaw, lingering and sucking with every bite
His hands gingerly part your thighs, settling on the waistband of your jeans in a silent ask. You reach a hand up, gently pushing the damp strands of hair from his face, your thumb lingering at his temple.
Gerard eases your pants down, the chill of the bathroom raising goosebumps along your skin. He grins, a playful glint in his eyes.
“Look at this,” he teases, swiping a finger over the embarrassingly large wet spot on your panties.
“Soaked through,” he pauses, the playful lilt to his tone making it all the more embarrassing. “Have you no shame?”
Your cheeks burn at his words, never expecting him to have such a dirty mouth. You turn your head to look away, his hand catching your face and guiding it back to look at him.
“Nuh uh. None of that.”
“Gerard— please,” you whine as his fingers pin your hips down onto the bathroom counter to hold you still.
“Patience, baby. I’m taking my time with you.” He moves one of his hands, fingertips brushing your puffy clit through the thin fabric. You squirm at the sensation, hips struggling against his weight.
“Oh?” He teases. “Does that feel good?”
Gerard begins to rub circles against the fabric, testing what’s best for you through your little reactions. He builds a steady pace, fingers working against you perfectly as you whine.
“What about…” he pauses, slipping the fabric to the side. “Here?” His middle finger circles your entrance carefully, dipping insight effortlessly from how wet you are.
“Tell me,” he says softly. “Just like we do in rehearsals.”
“F-fuck yeah,” you whine as he goes in a little deeper, parting your gummy walls with intense precision. He slips another finger inside of you, the texture of the leather absolutely electrifying, stroking a spongy spot that has you shaking.
Gerard’s breath is borderline husky, dark eyes locked on the way his fingers disappear inside of you, his palm grinding against your clit with every stroke with every push.
“How about this?” He continues to tease. “Like the way the leather stretches you?”
You whimper, nodding frantically as your eyes roll to the back of your head.
Gerard grins smugly, entranced by the sight of you getting lost in the pleasure he brings you. His pace never falters, hooking and scissoring his fingers as you unravel beneath him. He slides his other hand up to the hem of your shirt, tugging gently.
You catch the hint, lifting the cotton over your head as a rush of anticipation runs through you. Beneath your clothes, your skin is streaked and stained with the blood from earlier, a vivid reminder of the intensity of rehearsal.
Gerard shifts down to lather your chest, his tongue swirling over the exposed skin in an attempt to lick the blood off. He latches onto your breasts, warm spit coating the skin with every swirl of his tongue.
You thread your fingers through his sweaty hair, pulling him up to kiss you again. It’s sloppy, urgent, teeth clacking as your tongues wrestle for dominance.
He keeps his rhythm steady, matching your intensity as your breathing becomes shallow.
“Gerard,” you whine against his lips. “M’close.”
“I know you are,” he pants, voice rough and scratchy. “Doing so, so good. Let go for me, pretty girl.”
You whine softly as the pleasure peaks, your cunt clenching around his fingers. Gerard doesn’t slow down, working you with the same laser focus as before. The sensations eventually taper off, leaving you squirming in his grasp as discomfort begins to build.
He withdraws his fingers slowly, bringing them to his mouth as you watch. He wraps his lips around them all too innocently, sucking and swirling with the same motions he graced your skin with. The action has you doubling over, a fire lighting within your core once more.
“You taste delicious,” he teases, licking his glove clean.
You grab the lapel of his jacket without warning, slamming his body into yours to taste yourself on his tongue. Gerard inhales sharply, a low growl escaping his throat as he responds to your sudden confidence.
“I need it now, Gerard,” you hiss. “I’m done waiting.” He smiles, roughly hoisting you into the air and flipping your body around to face the mirror. He manhandles you over the counter, hands groping and shoving until your face is inches from the mirror.
You gasp at the sight, heart pounding at your reflection. You’re ridiculously flushed at this point, hair completely disheveled as the remainder of the blood drips down your body.
Gerard settles behind you, hands lightly pressing down against your lower back to steady you.
“Okay?” He asks, eyes flicking between you and your reflection in the mirror.
You nod, pushing back against his trousers ever so slightly. You watch him fiddle with his trousers, impatience wafting off of him in waves. He untucks himself, spitting on his hand and lathering his cock in a few strokes before lining it up with your entrance.
Holding your gaze in the mirror, he pushes himself inside of you, bottoming out with a gentle snap of his hips.
“Look at you,” he moans. “Beautiful.”
You can feel the buttons of his jacket pressing into your skin, the cool metal making you shiver with every thrust.
You’re already overwhelmed, your walls clenching and unclenching around him instinctively. The stretch of him is sharp yet pleasurable, a delicious ache that sends a jolt of heat up your spine.
Gerard leans down, hovering over your back to press soft kisses into your shoulder blades. Your fingers clutch the counter for support as his hands find yours and wrap around them.
You can see the muscles of his back flexing in the mirror, the sight making your breath hitch. It’s incredibly erotic watching him move, each thrust controlled and powerful.
“So fucking tight,” he growls into your ear, filthy praises spilling from his lips as he pounds you into the counter. “For me, right? All for me?”
You arch your back to take him deeper, the wet slaps of skin intensifying tenfold as you nod over and over again. He threads one of his hands through your hair, jerking your head back by the roots and forcing you to meet his gaze in the mirror.
“Eyes up here, baby. I thought you wanted to see me,” he pants. “Don’t you want to see yourself make a mess around my cock?”
You nod, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he tugs your scalp harder. It’s obscene, the wet slaps and squelches of skin ringing out amongst the moans.
You feel so weak against him, so used by his sturdy hands and body, your cunt plant around him with every push of his cock. Gerard can feel the power in his thighs as he slams into you, his cock buried so deep inside of you it feels as if he’s fucking up into your throat.
“Fucking filthy,” he snarls, doubling down on the pace. Your legs nearly crumple from the weight of him behind you, the force of you practically slamming your face into the mirror.
He releases your hair, hand snaking around your body to rub messy circles around your clit.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he pants, voice absolutely shot. “Let’s get there together. You can do that for me, can’t you, pretty girl?”
You scream, biting down onto his fingers harshly as you crash over the edge. The room narrows as you scream his name over and over again, the milking compression of your cunt enough to have him bursting against you.
“Fuck— where do you…” he moans desperately.
“Inside, G-Gerard. God… I need to feel it inside.”
It takes several more intense slams before he’s coming undone inside of you, hot spurts of cum painting your tight cunt. You collapse onto the counter, completely spent as the last of it pools inside of you.
After a few moments of shameless staring, Gerard pulls out of you with a hefty sigh, your combined fluids slicking all over your thighs. You whine as you finally get to release your own legs, body stiff from being curled against his.
He turns you around, watching your face carefully as you come back to yourself. Your breathing is still uneven, tears slipping free as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.
You chase his lips, not ready to part from him. The kiss that you share is soft, quiet, more comforting than anything. Gerard stays there with you, giving you the space you need while the moment softens into something tender and real.
“Let me do this,” he pants, still a little out of breath. “Properly…”
“If you’ll have me,” he adds quietly, almost shy, his thumb brushing your temple as if bracing for your answer.
Your eyes lock with his, pulse racing.
“Of course,” you murmur, heat rising to your cheeks once again. “I’ve always wanted to be with someone like you.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
.ᐟ summary: you rent a room from a stranger off of craigslist. seems harmless enough, right?
.ᐟ tags: obsession, perversion, slight corruption kink, masturbation, oral sex (f receiving), rough sex, fem reader.
.ᐟ a/n: sorry this one took so long, felt like i must’ve rewritten it like five times. wc: 4,390.
Gerard prides himself on being good.
A good brother. A good artist. A good person, focused and reliable, the kind of man people count on without so much of a second thought. Above all else, he keeps his heart disciplined, free of waste and distraction.
Which is why it hits him so hard when you come into his life.
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.
And now that he has it, now that he’s finally in your world in all the ways he once imagined, he’s never letting you go.
summary: you’re a sound tech for the swarm tour. frank finds a dirty secret on your phone and decides to show gerard.
tags: age gap, power imbalance, tension, threesome, thigh riding, oral sex, facefucking, spitroasting, double penetration in one hole uhhhh, dom/sub elements, inexperienced fem reader.
a/n: neither are married in this story obv! i had sooo much fun writing this, lowkey got a little carried away. might have to make a part 2. wc: 7,438.
You were living the dream.
Fresh out of college and suddenly part of one of the most exciting tours of the year. With the band’s highly anticipated reunion finally happening, it all felt a little unreal, like you could wake up at any moment.
They’d been your favorite band since you were a kid, posters covering your walls, lyrics burned into memory, but you’d never seen them live.
Being a sound technician was something else entirely. Not just a background crew member moving silently in the wings, you became someone woven into the rhythm of the show night after night. With ease, you slipped in and out of dressing rooms; your hands, steady as you fitted in-ear monitors, made last-second adjustments while the low thrum of the crowd leaked through the walls.
Up close, the band felt different from how they did on posters and photo shoots. More human, a little worn around the edges, all nervous energy and muscle memory. You learned their preferences quickly, adjusting on instinct as you checked their in-ear mixes, swapped battery packs, and tightened cables. By the time the arena lights dimmed, your work was done. You would step back into the shadows, heart still racing as the first few notes rang out.
You learned how to move with them. Their pre-show routines, quirks and all, soon became familiar, etched in your memory like the back of your hand. Up close with all the band members, you still sometimes felt disbelief: these were the same people you’d once had quiet, so-called “celebrity” crushes on throughout your teenage years. A fact you would never admit out loud.
It was normal to have crushes on people you idolized. Back when it was harmless, distant, and parasocial, confined to grainy interviews on Youtube and late-night playlists. But now, standing backstage, it felt different. It wasn't just a memory anymore. It was real: sudden, alive, and impossible to ignore.
Gerard, of course, his quiet intensity, the way he slipped into silence before a show, tea in hand, patient, reserved. Always polite, always kind. Every careful movement he made towards professionalism made your chest tighten, as it always had, but now sharper. The way he absentmindedly tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. The faint crease of concentration between his brows as he watched you fiddle with his monitors. How he held the cup of tea just so, careful not to spill, a small ritual you couldn’t help but notice.
Then there was Frank. Restless, joking constantly, a teasing lilt to his voice whenever he talked. The way his smile tilted when he was talking to someone else, but his eyes found yours anyway. How he adjusted the cuff of his sleeves or ran a hand through his hair mid-laugh. The energy he carried was infectious, and you found yourself smiling wickedly when he did nothing more than nod your way.
These observations were truly harmless, buried deep beneath your professional exterior.
You were sure everyone in the crew felt this way about them. Their fleeting glances. Specific habits. Quiet quirks, just observations. Little things to admire from the edge of the room. If anything, you were just honored to be in their proximity, a quiet participant in the small, intimate rituals that made the band feel alive and just within reach.
As the tour progressed, you could swear the air had shifted. It wasn’t just in your head anymore. Their movements lingered a second longer. Small, deliberate gestures seemed aimed at you. Frank’s fingers brushing yours as he reached for a cable. Gerard’s head tilting whenever he caught your eye from across the stage.
Maybe it was wistful thinking, a trick your mind was playing, desperate for a little extra attention. And yet, the more you noticed, the harder it became to pretend it wasn’t real. Every shared look, every subtle interaction, built a current between you and them, electric and quiet, threading through the backstage chaos.
Once during soundcheck, you were adjusting the levels on Mikey’s monitor pack. Crouched low, focused on the dials, your foot caught the edge of a cable. You stumbled, heart leaping as you tried to regain balance.
Before you could fully topple over, Frank quickly reached out and grabbed your waist, steadying you and pulling you upright. His hands pressed firmly just long enough for you to regain balance. The warmth of his body and the pressure of his fingers wrapped around you made your pulse spike, leaving you dizzy and hyper-aware of the contact.
“Careful there.” He chuckles, voice, low and poised, the faint scent of him filling your senses.
He stepped back quickly, giving you just enough room to stand on your own. Your hands shook as you continued adjusting the monitor pack, but your eyes kept flicking toward Frank, noticing every glance in your direction, every subtle movement, every rapid heartbeat.
You were still catching your breath from Frank’s sudden grip when you felt it, the weight of Gerard’s gaze from in the wings. He was leaning against the edge of a table, arms crossed loosely, quiet as always, but his eyes were sharp, tracking the moment you and Frank had shared. Not accusatory, not glaring, just observant.
Your chest tightened. The brief glance he gave held something you couldn’t name. A flicker of curiosity, maybe amusement, maybe something deeper, and it made the flush in your cheeks crawl higher. Even from across the stage, his presence pressed in, quiet but unreadable.
You had to be imagining things.
There was no way they could be watching you so closely, noticing every little shift, every subtle movement you made. They were probably just keeping an eye on you, making sure one of their crew member’s didn’t get hurt. That was all it was. Nothing more.
Another time before a show, Gerard asked you to help with his stage makeup. It was unusual, given the makeup artists usually swarming backstage, but tonight it felt quieter, more contained. You helped him paint fake blood splotches onto his face, your hands steady even as your pulse betrayed you, aware of how easily this moment could slip into something else.
Gerard’s face was calm, unreadable, but he held perfectly still as you dabbed on makeup. Every small movement felt amplified. Your fingers brushed his skin more than once, pausing a fraction of a second longer. He didn't flinch or pull away, remaining steady, as if trusting you to continue. You became keenly aware of the lack of space, the warmth radiating from him, how your knees nearly touched, and how, simply by leaning in, you could close the gap entirely.
When you finished, he glanced at his reflection and reached out, catching your hand lightly before you could pull it back. His touch was brief but deliberate. “Missed a spot here,” he said, smiling. “Perfect.”
Before you could answer, he leaned in just slightly, tilting his head in that teasing way that reminded you of Frank. His voice dropped, softer now, meant only for you. “You know,” he murmured, “I might start expecting this every night.”
His eyes stayed on yours, steady and unhurried, daring you to say something, daring you not to. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thick with tension.
The moment broke with the creak of the door.
Frank stepped inside without knocking, jacket slung over one shoulder, eyes already scanning the room as if he owned it. His gaze landed on the two of you standing too close, your hand still caught in Gerard’s. Something unreadable flickered across his face before it smoothed into something almost casual.
“Show’s in ten,” Frank said, voice easy, but his eyes didn’t leave you.
Gerard released your hand slowly, deliberately, as if he knew exactly who was watching. He turned just enough to face Frank, blocking you from view for half a second longer than necessary. “Yeah,” he replied. “We’re good.”
Frank’s mouth twitched. He stepped closer, close enough that you felt the shift in the air again, different now, charged in another direction. His attention finally flicked to Gerard’s makeup, then back to you. “Didn’t know you were on makeup duty now,” he said lightly.
“Special request,” Gerard answered, glancing back at you, his smile faint but knowing.
Frank hummed, noncommittal, then reached out, thumb brushing beneath Gerard’s jaw as if checking the work. It was casual on the surface, but his touch lingered just long enough to make the gesture feel deeper. Charged. “Looks convincing enough,” he said. “Very nice.”
Gerard didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned into it slightly, eyes never leaving Franks. “Told you she was good.”
Your pulse picked up again.
For a moment, the two of them just stared at each other, something unspoken passing between them. Then Frank stepped back, breaking the spell, finally looking at you fully. His expression softened, just a touch. “You coming out with us?” he asked. “Crowd’s waiting.”
You nodded, though your thoughts felt tangled, caught between the way Gerard watched you from behind Frank and the way Frank’s attention lingered, as if he were already planning something.
As you moved toward the door, Gerard leaned in close, his mouth near your ear. “Careful,” he murmured, barely audible. “He notices things.”
Ahead of you, Frank paused, just long enough to glance back over his shoulder. His eyes flicked between the two of you, sharp, knowing.
“Oh,” he said quietly, a smile playing at his mouth. “I already did.”
The door swung open, the roar of the crowd spilling in, but the tension followed you both onto the stage, unresolved and very much alive.
You lost it after that.
You couldn’t help yourself. Old habits truly do die hard, the ones that make you feel guilty even as you give in. Lying alone in your hotel room that night, you found yourself scrolling through old yet familiar pages of the same fics about the two of them, stories you had read countless times before years ago, the ones that seemed to know everything you could never say out loud.
Your thumb lingered over the screen as if you could draw the heat from the words into your skin, imagining Gerard leaning close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, hear his heartbeat even. Imagining Frank watching from just a step away, eyes deliberate and knowing, claiming attention in that slow, careful way that left you tense and achingly aware of where you were, what you wanted, and what you weren’t supposed to want.
Every paragraph made your chest tighten, every sentence made your pulse spike as the line between memory and fiction blurred. Words on the screen felt as immediate as a brush of fingers against your skin, and you found yourself imagining the three of you, close enough that the heat of proximity burned against your ribs, no words left unsaid or touches unmade. The quiet, almost cruel way desire hovered between them.
The next day, everyone could tell you were unrested, with dark circles under your eyes as you made the rounds between dressing rooms.
Your steps were slow, each movement heavy with the memory of the night before, your thoughts tangled and restless. The chatter and laughter of the crew and other performers seemed distant, almost muffled, as if you were moving through a haze.
Of course, Gerard noticed, possessing the same silent demeanor, as if he was looking right through you. His gaze followed you just long enough to make your pulse quicken, that quiet, reserved attention that never asked for permission but demanded it anyway. He knew something was up with you.
In Frank’s dressing room, he was quick to notice your unusual behavior. His sharp eyes didn’t miss the way your movements slowed, the way your fingers lingered on the items you were organizing, the subtle tension in your shoulders. He didn’t comment right away, just leaned slightly against the doorframe, calm and deliberate, letting you squirm under his quiet scrutiny.
“You seem… off,” he said finally, his voice low and steady, meant only for you. There was no accusation in it, only observation, and it made your pulse spike despite yourself.
You swallowed, trying to mask the lingering effects of the night before. “Just tired,” you murmured, though the words felt hollow even as you said them.
Frank’s gaze sharpened, studying you like he always did, noticing the small betrayals your body couldn’t hide: the quickened breath, the subtle flush on your neck, the way your eyes flicked toward the doorway every time you sensed movement. He took a deliberate step closer, the air between you thickening, charged with that quiet, almost unbearable tension you had learned to feel whenever he was near. “You sure you’re okay?
“Yeah,” you said, a little too quickly, the word coming out before you could soften it. “Anything else you need?”
“Nope.”
In your haze, you didn’t notice you had left your phone on Frank’s counter. Or the way he picked it up after you had left, casual at first, as if he were going to find the person who had left it behind. But then his eyes flicked to the screen, and he paused, catching sight of the tabs still open from last night.
