THIS IS A 18+ BLOG
DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU ARE A MINOR
~ blog info below the cut ~
INTRODUCTION:
⭑ Call me Batty <3
⭑ She/her
⭑ Adult!!! 21+
⭑ Bisexual
⭑ Be nice! Moot me up!
BOUNDARIES:
⭑ I'm new at writing
so please be nice! I'm here to have fun - not to be judged!
⭑ Don't be weird towards me!
(sexual comments unrelated to fics, oversharing, calling me nicknames, being overly forward, etc)
⭑ You can leave requests
but please keep in mind that there is no guarantee I will write it! Again, this is for fun!
STUFF I WILL WRITE:
⭑ all members Fall out boy and My Chemical Romance (except Bob)
⭑ Favs are Patrick Stump and Gerard way
(what can I say? I like the cute nerdy ones <3)
⭑ I am most comfy writing fem/non binary AFAB readers
⭑ TBA??? I'll add more specifics when I know I'm comfy with a trope.
⭑ For now, keep my "won't write" list in mind!
⭑ If nothing else, ask!!! worst thing I can say is "No, sorry!"
STUFF I WON'T WRITE:
⭑ incest/stepcest
⭑ grooming
⭑ minors/high school setting
⭑ pet play/anything animal related
⭑ piss/scat/vomit
⭑ Anything crazy illegal/immoral
⭑ Dead Dove Do Not Eat (DDDNE)
NOTE:
⭑ I may REBLOG some DDDNE/immoral fics. I rarely read that content but JUST TO BE CLEAR, it may show up on my page even tho I don’t write it.
MASTERLISTS:
⭑ Fall Out Boy
⭑ My Chemical Romance
TAGS:
⭑ #BattyWritez <- anything I write
⭑ #BattyBlogz <- any fics I reblog
⭑ #BattySpeakz <- my ramblings
⭑ #BattyFavz <- favorite fics
⭑ #Count(LastName) <- fics I've written for specific bandom ppl
⭑ #MyChemicalBloodsucking / #FallOutBat <- fics I've written for specific bands
⭑ #(Name)sBloodType <- reblogged stuff for specific bandom ppl
⭑ #(Band)goesbatty <- reblogged stuff for specific bands
hihi :3 i never submit asks/ideas/whatever this is called but i wanted to throw my ideas out there because i adore your writing style <3 my fav is patrick so these focus on him lol :P feel free to ignore if you don’t vibe with them of course!!
• i loved your jerk!patrick x fem!intern!headcanons - after reading it, i started brainstorming my own little headcanons and i love love loooove the idea of their “relationship” getting more and more risky as time goes on because he gets bored quick - he becomes more of an exhobitionist, specifically having the fem!reader wear discreet, wearable toys around the office and such (would that be stealth public play? public edging? idk)
• i also loved your breeding kink joe and was thinking about if patrick had a breeding kink. the only difference being instead of not communicating it, he just straight up begs for it. basically, submissive patrick (beardtrick/current era patrick maybe?) begging and pleading to make a family with fem!reader
• also maybe a cheater!patrick x fem!mistress!reader? or newly divorced!patrick x fem!reader :P i don’t have any crazy ideas for them, they are just my favorite tropes to daydream about lol
- 🧚♀️🩷 anon
jerk!patrick x intern!reader
hii 🧚🏼♀️anon it’s so nice to meet you !! once i finished reading ur ask i actually screamed. i LOVE how patrick your mind is. all of these are so perfect they will all get written.jertrick was my my very first fic on here so it’s got a special place in my heart. gonna give 2013 patrick some more love with this. so so sorry this took so long ur paitence will be rewarded <3
dark content,power imbalance,he’s awful, degrading,edging,public play, vouyerism,usage of toys,worst boss ever,
jerk!patrick who kept you on payroll even after the hiatus. he refused to part ways with such a pretty young thing. it just wasn’t fair to release you back into the real world after he groomed you into the perfect assistant.
jerk!patrick who got extra mean during the hiatus. he would call you into his office and force you to sit on his desk,legs splayed open across the wooden surface like some sort of prostite. from there he’d edge you for hours. drinking in the sounds of your cries and begs for release. it wasn’t fair he was the only one feeling broken inside you needed to mirror that.
jerk!patrick who recorded your desperate whines for his new ring tone. he makes a point of keeping it at full volume at all times so he’s able to watch his band members eyes widen in shock (and maybe slight arousal) at the lewd sounds leaving his phone speakers.
jerk!patrick who uses your paycheck to manipulate you. you didn’t compliment his new cologne ? pay cut. your feed back on his song writing was concise enough ? easy , pay cut ! you weren’t paying him enough attention ? payyyy cutttt.
jerk!patrick who changes up your schedule to keep you on edge. one week you’re working all day seven days out of the week. you’d come home exhausted from running errands and doing busy work all day. randomly two weeks later you’re only working twice,not even staying at the office for more than eight hours. during those times patrick was always so cold towards you.
jerk!patrick who stoped closing the door when he did naughty things to you. why should he ? it’s not like you had any prospects going for you besides this. he enjoyed watching the uncomfortable looks of passersby as they rushed passed his open door.
jerk!patrick who calls you drunk at least twice a week. some times are more coherent than others. most of the time he’s droning on and on about pete. “i just lose a piece of my soul y/n. you’ll never know what that’s like”.
jerk!patrick who ,despite it all, was just as cocky as when the band was at the height of its fame. he still had the pretty young assistant at his beck and call and his voice was stronger than ever.
