#healing 7

You were tired, exhausted, dead on your feet by time school ended today. The weather was shite and you had too much homework to do but you also agreed to let your boyfriend, Gerard, come around tonight because he’d been asking non-stop for over a week.

You were in your room, laying in bed in comfortable clothes after changing out of your uniform, Gerard too, now in just joggers, shirtless and his boxers waistband showing slightly.

Gerard’s hands were slowly migrating to your waist, giving it a soft squeeze when they landed. ”Let me eat you out, love” He said out of the blue but you weren’t fazed knowing how much he loved being in between your thighs. 

You feel yourself become aroused so you squeeze your thighs together but it doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend. ”And I want to try something new. I want you to sit on my face” After that you wasted no time in ridding yourself of your pants and underwear whilst Gibsie got himself comfortable enough so you could sit on his face.

You were already soaked, arousal coating your thighs as you hovered over Gibs’ mouth on your knees. His hands come up around your waist, guiding you closer to his waiting mouth before giving you a tug so that you’d fully sit down, his tongue delving straight into your awaiting cunt.

You moan straight away at the contact which you needed. You squeezed your thighs around his head already as your hands found home in his curly hair, gripping and tugging as his tongue licked everywhere, not leaving a single part of your sopping pussy untouched. 

You couldn’t help but grind your hips down, his nose bumping your hooded clit every so often. Your moans filled the room, not caring about anything other than your boyfriend’s tongue inside of your pussy. ”Gerard” You moaned, his hands on your thighs encouraging you to keep moving, properly riding his face.

Gibsie always felt like he had entered heaven when he was doing anything related to your pussy, he loved it, he loved you in general but the fact that you trusted him enough to be here was another thing because of your past experiences with guys. He always proved to you that no matter what, your pleasure came before his even if he had a raging boner and he came in his pants from giving you head (may have or may have not had happened in the past).

You stare down at him but his eyes were glazed over in some sort of pussy-whipped gaze, they never left where they were looking in between your thighs. He was already so far gone. Your toes curl as your orgasm bubbles in your stomach making your pussy clench around nothing. 

Gibs’ lower face was covered in your slick, lips, chin and nose all glistening as his pace never faltered bringing you to your first orgasm of the night with a moan/ shout out his name before you bite your lip to conceal them a little. He suckled and licked at your clit as you rode out your climax, chest heaving. 

You shakily move off his face to lay down on the bed, legs still spread as Gerard wasted no time in settling back in between them, this time his middle finger entering your hole and thrusting straight away before hooking it on your g-spot making you squirm.

Gerard uses his other hand to lift your leg over his shoulder to slot him closer to your pussy, lips sucking constantly on your clit, never faltering. Your eyes were half closed, lost in the pleasure of Gibsie’s mouth and finger. Your back was arched and your hands were back in his curls, trying to roll your hips up to his mouth.

He adds a second finger before he moves them so you could get used to them again, since your pussy was so tight. Gerard was moaning whilst he pleasured you, making shockwaves go up your body, making you shake. Gibsie angles his fingers perfectly to hit your spot repeatedly as he continues with his clit stimulation.

You didn’t even have time to register that you were orgasming again until your thighs were soaked with your squirt, Gibsie gasping into your cunt but he carried on with his torture on your vagina. You were desperate to get him to stop, your body becoming overstimulated because squirting took a lot of energy from you. 

”Ger, please, no more, ca-can’t take no more” You whimper, hips rising to try to escape from his relentlessness but he didn’t care, his hand holding your lower body down as he shook his head, earning himself a scream of his name from your pretty lips.

”Don’t run, you said you wanted it, love, let me enjoy this” And, obviously he was enjoying it, watching you moan, groan, whimper and whine because of his mouth and fingers. His digits were thrusting in and out of your sopping hole, you were still soaking his fingers and lips. He wanted one more orgasm out of you before he could let you relax so he kept going.

You were fully blissed out now, mouth never shutting up with moans of all sorts slurring together as your thighs shook around his head. Your head was empty in exception of one thought, your boyfriend and his amazing mouth and fingers. Your skin was sticky and you were pretty sure your room was starting to smell, your sheets were definitely wet but you really couldn’t give two flying fucks at this moment of time.

Another orgasm was pending, the sensation in your toes made its way up your legs and to your lower stomach and back. Gibsie could feel you clamping down around his fingers. He looked up at you from in between your thighs and his heart melted, he loved seeing you like this, he loved making you relax.

 ”One more f’me, know you’re close, come for me once more” You nod your head to his words and let your orgasm breach and shatter through your body like a tidal wave. You could have sworn you had blacked out for a couple of seconds due to the overstimulation. He helps you through it before slowly pulling away, pressing small kisses up our body until he reaches your lips, kissing them like a man starved. 

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Kinktober 25 Masterlist

you haven’t looked at him since you walked into his room.

you’re curled up on the edge of his bed, arms crossed, back to the wall, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands. quiet. still. and icy.

gerard’s pacing like a kicked puppy, one socked foot dragging as he circles, circles, circles. he’s been trying to talk for ten minutes now — words coming out in broken half-laughs, nervy and desperate.