Frank’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile, like he wasn’t sure whether to be amused or impressed. He scrolled through just enough to confirm what he already suspected: the proof of your restless thoughts, the stories you’d been reading, the way you had been thinking about him, and Gerard, long after the night had gone quiet.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. Just holding the phone, the pause, the weight of his gaze, Frank slipped out of his dressing room and walked down the hall toward Gerard's. Each step was measured, quiet but heavy with intention, as if he were carrying a secret that would shift everything the moment it reached its destination.
By the time he reached Gerard’s door, Frank lingered for a beat, hand poised, like he was savoring the moment before crossing the threshold. The pause was deliberate, teasing, intimate even from afar, especially as he imagined how everything would play out.
The adrenaline from the show had woken you up a little bit, shaking off some of the haze that was weighing on you all day. Your movements were sharper now, your mind more alert, but the tension in your chest remained, a low, persistent hum that reminded you of last night and everything that had followed.
Towards the end of the show, the stage manager called you over and said that Gerard wanted to see you afterwards. Your pulse quickened, the energy from the performance running through your veins, but now mingled with a nervous tension that made your chest tight.
When you entered his dressing room, Gerard was leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, calm and relaxed, but the quiet intensity in his eyes kept you rooted in place.
Turning to the other side of the room, you could feel your blood run cold as you saw Frank sitting on the couch, holding your phone casually between his legs.
You were terrified.
Not the kind that made you want to run, but the kind that froze you in place, rooted your feet to the floor as your pulse roared in your ears. Your breath felt shallow, uneven, every instinct screaming that something had shifted the moment you turned your head.
Gerard noticed immediately. His posture didn’t change, but his gaze sharpened, focused entirely on you. “Hey,” he said quietly, not unkind, but firm enough to pull your attention back. “Easy.”
“You left your phone in my room,” Frank said, his voice low and deliberate, casual on the surface but carrying a weight that made your chest tighten instantly. He held it up slightly, the screen glowing softly, and for a moment, you were acutely aware of how small the room felt, how close he was, how deliberate his attention had become.
You flushed, words catching in your throat. “I… must have,” you managed, trying to keep your voice steady, though your pulse betrayed you.
Gerard’s eyes flicked to the phone and then back to you, calm but unyielding, his presence pressing against you in a way that left no room to escape. “Seems like you’re forgetful tonight,” he said, a teasing note undercutting the quiet intensity in his gaze.
Frank’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “Or distracted,” he added, holding the phone just a little longer than necessary, letting the moment stretch, letting every heartbeat and glance between the three of you thrum with tension.
You shifted slightly, your hands instinctively moving as if to reach for the phone, but they hovered midair, aware that every small movement was being watched, measured, and savored. The space between you, Frank, and Gerard felt impossibly charged, intimate in ways that made your skin tingle and your pulse spike.
Frank reached the phone out to you, but as your fingers hovered, he stopped you, holding it just out of reach. “Just one question,” he said, voice low, almost a purr, letting the words hang in the charged air between you.
You froze, breath catching, pulse hammering wildly in your ears. Every instinct told you to snatch the phone and run, but the way he held it, and Gerard’s steady gaze bore into you, made it impossible to move.
Frank’s smirk deepened, slow and knowing. “What were you thinking about last night?” His eyes searched yours, giving nothing away but promising everything.
Your hands hovered uselessly near the phone, every heartbeat stretching long and tense. The room felt impossibly small, the air thick, and the weight of their combined attention pressed in, intimate and unrelenting.
Frank leaned forward slightly, still holding the phone, letting the smallest fraction of space remain between your hands and it, teasing, deliberate. “Answer the question first,” he said softly. “Then you can have it back.”
You swallowed, heart hammering in your chest, fingers still hovering near the phone. Every instinct urged you to snatch it and escape the weight of their attention, but the deliberate closeness of Gerard and the quiet, teasing intensity of Frank held you in place.
“I… I was thinking about…,” you started, then faltered, shame flooding your cheeks as the words caught in your throat.
“Hmmm?” Frank prompted.
“Thinking about you,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. Your cheeks heated instantly, pulse spiking at the sound of your own words.
Frank’s smirk widened slightly, slow and knowing, as if your answer confirmed exactly what he had suspected. “Mhm,” he murmured, almost to himself, letting the word hang, tasting it.
Gerard’s eyes darkened, steady and unrelenting, his presence pressing closer, just enough that the warmth of him brushed your side. “Just him?” he asked softly, low, deliberate, letting the weight of the question hang like a promise.
You couldn’t answer. Your voice felt trapped in your chest, caught somewhere between fear and anticipation.
“Please,” you finally blurted, words tumbling over themselves, “Just give me my phone and you’ll never hear from me again. I… I apologize for being so… unprofessional.”
The room fell silent.
“You think we’re firing you?” Gerard said, glancing at Frank.
For a moment, neither of them gave anything away, their expressions unreadable, until a slow, almost wicked grin spread across Frank’s face, sharp with mischief and something far more deliberate.
Frank opened his mouth to say something else, some sharp remark aimed at Gerard, but Gerard cut him off with one look. Not annoyed. Not angry. Just quiet and loaded.
“You’re enjoying this too much,” Gerard scowled.
Frank huffed out a laugh.
Their eyes locked again, the bickering thinning into something electric. You barely had time to register the shift before Gerard stepped closer to Frank, grabbing him by his jacket collar.
“Drop it.”
Frank didn’t. Instead, he tilted his head, smile gone now, replaced with something intent. “Make me.”
For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Gerard’s hand stayed at Frank’s collar, not tightening, not pulling away either, the tension between them thick enough to taste before Gerard turned to you fully.
“Show me,” Gerard said, but the mockery softened, edged now with something more searching than commanding. “What I was doing to him in your stories.”
Frank glanced between the two of you, curiosity flickering across his face, then lifted his hands slightly in a wordless pause. “Only if you want to,” he adds quietly.
The room holds its breath.
Your pulse thunders in your ears, heat crawling up your spine. You didn’t move right away, but you didn’t step back either. Their attention stayed on you, steady, expectant, not pushing.
Frank tilted his head, watching you closely now. “You just gonna stand there?”
They both look at you, eyes sharp, reading the hesitation in your gaze. Frank’s smirk softened into a knowing grin, and he tilted his head just slightly, understanding instantly.
“Oh my god,” he murmured, mock disbelief threading through the words. “Have you even done any of the things you were reading about?”
Your cheeks burned, hot and heavy with shame, and you couldn’t stop the small, embarrassed laugh that escaped despite yourself.
Gerard’s lips twitched, trying and failing to hide a grin, the quiet intensity in his gaze flickering with amusement. “Not a single thing?” he asked, voice low, deliberate, letting the teasing hang.
Frank leaned back just slightly, phone still forgotten for the moment, eyes glinting with that sharp, mischievous light. “You’re adorable,” he said softly, letting the word brush against you like a touch, teasing and intimate all at once.
“Such a little pervert,” Frank murmured, a playful edge to his voice. He beckoned toward you, fingers curling slowly, deliberately, letting the invitation hang in the charged air. “Come here.”
Your pulse spiked, chest tightening as every instinct warned you to hesitate, but you didn’t. Something in the way he looked at you, the teasing glint in his eyes, made it impossible to resist.
You stepped closer, each movement careful, measured, aware of Gerard just behind you, his presence steady and pressing, watching every inch of the small space between you and Frank.
Frank’s smirk deepened as you neared, eyes flicking to yours with quiet amusement. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice low and intimate, “Just like that.”
Frank didn’t wait any longer. He leaned in, lips brushing yours in a deliberate, teasing kiss. It was soft at first, testing, hesitant, letting you respond on your own terms. Your chest tightened, pulse spiking, every nerve alert as the world narrowed to the press of his lips, the warmth of him, the quiet hush of the room.
He guided you onto the couch, keeping the kiss gentle but insistent, lips pressing just long enough to make your heart race, tongue swiping over your bottom lip in a question as you parted your lips just enough for him to slip inside.
Your chest tightened, pulse hammering, every nerve alert as you responded tentatively at first, then with more certainty, letting the kiss deepen slowly. His hands settled on your hips, warm and steady, grounding you while letting the tension grow.
Gerard shifted slightly behind you, the warmth of him brushing your back, steady, magnetic, and impossible to ignore. His gaze followed every motion, eyes dark and intent, a quiet, deliberate amusement flickering across his features.
Frank’s lips moved against yours with deliberate patience, teasing and unhurried, savoring the way you responded. “Relax,” he murmured softly, voice low and intimate, letting the charged silence stretch, leaving you in control even as the air around you throbbed with anticipation.
The space between the three of you felt impossibly small, thick with unspoken desire. Every heartbeat, every breath, every glance magnified, leaving you fully aware of the heat and closeness threading through the room.
All was good, the world narrowing to the press of Frank’s lips and the warmth of Gerard behind you.
Then Frank bounces his thigh.
You stare at him in shock as he builds a rhythm, light and and teasing, sending heat straight up your spine and into your core.
The movements become sharper, each shift pressing against the seam of your jeans like lightning. A new layer of warmth began spreading across your body, sharp and insistent as you looped your hands around his neck for support, moaning softly into his mouth.
You begin moving with him, grinding down on his knee until the wetness pooling in your panties becomes impossible to ignore.
Frank pulls back slightly, signature smirk tugging at his lips, eyes dark and amused. “You feeling that?” he murmured, voice low, letting the tension between you simmer as you nod, crimson blush flooding your cheeks.
Your breath catches, chest impossibly tight, aware of every glance as you look behind yourself at Gerard, seeking some reaction, some anchor.
“Don’t look at me,” Gerard says, almost disinterested as his eyes flick back to Frank’s. “Look at him.”
The weight of his gaze pressed against you, steady and magnetic, and your focus snapped back to Frank, who began grinding you on his thigh as you whimpered, head swimming in pleasure, in the heat. Every subtle moment, the press of Frank’s lips against yours, the warmth of Gerard behind you, the faint smirk on Frank’s face, pulls you deeper into the charged space between them, fast approaching the edge.
Frank pulls back just enough to let you catch your breath, eyes dark, intent, lips parted. “Let go for me, sweet girl,” he murmurs softly, one look into his eyes all it takes. Your chest heaves, pulse hammering, every nerve ablaze with anticipation as pleasure crashes over you in soft waves.
Gerard’s voice cuts through the charged silence, low and mocking. “Is that the best you’ve got, Frankie?”
Frank’s eyes snapped to him, dark and sharp, smile vanishing into something serious, precise. In an instant, he lunges forward, pinning Gerard firmly against the couch, hands pressing into his chest with controlled force.
Gerard freezes, a flicker of surprise and challenge in his eyes, but Frank doesn’t relent, letting his face hover close, every inch of him radiating intensity. “Say it again,” he hisses, voice low and lethal, each word wrapped in restraint.
“Aww, don’t be like that, Frankie. I guess you really can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
“The fuck did you just call me?”
Before Frank can even take another breath, Gerard grabs him roughly by the hair, pulling him down onto his lips, teeth clacking, breaths hard and uneven as they wrestle for power, for control.
“Look at you,” Gerard growls against his lips, hand cupping the tent in Frank’s jeans.
“Haven’t changed one goddamn bit,” Gerard snaps, voice strained.
A loud slap rings through the room as Frank shoves Gerard back, the force enough to make the couch groan. Gerard doesn’t falter. A smug, dangerous smile plays across his lips, palm pressing the red mark beginning to form.
Frank’s breath comes out ragged, chest heaving, eyes hazy, pupils blown wide, tension radiating off him in waves that almost knock you back. Both of them swivel toward you, sharp, electric focus cutting through the haze, and suddenly the doorway feels impossibly far, impossibly small.
“I should… go,” you whisper, voice trembling, fear and fascination warring in your chest. Every instinct screams to run, to escape the raw, dangerous energy thrumming in the room. You were in way over your head at this point, yet some part of you couldn’t move, frozen by the intensity of their stares and the tension between them.
Frank stills immediately, pulling off of him and stepping closer to you. “Wait,” he says quietly, the edge in his voice now gone. “Just ignore this bastard.”
Gerard exhales sharply, rolling his eyes at Frank, looking back at you, softer now. “I’m sorry, baby. He just gets me so worked up.” A crooked, almost sheepish smile flickers across his face. “But you don’t owe us anything.”
The room holds its breath.
When you don’t step back, Frank’s hand finally settles at your back, warm and steady, grounding rather than pulling. “Come back,” he murmurs, gentle this time.
Gerard reaches out more cautiously, guiding you back down onto the couch only after you let him, his touch light, almost reverent. “We’ll be gentle,” Gerard says, voice low and sincere. “You deserve only the best, sweet thing.”
You stayed. Just barely, just long enough to let yourself sink back onto the couch, heart racing, aware of both of them hovering close. Every nerve in your body was on fire, but this time, it’s different.
Frank leans in first, calm and collected, lips brushing yours in a gentle kiss. It’s soft at first, testing, letting you respond on your own terms.
Your fingers twitch, hovering at his shoulders before tentatively sliding into his hair, drawing him closer, deepening the kiss. The heat between you two builds, slow and unrelenting.
Behind you, Gerard shifts closer, lips brushing your neck in slow, sensual patterns that make your head swim. His hands trace idle circles on your lower back, gentle yet deliberate, grounding you even as the sensations coil tighter through your body. When Frank finally leans back for air, Gerard chases your lips, stealing a smooth, sensual kiss, lips working against yours for a minute before settling close again.
Frank responds to the movement, returning back to you with a firmer, more insistent kiss. lips pressing harder, tongue teasing your mouth while his hands rest firmly on the front of your hips, anchoring you. The room feels impossibly small, charged with their presence, every brush of skin and glance magnified.
It’s almost too much to take in at once. “C-can you two slow down?” You manage to gasp out, voice trembling, breath ragged.
Immediately, both of them freeze, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze with puppy dog eyes. “I just need a second to… Aaah!” Frank doesn’t give you another second to breathe, shoving you into the cushions, lips working all over your neck, hands groping, touching, exploring.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, pressing quick, apologetic kisses to your collarbone. “I just can’t wait any longer.” His hands explore rapidly, sliding up and down your hips, tracing your curves with deliberate, teasing pressure.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Frank?” Gerard growls, voice low but laced with annoyance, clearly irritated by the scene unfolding before him. His fingers flex slightly along your lower back, a quiet counter to Frank's teasing, his presence firm, magnetic, and impossible to ignore.
Frank pauses for a heartbeat, lips hovering near your skin, smirk twitching despite Gerard’s glare. “You love it,” he murmurs, voice dark, edged with mischief, pressing closer again, hands relentless. “Bet I can make her come more than you.”
Gerard just smirks, dangerous and calm, eyes ablaze. “Is that a challenge, dear boy?”
“Don’t call me that,” Frank snaps, voice sharp, every ounce of his intensity focused on Gerard. His hands grip your hips a fraction tighter as he slides down your body in one smooth motion, settling between your legs.
Carefully, very carefully, Frank reaches for the button of your jeans, glancing back at you for a final confirmation that what he’s doing is okay. When he doesn’t see any hesitation in your eyes, he unbuckles your pants, pulling them down in one swift motion. Gerard makes quick work of your top, throwing it to the side of the room, fingers palming the swell of your breasts.
“So beautiful.”
Humiliatingly enough, your panties are soaked through, a shameful wet spot visible as frank smirks. “Cute.”
Frank’s impatient. You know he is, the way his eyes are glazed over in desperation. It’s been so long since he’s had it, had someone like you. Wasting no time for pleasantries, he slips your panties down between your legs, greedily lapping at the wetness collecting at your core. He doesn’t waste another moment, greedily mouthing at you as he builds a pattern alternating between licking and sucking. His ministrations have you seeing stars, back arching off the mattress as Gerard looks down at you, cradling your head in his lap.
The pleasure builds steadily, rocking your hips against his mouth as he eats you like a man starved, eyes completely lost as he takes breaks in between to nip at the inside of your thighs. You’re a moaning mess, hands traveling into Frank's hair for purchase as you grind against his face.
From above you, Gerard looks down with wild eyes, hunger seeping out of every pore. “Help me out, sweetheart?” He says as you eye the tent in his pants. He sees the uncertainty in your eyes, the questions as his eyes soften. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll teach you,” unbuckling his belt with one hand and throwing it aside. “Why don’t you start by taking it out first?”
You slowly cup his bulge, pulling the waistband of his boxers down in a singular motion. His cock springs free, wetness seeping out of the tip onto the couch. And what a sight it is, long and thick, tip flushed, veins protruding from the sides. He could break you with this thing if he isn’t careful. The thought makes your blood boil in lust as you gather the wetness on his tip, pumping his cock to spread it down his length.
You want to please him, want him to always look at you like this, praise you. Beg you. Reaching your head out, you give the tip a kitten lick, hesitant, looking up into his eyes as he nods down at you, giving you just enough encouragement to take it all the way into your mouth. You build a rhythm, alternating between little sucks and licks with the underside of your tongue.
“F-fuck yeah, just like that. Open up your mouth up a little more.” Gerard grunts, eyes hazy and unfocused as you take him in deeper, being mindful of your teeth as you alternate up the sides between patterns.
The dressing room becomes a symphony of sounds, wetness ringing out in an obscene way as the three of you get lost in the pleasure, in the sensations.
Frank slips two fingers inside of you, easy, no resistance with how wet you are for him. Carefully, he scissors his fingers to stretch you open, rutting his hips into the cushions to alleviate some pressure.
You’re about halfway down Gerard’s cock, gaining more and more confidence with his breathy groans, when you're suddenly shoved down to the base with no warning. You panic, lips tightening as you try not to accidentally bite down, looking up at Gerard in alarm.
“Sorry, hun. I like things a bit rough.” You gag on his length, obscene sounds filling the room as you quickly learn to open up your throat. He tangles his fingers in your hair, pushing you down to the hilt with every stroke, tears slipping down your cheeks from the efforts of keeping him down.
“You’re such a good girl,” Gerard grunts out, eyes rolling to the back of his head with every push.
Seeing him in such a state puts you in a frenzy, tears slipping down your cheeks as the pleasure builds and builds. Frank is grinding you against his face at this point, tongue working magic down on the little bead as your climax hits you suddenly, sharply, loud moans gagged by Gerard’s length as your body releases the hot tension.
Gerard releases your hair, panting heavily, pulling you off of him as you try to catch your breath, gasping loudly for air.
Frank unbuckles his belt, coaxing his painfully hard length out and passing it through your folds to gather the wetness as you shiver into him. “Spread yourself open for me,” he grunts huskily, barely hanging on.