jerk!patrick who didn’t give a damn about your opinions on anything. “how’s that old saying go again”? he taps his chin in mock thought. “women should be seen and not heard right? let’s just stick to that”.
jerk!patrick who keeps a myriad of toys in his top right drawer. it’s the only one that locks you’d learned while rifling through his belongings one especially boring day. it was so full you could barely shut it back.
jerk!patrick who loved to see you squirm. it started off in the privacy of his bedroom. “i just bought a few new things at the store today. let’s try them out now,yes?”. it’s not like you had any choice in the matter. patrick had already given your answer for you.
jerk!patrick who bought a special bar to keep your legs spread. “you give up way too soon”patrick explained as he locked your ankles into the device. “hopfully i can instill the discipline you so badly lack”.
jerk!patrick who loves asserting dominance in public. seeing you get all worked up in private was one thing but infront of a room full of people ? now that’s a thrill that’s hard to beat.
jerk!patrick who doesn’t care that the record label executives were in the next room over. “this is such a huge day for the band”. patrick says, his hand finding its way to your exposed thigh. you wished he didn’t make you wear these short pencil skirts every day. “help me take the edge off baby girl”.
jerk!patrick who is furious when you suggest waiting till after the meeting. “why don’t you have a cigarette? i have a fresh pack in my bag, lighter too”.
“from what i recall i sign your paychecks,correct”?
you nod, avoiding direct eye contact with the man. patrick could get a tad bit violent when provoked.
“exactly. so tell me y/n, what does that mean”?
“it means you’re in charge sir. and i have to listen to evethring you say”.
“that’s what i thought. so when i ask you to do something what do you say”? his eyes are focused on you with intensity.
“yes sir”.
“smart girl”. he pats your head. “since i’m feeling generous i’ll let you pick which toy you want to use today”
patrick is quick with opening the hidden drawer. he takes a handful and spreads out an array of objects across his desk. there were so many colors and shapes it was hard to choose.
jerk!patrick who watches intently as he slowly inserts the toy inside of you. “spread your legs a little wider so i can get a good view”.
jerk!patrick who walks into the board room with his arm around your shoulder. even when he was around some of the most powerful producers in the music world he still entered as if he owned the place. “is it okay if my assistant sits in on this meeting? she’ll be taking notes for me” he says , gesturing for you to take the seat beside him. “don’t worry. she doesn’t bite”. a wave of polite laughter washes over the room.
jerk!patrick who doesn’t break eye contact with the man across from him as he turns the vibration up on the toy. he doesn’t even take a pause on his sentance. his face is shockingly neutral. you can see him watching out of the corner of his eye. patrick was loving this. you’re practically falling apart at the most important meeting of his career and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
jerk!patrick who raps his fist on the wooden table breaking you out of your lustful haze. “hey, didja get that? this is important stuff you need to be at full attention”. he tsks.
jerk!patrick who leans over to you “your lip is bleeding”. you’d been trying to hard not to break you hadn’t even noticed how hard you bit down. the vibration of the toy was starting to hurt your sensitive nub. “i give in”. you say through gritted teeth, putting your head in your hand. “it’s not that simple my love”.
jerk!patrick who continued to torture you the entire duration of the exchange. multiple times he called attention to you just to make sure you were on your A game. he just couldn’t take his eyes off his masterpiece. you’d never looked more beautiful to him as your crumbled under the buzzing toy.
jerk!patrick who helps you to your feet after the event had ended. “and i expect those panties on my door the minute you’re back at your desk”.
Author's note: I was reading some Gerard Way fics where the reader was an actor/actress for the recent tours, and it got me thinking of the nurse scene in FOBs "Where Did The Party Go?" MV :P
This is only part 1 so there is NO smut!!!
Part 2 WILL have smut!!!
Summary: Pete messes with the script, adding last-minute changes that he hopes will work in Patrick's favor. Although Patrick had been told about said changes, it's not until they are filming the scene that he fully understands the position his best friend has set him up for.
In this fic: Reader isn't a FOB fan, Patrick isn't married, Patrick takes his acting seriously (at least he tries to), they are on set (hospital), Patrick is RESPECTFUL, Patrick has a type, Pete is Patrick's unwanted wingman, poor description of music video, grinding, lap dancing kinda not really, Patrick gets turned on from said grinding and dancing
Word count: 1702
~ NSFW-ISH UNDER CUT ~
You've been in the acting industry for a little while now, having gotten some small but notable roles in The Walking Dead, Supernatural, House M.D., hell- even Glee. But despite your relatively good line of roles, your career was quickly fizzling out as the typecast you once filled was replaced with newer, younger actors.
Which is why your agent suggested doing some music videos, saying it would be an easy casting call. You were experienced enough, and the bar wouldn't be high. It was easy money, really. That's how you ended up here, in this uncomfortable costume, on set for Fall Out Boy's "Where Did The Party Go?" music video.
---
You sigh, tugging at the hem of your stereotypical sexy nurse costume, attempting to cover your ass while the director goes over some last-minute changes made to the script.
You remember a few of the band's earlier albums, having only heard them from younger cousins and friends' little siblings. That said, you wouldn't really consider yourself even the most casual of fans. It just wasn't really your genre. Not that they were horrid; you just preferred other artists.
Whatever, you're here regardless of being a fan or not. Doesn't stop you from wishing you were on some other set with an artist you actually knew. You can't help but start going through a list of artists and songs you love, little fantasies of what roles you could play, what stories could be told if only given the opportunity.