“c’mon,” he says again, hands in his hair. “you’re really not gonna talk to me? like, at all?”

you glance at him. short. flat.

he sighs. “fuck, you’re scary when you go quiet.”

you raise an eyebrow.

he stops pacing, finally — plants himself in front of you, kneels on the floor, rests his arms on your knees. eyes big. lower lip out. full pleading golden retriever mode.

“i didn’t mean it how it sounded, love,” he says, quieter this time. “you know i didn’t.”

you stare at him for a second longer. then: “then why’d you say it?”

his mouth opens. then shuts.

you pull your legs up, curling tighter into yourself. “you made it sound like i was too much. like i’m annoying.”

his face drops.

“no,” he says quickly. “no, baby—jesus, no. i was being a prick. i was nervous and talkin’ shite and trying to be funny, and it came out all wrong. you’re not too much, alright? you’re—fuck, you’re everything.you’re the one thing that makes me calm. i’m the one who’s too much.”

you blink, surprised by the honesty.

he runs a hand down his face. “i hate when you shut down like that. not ‘cause i’m mad — but ‘cause i know i fucked up if i made you feel like you had to.”

you bite the inside of your cheek. your chest aches, but you keep your face smooth. “i didn’t like being embarrassed in front of everyone.”

“i know,” he groans. “i know. i’ve never felt like more of a tosser in my life.”

he shifts forward, resting his chin on your knee. “i swear on me ma, i’d go back and headbutt my own mouth if i could.”

your lips twitch — but you keep the glare.

he tilts his head. “you want me to prove i’m sorry?”

you narrow your eyes. “…how?”

“you know how.”

he’s grinning now. cheeky and soft. a little filthy.

you flush, biting back a scoff. “you’re not serious.”

he shrugs. “it’s me favourite thing in the world. better than cigs. better than life. better than breathin’, probably.”

you roll your eyes, but your pulse jumps.

“don’t make me beg,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. “or do. i’m into that.”

you don’t answer. but you don’t move either.

he presses another kiss, higher this time. and when he looks up at you — curls messy, lashes long, grin fading into something slower, softer — you know he means it.

he’s gonna worship you if you let him.

you exhale slow. “fine.”

he lights up like a goddamn firework.

“you’re not forgiven yet,” you warn, lifting a brow.

“not yet,” he says, standing to pull his hoodie off. “but i will be.”

he doesn’t rush.

he never rushes when it comes to you — but especially not now. not when he’s made a mess of things. not when your voice’s gone all quiet, when your eyes are hard, when your jaw’s tight like you’re holding everything in just to keep from breaking.

no, he takes his time with this.

starts by easing you back on the bed, hands gentle, eyes never leaving yours. kisses your thigh first, then your hip, then the soft skin just above the waistband of your shorts.

“lift up f’me,” he whispers, voice low and husky.

you do — just barely — and he slides them down slow, dragging his fingers along your legs like he’s committing the feeling to memory. once they’re off, he settles between your thighs like it’s his natural place. like he’s meant to be there.

he is.

he kisses just above your knee, then lower, then trails his lips up your inner thigh, whispering little nothings as he goes.

“didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he murmurs. “you know i talk too much sometimes. just wanted to make people laugh. but it should’ve been you i was thinkin’ about.”

you sigh, fingers twitching against the comforter.

he smiles against your skin, nosing gently at the crease of your thigh.

“can i taste you now, sweetheart?” he asks, voice going soft. “let me show you how sorry i am.”

you nod once — just a flicker — but it’s all he needs.

he mouths at you first, slow and careful, like he’s mapping you out again. you’re already warm, already wet, and he groans when he feels it. fucking melts into it, big hands sliding under your thighs to hook them over his shoulders as he buries his face between your legs.

his tongue drags a slow stripe through your folds, flat and firm — once, twice — and then he starts working, lips wrapped around your clit, tongue flicking, licking, sucking like it’s second nature.

he moans low in his throat when your hips twitch.

“that’s it,” he mumbles into you, voice thick. “there she is.”

he’s so fucking present. every little breath you take, he hears it. every shift of your hips, every shaky exhale — he feels it. adjusts. reacts. like his mouth was made for you and you only.

you reach down and tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling — not too hard, just enough to ground yourself. he groans again, louder, and pushes deeper, flattening his tongue against you, shaking his head slightly like he wants to get drunk on it.

your breath stutters. “g-gerard—”

he moans in response, eyes flicking up to watch your face.

god, the way he looks at you — all hunger and reverence, like he’d die here if you asked. like you could forgive him with just a single moan and he’d be yours forever.

his pace shifts — less teasing now, more deliberate. his thumb brushes slow, lazy circles over your thigh while he sucks your clit again, firmer this time, tongue swirling with intention.

you start to tremble.