Still dazed, you spread your folds as he presses the tip in. It’s so much, all at once, thick, heavy. What a heady feeling. You don’t have much time to think about it, not as Frank bottoms out with a harsh thrust of his hips, groaning so loudly his eyes roll into the back of his head. He sets a brutal pace, thrusting erratically as he hooks your legs over his elbows to keep you open.
You struggle to adjust, and Gerard notices this. “Calm down, Frank,” Gerard growls. “Do you want to come before she can even enjoy it?”
Frank growls under his breath, leaning in, lips brushing against yours in a rough, sharp kiss that leaves sparks trailing across your skin. The tension between them, and around you, thickens, crackling like electricity.
“She can take it,” he snarls, sucking marks into the skin of your neck, pinching and squeezing your nipples as you’re utterly consumed by him, his hands, his warmth.
Looking back at Gerard, you take his length back into your mouth, sucking so eagerly he throws his head back in surprise.
Frank is furious. The way Gerard is always teasing him, sneering at him, always pulling focus away. The way your attention keeps drifting anywhere but where Frank wants it.
And the worst part is, a part of him deep down that he would never admit to himself, likes it. These thoughts snowball, and one look at your hooded eyes as you suck Gerard off has him tipping over the edge, pulling out of you in one swift motion and shooting hot white ropes all over your stomach.
He hasn’t even fully recovered before Gerard is on him, rough hands forcing him back, tearing him away from you. “Move,” he snaps. “It’s my turn.”
Gerard doesn’t waste another second, flipping you around on your hands and knees as he settles behind you, guiding his cock to your entrance with one hand as he pushes into you.
Fuck. You were even better than he could’ve ever imagined, gummy heat pulsing around him euphoric with every drag along your walls. So wet, so warm, cunt clenching around his length so tight he knows you can feel every inch of him, every ridge and vein.
He presses his hand down on your back, arching your body gently to take him deeper. Frank settles in front of you, cock hard and still throbbing as you begin jerking him off with both hands.
Frank’s happy to let you go at your own pace, taking him into your mouth with exploratory licks, hollowing out your cheeks to make it tighter as you look up at him, lashes lowered. He wasn’t going to last long, not like this.
“You’re a natural, baby. So beautiful. So good to us,” Frank grunts, fingers holding back your hair as you take him deeper. “Still a pervert though. You like the way we’re fucking you? Stuffing your greedy little holes to the brim?”
You’re utterly blissed out, already so fucked out as you’re coming again, body locked in a rigid state of shock as the heat washes over you. Clenching down on Gerard’s length is heavenly, pleasure prolonged as he pounds you straight through it, unrelenting, fingers wrapping around your body to rub at your clit.
“Doin’ so good for me,” Gerard snarls, fisting your hair by the roots as he hoists your body up. “You like my cock? Like the way it stretches you?”
Gerard’s close, but he’ll push himself off for now, holding off his orgasm to watch you squirm. You’re scrambling, nonsensical sounds slipping out of your lips as you claw your nails into the couch cushions. He knows you’re a little too full, it’s a little too much, but he couldn’t stop even if he tried. Not in the way he’s fucking you mindless, almost fucking you dumb, slamming you forward into Frank’s cock with every snap of his hips.
Frank notices the hazy look in Gerard’s eyes, brows creasing with perspiration as his rhythm falters. “Pull out.” Gerard ignores him, creeping closer and closer to the edge with every passing second. “Gerard, I said pull out.” His pleas fall on deaf ears as Gerard’s eyes roll back, shooting as deep as he can get inside of you. The feeling is euphoric, the heat, the way it pools, the stickiness, and you’re coming again before you even realize it, vision going white as you clam up.
“You asshole!" Frank snarls as Gerard hoists you up onto his lap, still buried deep inside of you as he starts bouncing you on him.
“Oh, please. She enjoyed that, didn’t you, sweetheart?” Gerard teases, voice low and amused.
You nod, breath shaky. “M-more…”
In your lust-filled haze, you see Frank's jaw tighten, a vein standing out on his forehead, knuckles white. He looks ready to explode.
“You don’t wanna play by the rules, fine. I’m comin’ in.” He spits on his palm, coating his cock with even more lubrication as he roughly kicks your and Gerard’s legs open with his knee.
“I-I’m sorry, Frank, I’ll get off!” You whimper as Frank shoves you back down onto Gerard with a choked slam. “Stay still,” he barks, predatory look in his eyes forcing you into submission.
You and Gerard freeze, both staring at him in shock. Both of you are stunned at his actions, shocked faces apparent as he lines his tip up with your entrance, pushing in as best as he can. You scream, clawing at him as Gerard watches in alarm.
“W-wait, Frank, she isn’t ready for this…” Gerard says, panic breaking through his tone. Frank cuts him off, thrusting himself in all the way with a strained growl. It’s so tight, it’s so full he can barely move, already slightly regretting the decision as he sees your face contort in pain.
You mewl out, clutching Frank’s arms as you attempt to adjust to the thickness. It’s too much, feeling almost as if you’re being split in two. Frank watches you with bated breath as tears slip down your cheeks, choked sobs escaping your lips as you scratch weakly at him to get off.
“Doin’ amazing, sweetheart. Breathe for me,” Frank murmurs, kissing you slowly, as if he could kiss the pain away.
For a long minute, the three of you remain completely still, the room filled with steady panting as you adjust to their sizes, relaxing your lower muscles as best as you can. Gerard presses gentle kisses along your neck, slow and reassuring, hands tracing soothing circles over your hips in an effort to comfort you. After a moment, you nod at Frank to keep going.
Frank keeps a slow, steady rhythm, forehead pressed to yours, every motion deliberate, controlled, as if he’s memorizing every shiver, every gasp. His breaths mingle with yours, deep and heavy, pulling you into the moment.
Gerard watches you both from behind, eyes glazed over, utterly lost in the heavenly friction wrapping around his cock. He shifts slightly, pressing closer to you, letting the heat of the room and of Frank wash over him. A low, breathy moan escapes him, betraying just how much he’s enjoying it.
You arch into his chest. instinctively, the sensation making Gerard’s chest tighten as he also begins thrusting into you, alternating his movements with Frank.
It’s a long process: taking a little, pausing. Taking a little, gasping out from the sensations. The pleasure building is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before in your life, and both Frank and Gerard’s care, praise, and attention on you has your heart ready to explode out of your chest.
“Feel that?” Frank murmurs, pressing down on the bulge poking through your lower stomach. “How deep we are inside of you?”
You’re caught between them, every touch, every glance, every groan amplifying the heat coursing through you. And for a long moment, time feels suspended. You don’t fully register it yet, the wave of pleasure, until it’s crashing fully over you, sudden and overwhelming. You’re gasping, sucking a deep bruise on Frank’s shoulder in an attempt ground yourself as you ride it out, body trembling between them.
The feeling of you contracting around them so tightly sends them both over the edge. With a final devastating thrust, Frank releases into you, grunting and groaning so loud he’s sure anyone still at the venue can hear. Gerard’s not much better off, slamming into you, cum mixing with Frank's as he muffles his loud, loud moans of pleasure into your neck.
Everyone is exhausted, energy completely spent. You all lie there for a while, limbs tangled, bodies warm and heavy together. The room is quiet except for ragged breaths and the occasional soft sigh, Frank’s forehead resting against yours while Gerard lies in your hair, eyes half-lidded, a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. Even in the stillness, the tension lingers beneath the surface, a quiet hum of heat and anticipation. Slowly, they pull out of you one by one, combined fluids seeping out all over the couch.
After a long pause, Frank leans down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your lips, soft but lingering, grounding you in the warmth of the moment. Almost simultaneously, Gerard pulls your face toward him, brushing his lips over your cheek and then onto yours. You melt into his kiss, lips molding perfectly to his as he nips your bottom lip. You’re caught perfectly between the two of them, hearts and breaths intertwining.
Gerard is the first to move, pulling Frank away from you and onto his knees, his hands firm and commanding, leaving you momentarily suspended between them as your heart races with anticipation.
“Clean me up.”
Without hesitation, Frank takes him down to the hilt with a practiced ease, nose grinding up against the hairs on Gerard’s pelvis as he maintains eye contact, lashes lowered slightly.
There’s no fanfare, no fight. Not even a single gag from Frank as Gerard roughly fucks into his mouth, fisting his hair as he pulling him down to the hilt with every rough push.
“T-that’s it, take it all.” Gerard grunts, control fraying by the wayside, lost in the heaven that is Frank’s mouth.
“I’ve missed this.” Gerard moans shamelessly, pulling Frank off of him slowly with a satisfied sigh.
“I’ve missed you.”
Frank groans softly, leaning back just enough to let Gerard take the lead, eyes dark and unreadable as he presses a slow kiss to his lips. Frank melts into it for a heartbeat, then deepens the kiss, hands brushing Gerard’s chest as it slides up his jaw. The tension between them is soft, intimate, and you watch, heart racing, caught in the swirl of heat and shared intimacy.
Smiling, you glance between them, reaching for your clothes, but Frank’s arm catches you, stopping your movement.
He looks over at Gerard, the look they share devious, smiles curling before their attention snaps back to you.
“You think we’re done?” Frank teases, voice low and playful, while Gerard smirks, eyes dark and mischievous.
summary: you’ve caught the eye of your art history professor, who’s willing to go any length to get you into his arms. once he has you, he’s never letting go.
tags: age gap, obsession, stalking, delusion, fantasies, gerard is a creep, power imbalance, manipulation, dub con, oral sex (f receiving), drunk sex, dddne!
a/n: had 2022 gee in mind while writing this. i love him in this flannel. wc: 5,142.
It was fate.
It had to be.
From the very first moment you walked into his classroom, he knew. Bright eyes, easy smile, the little charms dangling from your bag, your skirt swaying just enough to tease him.
Gerard began watching you with careful precision. Noting the days you wore your hair up, the sweet floral perfume that always lingered, the pens you reached for when taking notes. The way you bit your lip oh so sweetly whenever you were lost in thought.
Every glance, every laugh, every soft exhale became his claim, a chain tightening around his throat until he could barely breathe.
But it wasn’t enough. His lectures, twice a week, weren’t enough. He needed more of you.
He began filling in the gaps himself. Harmless, really. Observing silently, following the quiet rhythm of your life. Watching as you scurried across campus, heading to class. Noticing your tired smile behind your apron and cap as you took orders at the campus cafe.
The endless hours you spent in the library, bent over your books, chasing your degree. Walking home alone afterwards. Wandering through cold, dark streets with earbuds in, utterly unaware of the danger lurking close enough to touch.
You lived a fifteen-minute walk from campus, ten if you hurried. Gerard knew the streets, the kinds of people out there. He had to make sure you were safe!
Your one-bedroom apartment was barely yours, or rather, you were hardly there, caught up in classes and work. Still, he had seen it all. The little touches of you scattered throughout the space, artwork pinned to the walls, supplies scattered across your desk and counters, the soft chaos that made it yours. You already had so much in common!
He’d watch you get home, milling around endlessly. Fingers eventually slipping past your waistband, head thrown back as you pleasured yourself late into the night.
That was always his favorite part of the day.
Sure enough, the visions started innocently enough. The warmth of your skin beneath his fingers, the soft shiver that would race through your body at the slightest touch. How he would trace the curve of your neck, feeling the quickening of your pulse beneath his lips. Biting down, painting your neck in a canvas of blue and purple as proof of his love, his devotion to you.
Desire and obsession grew into something deeper, something more dangerous. Leaving him consumed, haunted every waking moment by thoughts of you. You were his pretty little thing, the temptation he craved in silence, and the ache he could never soothe. The more he watched you, the deeper the feelings burrowed. The need. The hunger. The certainty that you were meant to be his, that you had to be his.
In his eyes, you’d accept his devotion without question, returning his affections with your eyes half-lidded, lips warm and wet as you suckled the head of his cock from under his desk. Gagging as you took him deeper down your throat, tears and spit pooling at the base as you took him down to the hilt, struggling to keep him down.
You’d moan his name so sweetly. Beg him to touch you, fuck you, do something. Your soft, breathy moans music to his ears. So soft, so pliant, always so willing to take anything he would give you, his pretty little thing. The love and adoration in your eyes as you rode him, beautiful breasts bouncing, hands intertwined with his for support.
Fantasies aside, you truly were an amazing student. Always participating in class discussions. Arriving early, slipping into a seat near the front of the lecture hall, where his gaze could easily fall on you. You’d ask about his weekend, laugh at his jokes.
Then Gerard noticed it. You, leaning towards the boy who sat next to you. Smiling over at him, catching his words. Laughing at things he whispered in your ear in the middle of a lecture, face flushing when you touched hands while doing an assignment.
Gerard told himself it didn’t matter. But the more you warmed up to the boy, the deeper his jealousy grew. It was almost insulting.
Why would you smile for another man when he was right here?
The irritation began budding in his chest, a restless tension that made it impossible to look away, impossible to ignore what you two were doing.
In the back of his mind, a plan began to form. It was for the best. The end of the semester was fast approaching, and normally, he would let his students choose their partners for the final project. For years, he had always done it that way.
Not this time.
He couldn’t stand the thought of you spending any more time with that boy. Laughing over study notes, learning closer to compare drafts, spending long, quiet hours together. Hours that should've belonged to him.
So he decided to change the rules. Quietly. Deliberately. When his next lecture rolled around, he assigned every pair of partners himself. His voice was calm, steady, controlled, even as his pulse raced with something much darker.
Your name was saved for the very end. And when the final list was read out, the room fell silent for a beat when it became clear that there were an odd number of students in the class.
You didn’t have a partner.
He watched your face intently, pushing down a sly smile, focus so sharp it bordered on hunger. The faint crease of your brows. The confusion building in your eyes. The way your lips parted just slightly, like you were about to say something but thought better of it.
That subtle tension, the uncertainty, was exactly what he wanted. He could already feel it starting to shift, the pull of you turning towards him, seeking his help. Seeking his guidance.
Seeking him.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
You hesitated outside his office door, clutching your sketchbook a little too close to your chest. You dreaded having to ask for help, but you knew you would have to do something to pass the class. The project was worth 50% of your grade after all.
Without much time for any thoughts, you raised your hand and knocked on the door, the sound echoing through the empty hallway.
“Come in!”
Opening the door, you were met with the overwhelming smell of acrylic paint, resin, mingling with the faint, musty scent of the old bookshelf lining his wall. Canvases leaned along the edges of the room, some half-finished, their colors vibrant and chaotic.
He looked up from his desk, calm and composed, the faintest trace of a smile gracing his lips. “Ah, I was hoping to see you,” he said, voice wary but warm.
“Y-you were?”
“I figured you’d need help with the final project. I’m truly sorry I couldn't match you with someone. It completely slipped my mind, you know, with midterm deadlines to grade and all.”
“It’s okay. I’m managing decently enough,” you admitted, glancing down at your sketchbook in hand.
He rose from his desk to move closer, leaning over you to see your notes, fingers accidentally brushing yours enough to fully draw your attention to his presence.
“Let me take a look,” he murmured softly. “Ah, I see exactly where you’re struggling. Don’t worry. I’ll guide you through it. You’re an exceptional student, and I’m confident you’ll submit an amazing project!”
You couldn’t help but blush a little at that, your eyes flicking up to meet his hazel eyes. Calm, attentive. But there was something else lingering beneath it all, vanishing almost as soon as you realized. An intensity that made your chest tighten and thoughts linger on him longer than they should.
He noticed the shift instantly, a small, knowing smile now tugging at his lips. “You’re doing really well,” he murmured softly. “Sometimes we need a little extra guidance to see our fullest potential.”
“May I?” he asked calmly. Still a little shaken, you nodded, and Gerard reached his hand over the desk and slid his palm over yours. He guided your hand lightly as you adjusted a line in your sketch. “See how a small change like this can change the entire composition?” His shoulder was brushing yours now, just enough to make you aware of the closeness, warmth radiating from him.
You nodded, heart racing, caught between your work and the intensity of his presence. Every movement, every word, subtly drew you in, closer and closer.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
You started showing up to his office hours regularly after that, slipping in during the short break you had between classes and work. What had begun as occasional questions about the project slowly became more personal, your visits stretching longer each time, the excuse of work barely holding up.
You discovered how much you had in common, liking similar artists and even sharing the same taste in music. Talking to him felt less like schoolwork and more like being pulled into a space only he could create. He was always kind, always attentive. If you squinted, it almost felt like a friendship blooming.
Gerard noticed how your attention shifted entirely to him, how your focus wavered whenever he leaned in. A quiet, possessive satisfaction bloomed when he realized that you were beginning to rely on him more than you realized, dropping your defenses and opening up to him with your trust.
You told him about your life, how you were working to pay your way through college. Your family lived out of state, and visits were impossible due to your packed schedule. Free time was a luxury you barely had these days.
One session, twenty minutes in, you found yourself unable to focus, wrapped up in him. Gerard was undeniably attractive: mousy brown hair falling to his shoulders, deep hazel eyes that lingered sometimes with an intensity that unsettled you. A small, crooked smile, one that made you ache to see it again. And his hands: strong, precise, correcting you when needed, brushing too close.
No ring.
Lingering just long enough over yours.
“It’s interesting,” he murmured one afternoon, tilting his head, voice low, careful, “how much of myself I see in you. You’re thoughtful. Careful. Passionate. Truly inspiring. I have no doubts that you’ll go far.”
Heat curled across your skin, your pulse skipping a beat. You wanted to linger, to be praised by him again.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
After that night, he gave you his cell phone number. “Just in case you need anything outside of office hours,” he said softly, gaze lingering on you for a fraction longer than necessary. “I’m always happy to help.”
You hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of the gesture. It seemed innocent enough, a tool for getting help, but the darkness lingering in his eyes made your chest tighten. “Thank you so much, professor. For all of your help. I’d be lost without you.”
He smiled, escorting you out of the door and into the hallway. “It’s no problem at all, really. I’ll see you in class tomorrow!”
Gerard lingered in the hallway long after that, lost in thought. Savoring the quiet power he had over you. It wasn’t forced, it wasn’t overt, but it was absolute. Your attention, your trust, and your doubts were slowly starting to belong to him. Falling into his hands exactly as intended.
His fantasies became more and more vivid, slipping into his dreams like cracks in a glass, impossible to ignore.
You, pinned underneath him, cute panties pushed to the side to make way for his cock buried deep in your ass. Fucking into you until you were sobbing, crying out for more, clawing your nails so deep into his back you drew blood.
These thoughts consumed him night after night, pulling him from a restless sleep, hand pumping his cock relentlessly as he wished more than anything these fantasies would become real.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
It was near the end of a session when the topic of weekend plans came up, and you told him you were going on a date with that boy from class.
“Oh?” he said, tone perfectly even. “That sounds nice,” eyes not fully matching his voice. They lingered on you, thoughts building.