The director snaps his fingers, knocking you out of your train of thought. "Got it?" An embarrassed flush creeps up your neck. You give an awkward smile, "Uh- one more time?" That draws a tired sigh from the director as he begins to repeat himself.
"Your role," he makes a sharp point towards you, "you're a zombie-like nurse from this hospital." Now gesturing to the set, his tone is condescending, like he has to dumb it down just for you to understand.
"Stump here," using his thumb to point at the bloody blond man with a fake hook for a hand that stood beside the two of you, "He is basically tripping balls, so what he's seeing isn't reality. You are part of said trip. In actuality, he's hunting down Wentz, Trohman, and Hurley." He raises a brow at you, making sure you're actually listening, continuing only after you give a short nod.
"Most of the video, you'll be stumbling in the background like a zombie, but thanks to Wentz, you have a bigger part at the beginning of the video," he sighs, clearly not the happiest that such last-minute changes had been made to his already perfect vision. "He would like you to straddle Stump on the operating table. You have to make a show, dance a little," he makes a vague gesture with his hands. "Just- 'be sexy,' as Wentz put it. Got it?"
You give a nod, crossing your arms. You definitely didn't sign up to lap dance the lead singer, but as long as everyone was ok with it and you got paid, what's the harm? Patrick was cute, after all, so you sure as hell weren't complaining.
The director then turned to Patrick. "Got it?" he repeated. This seemed to knock Patrick out of his own daze, blinking at the director with a soft "Hm?" giving an exhausted groan, the director waved his hand dismissively. "You've gone over it in your own time, and I repeated it twice; I'm sure you got the gist," the overworked man mumbled, leaving with his fingers pressed against his temple.
Patrick gave the director a strained, apologetic smile, cursing himself for getting so distracted by the barely dressed woman in front of him.
---
Patrick was a respectful man, no doubt. He made a conscious effort never to make anyone uncomfortable, always making his stance on important topics known. Being one of the few in his genre who stayed true to his beliefs, he never used his status or fame for the wrong reasons. He was raised with morals and stuck to them.
That said, he was still a man. A man with eyes. A man with a type that you fit into perfectly. He couldn't help but get just slightly distracted.
Pete, of course, knew Patrick's type. He had never told Pete outright; no, he felt weird about confessing his preferences. But seeing as Pete had always been Patrick's unwanted wingman at random bars, he learned Patrick's type fast.
Despite his many embarrassed protests at clubs across the country, on the rare occasion, Pete's games worked. The very few times Patrick actually went home with someone in his arms were when the ladies looked similar to you.
Hey, having a type isn't a crime, right?
That's why, when Pete saw you, he just had to jump into his wingman duties. He was quick to scribble his additions to the script and shove it in the director's face. With a little bit of begging and a lot of power play, the director added the changes for the sake of his job.
---
The scene was set up, the lights a mix of fluorescent pinks and eye-numbing purples, all actors in place. Patrick was in the flow of things already, having completed several scenes that day; he was warmed up and ready to give his all.
Pete, wanting to see the poor blonde man's reaction firsthand, made sure to watch the scene from afar. After all, he knew full well Patrick would connect the dots and didn't want to be in range of getting absolutely brutalized for setting up his best friend.
"Action!" is called out, music starting up to keep everyone on cue.
---
Patrick stumbles into the pink room, mouthing the lyrics dramatically as he finds you, the nurse, finishing up procedures on a zombie-like man lying on the operating table. As you push the man off, Patrick begins to stagger towards you.
Patrick is trying to make sense of his surroundings, looking around in a stupor. Taking advantage of his confused state, you're quick to grab onto the lapel of his leather jacket, pulling him towards you. Now, practically chest to chest, you hitch your knee up to rest on the operating table before pushing the dazed man onto the already warm surface.
The admittedly rough shove catches him off guard, gasping at being manhandled. Just slightly out of character now, he forgets he's supposed to sing the lyrics for the scene. He's quick to try to get refocused, though, continuing to look around from his seated position on the operating table, despite his frazzled mind.
You let the moment linger before the next cue starts up, shoving him down on the table. The cameras focus on his form fighting against your grip, locked on his face before lifting to you, catching the moment your figure straddles his.
The second your leg swings over his hips, he realizes he missed some very important updates when the director was going over the script earlier.
His breath holds when he looks up at you, now grinding against him in a confidence that makes him lightheaded. The zipper of your costume is only half done; the swell of your chest is practically popping out of the costume, being accentuated by the bright lights and the red lace that barely covers you.
The bottom half isn't much better, being slightly bunched up; his eyes catch sight of your matching lace panties. He forces his head to turn to the side, not being able to look at you any longer without passing out then and there.
This, of course, immediately backfires when his gaze finds how your thighs are barely contained in your costume's thigh-highs.
He's doing everything in his power not to get too excited, to stay in the scene, to be a normal fucking person. He tries to keep himself in character by thrashing under your weight like the script said, cursing Pete in his head for putting him in this situation.
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you-oh god-fuck you.
He's too in his head, flailing around so absentmindedly that it starts to look overdone. Your hands move to press down on his shoulders, staying in character yet needing to bring him back into the scene before the director calls for a reshoot.
The pressure makes his head roll back, his back arching just slightly as a low groan leaves his lips. A sound that he immediately regrets and prays no one, especially you, heard. The action did its job, though, as now he was painfully aware of his surroundings.
He was back in his role, making purposeful yet unpredictable movements. You give a soft smile when his eyes meet yours in recognition, a silent "thank you" shared between the pair before you go back into action.