“close?” he asks, lips still against you.

you nod, almost frantic. “d-don’t stop.”

he grins — and then pulls back, just enough to make you whimper.

“not yet,” he says, panting softly. “not till i’ve earned it.”

and he dives back in, determined to edge you, to keep you floating just below the peak until you’re begging.

until he knows you’ve truly forgiven him.

he doesn’t let up this time.

doesn’t back off when you start shaking. doesn’t pull away when your legs tighten around his head. doesn’t even flinch when you grab his hair like you’re afraid you’ll float off the earth if you let go.

he wants it all.

“that’s it, love,” he murmurs, voice wet and wrecked between your thighs. “gimme it. let go f’me.”

you’re trying not to. fighting it. you always do — always trying to stay composed, in control, never too much.

but he knows better. knows you need this. need to be undone. need someone to see you unravel and still look at you like you hung the fucking stars.

so he works his tongue in slow, relentless circles, locking eyes with you as he presses two fingers inside you, curling just right. and when you gasp, when your back arches and your hand slams over your mouth, that’s when he knows.

you’re right there. on the edge. ready to fall.

he groans into your cunt, shaking his head just enough to send sparks up your spine, and says, “i’ve got you, baby. don’t hold back now. you’re safe — i’m here.”

and then you break.

it crashes over you in a full-body wave — your thighs trembling, your chest hitching, tears in your eyes before you even realize you’re crying. your moan’s all stuttered, breathless, choked out against your palm.

he doesn’t stop.

he rides it out with you, tongue still moving, fingers still deep, coaxing every last bit of it from you like he’s determined to make you feel everything.

and when you go limp, completely spent, thighs twitching around his ears, he finally pulls back.

he presses a kiss to your inner thigh. then another. and another. like he’s saying sorry with his mouth, over and over.

“you alright?” he asks gently, voice hoarse. “was i too much?”

you shake your head, eyes fluttering open, still catching your breath.

“did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers, crawling up the bed. “so fuckin’ good for me.”

he pulls you into his chest, doesn’t care that he’s still fully clothed and your skin’s flushed and damp. wraps his arms around you like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he lets go.

you bury your face in his neck, trembling.

he rubs slow circles into your back. “never wanna make you feel small again, yeah? you’re the best thing i’ve ever had. swear it.”

you nod, quiet against his throat.

he kisses the top of your head. “gonna hold you ‘til you fall asleep. not goin’ anywhere.”

and he doesn’t.

not even when you stop shaking.

not even when your breathing evens out.

he just holds you.

like a boy who made a mistake and knows damn well what he’s got to lose.

⸻

next morning you wake up slow — limbs heavy, lips parted, blanket tangled around your waist. you’re sore in that floaty, warm way that only comes after he’s been between your legs for the better part of a night. your cheek’s pressed to his chest, his arm draped across your back, his breath soft against your hair.

you stay like that for a minute. quiet. still.

and then you shift a little, just enough to glance up at him — and find him already watching you.

“mornin’, trouble,” he says, voice raspy and rough with sleep.

you glance away, suddenly shy. “hi.”

he lifts a brow, reads you instantly.

“you alright?”

you nod.

“you sure?”

you nod again — smaller this time. but your fingers twitch against the sheets. you curl back into yourself without meaning to. a quiet retreat.

he props himself up on one elbow, tilting his head. “you’re goin’ all quiet again.”

“no i’m not.”

“you are.” he nudges your shoulder gently. “what’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

you shake your head, trying to smile, but it falters too quick.

he softens immediately.

“hey,” he says, brushing your hair back. “talk to me.”

you pause. then, so soft it’s barely audible: “you were just being nice ‘cause you felt bad.”

his whole face falls. “what?”

you sit up a little, still not looking at him. “last night… you were just trying to fix it. like… trying to shut me up.”

his eyes go wide. “what? no—no, baby, jesus. is that what you think?”

you shrug.

he sits up fully now, grabs your hand. doesn’t let go. “i wasn’t trying to shut you up. i was trying to show you. that i’m sorry. that you matter. that what i said was out of line and i’d never fucking mean it.”

your lashes flutter. you look down at your lap.

he scoots closer. cups your cheek, makes you meet his eyes.

“don’t ever think you’re too much for me,” he says, slow and serious. “not your moods, not your quiet, not your standards. i’d rather be called out by you than loved by anyone else, alright?”

you blink, throat tight. “i’m not always easy.”

he shrugs. “neither am i. and you still love me.”

you smile — a little. “debatable.”

he grins, presses a kiss to your forehead. “nah. you’re obsessed.”

you roll your eyes, but your cheeks go warm.

“look,” he adds, “i can be a dumbass sometimes. too loud. too fast. but i’ll never do that again. never make you feel like you’re not wanted. that’s a promise.”

you look at him for a long moment. then crawl back into his arms like that’s where you belonged all along.

he kisses your temple.

“you’re not too much,” he murmurs. “you’re my favourite person on this earth.”

and you believe him.

because he means it like a prayer.