An awkward pause ensued. “It’s just drinks,” you added. “Nothing serious!”
“Of course. Nothing serious,” he said again. His jaw tightened slightly, and for a fraction of a second, it looked like he wanted to say something else, something pointed.
“I hope you have fun!”
Gerard forced himself to stay calm, to bury that sharp edge beneath a practiced exterior. But inside, his thoughts were already shifting, calculating how to make sure his original plan played out exactly as he wanted.
He thought you were past this. Above all, he had to make it seem like it was your choice, from start to finish.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
What a shitty day you’d had. Fired on the spot, all because some customer called in and made “egregious complaints” about you. They wanted someone to blame, someone easy to cut loose, and you were right there. By the time you got home, the weight of it all sat so heavy on your chest it almost hurt to breathe. And still, you had that date tonight.
You dressed anyway. Mechanically. Pulling together your favorite outfit with hands that felt too slow, too tired. You forced yourself through hair, makeup, through the motions of pretending you still cared. You had other things, bigger things, to worry about now. He’d texted earlier, confirming your meetup at the dive bar at 9:00pm.
But when 9:30 crawled past, a sick dread coiled in your stomach. The kind that made your skin feel tight. It didn’t make sense, not after his text, but the signs were there.
Fine, whatever. You weren’t going home yet. Not after the day you’d had. You could at least drink until the edges blurred. By 10 pm, the edges weren’t just blurred; they were gone. Several drinks in, your head felt heavy, your limbs warm and unreliable. It had been too long since you let yourself drink like this, and you’d forgotten how much of a lightweight you were.
Cursing your date under your breath, you slid off the barstool, vision lurching. You desperately needed air. Space. You needed to get out of that place before the room started spinning. But walking home in this state? Not happening. You reached for your phone, squinting at the screen, trying to think through the haze.
Who could you call?
Oh, Right.
Him.
Fifteen minutes later, Gerard was there, wearing his signature orange flannel, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He didn’t bother parking. Just rolled up to the curb, engine idling, eyes fixed on you through the windshield.
When you pulled the passenger door open, he didn’t say anything at first. He only watched you. The way you steadied yourself on the frame, the wobble in your stance, the slip in your voice as you murmured his name. Something unreadable flickered across his face, sharp enough to make your stomach twist.
“You look… rough,” he said quietly, not unkind, but with something else under it. Something too attentive. Too interested. “Get in. I’ll take you home.”
You sank into the seat, the warmth of the car swallowing you whole. Your head felt heavier now, like the alcohol was finally catching up, dragging you down. You barely noticed how he leaned in, buckling your seatbelt for you even though you could’ve done it yourself. His fingers brushed your hip, lingering just a touch too long.
“What happened?” he asked as he pulled away from the curb, voice low, steady, controlled.
“Didn’t show up,” you slurred, staring out the window as the lights smeared into streaks. “Texted me hours ago and everything…”
A slow exhale from him, quiet but heavy. “People like that shouldn’t get near you.”
You blinked, not sure you heard that right.
“Huh?”
He didn’t look at you. Didn’t have to. His jaw was set too tight, shadows carving harsh lines across his face.
“You shouldn’t be left alone like that,” he said. “Drunk. Upset. Vulnerable.”
The word hung in the air, too sharp. Too knowing. You shifted in your seat, suddenly aware of just how small the car felt. Just how close he was. Just how intently he was watching the road.
His voice dipped, barely above a whisper.
“It’s good you called me.”
You were so out of it at this point that you didn’t question anything. The way the car hummed beneath you, the warm pull of exhaustion behind your eyes, the way your thoughts were starting to slip in and out of focus.
You didn’t notice how he didn’t ask for your address.
Didn’t need directions.
Didn’t hesitate at a single turn.
He just drove. Straight toward your place like he’d traced the route dozens of times.
Your gaze drifted toward him, slow and unfocused, and for a moment, something sharp cut through the haze. His hands on the wheel, knuckles pale, fingers tapping restlessly. The faint outline of something dark beneath his nails. At first, you thought it was grease, dirt, maybe something harmless. But as the streetlights flashed across him, you caught the color.
Red. Darker at the edges. Dried.
A small, tacky crust clinging to the cuticle of his thumb.
And there on the front of his flannel, two tiny drops, barely visible unless the light hit just right. You blinked at them, brow furrowing, but the moment your mind tried to make sense of it, the alcohol dragged you under again.
He didn’t seem to notice you staring. Or maybe he did, because his grip tightened just slightly, the tendons in his wrist standing out. His eyes, when they flicked toward you for half a second, were wild, bloodshot, blown wide, gleaming with something raw.
“You’re okay,” he murmured, though you hadn’t said a word. “I’ve got you, baby. Just relax.”
Gerard’s voice shook a little. Like adrenaline was still working its way through him.
You let your head fall back against the seat, too dizzy to fight the heaviness pulling you down. The world tilted softly, fading at the edges, and all you could cling to was the low rumble of the engine, the smoky, metallic scent of him.
The car slowed as he turned onto your street, tires creaking against the pavement. Your head lolled towards the window, eyelids heavy, vision smearing into obscure shapes.
You felt it before you saw it. The weight of his stare, the heat of it, like a hand pressed to your skin. The car rolled to a stop in front of your building, but he didn’t cut the engine. Didn’t move at all.
Just sat there. Breathing unevenly. Staring hard.
“Hey,” he said softly. Too softly. “Look at me.” You forced your eyes open, the world tilting as you turned your head toward him. His face was half-lit by the dashboard glow, all sharp shadows and trembling restraint. Those wild, bloodshot eyes fixed on you.
His hand came up slowly, fingers brushing your jaw. Gingerly at first, like he was afraid you’d shatter if he touched you wrong. Then firmer, his thumb stroking just beneath your jaw.
“You shouldn’t be alone.”
You didn’t fully understand what he meant. Not with your thoughts drifting in cloudy circles. But you felt the way he leaned in, slow, like he was trying not to startle you. Like he was granting you time to pull away.
You didn’t.
Maybe you couldn’t.
Maybe a part of you didn’t want to.
His forehead brushed yours first, warm and tense, his breath unsteady against your mouth. He hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, feeling his control unravel.
He kissed you.
It wasn’t gentle.
It was hungry, desperate, a shudder breaking through his breath as his lips met yours, like he’d been holding himself back for hours, days, longer. His hands slid to the back of your neck, fingers curling in your hair as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss with a kind of need that shook straight through you.
He broke the kiss just long enough to murmur against your mouth, voice low, tight. “Let’s get you into bed.”
He unbuckled your seatbelt, pulling you out of the car before you could even try to stand, lifting you effortlessly. He unlocked your door in a single, practiced motion, crossing your apartment like he’d walked it hundreds of times in the dark.
By the time he set you on the edge of the bed, your body felt weighted, soft, pliant. You reached for him without thinking, your voice small, slurred.
“Stay?”
The word barely left your mouth before something in him snapped.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound controlled, strained, like it took every piece of restraint he had left to not break apart right there. His hand pressed into the mattress beside your hip, the other curling around your knee, holding you in place without even trying.
“You have no idea,” he whispered, breath unsteady, “How long I’ve waited to hear you say that.”
And that was all it took, lips crashing into yours again. Abrasive, angry, frantic. It was too much, the sharp pressure in your jaw from the force, stubble scraping your chin.
Not giving you a second to breathe, he was on top of you, biting and sucking the skin across your neck, collarbones, and chest. Anywhere visible.
“W-wait, Mr. Way I —”
“Shhhh. Lay back, sweetheart,” he groaned, sliding down and settling between your thighs. You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off softly, decisively.
“Let me take care of you.”
The room felt smaller, air heavier as you relaxed into the mattress in a silent surrender. He was quick to give you something to focus on, warm breath trailing up your legs with gentle, teasing bites, soothed by his tongue.
The most unsettling part was how anxious you felt for him to reach his destination, the need, the desire twisting in your core, almost too much to stomach.
Without another spared moment, he mouths greedily at your clothed core, wetness pooling through the fabric as he works meticulously.
It was humiliating, how well he knew your body, knowing exactly where to bite and suck to keep you needy, keep you wanting more.
Impatiently, he tears the fabric of your tights off, slipping your panties to the side and licking a flat stripe from entrance to clit, settling over the small bundle of nerves. Alternating between gentle sucks and swirls of the tongue, he finds a rhythm that has you shaking, back arching off the mattress as you cry out.
Gerard, a little too impatient for his own good, eases a finger into you.
So wet, so warm, better than anything he’s ever dreamed, cunt clenching around the intrusion with every greedy push.
You were too drunk to fully feel, fully understand, but he didn’t mind that. Not when you were unraveling like this on his face, his fingers, his tongue. He could just spend hours nestled between your thighs, relishing in your sweet taste, cries, and begs slipping from your lips as you came, over and over and over again. Pleasure so intense it turns sharp, painful.
“Please.” You don’t even know what you’re asking at this point, clawing at him as he tucks your legs over his shoulders.
He picks up the pace at that, lips and tongue working around you so well you’re seeing stars, ankles locking behind his neck, nails digging into his scalp as you grind on his face. He inserts another finger into you, met with a delicious wet squelch as your pussy sucks him in tighter.
“What is it, love?” He groans out, dazed, with unfocused eyes staring straight into yours. “Need more of this? More of me?” You’re inconsolable at this point, head lolling around every which way as you search for something, anything to ground you. Maintaining that steady pace, Gerard slips another finger in and adds a third for good measure. You were going to need it for everything he had planned for you.
One look down at him, blissed out hazel eyes staring straight into yours, was all you needed, cunt contracting around his tongue, his face. You’re screaming out, pleasure washing over you in white, hot waves. Gerard doesn’t give you another second to breathe, unbuckling his pants in one swift motion to let his aching cock spring free, guiding it to your entrance.
“W-wait!”
He slides into you in one smooth thrust, bottoming out with one wet squelch as he rises to his knees, hooking your legs over his shoulders. Gerard sets a brutal pace, balls heavy, slapping against you with every delicious fuck of his hips. You wince at the position, legs spread at an awkward angle.
You were such a good girl, a pretty little thing, taking his cock so well. Already stretching and bending exactly the way he wanted. He would teach you to do that automatically, without his help, moving your body exactly the way he wanted. Night after night, on your hands and knees, as you presented yourself to him after a long day of work.
There was plenty of time for that, he thinks, spreading your legs even further to penetrate deeper. Something almost primal bubbles in his chest at how well you were taking him. The little bulge in your lower stomach, eyes squeezed shut, bruises covering every inch of your body, was too much. The desire to claim you, make it so you would feel him on you, inside of you, for weeks to come, was too much.
Gerard latched onto your collarbone, picking up the pace yet again to hear you scream. Every drag of his hips was met with a wet squelch of your oversensitive cunt sucking him back in, as if you never wanted him to leave. The sounds of your collective grunts, gasps, and moans fill the room, suffocating.
You were crossing the threshold into oversensitivity, and he loved how compliant you were being. His girl. Only his girl, to love and to fuck whenever he pleased. With this admission, he wrapped one of his calloused hands around the edges of your throat, forcing your mouth open to spit into the open space.
“Swallow,” he demands, gaze wild and uneven, scaring you into complying. Tears began pooling down your cheeks as you looked up at him, hands pawing weakly at his arms in an attempt to ground yourself. You were so fucked out at this point, you couldn’t even form a coherent sentence, nodding as your hands limply grab the mattress.
“You’re such a dirty girl, baby. Seducing me, seducing your professor, begging me to fuck you. Such a fucking slut. But you’re my slut. Right?”
He slips his fingers down your throat, holding down your tongue as you nod frantically up at him. You grip his wrist in an attempt to pull him out, but it only makes his hand slide deeper into your throat.
And that was all the absolution you needed to cross over the threshold of ecstasy, vision going white as you bit your lip so hard blood began pricking. The feeling of your walls clamping down around him so fervently sends shocks straight down his spine, pounding harder, hand releasing one of your legs to rub your clit. He begins rubbing frantically, ignoring your screams, pleading to let up a little.
“You’re all mine now, yeah?” he grunts, biting into your neck in a final claim, a final act of devotion as he felt the blood pricking. Lapping up the droplets, he felt your walls clench down on him again, the aftershocks of your previous orgasm sending you straight into another one, looking up at him weakly, dumbly. One glance at you, fucked out, covered head to toe in his essence, proof of his devotion to you, sends him straight over the edge, thrusting right against your cervix and releasing in hot, steady spurts.
He’s groaning into your hair, utterly blissed out from the feeling of you finally accepting him, needing him. You pull him to your lips for a hasty kiss, completely drunk on the love, the obsession, the power.
You were his now. Mind, Body, Soul. And he was never letting go.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
You woke to a dull, throbbing ache first. Not pain, more like the ghost of last night’s grip. A reminder of how desperately you’d clung to each other. Bruises bloomed around your hips and shoulders and neck, the kind that came from wanting too much.
Someone was moving around in your kitchen, coffee maker humming. Footsteps approached your room, and then Gerard appeared in the doorway, a glass of water in one hand, pain medicine in the other for your inevitable hangover.
He knew exactly where everything was: how you liked your curtains half-drawn in the morning, where the spare blanket was kept, thermostat set to the perfect temperature.
You shifted under the sheets, the soreness curling in your stomach.
His eyes dropped to the marks on your skin, and his jaw tightened, a low sound catching in his throat that he ignored, for now. He placed the glass on your nightstand. “Good, you’re awake. Drink this. You’re dehydrated.”
You brushed him off, too frazzled at the events of last night to fully process anything, grabbing your phone to check the time.
No calls.
No missed messages.
No outgoing calls either.
Your stomach dropped. You never called Mr. Way last night.
His gaze flicked to your phone before returning to your bruised skin. “I assume your date didn’t show.”
You swallowed. “I-I never called...” Voice hoarse, cut off by his hand cupping your face.
For a heartbeat, something slips in his expression. A flicker of satisfaction, almost soft.
“Of course you did,” he said gently, like you were confused, like this was a conversation you’d already had. “You sounded upset. And after everything with your job…” He let the words trail off, pretending to hesitate. “I wasn’t going to leave you alone.”
Your breath felt too thin. “How did you know about that?”
He shushed you, questions remaining unanswered as your heart pounded, terror curling into a heat you didn’t want to acknowledge. He smiled against your skin, lips brushing the bruises he had left only a few hours before.
“I took care of it,” he murmured, the words almost tender. His fingers traced your throat, slow, possessive, loving.
.ᐟ summary: you and gerard get caught in the rain walking back from an awards show.
.ᐟ tags: yearning, hurt/comfort, confessions, friends to lovers, fluff and smut, shower sex, gerard is a little clueless at first, fem reader.
.ᐟ a/n: wanted to write something sappy and sweet for 2008 gerard. wc: 4,188.
“Hold still.”
Gerard is restless, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his suit coat as your hands struggle to adjust his tie. Outside of the hotel, dark clouds gather across the city sky, heavy with the promise of unpredictable spring weather.
“Can’t help it,” he mumbles. “Nerves must be gettin’ to me.”
“Nerves?” You reply haphazardly, eyes locked on his collar, working the knot of the tie between your fingers, intent on getting it right. “What for?”
“It’s just… different,” he pauses, swallowing thickly. “Feels strange without the guys.”
You tug the tie a little tighter, smoothing the fabric of his waistcoat down to match.
“Well,” you say lightly, “They’re not that far away. And I remember you handling much worse.”
He huffs out a thin laugh, hands hovering against the mattress like he doesn’t know where to put them.
“You say that like it’s easy.”
You pause, finally looking up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time in what feels like an hour. The worry on his face is obvious now, drawn tight in the crease between his eyebrows and the way his jaw flexes every few seconds. Without thinking, you reach your hand up, tucking a stray strand of hair from his face. He leans into your palm slightly, the action subtle but fragile, just enough you can see the tension in his muscles release.
You let your thumb drift along his jaw, tracing the line carefully as if mapping the worry away. Gerard lets out a soft sigh, leaning a fraction closer, trusting the comfort without words.
“You’re thinking too much,” you murmur before pulling your hand back, stepping back to admire your handiwork. His tie sits perfectly, collar straight, the knot just so. “You’ll be perfect. And… I— your editors will be right there with you the entire night.”
Gerard blinks, processing the reassurance, shoulders easing a fraction under the tightness of the suit. There’s still that nervous edge, the restless energy coiled tight, but your words seem to anchor him just enough to the moment.
“I… yeah,” he murmurs, voice low, hesitant, before that signature grin of his slowly spreads across his face. “What would I do without you?”
Your chest tightens at the trust in his tone and the way his eyes flick to yours, completely unaware of the gravity he holds over your heart. After all, Gerard is one of your oldest friends, someone who’s been with you through years of ups and downs, the demands of your wildly different careers keeping you apart more often than not. Yet somehow, despite the distance and schedules that rarely align, he’s asked you to be his plus one for the night, and you can’t help the small thrill that courses through you at the thought.
You’ve mastered hiding it over the years, folding it neatly into the quiet corners of yourself, a soft ache that settles through your chest whenever you’re near him.
You shrug off your answer, keeping it causal, but your fingers twitch at the thought, powerless against your own restraint.
“You’d survive,” you laugh, voice soft, letting the tension ease between you just a little. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”
The walk there is brisk, your steps quick against the pavement as the venue draws closer and closer with every block. You fall into step beside him, watching the way his hands come alive as he talks, every detail explained with that same spontaneous energy that’s never dimmed in the years of knowing him. He rambles on about everything: funny tales from tour, lyrics to the bridge of that one song he could never figure out, a plot device he’s not sure is clever or completely ridiculous; anything to keep his mind off of things.
You take the distraction as an opportunity to really study him, letting your eyes trace the familiar curve of his face and the effortless way the custom-tailored suit hugs his frame. The dark fabric clings to his broad shoulders and narrows at the waist, sculpting him in a way that seems almost unfair in the evening streetlights. And yet, underneath this pristine exterior, you can’t help but feel that Gerard’s the same person he’s always been.
He seems to notice your staring, pausing mid-sentence to turn fully towards you.
“What?” he grins, voice light, teasing, yet laced with an edge of genuine curiosity, as if he can sense the thoughts you’re struggling to hide.
You shake your head, forcing a casual smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, but your heart betrays you with every wild thrum in your chest.
“Nothing.”
But it’s not nothing.
It’s everything, caught in the weight of his gaze, the heat of the moment between you, and all the words left unspoken. You’re no stranger to the way the world keeps residual tabs on Gerard’s “love life,” every inch of it analyzed and dissected, endlessly spun in tabloids and headlines. You don’t want to put him in a position that invites more scrutiny, more speculation, more stories. And somehow… you’re okay with that.