Hand on his lapel again, you dance a bit more freely. Hips rolling in circular motions that read as you riding him. Your free hand now wanders, starting on his thigh behind you, to his neck, up to your hair as you look down at him with a smirk.
If he wasn't hot and ready before, he sure as hell was now. He can only hope you don't feel the twitch of his hips beneath you, that you don't notice his poorly hidden arousal.
---
"Cut!"
The scene wrapped up after what felt like forever. Patrick had only been able to power through by telling himself that if they got it done right the first time, they wouldn't need to reshoot this hellish scene.
The sexy act you put on had disappeared quickly. Half-lidded eyes and pouty lips turned soft and sweet as you mumbled a soft apology to Patrick, climbing off the table. He went limp for a moment, his hand sliding down his face with a sigh, his legs bent in a way to hide the obvious tent.
He lifted his hand off his face to notice some of his makeup had lifted from how hard he was sweating, softly cursing as he sat up, hopping off the table, before excusing himself to his dressing room trailer to take care of his makeup.
Only his makeup.
Nothing else.
A/N: HERES PART 1 :P The smut is already in the drafts o7 will be here soon!!
The rusty bell above the coffee shop door announced your arrival at exactly 8:15 AM. To Gerard, that sound wasn't just a notice that a new customer was entering; for him, that ring was the signal that his gray world would gain color for the next ten minutes.
Behind the worn wooden counter, he felt his heart give a clumsy jolt under his black Iron Maiden t-shirt, the same one he had been wearing for two days. He was leaning against the espresso machine, trying to look busy, but his eyes were fixed on the door. His hair, black, straight, and visibly oily, fell in heavy strands over his eyes, it was a shield against a world he still didn't know how to face at twenty-three.
"Here she comes," Ray whispered beside him while frantically wiping the counter for the tenth time. "8:15 on the dot."
"Shut up, Ray," Gerard grumbled, though his voice lacked any real authority, he couldn't look away.
He watched you walk in with that confidence that seemed to be a natural accessory. The floral perfume emanating from you fought against the smell of roasted coffee and ground beans.
To Gerard, you were the personification of everything he feared and desired. You were resolved, radiant, and seemed to know exactly where you would be in the next five years. He, on the other hand, felt stagnant. He still lived in his parents' house, sharing a space with his brother and trying to understand why the future looked like a thick fog.
"She definitely has a boyfriend," Gerard murmured to no one in particular, his voice heavy with the kind of self-sabotage that had become his default defense mechanism. "Some guy who wears a suit, has the car of the year, and doesn't have coffee stains on his shirt."
Frank, who was crouched down restocking paper filters near Gerard’s legs, looked up and let out a nasal laugh.
"Man, you’re pathetic," Frank said, tossing a pack of filters onto the shelf with unnecessary force. "You don't even know her name right, other than what you write on the cup. You spend all day sighing in corners and doodling on the back of receipts. Go over there and take her order before Ray does it and ruins your only moment of joy for the day."
Gerard swallowed hard. He straightened up, trying to hide his trembling hands and pen-ink-stained fingertips. As you approached the register, the familiar wave of insecurity hit him full force.
"Good morning," you said, resting your bag on the counter.
Gerard forced a movement, grabbing a paper cup and a Sharpie. His hands were sweating slightly.
"Good morning," he replied, his voice coming out a bit raspier than he intended. He made a conscious effort to brush the hair away from his face, revealing those eyes that, though they always looked tired from sleepless nights, shone with an intensity he tried to hide. "The usual?"
A small, genuine smile appeared on your lips. It was that specific smile—the one that made your eyes crinkle slightly—that completely disarmed Gerard.
"The usual, Gerard. You’ve memorized it, haven't you?"
He felt his face heat up, a burning sensation rising up his neck. Yes, I’ve memorized it. He had memorized that you preferred oat milk, that you hated sugar, and that you always knit your brows for a second while waiting for change, as if mentally reviewing your schedule for the day.
"Yeah..." he cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure as he began to write on the cup. "A large Americano, with an extra shot of caffeine."
"You have no idea how much I need this today," you admitted, leaning against the counter. "Turning thirty didn't give me the energy superpowers I expected. I thought I’d wake up feeling different, but I just feel... tired."
Gerard stopped his pen mid-stroke. Thirty years old. In Gerard's head, at thirty, people had already cracked the code of life. They had retirement plans, knew how to file taxes without panicking, and didn't have oily hair at eight in the morning.
"You don't look thirty," he blurted out, the words escaping before his shyness could filter them.
You tilted your head, your smile widening and an eyebrow arching in amusement.
"I’ll take that as a compliment, coming from someone so young."
"I just... I just meant that you look..." he stammered, his face now a deep red that contrasted with his usual paleness. He handed the cup to Ray with almost comical urgency, wanting his friend to prepare the coffee as quickly as possible so he could hide behind the espresso machine. "Anyway, it’ll be ready in a minute, (Y/N)."
Ray took the cup and gave Gerard an encouraging pat on the shoulder as he passed, while Frank kept chuckling under his breath, pretending to clean a nearby table just so he wouldn't miss a single detail.
You stood there waiting, observing the dynamic. He noticed how you tapped your fingers on the counter to the rhythm of the music playing—something by Depeche Mode that he himself had chosen to play five minutes before your arrival, just out of a vague hope that you might like it.
"Here you go," Ray said, handing you the coffee with a friendly smile that Gerard secretly envied. "Have a great day!"
"Thanks, guys. See you tomorrow!"
You took the cup, casting one last look at Gerard. He just nodded, his body rigid as if he were facing a firing squad.
"'You don't look thirty,'" Frank exploded, imitating Gerard's voice with cruel precision. "Seriously, Gee?"
"Leave him alone, Frank," Ray laughed. "At least he didn't spill the coffee on her this time and she smiled at him."
Gerard collapsed over the counter, hiding his face in his hands.
"She wasn't smiling at me, Ray. She smiled because I'm the freak who serves her coffee. She sees a guy with dirty hair and an old t-shirt working in a corner coffee shop."
"You're so dramatic," Frank rolled his eyes, tossing a dish towel at Gerard. "She's just a woman, Gerard, and a damn beautiful one at that. If you don't ask her out, I will."
Gerard looked up instantly. "You wouldn't dare, Frank."
"Then do something!" Frank exclaimed, gesturing toward the door. "Stop moping every morning. Write your number on the cup tomorrow. What’s the worst that can happen? She laughs? She already laughs at your bad jokes anyway."
Gerard looked back at the glass door, where you had disappeared into the rushing New Jersey crowd. He sighed, picking up a cloth to wipe a non-existent stain on the counter, just to keep his hands busy so they wouldn't shake.
That day, the sky seemed to have saved every ounce of grudge accumulated over weeks to pour out on that Thursday. When you stepped out of the office building, the first drop—huge, heavy, and freezing—hit the top of your head like a warning.
Drenched in seconds, your overcoat weighing twice its size and your breath failing from the effort and the thermal shock, you spotted the coffee shop's neon sign glowing through the curtain of water like a lighthouse of salvation.
The door bell rang with a violent snap, almost muffled by the roar of the wind, as you stumbled in, pushing a gust of freezing air into the room.
"My God! (Y/N)?" Ray was the first to approach, leaving the counter with wide eyes. "You're soaked! What happened?"
You let out a short laugh, devoid of any humor, while unsuccessfully trying to push away the strands of hair sticking to your face, wiping the excess water from your eyes with trembling fingertips.
"I had the bad luck of leaving just as the world decided to end out there, Ray," you replied, your voice coming out a bit unstable as your body began to shiver from the sudden cold. "I'm going to need shelter until this rain lets up, if you don't mind. My apartment feels miles away right now."
In the corner of the counter, Gerard was paralyzed. His eyes scanned every detail of your figure under the shop's warm light: the way the fabric of your shirt underneath clung to your curves, the strands of hair stuck to your forehead, and the way you tried to maintain your posture and dignity even after looking like you’d just stepped out of a river.
Frank, always faster, gave a well-aimed and none-too-subtle elbow to Gerard's ribs.
"Wake up, Romeo," Frank whispered, his tone urgent and amused. "Go on. Offer her something hot on the house or she’s going to catch pneumonia if you just stand there staring."
Gerard cleared his throat, feeling his palms go sweaty instantly. He approached the counter, trying his hardest not to look as affected as he actually was by seeing you in that state of vulnerability.
"(Y/N)... here," he said, his voice wavering a bit, almost failing at first, as he held out a handful of clean paper towels. "I'll make you a hot chocolate. It's... a courtesy for your birthday the other day and for... well, for the flood."
You thanked him as you sat on one of the high stools, watching them move with a curious gaze.
Time passed. Ten, twenty minutes. The rain wouldn't let up; on the contrary, it seemed to gain renewed strength with every thunderclap. In an impulse of impatience and exhaustion, you stood up, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.
"I think I'll just brave the rain, guys. If I wait for it to stop, I'll end up falling asleep here on the counter."
In the back, near the door leading to the small kitchen, Frank began to whisper to Gerard. He gestured exaggeratedly toward the street, pointing to the parking lot in the back, while Gerard shook his head frantically, visibly terrified of whatever idea his friend was proposing.
"Go on, you coward!" you heard Frank say a bit louder, giving Gerard a shove in the back that made him take a clumsy step forward, nearly tripping over his own feet.
"(Y/N)!" he called out, his volume a bit too loud from nervousness. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his normal tone. "Look, we were going to close the shop anyway. I... I have my car back here. If you want, I can take you home."
Your eyes shone with immediate gratitude.
"Seriously, Gee? You’d really do that? I accept, yes, thank you a thousand times! I was really afraid of being swept away by a flood on some corner."
As you headed out the back door toward the car under the narrow eaves, Gerard didn't think twice: he took off his own leather jacket and held it over your head.
"Cover yourself," he instructed, his voice now carrying a protective urgency he didn't even know he possessed. "Let’s run, it's right there."
As soon as you slammed the doors shut, the deafening noise of the rain on the metal roof became muffled, turning into a rhythmic pitter-patter. The silence inside the vehicle, however, was almost oppressive. You looked to the side and saw Gerard gripping the steering wheel with both hands, his shoulders rising and falling erratically. He was panting as if he had just run a marathon, even though the trip to the car had been only a few quick meters.
Concerned about his agitated state, you reached out and lightly touched the back of his hand as it gripped the wheel.
"Gee? Is everything okay?"
In the split second your warm, still-damp skin touched his, Gerard gave a visible start, pulling his hand away as if he’d received a high-voltage shock.
"Y-yes! Yes, everything's great!" he stammered, his face turned forward. "It's just... the rain. The cold. Yeah, the cold makes you lose your breath, right? The oxygen feels different."
You let out a soft, genuine giggle, finding his reaction and the pseudo-scientific explanation adorable.
The drive was made in a tense but strangely intimate silence, broken only by your calm directions. He only seemed to remember the world existed when he parked the silver car right in front of your building.