Because… this unguarded connection, the one where he leans towards you, talking too fast and laughing too easily, is yours alone.
You arrive at the venue, the night stretching out before you, alive with chatter and the faint clink of glasses. You bury yourself in the crowd, weaving seamlessly between groups, laughing at stories you’ve never heard before, offering smiles that feel effortless until it’s time for the ceremony to start.
The show starts promptly after, lights dimming and music swelling around you, both of you squeezed in among a sea of hundreds of others. You’re pressed so close together that your thighs brush every time someone in the row shifts, the contact brief but constant, and you’re quietly thankful he can’t see the flush creeping across your cheeks every time it happens.
And then the comments start.
Little remarks tossed back and forth like harmless observations. About Gerard. His looks. How he carries himself nowadays. At first, they’re quiet, half whispered between the people sitting in front of you, barely audible beneath the swell of music and applause. But once you notice, they’re impossible to ignore.
The person on the left snorts softly, droning on about how fame opens doors for people who “don’t really belong in the industry.” The other person chimes in, laughing under their breath about how his work is “surface level at best.”
The comments don’t stop there, growing sharper as the night goes on. You catch one of them scoffing, muttering something about how he “can’t keep a girlfriend,” before adding with a low laugh that he must have “hired someone for the night just to look the part.”
Your stomach twists.
As subtly as you can, you glance over at Gerard.
And your heart sinks.
He’s heard them.
The change in his posture is subtle but unmistakable, replaced by something sensitive and more fragile. Gerard’s shoulders sit just a little lower, his gaze fixed forward but unfocused, the spark that usually lives in his expression completely dimmed. For a moment, he looks smaller somehow, swallowed by the crowd and the noise.
You reach out without thinking, giving his knee a gentle squeeze beneath the dim wash of the lights. For a moment, your hand lingers there, the contact steady and comforting. Gerard shifts slightly under your touch, his attention flicking down for a brief second before his eyes lift to yours. The look he gives you is heavy with something unspoken, a mix of weariness and gratitude that tightens something in your chest.
He places his hand on top of yours, as if reassuring both you and himself, before pulling back. You manage to make it through the rest of the show, side by side but mostly silent, leaving the venue without many words exchanged in passing, the music and the crowd fading behind you.
Outside, the pavement glistens under the dim streetlights, slick with the earthy smell of rain that hangs in the air. You walk close together, letting the quiet of the night wrap around you, thoughts broken only by the sounds of traffic and the soft splash of tires through puddles.
Gerard is the first to break the silence.
“Are you cold?”
“I’m okay,” you manage, though the chill in the air has begun to creep into your bones. He ignores you, reaching his arm around you to drape his coat over your shoulders. The fabric settles warmly against you, the weight of it comforting in the heat and scent that is Gerard.
“Thanks for inviting me out tonight,” you finally muster, voice trembling slightly with the weight of everything you’re holding back. He looks down at you, the grin you haven’t seen since the beginning of the night resurfacing slowly, warm and just a little shy.
“I’m glad you came,” he says quietly, his tone regulated, matching the careful honesty in yours. You continue to walk, the rhythm of your steps echoing softly along the pavement. “I’m sorry… you had to listen to that,” he mumbles, voice low and edged with guilt. “The entire night.”
You can’t help the small, unguarded laugh that escapes you. “You’re apologizing… to me?” The sound of your laughter seems to lift something in him, and he lets out a quiet breath, a faint smile tugging at his lips once more.
“Yeah,” he admits after a long pause, eyes locking with yours, lingering with a vulnerability he rarely allows himself to show. “I’m used to it,” he shrugs, “But… I hate that it reached you, too.”
You hesitate, the words settling heavy between you. “I’m just happy you’re okay,” you hesitate, letting the streetlights catch the furrow of his brow, before adding, “Besides, none of that stuff they said can be true.”
“Why’s that?” he asks softly, voice low and curious, a faint edge of uncertainty threading through the question. Gerard’s eyes search yours, waiting, almost daring you to say what you’ve been holding back.
You take a deep breath, the night air filling your lungs, letting your fingers find and brush his in the dark. “Because… I know you,” you murmur, “I’ve known you long enough to see who you really are. You’re talented, passionate, kind… one of the most hardworking people I’ve ever met. All the rest… it’s just noise.”
The true weight of your words dawn on Gerard, stopping him clean in his tracks. This isn’t just you reassuring him; this is a confession, stripped raw and laid bare before him. He turns to you, completely dumbfounded, noticing the affection in your eyes, and for the first time, he sees it.
Love.
Pure, unconditional love, woven through years of memories, laughs, and moments he’s never quite understood. It’s in the way you’ve always been present, the little gestures he’d taken for granted, the warmth behind your eyes that he’s never truly noticed until now.
Slowly, he brings his hand up to your face, fingertips grazing your cheek as if you’re made of the most delicate glass. Gerard leans in carefully, eyes searching yours for permission, tipping your chin up to meet his. His lips brush against yours in a featherlight touch: gentle, tender, a question hanging in the space between you. You respond earnestly, arms wrapping around his neck as you deepen the kiss. His lips move against yours with equal fervor, completely surrendering to your touch, pulling your closer as if to erase the distance of the years before.
It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed, effortless in the way he holds you, the warmth of his body against yours, the steady press of his hands along your waist. You feel so at ease, letting your inhibitions melt away with each desperate breath. Gerard pulls back slightly, parting for a brief breath of air before claiming your lips once more.
While desire is present, neither of you are willing to take the lead, savoring the sweetness and the steady build of something deeper. Parting once more, Gerard realizes, as the chill of the night seeps between you, that the street would be the worst place to continue this, especially with the dark clouds circling ominously ahead. He glances up, the tension in his chest tightening. There isn’t a chance it’s going to rain again, is there…?
His thoughts are interrupted by a thunderous crack in the sky, a fine sprinkle of rain dusting the pavement, dotting your hair and shoulders. The world around you sharpens, the downpour growing heavier with every passing second. Gerard pulls you into his side, pressing you close enough you can feel the hardness of his chest.
“Let’s get out of here,” he laughs, tugging you along until you both break into a run, water splashing beneath your feet and clothes. You make it back to the hotel in one piece, drenched, a little breathless, but nevertheless exhilarated. Gerard takes your hand, guiding you through the lobby and toward the elevator, completely unbothered by the heads turning and murmurs rippling through the space. His attention is entirely on you, on the warmth of your hand in his, the way your laughter from the rain lingers in the air.
The second the elevator doors close, his lips are on yours again, sloppy, desperate, and a little too anxious for his own good. Gerard’s hands find your waist, pulling your body into his, swallowing your soft moans and sighs whole. It almost feels as if you’re kissing like teenagers, clumsy and sweet, caught up in the rush of finally crossing a line you’ve danced around for years.
Gerard continues his assault on your lips all the way down the hallway and to his room, stealing kisses between breathless laughs as you stumble forward together. The door nearly escapes his grasp twice before he manages to get the keycard in, his focus waning the more you tease.
“H-hold on… Hold on…,” he scrambles against your lips, trying and failing to concentrate until the lock finally clicks. The door swings open and you both tumble inside, tangled up in the smell of the rain and each other. For a moment, both of you linger in the doorway, catching your breath while the emotion settles.
Gerard brushes a damp strand of hair from your forehead, eyes warm and a little awed.
“Jesus,” he croaks, voice horse and lips smudged with your lipstick, “You’re freezing.”
You laugh, smearing your thumb over the remnants of the smudge. “And what are you gonna do about that?”
Gerard swallows thickly, chest rising and falling faster than before, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “I think…” he pauses, leaning in to kiss you once more, “I need to warm you up…”
You cut off his kiss with your hand, laughing at the surprised whine that escapes his lips at the rejection.
“Shower.”
He tries again, lips seeking yours with slow insistence, but your fingers guide him back just enough to prevent him from reaching you fully. He takes the opportunity to rest his forehead against yours, breath warm and wet against your palm. “So cruel,” he pouts, trailing behind you to the bathroom.
You turn on the water, steam swirling and thickening, fogging up the mirror. Without a second thought, you begin to undress yourself, reaching at the fabric to pull the dress down your shoulders before turning around. The sight in front of you stops you dead in your tracks.
Gerard’s dress shirt is soaked though, the translucent material clinging against the curves of his chest and arms. He’s filled out a lot over the past tour and it shows, his biceps flexing subtly as he readjusts his stance. For a moment, you take him in fully, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest under the material, a deep flush settling in your cheeks. He notices your gaze, an all-too knowing smile tugging at his lips as he unhooks the last button and removes the shirt.
“You need help with that?” he teases, eyes mischievous. You nod wordlessly, letting his sturdy hands glide over your skin, a shiver running straight up your spine at the contact. Gerard’s fingers trace slow paths across your shoulders and down your back, helping you out of the soggy fabric.
You remove the last of your dress, stepping into the shower and letting the rush of water and steam soften the edges around you. Gerard steps in behind you, arms wrapping around your waist instinctively, coaxing an unconscious squeak out of you at the contact. His hands skate along your sides, turning you around to face him.
And what a sight it is, the droplets sliding off of his chin, following the curves of his chest before vanishing into the steady spray of water below. He’s beautiful, the contours of his body drawing your gaze every which way, each detail more mesmerizing than the last.
You’re so absorbed in him that you don’t notice his hand reaching up, fingers brushing lightly against your jaw and cupping the side of your face delicately. “You’re gonna make me blush, staring like that,” he murmurs, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
You reach out to him mindlessly, hands skating over the hardness of his chest before threading behind his neck, fingers tangling in the soaked strands of his hair. “I can’t help it,” you smile against his lips, breath hitching slightly as he leans in, seizing the chance to kiss you once more. His kisses are like fire, frantic, all-consuming, igniting something deep inside of you.
Gerard backs you against the wall, the cool tiles of the shower a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating between you. His hands roam you freely, tracing the gentle curves of your body, committing every detail to memory. Your back arches into him instinctively, leaning into him as his lips suck a thick bruise onto the skin of your neck. He can feel you melt into his mouth, the warmth of his lips making your thoughts go hazy, tilting your head to give him better access.
He obliges, licking and sucking from your chin to your collarbone, letting his hands trail lower, kneading the flesh of your hips. You part your legs for him, letting your forehead rest against his as his fingers inch closer and closer to where you need him most. He works you open with delicate precision, working you open in slow strokes to your slit, fingers circling your clit in quick reverence.
“Fuck,” he groans, eyes lifting to meet yours. “You’re soaked. All this from a little kissing?” He lilts, voice low with hunger and amusement.
“Y-you’re one to talk,” you stutter between breaths, feeling his hardness poking against your thigh. Even only half-hard, Gerard’s statue is impressive, tip flushed and red, leaking spurts of pre cum against his thighs. He’s bigger than average, thick at the base and riddled with veins, the sight alone making your blood boil in lust at the thought of him inside of you, loving you so completely. “I need you, Gerard,” you whimper softly, hands stroking along his shoulders. “More than anything.”
“I’m right here, baby,” he groans, lips parting slightly as his eyes lock on yours, the raw need there making your stomach flutter in anticipation. “You sure about this?”
“I need all of you, Gee,” you whine, the effect on him immediate with how quickly his hand drops to his cock, giving himself a few strokes. “Need you inside of me.”
Gerard’s hands grasp your thighs, hoisting your legs effortlessly off the ground while keeping your back pinned to the wall. The strength in his grip sends a jolt straight up your spine, causing you to wrap your legs around him. Gerard doesn’t waste another second, lining himself up at your entrance, pushing in slowly, your cunt sucking him in with ease from how wet you are.
The noise that escapes you is pitiful, nails digging into his skin at the feeling of being stretched to the brim. Gerard pauses, gauging your face carefully for a reaction, before sliding you further up the wall until your face is level with his. He goes in a little deeper, letting you adjust inch by inch, squeezing your ass in an effort to keep himself controlled. He wants to keep this slow, contained, but the heavenly warmth of your insides makes it damn near impossible to focus, to think straight. Fuck, He could just lose himself so deep inside of you, his control slipping by the wayside with every passing second.
“Look at you, beautiful” he groans, leaning into to nip at the shell of your ear. “Taking me so well.”
“F-fuck,” you whine, arms looped tight around his neck, feeling him bottom out with a final snap of his hips. “Too much, Gerard. It’s too much.”
“Too much?” He grunts, picking up the pace slightly, fucking you deeply and passionately into the tiles. It’s too much, the feeling of being wrapped up in him, loved so completely by the person you’ve been wanting for what feels like an eternity. You tighten your arms around him, letting your hands wander the expanse of his back, loving the way his muscles flex with every snap of his hips. He’s so strong, so powerful in his own right, a quiet kind of strength that answers in the movement of his hips against you’re.
Meanwhile, Gerard is completely blissed out, jaw tightening as a low, frustrated grunt escapes him. How could he have missed this, never really seen you until now? He chastises himself, the thought twisting in his chest as his grip on you tightens just slightly, not out of possession, but of regret.
You scramble for purchase against the wall, clinging to his desperately, eyes rolling the more he seems to take, the tip of his cock catching against your g spot with every trust. His entire body is flushed, the heat of the steam almost burning his skin from standing under the stream for so long, but none of it compares to the way your bodies cling together, pressed so impossibly close.
“Beautiful,” Gerard stutters between desperate moans of his own, pulling back just enough he can watch your adorable, fucked-out expressions. “Just beautiful.” He leans in carefully, lips brushing your cheek as he kisses and licks away the tears falling in a steady stream, angling his hips up to penetrate you deeper.
“It’s all for you, Gerard,” you cry, voice hoarse and wrecked with every fuck of his hips. “Been dreaming about this,” you admit shamelessly, letting the words spill out between wild, uneven gasps. His gaze sharpens, pupils blown wide at your admission, a desperate moan escaping his lips as if he can’t hold himself back anymore.
“Fuck, baby,” he whines, voice rough and thick with emotion. “All this time…” he murmurs, resting his forehead against yours in disbelief. “I’ll never make you wait again,” he chokes, the words low and certain, pressing desperate kisses to your puffy lips. “Let’s get there together, yeah?”
“Oh fuck,” you moan, hands grabbing and scratching anywhere you can reach. “More, more, please!”
You’re inconsolable, the knot tangling inside of you dangerously close to snapping. His grip behind your knees tightens, pushing your legs back a little further. “Cum for me, baby,” he manages between gasps. “Show me how good it feels.”
Your fingers find his hair, frantically yanking him closer until his lips meet yours in a final, searing kiss. It’s never been so hot, never felt so good, clamping down on his length so tight it’s hard for him to move. Several more powerful thrusts and Gerard’s spilling deep inside of you, snapping your hips down to meet his. He quickly catches you as your legs give out, clutching you against the wall as the last of his cum streams inside of you, hot and sticky as it pools.
The words stumble out before you can catch them, barely louder than a whisper but nevertheless echoing around you both.
“I love you.”
Gerard’s hands freeze at your sides, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you as close as possible. “I love you too,” he rasps, voice rough and breathless, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to your forehead. He eases out of you slowly, holding you upright and moving you directly under the water. The water’s gone lukewarm by now, the heat between your bodies lingering as he begins to wash you and himself with the utmost care.
It’s perfect, both of you falling into a comfortable silence, Gerard mumbling apologies when he brushes too close between your legs. He shuts the water off, wrapping you both in fluffy towels and scooping you up into his arms, carrying you into the bedroom.
He settles beside you on the bed, wrapping the towels more securely around you, pulling you close until your chest rests against his. You nuzzle against him, breathing in the faint scent of soap and him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your fingertips.
You press a little closer, letting the towels slip slightly, just enough to feel the heat of his body wrapped around yours. Gerard’s arms tighten, holding you as if you’re made of the most delicate glass, the weight of longing and desire melting into nothing but the soft rhythm of the rain against the window.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
summary: gerard is your biggest fan. he’s at every show, every meet and greet, eyes locked on you the entire time. one night, you finally snap.
tags: parasocial relationship, gerard is a creep, obsession, stalking, illegal videotaping, blackmail, degradation, handjobs, rough sex, sub gee, fem reader.
a/n: my take on basement gerard. happy holidays! wc: 4,432.
The lights were blinding, white-hot and punishing, burning down on the stage as your band tore through the opening tracks of your debut album. Ferocious riffs, perfected live over months of practice, shredded through the battered speakers as you leapt across the stage, voice sharp and raw, every note dripping with the chaos the crowds had come to love.
The venue stank of sweat and stale liquor, beer sloshing from raised cups into a writhing mass of bodies, drunken adults pressed shoulder to shoulder with scene kids who had waited hours in the freezing cold for entry. Outside, the Jersey winter gnawed at bare skin, sharp and unforgiving; but inside, the air was thick and suffocating.
The stage quaked beneath your boots. Stickiness and grime clung to your clothes. Every bass thrum vibrated through your bones.
The song slammed to a stop. You gulped water, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before leaning into the mic.
“This next one…” You rasped, lungs still burning, “You better scream it like you mean it!”
The count hit. The kick drum exploded. The crowd went feral.
It was your song, the one everyone knew. Voices slammed back at you, raw and messy, lyrics shouted off-key and way too loud.
You’d spotted him early in the set. Pale, draped in black from head to toe, motionless except for the moments he nearly got swallowed by the thrashing kids at the barricade. Midway through the song, you prowled to the edge of the stage, boots pounding against the wood, crowd pressing in towards you. You crouched low, thrusting the mic into his face as the bridge tore in.
“Sing it for me.”
He froze, shock and hesitation flickering across his soft yet sharp features. For a moment, his hands twitched nervously as if unsure what to do. Then his hazel eyes locked with yours, wide and uncertain, before his thin, trembling voice cut through the chaos. As he began to sing, his voice and confidence grew stronger, the crowd surging around you both, hands clawing and grabbing at the moment.
You leaned down until your foreheads touched, breaths mingling, sweat slick against skin, while feedback shrieked and rattled through the room. Together, you screamed the final lines, raw and unrestrained.
When the last note slammed into silence, you pulled back with a grin and a wink, spinning upstage as the hall exploded behind you.
That was the first of many times you spotted him. After that night, he started appearing at every one of your shows, always pressed against the barricade in the exact same spot. Never moving, never singing along. Silent. Hazel eyes locked on you from the moment you stepped onstage until the lights dimmed and the venue emptied.
You didn’t know who he was or what he did for a living. But it was clear he had the resources and the determination to follow you on tour for months.
You told yourself he was just shy, probably more interested in the band than he was letting on. Nevertheless, something still felt a little off about him the more you thought about it.