"We're here," he murmured, his voice almost fading away.
"Saved by my favorite barista and the best driver in New Jersey," you joked, taking his jacket off your shoulders. As you handed it back, you hesitated for a second. "Do you want to come up? You can wait for the rain to calm down a bit more before driving back home..."
The invitation hung in the air, heavy with possibilities. Gerard looked at the lit entrance of the building, then turned his eyes back to you. In his fertile mind, he imagined a thousand scenarios, but insecurity spoke much louder.
"N-no, I... I really need to get home," he stammered, his hands tightening on the wheel again. "Ray and Frank... they’re waiting for a... a signal that I got back okay. But thank you for the invite."
"Alright then, I understand," you smiled.
Before opening the door, you leaned over the center console. Gerard held his breath, his heart pounding so hard against his ribs that he was absolutely sure you could hear the sound through his shirt. You planted a soft, lingering kiss on his cheek. His skin was cold from the moisture but immediately ignited under your touch.
"Thanks for the ride. See you tomorrow morning?"
"For sure," he managed to answer, his voice coming out in a thin thread, almost a devoted whisper.
You got out of the car and ran into the protected entrance of the building. Gerard didn't start the engine; he sat there, paralyzed, with the motor running. His hand rose slowly, trembling fingers touching the exact spot on his cheek where your lips had been.
The next day, as soon as Gerard crossed the door for the morning shift, with his hair even messier than usual and deep dark circles under his eyes from not sleeping a wink while processing the night before, Frank and Ray stopped what they were doing as if they had rehearsed it.
"And?" Frank shouted from the back of the shop, with a grin from ear to ear. "How was yesterday?"
Gerard tried to maintain his professional pose, grabbing his apron and tying it with fingers that still seemed to tingle, but the silly, involuntary smile escaping from the corners of his lips gave him away.
"She gave me a kiss on the cheek," he said in a low voice.
Ray let out a long, admiring whistle, and Frank began to clap dramatically.
"A kiss on the cheek?" Frank teased. "Careful, soon you'll be talking about investment funds and drinking expensive wine just to keep up with her rhythm."
The wall clock in the coffee shop marked 8:17. Then 8:25. And finally, the fateful 9:00 AM. For the first time in months, the doorbell didn't ring at the usual time.
He was leaning against the wooden counter, arms crossed over his apron stained with coffee grounds, his gaze fixed and lost on the sidewalk outside.
"She's not coming, Gee. Accept it, it hurts less," Frank let out, passing him with a tray balancing blueberry muffins. "You probably scared the woman off."
"Fuck you, Frank," Gerard murmured, his voice weak, almost a whisper. "I knew it. I knew I shouldn't have agreed to take her."
Ray, noticing his friend's deplorable and almost catatonic state, approached with a comforting hand on Gerard's shoulder.
"Take it easy, man. Maybe she just had an early meeting somewhere else, or she decided to sleep in late."
"The truth is, if you don't act soon, some guy with a square jaw and a premium health insurance plan is going to show up and take her away. And you’ll stay here, writing sad song lyrics on the back of receipts."
The day dragged on like medieval torture. Gerard messed up three simple orders, burned the milk twice—which rarely happened—and almost dropped a mug.
Around 5:30 PM, as the sun began to dip below the New Jersey horizon and he was already taking off his apron, ready to end his shift, a familiar sound rang again.
Gerard froze with the apron halfway down his neck.
There you were.
You walked in a bit out of breath, your face slightly flushed from the effort of walking fast, and that smile...
"My God, I thought I wouldn't make it in time to see you!" you said, approaching the counter.
Gerard stood still, looking at you as if he were seeing a miraculous apparition.
"You... you came," was all he could articulate, his voice coming out a bit higher than usual.
"Sorry for disappearing this morning!" you explained, letting out a laugh at yourself. "I had such a deep sleep, maybe because of the rain, that my alarm clock just gave up on me."
Gerard felt such a colossal relief that he almost needed to hold onto the counter so as not to collapse. It was then that Frank, who was watching the scene from the back of the shop, jumped to the front of the counter with chaotic energy and a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Hey, (Y/N)! Since you're here to save your Friday with coffee, how about saving your Saturday too?" Frank blurted out.
You arched an eyebrow, visibly interested, leaning your elbows on the counter. "And how would I do that, Frank? What do you have in mind?"
"Our band is playing tomorrow night at a bar nearby. It's a place where the floor is questionable and Gerard will probably scream until he loses his voice, but I swear we're good. If you want to show up there, you're more than invited."
Gerard felt the air escape his lungs as if he had been punched. He wanted to melt into the floor. He looked at Frank as if he were planning every detail of his friend's funeral, but then, slowly, he looked at you.
"You don't have to go, seriously," Gerard managed to comment. "Frank is exaggerating."
"I'd love to go, Gee," you interrupted him, softening your tone of voice and looking directly into his eyes, ignoring Frank and Ray. "What time do you guys start?"
"Ten at night," Frank answered before Gerard could invent that the show had been canceled. "Be there!"
Ray returned at that moment with your steaming cup of coffee, handing it to you with a nod.
"Then it's a deal. See you guys tomorrow night," you said, taking a step back toward the door but keeping your gaze fixed on Gerard. "Bye, Ray! Bye, Frank!"
You paused for a second before pushing the door open, turning on your heels to cast one last smile, this time focused exclusively on him.
"Bye, Gee."
Gerard remained static for long seconds. Frank gave him a loud, heavy slap on the back, waking him from his trance.