He started showing up at your meet and greets. Always lingering at the back, never fully joining the line. Even after the crowds would thin, he never asked for photos or autographs. Never spoke a single word to you. He just stood there, close enough to feel. Eyes fixed on yours as if the shows weren’t enough anymore.
One night, you finally mustered up the courage to address him.
“What’s your name?”
He flinched as if the question hit him like a blow. His mouth opened, then closed. When he finally spoke, it came out in a stuttered whisper.
“G-Gerard.” He hesitated, eyes darting everywhere before locking onto yours. “I-I’m sure you get this a lot, but… I’m your biggest fan.”
The intensity in his gaze made your stomach twist. You masked it with your signature smile. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Gerard,” you said, reaching out your hand, voice light, almost playful.
Another night after a show, you and your guitarist stumbled out into the cold, laughing and tripping over each other as you exited the back door, drunk on the energy from the crowd and cheap beer. One thing blurred into another, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a messy, spontaneous kiss.
You didn’t see Gerard standing across the parking lot.
Didn’t notice the way his eyes followed your every move.
Didn’t notice as he slipped a camcorder from his coat pocket, switching it on as you pulled your guitarist into your car, laughter rising, moans escaping, windows fogging up from your movements. All of it unfolding under his watch, every sound and motion captured, the red recording light winking faintly in the dark in a silent warning.
At the next meet and greet, Gerard finally got in line and asked for a picture.
Just with you.
No one else.
Strange.
You forced a smile as his arm yanked you against his side. You twisted away to end the photo quickly, but he lingered, presence heavy and suffocating. Even after the shutter snapped, he refused to let go. Instead, he leaned in, voice harsh and low, almost a growl.
“You have no idea,” he paused. “How long I’ve waited for this.”
A shiver ran down your spine, suddenly aware of how cold his grip felt despite the heat radiating from his body. Your pulse spiked. You took a sharp breath, instinctively stepping back to break his hold, brushing off his hand. His eyes held yours, unblinking, making it impossible to look away.
Sure, you had dealt with your fair share of overzealous fans chasing after you, but none quite as unsettling as this. There was something in the way he watched you: too focused, too intent, as if he could see straight through your soul.
At another meet and greet, he showed up with a bouquet of flowers. Red roses, wild and unruly, their thorns jutting out like barbs. You told him you couldn’t accept gifts from fans, reaching out to brush his arm in apology. A thorn caught your finger as you tried to pull away.
Blood splattered across the petals, dark and vivid, and you recoiled on instinct. Gerard didn’t release you. His fingers clamped around your wrist, nails digging into you as he pinned you in place, pressing down on the cut with calculated force.
“Let go,” you said, voice calm but sharp, locking eyes with him in silent resistance.
He refused. His grip clamped tighter, deliberate and chilling, a silent reminder of his control. "You’re bleeding," he murmured, voice thick with something unplaceable. His eyes flickered from your face to the wound and back, gaze violating.
Security moved in swiftly, hands firm as they pulled him away. Even as they led him off, you stood rigid, breath choppy, and your heart hammered in your chest. The sensation of his stare lingered, heavy and suffocating, as if he hadn’t left at all.
Christmas Eve rolled around. Darkness surrounded your apartment, the only light in the room coming from the soft glow of the TV as you cuddled with your guitarist on the couch. Snow fell thick outside, muting the world to a hush, but even in the warmth of each other, a faint tension lingered in the air. With only a short break from the tour, there was no time to spend the holidays with family this year.
Your guitarist got up, untangling himself from you to fetch more blankets from the closet. He passed the window, pausing as something outside caught his attention. He looked again, slower this time, peering through the glass and the snowfall.
“I think,” he said carefully, “There’s someone parked in your driveway.”
“What?” you whispered, sitting up slowly, heart tightening as your eyes followed his gaze
He didn’t answer right away. He moved closer to the window, pushing the curtain aside. Just enough to look again. The porch light glinted off the falling snow, illuminating the car at the end of the driveway. Engine off. Headlights dead. Waiting.
“There’s someone inside the car.”
Your stomach dropped. “What… what do we do?”
He didn’t take his eyes off the car. “Stay here,” he said, voice low and steady. “I’m going to check who it is.”
You yanked him back before he could move. “Don’t go out there!”
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Three taps at your door.
You turned to him, fear gripping your chest, eyes wide and trembling. “I’m calling the cops.”
“Hold on a sec,” he says, moving to the door slowly and peering through the peephole. “There’s no one there… Wait. It looks like something’s on your doorstep.”
He glances through the peephole again, opening the door quickly and pulling the object inside.
Red roses.
A note.
“Merry Christmas.
From, Your Number One Fan.”
You didn’t see him again until your New Year’s Eve show. You wouldn’t let him win, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of having a hold over you, having any control whatsoever.
The crowd chanted down from ten… at five, you moved towards your guitarist, grabbing him by the cheek and pulling him into a kiss just as the clock struck midnight.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
You smiled on his lips, letting the moment play out for the crowd, but beneath it, your pulse spiked.
You knew Gerard was watching, and from the corner of your eye, you could see a vein protruding from his forehead, knuckles white as he gripped the barricade so tightly it seemed his hands might break.
Hopefully, he’d take this as a message.
You stepped into the parking lot long after the show ended, cold air slicing at your skin, snow crunching under your boots. The lot was nearly deserted, a few cars scattered, headlights glinting off the ice. You pulled your coat closer, trying to shake the dread crawling up your spine.
Your hand hovered over your car door, ready to slip inside, when a firm, gloved hand shot out and stopped you.
You froze, stomach knotting as you turned. Gerard towered behind you, face flushed, pale and unreadable, his eyes searing into yours with that same fierce, unblinking intensity.
“Gerard…” you breathed, trying to keep your voice steady. “What are you…”
Before you could finish, his lips were on yours, desperate, clammy, demanding, pressing into you with a force that made your stomach twist.
You tried to pull back, but his grip was relentless, hands locked on your shoulders, keeping you close. Panic surged through you, heart hammering, breath coming in short gasps as you tried to push him off of you.
“Stop!” you snapped against his lips, voice sharp, but he didn’t release you. His eyes flicked to yours, dark and unyielding, and a twisted smile ghosted his features.
You pushed back as much as you could, gasping for breath. “I just want to talk,” he said, voice low and controlled, but there was a dangerous edge under the calm.
“I don’t want to talk,” you snapped, heart hammering, stepping back, trying to put distance between you. “Leave me alone. Now.”
He tilts his head, eyes glinting in the dim lot, a faint, unnerving smile curling his lips. “Leave? You don’t get to tell me that. Not anymore.”
“Huh?”
He stepped closer, the faint crunch of snow under his boots echoing in the empty lot. “You don’t understand,” he said, voice low, deliberate. “I have a video.” Of you. Of everything.”
Your stomach dropped, irritation flooding your veins. “What… what the hell are you talking about?”
He let the words hang, watching your face closely, the weight of his gaze suffocating. “That night… what you did with him in the car,” he said slowly, pausing for effect. “I saw everything.”
Even in the dim light, the color drained from your face. “You… saw what?”
“Listen to me,” he said, voice low and deliberate, each word pressing down like ice. Your chest tightened, heart hammering as panic surged through you.
“I want you to get in the car.”
You let out a shaky laugh, more breath than sound. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
His jaw tightened. For a split second, something dark flicked across his face, then it was gone, soothed over by a calm that unsettled you more than anger ever could.
“You don’t get it,” he said quietly. “This isn’t a request.”
You took a step back, the cold biting through the thin soles of your boots. “You think threatening me is going to get you what you want?” Your voice shook, but you forced the words out anyway.
“You think I won’t scream?”
A corner of Gerard’s mouth twitched. “Go ahead,” he said. “There’s no one left. Crew cleared out ten minutes ago. Security’s on the other side of the venue.”
Your breath fogged between you, the lot suddenly deafening with silence.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he continued, almost gently. “I just want to talk. Somewhere private. Somewhere you won’t feel the need to perform.”
“Perform? Is this a game to you?” you asked, the words brittle in the cold air.
“Get in the car.”
The way he said it, flat, final, made your pulse spike. You glanced past him, gauging the distance to the street and the glow of a lone streetlamp at the far end of the lot.
Shakily, you slid into the passenger seat, the door slamming shut with a deafening echo. The seat was cold, stiff beneath you, the interior dim except for the faint glow of the dash.
“Keys,” he said.
Your fingers trembled as you dug them out, the metal biting into your palm before you dropped them into his waiting hand. He didn’t rush you. Just watched, patient in a way that made your skin crawl.
The doors locked with a sharp click.
Gerard remained silent as the car slowed, veering off the main road and into a quiet suburban street, finally stopping in front of an old, slightly weathered house with peeling paint.
“This is where you wanted to talk?” you asked, voice tight.
He didn’t answer. He simply got out, walked around, and opened your door.
He led you inside, hands brushing along the walls as he navigated the dark. At last, he reached a door and pushed it open, revealing stairs that plunged into pitch black.
“No way in hell am I going down there,” you snap, voice sharp and unwavering, planting your feet firmly at the top of the stairs.
He paused, a faint, unsettling smirk tugging at his lips. “Suit yourself,” he said smugly. “But everything you need to see… is down there. And like I said… I’m not going to hurt you.”
The darkness seemed to swallow the staircase, the air thick with dust and the faint, musty scent of something long forgotten. Your pulse hammered in your chest as you stared into the black void below.
“You first,” you challenged, voice steady despite the churn of fear and defiance inside you.
He didn’t hesitate. He stepped down into the darkness, each footfall echoing off the walls as you reluctantly followed. When he reached the bottom, he grabbed a pull chain. A single bare bulb flickered to life, swinging slightly, casting harsh, shifting light across the basement. Shadows stretched and quivered, and the space that had seemed small and empty now felt suffocatingly alive.
As the light steadied, your eyes were drawn to the walls. Hundreds of drawings covered every inch, pinned, taped, framed, and layered over one another. Pencil, ink, charcoal, every one meticulously rendered. Faces, poses, fleeting expressions…
Of you.
All of them of you.
Your stomach tightened, a cold knot forming in your throat as you took it in. Some sketches captured moments you didn’t even remember, tiny details no one else could have known.
“This… this is insane,” you whispered, taking a cautious step back.
Gerard didn’t answer. He simply stood behind you, letting you absorb the scope of it, the obsessive care in every line, the detail, the love. The faint, unsettling smirk on his face told you he knew exactly how powerless the sight made you feel.
Something inside you snapped, a mix of fear, disgust, and anger igniting into unrestrained fury. You reached up to the nearest sketch on the wall, crumpling it in your hands before casting it to the floor. The paper fluttered and landed with a sharp crack, startling in the stillness of the basement.
He took a step forward, eyes narrowing, but you didn’t back down. Your hands darted to another drawing, ripping it from the wall and tossing it aside. The sound of crumpling paper echoed around you.
For the first time, he blinked, caught off guard by your sudden, unrelenting rage.
He opened his mouth, maybe to explain, maybe to regain control.
And you didn’t let him.
You stepped into his space, forcing him to stop short, your presence undeniable. “Don’t,” you said, voice low and shaking with restrained anger. “Don’t try to justify this.”
His jaw tightened. “You don’t understand…”
“No,” you cut in sharply. “You don’t.”
You gestured at the walls, the hundreds of drawings staring back like witnesses. “You’re disgusting.”
He didn’t have time to respond.
You stepped into him, grabbing his coat and slamming him into the wall, the force enough to make the frames rattle and the papers rustle behind him. He sucked in a sharp breath, more startled than hurt, eyes snapping wide.
“Look at me.”
He does.
Your lips crash into his, sharp and unrestrained. Not pleading. Not soft. A choice you made with your whole body. Your hand stayed planted against the wall beside his head, holding the space, almost caging him in.
Gerard hesitates, then kisses you back, slower now, careful, like he was realizing a balance had shifted, and he hadn’t noticed when.
Your lips part just enough to let the words slip out, low and dangerous.
“Is this what you wanted?” you asked, letting your gaze pierce into his.
He blinks, caught off guard, the smugness he had worn all night faltering. For the first time, he looked uneasy.
Your chest pressed closer, heat radiating against him. Without giving him a moment to recover, you captured his lips again in a rough kiss, claiming the moment entirely. His eyes widen, caught between surprise and something else. Something he hadn’t expected.
You pulled back just slightly, letting the weight of your presence settle. “This isn’t about me anymore,” you whispered, voice low, husky. “This is about you. And you’re going to do exactly as I say.”
He nods, heat creeping up his cheeks, and before he could react further, you press your lips to his again. “You want me?” you growl, unbuckling his belt and shoving his pants down in one swift motion. “You need to be able to keep up.”
Gerard whimpers into your mouth as you bite down on his lower lip, untucking his already hard cock from his boxers to stroke it, his eyes squeezing shut at the contact.
“This is why no one wants to get near you,” you laugh, voice low and venomous, spitting onto your hand as you begin to pump him. “You’re a fucking creep.”
“I-I know,” he gasps out, glassy eyes meeting yours in a haze. “I’m s-sorry.”
“Sorry?” You scoff, the sound harsh and humorless. “You’re sorry?” You repeat again, frustration building in your chest.
You pump him faster, palm swiping over his leaking tip with every stroke, cruel and unforgiving, gliding down his length with ease.
You shake your head slowly, disbelief hardening into something colder. “No. Sorry, doesn’t even begin to cover it. Why the fuck are you showing up at my house? Sending me flowers? Writing me notes? Are you in love with me or something?”
He doesn’t answer, eyes rolling to the back of his head as you start squeezing along the base of his cock as his hips try to rut into your palm. Your knees keeps his body pinned against the wall.
“I thought,” he grunts, jaw locked as the pleasure builds steadily. “Y-you’d like it.”
“You thought I’d like it?” You repeat it back to him slowly, a wicked grin spreading across your features as your hand slaps his cheek.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” You demand, leaning forward to drag your mouth over his neck, sucking a thick bruise onto the skin.
“You’re pathetic.”
The harshness in your voice is all it takes to make his body stiffen, every nerve on edge as it hits him sharply. His chest rises and falls unevenly, and he swallows hard, sticky ropes shooting out all over your hand and onto the front of your coat.
“Ugh, Disgusting,” you scoff, but make no move to slow down, maintaining the same pace even as he starts to soften in your palm. You want him to feel it, want him to hurt as the pleasure becomes painful.
In one swift movement, you knock him down onto the couch, plaid cushions sinking beneath your combined weight as you straddle him, making quick work of your clothes.
“Get these off,” you hiss as he fumbles with his shirt, lifting it over his head to expose his pudgy body.
He’s embarrassingly hard again, rutting his flushed cock all over your thighs in an effort for more friction, more heat, more something.
You can’t wait to deny him.
“God, you’re so easy. One look from me and you’re spreading your legs like a desperate whore.” He’s panting as you dig your nails into his greasy scalp, yanking his head back to look at yours.
“Where is it?” You snark at him, your other hand brushing his jaw. “The camcorder?"
He whimpers, pointing to the top drawer on his desk. You leave him exasperated on the couch, hands shuffling through the piles of paper and trash to get to the device.
“Delete it. Now.”
Gerard takes a shaky breath, hands fiddling with the device until he reaches the video, wiping it from memory.
“Any copies?”
He shakes his head.
“Good boy.”
Gerard is shaking like a leaf, hands trembling and pulse racing, utterly unprepared for this. He never expected it to go this far, never thought you could be like this. Seeing you now leaves him stunned, caught somewhere between awe and fear.
You climb up onto his body again, parting your legs as you reach down to rub your clit. His hands linger, ghosting uncertainly down your body as you huff and slap them away.
“Don’t touch me.”
Without wasting another second, you line his length up with your entrance, sinking down on him in a single greedy glide. You set a brutal pace, hands wrapping around his neck for support, slamming down onto him.
Gerard’s already blissed out, eyes glazing over and rolling around every which way as he fights to stay grounded. His kiss-bitten lips are parted, drool slipping freely as his hands claw into the couch so hard the fabric starts to tear. The sounds spilling from him are filthy, desperate, and completely unrestrained as you slam down harder.
“Fuck I-I’m close.”
“Already?” You grunt into his neck, taking that as your cue to move faster, taking him up and down to the hilt effortlessly with how wet you are.
It’s almost humiliating how much this drives you wild, how turned on you are despite yourself, teeth digging into your lip so hard you taste blood.
“Hold it for me,” you whine as you suck bruises all over his neck and collarbones, blues and purples spreading over the skin like watercolor.
“I don’t think I can,” he whines, wetness pooling in his eyes at the speed you’re taking him. Exhaustion’s set in your legs at this point, thighs shaking from the efforts, but you don’t relent.
You’re using him, scratching deep lines into his back as you grip him hard enough to bruise. “B-beg me, and I might let you,” you grunt, pace faltering slightly as the pleasure becomes a little too much.
“Please… please,” Gerard sobs, hands shaking as if you’re the only thing keeping him upright. “I need it. I need you. I can’t—” His voice fractures completely. “I can’t do this without you. I can’t live without you.” Tears fall unchecked, dotting your chest as he presses closer, desperate for something solid.
There’s something in the way he’s looking at you, the raw, desperate honesty in his eyes, the devotion that feels too heavy to bear. It’s almost suffocating, pressing himself flush against your chest as you mewl out, scratching at him. He means no harm, yet the sheer weight of him twists your stomach and quickens your pulse.
These thoughts continue to spiral, twisting tighter in your mind with every heartbeat, every thrust of your hips as your vision blurs and you see stars.
Gerard can feel how close you are, his large hands gripping your waist as he slams you down against him. “P-please.” he chokes, breath breaking, spit flying. You’re the only thing keeping me alive,” his voice turns completely thin as he buries his face into your hair. “I-I can’t take it anymore.”
And that’s all it takes, vision going white as he shoots into you, cock flush against you so tight he’s sure not a drop will escape. You’re coming before you even realize it, mouth opening in shock as no sound comes out at first, pleasure coursing through your lower body in sharp waves. Your cunt clenches around him, milking his cock for all it’s worth, contracting as he cries out.
You’re still trembling in his hands as Gerard pulls you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. When you don’t protest, he lingers. You pull away, unsteady, feeling his fluids trickle out of you as you reach for your clothes on the floor. The room feels airless. Too quiet.
You dress without looking at him. Keys in hand, you move for the stairs as you look back one last time.
“Stay away from me.”
Gerard doesn’t speak. His eyes follow you from where you left him, still and hollow, as though he’s already accepted what this moment means. A goodbye.
Almost a year later, your band had signed to a major label and was finishing its second album, killing time between sessions with a string of shows up and down the Northeast.
Your dressing room is sterile, cold, when a knock rattles the door. Your manager steps in, holding something carefully.
“Someone left this for you.”
It’s a rose. Dark. Thorny. Misshapen. Cut too short to survive. There’s no note. No name. You don’t need one.
You toss it into the trash, the petals crumpling under your fingers, and move toward the stage as you wait for places to be called.
You force the unease down, swallowing it like bitter medicine.
Deep down, you know this is something far from over.
.ᐟ summary: you’re thrilled to get the call to be leathermouth’s new touring manager. too bad you can’t stand the frontman.
.ᐟ tags: dysfunctional relationship, mentions of alcoholism, tension, jealousy, brat taming, frenum piercing, hate sex, overstimulation, cockwarming, possessive frank, fem reader.
.ᐟ a/n: sorry i lowkey dipped for two months but i’m back with some leathermouth frank! wc: 4,267.
It's early, offensively early, the lukewarm coffee in your hand doing little to quell the irritation simmering in your veins. The rest stop sits buried beneath a blanket of thick fog, the pavement slick with the dew of an early summer morning. You scan the parking lot one final time, finding nothing but a handful of lingering trucks and dying street lamps.
As usual, he’s nowhere to be found.
You've been pounding on Frank's trailer door for the past half an hour now, your knuckles raw from the efforts. He’s either dead or ignoring you, neither particularly surprising given the nature of your relationship nowadays. Grumbling under your breath, you sift through your bag in search of the spare key you’ve learned to keep on hand for moments exactly like this.
With one final bang on the door, you shove the key into the lock.
“I'm coming in,” you yell. “You better be dressed.”
The stench that hits you is downright putrid, the door swinging open to reveal a trailer that looks like it's been ransacked. Sour sweat and stale liquor cling to the air, the scent thick enough to make your eyes water and nose twitch. You’re not deterred, forcing your way through the minefield of empty cans, bottles, and trash littering the floor.
The sound of soft snores lead you deeper into the trailer, weaving your way around the clutter and mysteriously large stains as best as you can. As expected, there he is, passed out on the couch in the same outfit from last night, boots partially kicked off and one arm dangling uselessly over the edge of the cushions.
“Frank,” you hiss. “Wake up.”
The snoring continues.
“Frank!” you grumble a little louder, harsher.
For a moment, you just stare, eyes raking over the unsightly image of him sprawled out and reeking of liquor, blissfully unaware that the rest of the band and crew have been ready to go for hours, waiting on him. Even worse, he's got a fat hickey on the side of his neck, the sight coaxing an ugly, involuntary snort out of you. Whatever patience you have left for him evaporates instantly, and before you can stop yourself, you dump your coffee across his chest.
“Get the fuck up!”
Frank jolts upright with a startled yell, eyes flying open in a panic, practically tumbling off the couch.
“What the fuck?!” He sputters, glaring up at you, annoyance cutting through the last remnants of sleep.
You ignore him, kicking an empty can out of the way. “Let’s go. We’re already an hour late.”
He doesn't respond, rolling over and burying his face in the couch cushions. You watch him flatly, unimpressed, tipping the last of your coffee over him.
“Jesus, fuck!” he curses, lashing out with his leg in a half-hearted attempt to kick at your knees. “I'm up!”
You sidestep the kick with ease, glancing down at your watch. “It's almost seven. We were supposed to hit the road an hour ago.”
Frank stares at you blankly, expression completely vacant.
“For the interview?” You draw out slowly. “The one with W Magazine?”
He squints at you, the words clearly failing to land whatsoever, rubbing his forehead in a futile attempt to think through the hangover.
“The one I reminded, no, warned you about like five times last night?” You pause. “Or were you too busy getting shitfaced to remember?”
“Don’t answer that,” you scoff, turning on your heel and heading to the door. “And pull yourself together. You fucking reek.”
To most people, the relationship between you and Frank would be described as… unorthodox, to say the least. You’re Leathermouth's newest touring manager, and in theory, your responsibilities should be split evenly across the band and crew. Instead, the majority of your time is spent chasing Frank down, hauling him off of his ass, and sobering him up just enough to look somewhat presentable for the next show.
You insult him, he insults you right back, most nights ending in the two of you bickering loud enough the entire crew can hear. By all accounts, the arrangement is toxic, unhealthy, absurdly unprofessional; yet… you haven’t been fired.
You keep Frank in line on a tight leash and even stronger grip, dragging him headfirst through everything life on the road throws at you. Miraculously, he responds to it. Not easily, not gracefully, but enough that it works. After all, you’ve been the longest touring manager they’ve kept since the formation of the band.
Whatever.
You’re not paid to like him.
You finally arrive at the shoot, spending the remainder of the morning apologizing profusely to editors and photographers, sacrificing what little dignity you have left on his behalf. Meanwhile, word gets to you that Frank has barricaded himself in his green room, refusing entry to three makeup artists, two assistants, and anyone else brave enough to approach.
You shove your way past the creatives swarming around his door, wrenching the handle open and slipping inside without a second thought.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” You sigh, storming across the room. “Why are you refusing help? People being paid to make you look good?”
He doesn’t look at you, smearing concealer over the mark on his neck to no avail. If anything, he’s making it look worse.
“I’ll do it myself,” he grumbles.
You roll your eyes, stepping forward and pluck the sponge from his hand before he can protest.
“You’re doing it wrong. Color corrector first, then concealer, remember?”
You pull out a small palette and tissue from your bag, wiping away the streaks littering his neck.
“Here.”
Your other hand catches his jaw, forcefully tipping his face up towards you. You dip your finger into the yellow corrector and begin working it over the bruise, fingertips working nimbly to blend the pigment into his skin.
“It blends better when you use your fingers,” you mutter, quieter now, laser focused.
He lets out a long sigh, expression defeated.
“What’s wrong?” You grumble.
Frank mutters something beneath his breath, eyes flicking to your reflection in the mirror.
You know him well enough by now, far beyond what any professional relationship should allow. Beneath all of the drinking, self-sabotage, and parade of terrible decisions, Frank always crumbles the same way. Over the past month, you’ve talked him down from more disasters than you can count: “breakups,” hangovers, panic spirals at three in the morning. Whatever the problem is, your job reminds the same: get him functional enough to work.
Right now, you know he needs reassurance, a little softness even. And you’ll indulge him; play the dutiful manager long enough to get him back on his feet.
“That’s okay,” you say, voice softening slightly. “You don’t have to tell me.” You finish blending the concealer, dusting a light layer of powder over the spot and pulling back to admire your work.
Perfect.
Completely hidden.
“Look, if this about earlier… I’m sorry,” you pause. “You’re a good guy, Frank.”
The faintest trace of a smile tugs at his lips.
“Now, are you ready to get to work?”
From there, the rest of the shoot goes off without a hitch. Frank provides thoughtful answers to each interview question and poses for the photos without a single complaint. The change in his mood is obvious to everyone, smiling easy and cracking his signature jokes as naturally as they come. Good. As far as you’re concerned, this is a job well done. Keep him in a decent mood before the show and the rest will take care of itself.
While he charms the editors and photographers, you throw yourself back into your actual work, checking in with the rest of the cast and crew and tackling the mountain of tasks that have piled up throughout this morning’s “ordeal.”
You find yourself lingering in the hallway with one of the sound techs, savoring a rare quiet moment together. He’s been eyeing you for most of the tour, persistent enough that even you’ve noticed. An accidental brush of fingers here, a conversation after load-out there, and an endless willingness to listen to your increasingly long rants about a certain someone.
He’s patient. Polite. Unfamiliar, in the best possible way.
“So, drinks tonight?”
Before you can respond, a sinewy arm loops around you from behind, dragging you back.
Lo and behold, it’s Frank: restless, grinning, invading your space, but there’s something sharper beneath it. His hand digs into your hip and yanks you into his side, gaze slipping past you for a beat before returning.
“There’s my girl,” he grins, though the smile doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “I was lookin’ for you.”
You pry yourself out of his grasp, the reaction immediate enough to make Frank’s smile falter for a fraction of a second before returning.
“What’s this about drinks?” He scoffs.
“Nothing,” you cut him off, stepping back defensively. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the show?”
“I was just headin’ out. Forgot you were off tonight.”
"Yeah," you grumble, turning back to him. “You can handle that, right? Probably won't even notice I'm gone.”
The words hit harsher than they should. You don’t catch the way Frank’s jaw tightens slightly, or the way his hand curls into his side hard enough his nails dig crescents into the skin. If anything, he welcomes the sting, giving him something sharp to focus on instead of the uncomfortable twinge in his chest.
If only you knew.
For once, Frank doesn’t touch a bottle during the show. Not because he doesn’t want to, or because he’s trying to prove a point of some kind. No, it’s thoughts of you that keeps his hands away from it, the thought of someone else stealing your affections away driving him mad, souring every scream and note as he leaps across the stage. The handful of times he’s managed to make you smile are few and far between, but he clings to the memories all the same as the night goes on.
Even after the show, the unease refuses to settle, gnawing at him like a moth to a flame, so much so that his feet carry himself to your door before he fully realizes it.
Inside, you scurry around your trailer, working the last of your makeup into place. You’ve dressed appropriately for the humid evening, your favorite dress and a jacket slung over your shoulder for when the temperature drops later. It’s been weeks since you’ve had a night off, a night to yourself, his emergencies calling you back time and time again.
Your thoughts are interrupted by an abrupt knock, and for a moment, you assume it’s your date here to pick you up. You smooth the front of your dress, taking a steadying breath and yanking the door open.
Your smile falters instantly.
Frank stands on the steps of your trailer, hair damp from the show, sweat clinging to his clothes and brow.
“Frank?”
He doesn’t answer you, eyes raking over your form from head to toe, scrutinizing every detail. The silence hangs heavy between you, tension stretching uncomfortably before he finally speaks. “Can I come in?”
You step aside, not like you have much of a choice anyways, scurrying back to the bathroom mirror to add final touches.
“What’s wrong?” You call out.
Frank lingers near the door, hands shoved in his pockets awkwardly, uncharacteristically quiet for after a show. He exhales sharply, letting the door shut fully with a soft click.
“I came to…” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “… Apologize.” The words are so soft you almost don’t hear him at first.
“What?”
He grimaces, evidently chewing on his words.
“… For this morning,” he grumbles, even quieter.
You place the tube of your mascara down and walk back into the living room. “No, I heard you.”
The vulnerability on his face vanishes instant, replaced with something colder, more irritable.
“Can you take me seriously for one fucking second?”
“Can you?!” You fire back, the words escaping automatically. Another jab. Another fight. Normally, he’d fire something right back, but this time, he doesn’t. He just stands there, expression almost grim, unreadable.
"Y'know what… Nevermind…” he mutters under his breath, turning towards the door. “I’m gonna go.”
Something in his voice makes your chest tighten. You reach out to him before you can stop yourself, hand catching his arm and halting him in his tracks.
“Wait,” you sputter, teasing edge gone. “I’m listening.”
Frank turns back to you, a deep flush creeping up the corners his neck, gaze darting away the second it lands on you. “I wanted to…” he mutters, the words slipping away. “You,” he corrects himself, clearing his throat. “You look… nice.”
Silence.
You blink. Once. Twice.
Oh.
You don't know what comes over you; confidence, curiosity maybe, closing the distance between you in several quick strides. Every so often, when he’s sober enough to remember, you take absolute joy in flustering him, and right now, he’s making it far too easy. Frank swallows thickly, body rigid, a shaky exhale escaping him. Before you can overthink it, you lean forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.
“Thanks,” you smile, pulling back. A strangled sound escapes him, face erupting in a furious shade of red. His hand shoots out to you on instinct, catching your wrist before you can fully retreat. His other hand finds your waist, pulling you back in.
Frank is on you before you can even think, chapped lips crashing into yours, stubble scraping against your chin. The kiss is rough, greedy, forceful in a way that steals the breath clean out of your lungs.
“F-Frank,” you manage between uneven pants, “W-we shouldn’t.”
He claims your lips once more, biting down onto the shell to work his way inside. It’s too much, too intense, his breath tasting of the Newports he sneaks behind your back.
“I’m — fuck — s-serious,” you whine, the words falling on deaf ears as he descends upon your neck, nipping and biting at the sensitive flesh. Frank’s hands trail down your body, frantic and everywhere at once, arms hooking around your waist to hoist you up. You wrap your legs around him instinctively, throwing caution to the wind under the weight of his attention. He manhandles you across the room with ease, your little resistance only turning him on more, slamming your back on the couch hard enough you both lose balance.
Frank hovers on top of you, pulling back to admire the bruises littering serpentine down your neck. He can see the anger in your eyes, but the edges have softened, overtaken by a hunger that leaves satisfaction coiling low in his chest.
“There,” he sneers against the curve of your neck, a wicked smile on his lips. “Try explaining that to your date.” The words are low, dripping with venom, the rage in your chest boiling over so fast you can’t stop yourself. A slap echoes through the trailer, your hand stinging at the contact.
“You’re a fucking dog,” you spit, the wetness pooling in your panties unbearable at this point, rubbing your thighs together in a futile attempt for friction. Frank doesn’t let you, knee wrenching your thighs apart, dragging your body down to meet him. Fuck, he knows just where to drag it, the hardness grinding up against your clit with every steady push.
“I… hate you,” you manage through stuttered moans, Frank’s brawny hands sliding under your dress and up your thighs. You’ve never wanted anything so bad, hips squirming into his touch, loving every second of the abuse.
“You don’t hate the way I’m touching you,” he lilts, hiking up the skirt of your dress. “Look at this.” Frank’s fingers brush against your clothed core, a shiver going straight up your spine at the contact. “Soaked through. How cute. You must really want me after all.”
His teasing is interrupted by a rough tug of his hair, your fingers digging through the strands and yanking him off by the root. “Just shut up and come here,” you mouth at him, legs tangling with his, hands fiddling with his belt buckle. He can feel the impatience watching off of you in waves, hands stopping you to pin your wrists to the couch. “Nuh uh,” he tsks. “Ask me nicely.”
Your face burns in shame, shock and disbelief twisting low and sending heat straight to your core. You silently curse your body, disgusted by how well it responds to him instinctively. Frank slips his hand below your panties, fingers parting your folds to tease at the wetness building there. He finds your clit with ease, the rough pads of his fingers adding a texture that has your back arching off of the cushions.
Frank works his fingers down nimbly on the bundle, testing what feels best for you by the sounds of your little gasps and whimpers. He’s surprisingly perceptive, patient even, far what you’d expect from him and especially not in bed. Somehow, that only makes it worse.
“You’re a wet little thing, aren’t you?” He grunts, completely mesmerized by your expressions, his other hand flying to the clasp of his belt buckle and pulling his boxers down. Frank’s cock hits your thigh with an agonizingly wet slap, precum dribbling off the fabric of your dress and onto your skin. He’s thick, way more than average, tip flushed and…
Holy shit.
It’s so small you don’t even see it at first, nothing more than a glint of silver catching the dim lights of the trailer.
Is that a…?!
You jolt upright in disbelief, eyes widening in shock as you struggle to prop yourself up under him. Sure, you’ve seen pictures, know he’s no stranger to piercings, but this?! What the fuck was he thinking?! The barbell is tucked into the underside of his tip, taunting, impossible to miss now that you’ve noticed it. Jesus Christ, he could break you with this thing if he isn’t careful.
You can’t help the unconscious whine that slips out of you at the thought.
“F-fuck, Frank,” you whine, hooking your legs around his waist to pull him in. He leans in, guiding his cock into a lengthy drag against your folds, spreading the almost uncomfortable wetness growing between you. You can feel the piercing brushing against your clit with every grind of his hips, slipping past your entrance and building a rhythm that has you begging for reprieve, for something.
Frank doesn’t need to draw this part out, grasping his cock and pushing in slowly, crude curses escaping his lips at the feeling of your walls clenching around him. It’s taking everything he has not to just fuck into you like an animal, reveling in the crease of your brow at the feeling of being stretched to the brim. Even with all his teasing, the sting is evident, your nails digging into his shoulders the deeper and deeper he goes. He bottoms out with a gentle snap of his hips, eyes glued to the way your cunt sucks him in greedily with every push.
You’re half expecting him to just rip into you, but no, Frank builds a steady pace, hips rocking into you in a way that has you trembling in his grasp. Even if you never say it, an undeniable truth rises anyway, rearing its ugly head with every gasp and stutter of breath. You’re his, and he knows it, even if you’re still fighting the realization. And sure, he’ll fuck you in all the ways you’ve ever dreamed, all the ways you’ve ever desired, because he’s the only one who can.
The thought has him keening, hands gripping the flesh of your hips to fuck you back onto him halfway. There’s no ease or gentleness to his method, pounding into you rough enough the sounds of wetness and skin slapping echo throughout the room. The piercing grazes your walls with every stroke, foreign but not unpleasant. If anything, it only makes you hotter for him, your pathetic gasps and whimpers escaping freely now.
The pride on Frank’s face is evident, smug, snaking one of his hands down to rub your your clit in time with his thrusts.
“Fuck,” you gasp, snapping your eyes shut at the feeling of him so deep. “Gonna cum.”
“Yeah?” He grunts, unrelenting, a devious grin spreading across his features. “Gonna cum from my cock inside you? Stuffing you full?” You’re too blissed out to respond, locking your ankles at the back of his back, the heat in your core driven so taut it could snap at any second. You’re close, so close, body and mind reeling in anticipation. You need this, you really do, but just before you can jump over that starry expanse, all movement stops completely.
Frank pulls out of you abruptly, the shock so sudden it’s almost painful, leaving you gasping and trembling at the loss of warmth. Your eyes burn into his, the fury in them so intense he has to bite back a needy moan.
“What the fuck?!” You hiss, all tension in your muscles dissipating instantly. Frank hoists you up, hands grasping, tearing, ripping your dress off in one rough swoop. He flips you around wordlessly, hands digging into your lower back, arching you into him and easing back inside of you with a steady push of his hips.
“We’re not done yet,” he snarls, rolling into you at a bruising pace, the angle penetrating deeper than anything you’ve ever thought could. Frank is unbelievably pent up, unbelievably turned on at the feeling of holding back his own orgasm to watch you squirm. He bites back another filthy moan, resentment twisting in his gut at the thought of the nights spent wasted in his hand, nights that should have been spent inside of you, keeping you stuffed and sated like a proper lover should.
“Tell me you’re mine,” Frank growls, nails digging into your ass possessively. You don’t respond, muscles protesting the angle, too fucked out to even form a coherent sentence.
“Say it,” he hisses, rhythm faltering. God, it’s fucking sadistic the way he works at you, ordering you around like it’s nothing.“Say it and I’ll let you cum.”
“Fuck,” you sob into the pillows, mascara streaking down your cheeks, makeup completely ruined. “I-I’m yours, Frank.” You cry out. “Only yours.”