"See that, you sucker?" Frank exclaimed victoriously. "If you don't kiss that woman tomorrow night, I’m officially giving up on you as my best friend."
Saturday dawned with a pale light, filtering with difficulty through the small high rectangular windows of the basement. He rolled over in the narrow bed while the weight of anticipation crushed his chest.
It wasn't just the usual nervousness that preceded any show—it was something much deeper, palpable, and absolutely terrifying: the real possibility that you would be there.
He closed his eyes tight; the memory of that Thursday night came back like an avalanche, burying any attempt at rationality.
Gerard let out a shaky sigh. He felt the blood migrate quickly to the space between his legs, an insistent pulsing he couldn't control. The bulge under his faded pajama pants became impossible to ignore.
His hand, acting on a primitive instinct he couldn't—or perhaps didn't want to—contain, slid down. His fingers found the tense fabric and then the warm skin of his cock.
"(Y/N)..." your name escaped in a raspy whisper.
With every rhythmic movement of his hand, moving from base to tip, the image in his mind became clearer, almost unbearable. The thought of having your breasts against his chest, feeling their weight in his hands and the texture of your nipples against his tongue, made him arch his back against the worn spring mattress, the fingers of his other hand burying themselves in the sheet.
"I want to... I want to mark you," he gasped, his voice thick and wet with growing pleasure. "Leave you all marked up, (Y/N)... so everyone can see you belong to me."
He wondered, amidst disconnected moans, what you would taste like. He imagined if you would get wet for him, if your pussy would be as tight and warm as he dreamed.
The rhythm of his hand accelerated drastically. Sweat began to break out on his forehead, trickling down his temples and mixing with the saliva that moistened his lower lip. He was at the limit, the image of you underneath him, legs entwined in his hips and hands pulling his oily hair, leading him to the climax. With one last desperate effort, a long, sharp moan that seemed to tear his soul from his body, Gerard came.
The bar's neon sign flashed in a frantic and sickly rhythm, projecting reddish and bluish shadows over the line that doubled on the sidewalk. Inside, the air smelled of spilled cheap beer and cigarette smoke.
Behind the frayed curtain that separated the stage from the "backstage," Gerard adjusted the bat buckle of his belt for the tenth time, his trembling, cold fingers fighting against the metal. His stomach was turning so violently he felt like he could throw up whatever was in his stomach.
"She’s not coming," Gerard murmured, his voice coming out in a thread, almost vanishing.
"Look again, Gee." Ray pointed with his chin toward a small gap in the curtain.
Gerard approached cautiously and peeked; you had just walked in. He almost felt the floor disappear under his worn boots.
"Go talk to her now!" Ray shoved him by the shoulder with a smile that tried to be encouraging.
Gerard took a deep breath, trying to oxygenate his brain, wiped the cold sweat from his hands on his torn jeans, and started walking toward you before the rest of his courage evaporated. But halfway there, his world collapsed again. You had your phone to your ear and were speaking with a concentrated expression, your body relaxed against the bar counter.
The monster of Gerard's insecurity, fed by years of self-sabotage, roared in his ears. He turned back before you could notice him, his face burning with a searing shame for having thought, for a glorious and stupid second, that he would have a chance.
"What happened now?" Frank asked, seeing him return to the backstage with slumped shoulders and the look of a kicked dog.
"She's on the phone, definitely talking to some boyfriend," Gerard grumbled. "Let’s just get this over with before I give up for good."
When the band took the stage, the bar's atmosphere changed instantly. You hung up the phone and approached the rail, staying a few meters from where Gerard was. Seeing him there so sure of himself, dominating every inch of that place, you could only wonder where the barista with the oily hair was—the one who could barely sustain your gaze for two seconds without looking like he was going to faint?
He wore that worn leather jacket, jeans so torn they revealed the paleness of his knees, and moved with an explosive, almost theatrical confidence that you never imagined he possessed.
You couldn't look away. The sight of him there—sweaty, intense, surrendered, with that bat buckle shining under the cheap spotlights—awakened in you a desire that was almost painful, a pulse between your legs that ignored all logic.
When the last note of distortion dissipated, you moved to a quieter corner of the bar, trying to process the adrenaline rush you had just witnessed. It didn't take long for Frank to appear, emerging from the crowd with a mischievous smile of someone who knew exactly what he was doing, practically dragging an exhausted, trembling, and still panting Gerard by the arm.
"See? Didn't I say we were good?" Frank exclaimed, slapping Gerard hard on the shoulder. "Can you take care of him? I'm going to grab a drink and I'll be right back!"
Frank disappeared into the shadows before Gerard could protest. The silence that followed between you was filled only by the generic background music of the bar and the sound of Gerard’s heavy breathing. He instantly returned to "default mode": he looked away, buried his hands in his jeans pockets, and sweat still trickled down his neck, leaving a shiny trail on his skin.
"Gee!" you began, your voice heavy with an admiration you didn't bother to hide. "The show was... my God, it was incredible!"
He glanced at you, his pale cheeks turning red under the bar’s low light.
"Thanks, seriously," he murmured, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "I'm glad you liked it. I thought you’d find it all... too loud."
"I loved every second." You smiled, and the sparkle in your eyes made him even more disconcerted. "And now? Are you going to celebrate somewhere with the guys?"
"I don't think so..." He let out a long sigh. "I intend to go straight home; the day has been... kind of full."
You let out a sigh of contained frustration, looking at your wristwatch and then at him, making a quick decision.
"What a shame, I was talking to my roommate on the phone earlier... she decided to take a group of friends to our apartment for a party that will last all night. Since I wasn't in the mood for socializing at all, I agreed to spend the night out to give them space. Now I have to figure out how to kill time until tomorrow morning."