He rewards you, leaning down over you to kiss at your shoulder blades. “Good girl,” He coos, breath hot against your ear, the weight of him on top of you addicting. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
You’re not sure if it’s the pity or the praise, but his approval sends you crashing straight over the edge, cunt clamping down hard on the thickness inside of you. It’s euphoric, the tension snapping deep and low, coursing through you so intensely no sound comes out at first. Frank’s not much better, moaning shamelessly into your hair, rhythm stuttering with the tightness and warmth. With one final snap of his hips, he’s shooting deep within you, snapping your hips down harshly to meet his one final time. It’s so much, hot and sticky as it pools. He continues to pump into you, prolonging it as long as he can.
Frank’s arms practically give out, crashing his body down onto the couch beside you. For a moment, it’s dead silent, the trailer filled only with the sounds of panting as you both struggle to catch your breath. Even he’s winded, fucking you so thoroughly he got himself fucked out in the process. Truly, a success. He doesn’t pull out of you, determined to make sure not a drop of cum leaks, repositioning you both as best he can to be comfortable.
You’re exhausted, eyes growing heavier with every passing second as you wait for your breathing to even out. Frank presses a sweaty kiss to your temple, wiping the sweat off of your forehead as best as he can before drifting off beside you.
The first thing you feel the next morning is warmth, solid and comforting beneath you. You lie there groggily, shifting slightly, enjoying the steady rise and fall of Frank’s breath beneath your cheek.
You’re sprawled across his chest, his cock soft within you.
“You awake?” he mumbles into the top of your hair, his voice thick with sleep.
“Mmhm,” you murmur back, pressing your ear against his chest to listen to the rhythm of his heartbeat.
You both lie there in comfortable silence, neither of you rushing to get up, content to exist solely in the other’s company for a little while longer. Your fingers skate along his arm, tracing the lines of ink and muscle before trailing to the scorpion tattoo on his neck.
He notices.
“I’m thinking about getting it removed.”
You tilt your head up toward him, surprised.
“Why? I love this one.”
Frank doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to, the soft look in his eyes more than enough. Instead, he presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, pulling you in tighter.
summary: gerard’s been busy lately, shutting himself in his office and burying his nose in work. maybe you can find a way to distract him?
tags: kitty play, light exhibitionism, oral sex (m receiving), spanking, fingering, soft + rough sex, praise kink, cockwarming, fem reader.
a/n: lots of puppy play gee out there but hardly any kitty. wc: 3,284.
Gerard had been busy lately, spending long hours alone in his office, days softening into weeks without much notice. When he finally comes to bed, he’s usually exhausted, moving carefully, like he’s trying not to wake you. His arms always find you, settling around your waist and pulling you back against his chest before falling into a deep sleep.
Your schedules don’t line up the way they used to. You’re usually asleep when he comes in, and he’s gone by the time you wake up. It doesn’t feel dramatic or painful, just quietly different. Meals are eaten at different times, conversations picked up and set down again, stretched across days instead of hours.
Still, there are traces of Gerard everywhere.
A bowl rinsed and left to dry by the sink. One of his jackets draped over the back of a chair, faintly smelling like him. In the mornings, you find coffee waiting on your nightstand, poured into your favorite mug, sometimes still warm, sometimes not, but always there.
It makes you smile, every time.
Gerard is truly so passionate, so wonderful, always planning things in his head, storyboarding ideas on scraps of paper and the backs of envelopes scattered through his office. Creativity lives in him completely, threaded through everything he does. You see it in the way he talks with his hands, in how his eyes light up when something finally clicks, in the way he can lose hours chasing a single idea and come back drained but satisfied. It’s part of why you love him, this restless need to make something meaningful, even when it takes so much out of him.
You know he’s working hard, giving so much of himself to what he’s creating. You’re proud of him, every little thing he does sparking admiration in your chest. Even when the house feels a little quieter than usual, the loneliness never feels heavy. It’s more like a pause, something temporary, something you trust will pass.
Your best friend gave you the idea first, and you’d dismissed it right away, too embarrassed to even consider it seriously.
There’s no way he could be into that.
Right?
Sure, you know he’s fond of cats. Sure, he’s had a few over the years. Sure, you both have talked about adopting one together…
But pretending to be one…
For sex?
Completely insane.
And yet… you can’t help the small, reluctant part of you that wonders what it would look like, how it would feel.
You had tried your fair share of lingerie before, but this… this feels different. Almost too much as you slide the lacy collar around your neck, the little bell jingling softly, perching the cat ears atop your head, tugging the stockings into place.
It’s elaborate, more so than you expected, taking nearly an hour to get everything just right. Every piece seems designed to hug all the right places, accentuating curves you hadn’t realized could be highlighted so perfectly. As you add the final touches of makeup, smoothing out stray hairs and adjusting the ears one last time, you can’t help but pause for a moment, taking your reflection in the mirror.
Ridiculous.
Kind of hot.
Hesitantly, you knock on Gerard’s office door with a soft tap. No answer, as expected. You push it open slowly. He’s there, completely absorbed in the monitor screens on top of his desk, crouched low.
Carefully, you lower yourself onto all fours, the little bell on your collar jingling softly. You press a hand over it, trying to silence the ringing as you crawl under his desk. He hasn’t noticed you yet, and the thought of surprising him like this makes it impossible not to bite back a laugh at the absurdity of the situation.
Slowly, very slowly, you lean forward and nuzzle his crotch, the soft jingle of your collar bell making your heart skip a beat. You pause there, feeling the warmth of him through his clothes, savoring the moment as you extend your tongue, licking a long stripe up his clothed core. You press gently, letting your cheek and nose brush against him.
Gerard notices immediately, head snapping down to find you nestled between his thighs as you continue to lick at him.
“B-baby… what… what are you doing?”
You answer him with a teasing, soft “Meow?”
“I’m on a video call,” he says, voice tight with surprise.
You freeze, every inch of you regretting the decision, debating whether to run. You shouldn’t have done this, you’ve messed it all up. Just as you’re about to push yourself up and leave in a rush of embarrassment, his hand cups your cheek, warm and steady, stopping you in place.
You look up at him, confusion mirrored by something warmer in his eyes as he peers down at you. The wet spot on his jeans, the ears, the collar… Every detail speaks of your mischievous intentions, and he can tell what you need without a word.
A slow, almost teasing smile curls his lips as he leans just a little closer, fingers brushing through your hair as if daring you to stay exactly where you are. The room feels smaller, warmer, charged with a quiet, playful tension that makes your pulse race and your grin unavoidable.
Gerard scratches gently between your ears, fingers warm against your skin. You shiver under his touch, the small bell on your collar jingling softly as your hands press against the floor for balance. Encouraged by him, you gladly continue, leaning closer as you continue to mouth at him through the denim, taking your sweet time as the wetness begins to soak through the fabric.
He lets out a low sigh, tugging lightly on one of your ears, his touch firm but gentle, making your pulse quicken. You gladly continue, reaching to unzip his jeans and pull down his boxers just enough so his cock can spring out.
He’s already semi-hard, pre beading as you suckle the tip into your mouth, feeling him fully harden between your lips with a few gentle sucks. His fingers trail from your ears down the back of your neck, and you can feel the quiet heat between you building with each slow, deliberate touch.
You take that as your cue to start moving, taking him deeper into your mouth and hollowing out your cheeks in the way you know he loves. Gerard’s breath hitches, looking down at your oh so innocent eyes as you set a steady pace, each motion teasing, drawing out the playfulness of the moment.
You always love the taste of him, the heady feeling of his length sliding into your throat as you open up for him.
“Gerard, what did you think about that direction?”
His head snaps up in a panic, and for a brief second, the tension in his eyes betrays him. He quickly masks it with his professional demeanor, fumbling to unmute himself.
“I-I think that sounds… great,” he says, voice tight, letting out a startled grunt under his breath as you take him down to the base in one smooth motion.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine… !” he stutters through gritted teeth, voice tight.
“We can reschedule if you’re not feeling well.”
“No, no, please… continue— hahhh—” he blurts, voice betraying a mix of urgency and embarrassment, the unmistakable sounds of wetness cutting through the air.
You truly can’t help yourself, not when you see him like this, caught off guard, so undeniably flustered. The way he struggles to keep his composure, the slight hitch in his breath, the tension in his hands… it makes it impossible not to revel in the effect you have on him.
The soft jingling of your collar each time you shift makes your pulse quicken, excitement coursing through your veins as you focus on massaging with your lips, spare hand reaching up to fondle his balls.
“What’s that noise?”
“M-must be my… cat,” Gerard pants, a quick laugh escaping him. “She can be… a handful sometimes.”
You can’t help the quiet, teasing purr that slips out, soft and mischievous. One look down at you, your hooded eyes staring up at him, flushed cheeks, tail flicking behind you with every movement of your body, and he’s completely losing it, shooting deep into your throat with a silent moan as you slide to the tip, pumping him to milk every last drop.
But you’re not done.
After a few short breaths, you sink back down onto him. He tries to pull you off of him, tugging harshly at your hair, but you don’t stop, sucking him even as he starts to soften on your tongue.
Sure, you love seeing Gerard soft, all warmth and ease, but getting him worked up is entirely different. He’s mellowed out a lot over the years, calmer, more grounded, but the fire is still there, sparking every time you push just a little, tease just enough. The way he looks at you, the heat in his gaze, the tension in his hands… It makes it impossible not to grin, to lean in closer, to flirt and play, wondering exactly how far you can go before he loses control.
“Looks like that’s everything for today. Anything else, Gerard?”
“N-nope,” he grunts, voice a little shaky. “I’ll… see you soon.”
He clicks off the call, and for a moment the room is filled with the quiet hum of anticipation between you.
Gerard leans back in his chair, eyes closed, breathing slowly as he carefully pulls you off him by your hair. Drool and spit streak across his clothes, a messy hint of the heat that’s still lingering between you.
“What the hell was that?” he growls, each word sharp, his tone dripping with frustration.
“I thought…” you start, only to be cut off as he yanks you into his lap, lips crashing against yours in one desperate motion.
There’s no ceremony. No teasing. Just pure, unadulterated hunger as his lips part yours just enough to slip his tongue inside. The force of him sends shivers straight up your spine, responding instinctively but pressing against him, hands wrapping at the base of his neck. The warmth of his body, the scent of him, the slick, urgent motion of your mouths together all swirl around you, making it impossible to think, impossible to stop.
Gerard’s desperate, so fucking desperate, grasping and exploring every inch of you as you mewl into his mouth, struggling to pull back for air. He doesn’t let you, eyes raking over your body, lingering on the collar, the intricate outfit, every little detail.
“Look at you,” he whispers, his voice husky, rough with need. “All this for me, pretty kitty?”
You nod, blush blooming across your cheeks, as his hands rake down your body. You shiver under his touch, tail flicking instinctively, collar jingling softly with every tiny movement. His hands press into your hips, holding you in place just enough to make you ache for more, and you can’t help the soft, teasing mewl that slips past your lips.
“Such a bad kitty,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, brushing his nose against yours. “Distracting me. Tempting me… That’s very naughty of you.”
“I’ve been— haaa— good,” you whimper as he nips and sucks at the spot on your neck he knows you love. Your hands wander over his shoulders, gripping him lightly as you tilt your head to give him better access. Each movement sends jolts of electricity through your body, and you can’t help the quiet whimpers and breathy moans that escape your lips.
“I don’t think you have, baby.” he murmurs, voice low, fingers tightening slightly as he leans closer, claiming your attention fully.
“I think,” Gerard says quietly, thumb tilting your chin up so you have no choice but to meet his eyes, “I need to teach you a lesson.”
“Turn around for me, sweetheart.”
You have half a mind to tease him again, but the look in his eyes stops you cold. You bite your lip, heart racing, knowing he means every word as you turn around and bend over the desk.
Gerard’s palm comes down on your ass hard, the sound cracking through the room and pulling a surprised squeak from you. Heat blooms from the impact, the sensation lingering long after his hand lifts.
“Count for me,” he grunts, voice rough but measured.
“One…” you stutter, breath unsteady.
Another slap rings through the air, your body jolting forward, a soft gasp slipping out before you can catch it.
The pause that follows feels heavier than the pain itself, charged with his attention and the quiet authority in his voice.
“O-one… two… three…” you trail off, voice trembling.
At fifteen, he turns you around and settles you against him in the chair, heat fading into a dull warmth, cheeks flushed and eyes damp. The room grows quiet, broken only by the occasional shaky sniffle as you steady yourself in his lap.
He wraps his arms around you, grounding and warm. “You did so good for me, baby,” he murmurs softly. “So, so good.”
“Do you know why I did that, sweet kitty?”
You shake your head, embarrassed, eyes dropping to your hands.
“Need to make sure you’re on your best behavior,” he says softly. “Can’t have you causing trouble around the house.”
Gerard presses a kiss to your temple, steady and warm, reaching up to scratch your ears and hold you close until your breathing evens out again.
You whine, voice trembling, “It h-hurts…”
“Show me where,” he murmurs, soft but insistent.
Your fingers clutch his hand tightly, guiding it to where you need him most. Every touch, every movement is heavy with desperation, your body still raw and trembling from earlier. Your playful edge has melted away, just as he intended, leaving only the urgent need for his care, him to hold you close, soothe you, make everything feel better.
Gerard begins moving his hand, rubbing soft circles over the lacy fabric right where you need it most.
You’re panting, eyes hazy as you focus on the sensation, soft waves of pleasure washing over you with every lazy circle of your clit. Gerard’s fingers are heavenly, knowing just the right amount of pressure to apply to have your wetness soaking through the delicate fabric.
“Doin’ so good for me, sweet girl,” he murmurs, continuing the teasing motions as his fingers push the fabric aside just enough so his middle and ring finger can slip inside of you. He builds a steady rhythm, fingers curling a spot that has you shaking as the pleasure coils around you.
“You like this?” Gerard whispers, maintaining a steady pace. “Like the way my fingers stretch you?”
You nod slowly, already blissed out, teeth grazing his skin as you suck bruises up and down his neck, hands tangling in his hair, the softest little whimpers gracing his ears. He can feel every shiver, every tremble, every desperate movement of your body, and he knows how much you want more, but he needs to hear you say it.
“What is it, love?” he murmurs, voice low and husky.
Your lips part, voice trembling, hot and earnest. “N-need more.”
Gerard nods, removing his fingers to position your body over his, fabric still twisted to the side as he sinks you down onto his cock in one fluid motion, hips flush together as you both groan. It’s been a while, but your body welcomes the familiar stretch with an easy grace, shivering as you both take a moment to adjust.
You begin to move, hands wrapping around his back as his strong hands dig into your hips, guiding and holding you close. He fills you so completely, your bodies moving together in a heated rhythm, mewls slipping past your parted lips with every grind down onto him.
“Such a good kitty. So perfect for me. So pretty.”
You shiver under his praise, collar jingling softly with every movement. Your hands dig into his shoulders, pressing closer as you let out a soft, needy whine.
“That’s it, just like that,” Gerard murmurs, voice low and rough. “Doing amazing, pretty girl. All this… all for me.”
You arch your body against him, moving together in sync as his hands grip your hips, pulling you down faster, every touch and motion sending little shocks of electricity through your body. The room fills with your soft grunts and moans, each moment tighter, closer, more consuming than the last.
“Y-you feel so good around me, sweetheart. So warm. So wet.”
You whimper, pressing closer, forehead brushing his as you tug lightly at his hair, craving more of him. He matches you perfectly, hands exploring every inch of your body with care and intention, thumbs tracing over your most sensitive spots, holding you close, making sure every touch lingers.
“ F-fuck… i‘m… i’m close,” you whimper into his neck, tasting the salt, the sweat of his skin.
“That so?” Gerard grunts. “We’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?” he murmurs, hips bucking up to meet yours as his hand snakes down between your bodies, fingers rubbing and teasing your clit in a pattern that has you clenching around him.
He pulls back just enough to look at you: your flushed face, unfocused eyes, breasts bouncing, hands clutching onto him for dear life as you scramble for purchase.
“Let go for me, baby.” he murmurs, voice harsh and commanding, sending shivers straight down your spine.
You scream, cunt contracting around him so tight you can feel every ridge, every vein of him as he fucks you through it. Gerard hoists you both out of the chair with renewed strength, slamming your back down onto the desk to fuck you more throughly. He sets a brutal pace, gripping your hips so tightly bruises begin to form, paper and pens flying off his desk in waves around you.
The room spins with every snap of his body as you lose yourself in the pleasure, filthy, obscene noises slipping from your lips. Gerard is snarling into your hair, leaning down to paint marks across your chest as you wrap your legs around him, locking your ankles around the base of his back to pull him closer.
Gerard responds with a choked cry, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he continues his relentless pounding, fueled by your cries. “Look at you… such a dirty girl,” he grunts, voice abrasive and strained, holding on by a thread.
“Y-your dirty girl, Gerard,” you whimper, nails digging crescent-shaped marks into his shoulders, chest heaving as your sweat mixes with his.
“That’s right,” he coos, teeth grazing your collarbone, hands and hips moving faster, relentless, claiming every inch of you as your breaths collide.
“Mine,” Gerard snarls. “All mine.”
You catch a fault in his rhythm as his hips stutter, several devastating thrusts and he’s spilling deep inside of you. His grunts and groans are music to your ears, filling the room until his body stills on top of you.
You stay pressed against him, breathing heavy, feeling the warmth of him still inside you. His arms wrap around your back, pulling you close as he nuzzles into your neck.
After a few moments of steady, controlled panting, Gerard speaks up.
“You’re amazing,” he murmurs, voice rough but soft. “So beautiful.”
You smile, reaching up to press a soft kiss to his lips. His fingers thread through your hair, soothing and gentle, grounding you both in the afterglow.
“Stay with me,” he whispers, lips brushing your forehead as his hazel eyes catch the light from the window. “Just like this.”
Still buried inside of you, he settles you back onto his lap in the chair, both of you completely spent, the warmth of your combined fluids seeping out onto the chair. Gerard’s hands move gently over your body, grabbing tissues from the box on his desk to clean you up.
You nuzzle into his neck, fingers tracing idle shapes along his shoulders as he works, the occasional twitch of him inside of you sending little shivers through you. The room is quiet, except for the soft hum of his monitors and the faint jingling of your collar as you shift.
Gerard gets back to work, late hours of the afternoon flying by as you stay cuddled into his side, impossibly close.
Every so often, he leans down to press a gentle kiss to the top of your head, silent reassurance that he’s here. That he’s aware of you. That he loves you.
You squeeze a little closer, heart full, feeling completely at home in his arms.