Gerard felt a snap in his chest, a mixture of concern and an opportunity he would never dare to plan. The panic of imagining you alone somewhere dubious in the city at three in the morning overcame any shyness.
"You can stay at my house!" He blurted out the words, his voice coming out before his brain could process the danger of that suggestion.
His eyes widened, realizing the audacity of what he had said, and he began to gesture frantically while stammering, trying to fix the situation:
"I mean... my brother Mikey isn't sleeping at home today. My parents are traveling, they went to visit some relatives in another city. There's a spare room, you know? You wouldn't have to... I mean, you’d stay in Mikey’s room, with total privacy! Not that I wouldn't want you to... I mean, you don't have to sleep with me! My God, I just want to say you’d be safe there..."
You laughed, the soft, melodious sound cutting through his nervousness.
"Gee, breathe. Is it really okay? I really don't want to disturb your routine."
"I just... give me a minute." He walked away quickly, almost running, to find Mikey.
After two minutes that felt like an eternity to Gerard, he returned, looking a bit calmer but with his face still visibly hot.
"I talked to Mikey, everything's fine."
You took a step forward, entering his personal space, feeling the heat still emanating from his sweaty body.
"You're saving me again," you whispered.
This time, you leaned in and planted a long kiss on his face, very close to the corner of his mouth. The smell of sweat and smoke from him mixed with your perfume, and Gerard closed his eyes tight, visibly shivering under the touch of your lips. He stood still, absorbing the sensation, and only opened them when you asked with a whisper:
"Do you want to go now?"
"Yes." he replied, his voice raspy and deep. "Let’s go."
When you finally parked in front of the Way's house, the suburb was plunged into absolute silence. He opened the front door carefully and you followed him, entering the decorated living room.
"Thanks for this, Gee, seriously." You said, looking around as he locked the door and tossed the keys on a side table.
"It was nothing." He approached, stopping at a distance he considered safe. "Do you want anything? Water? Something to eat? I can see what’s in the fridge..."
"No, thanks, I'm fine." You looked at him intensely, noticing how vulnerable he looked now. "Well, I guess good night then... will you show me where the room is?"
Gerard felt a sudden wave of panic mixed with an overwhelming desire not to let this moment end.
"If... if you don't want to go to sleep now..." he began, words coming in nervous stumbles. "I have some movies in my room. It's in the basement, it's where I spend most of my time. I also have some new vinyls I bought this week, CDs you’ve probably never heard... we could... I mean, if you don't want to, that’s fine! I totally understand you're tired..."
He started getting so tangled in his own words that you took a step forward, gently placing your hand on his chest. Through the thin cotton t-shirt, you felt his heart beating fast and hard.
"Gerard," you said, with that smile that always completely disarmed him. "I would love to see your room."
He stopped talking instantly, his mouth slightly open. Gerard just nodded, unable to say anything more, and led you toward the narrow stairs leading to the basement.
The wooden staircase creaked under your feet, a dry, rhythmic sound. As soon as Gerard turned on the dim, yellowish lights in his room, he entered a state of silent and almost comical panic.
"Sorry, sorry for the mess! I didn't... I really didn't expect visitors, I mean, not visitors like you," he stammered, his face reaching a shade of scarlet that rose to his ears.
He began frantically kicking some forgotten black t-shirts and lonely socks under the twin bed pushed against the wall. You didn't say anything immediately. You just walked slowly through the room, your eyes wandering over the shelf overflowing with low-budget horror VHS tapes and piles of CDs.
"Seriously, (Y/N), it's usually not so..." he stopped, letting out a long sigh. "Messy."
You let out a low giggle, sitting on the small sofa, and with a calm gesture, gave two pats on the seat beside you.
"It's okay, Gee, come here."
He approached slowly, each step appearing to be a life-or-death decision, and sat on the very edge of the sofa, maintaining a respectful and almost painful distance. His shoulders were slightly hunched, hands clasped between his knees to hide the trembling.
"So..." you began, tilting your head slightly to the side, letting a strand of hair fall over your shoulder. "Tell me one thing, have you brought many fans here?"
Gerard almost choked on his own saliva. His eyes widened, and he looked at you with an expression of shock so genuine that it made your heart waver for a second.
"W-what? No!" he blurted out, his voice rising from pure nervousness. "No, of course not. I... I don't even talk to them properly after shows, (Y/N)."
"No?" you teased, letting a playful and predatory smile rise to your lips, feeling the power your presence exerted over him. "I thought guys in bands had this thing."
"I don't, I'm definitely not that guy. That's not... not my style," he murmured, looking down at his own feet clad in worn boots, visibly uncomfortable but at the same time hypnotized by your absolute attention.
"And what is your style, Gee?" Your voice dropped a notch, becoming deeper, closer, filling the space between the two of you with a silent promise.
He froze. The silence in the basement became so thick you could hear the low hum of the old fridge and the creak of the wood from the house above.
"I don't know," he confessed in an almost inaudible whisper, laden with an honesty that men of your age rarely possessed. "I don't think I have a defined style. I just... I stay here."
You watched him in silence for a long and heavy moment. There was something in his instinctive submission, the way he seemed to wait for your next move as if his life depended on it.
"Have you ever been with someone, Gerard?" you asked directly, your voice calm and without a trace of judgment.
He gave a physical start, hands tightening against each other until his knuckles turned white.
"Yes!" he answered too quickly, as if needing to prove a masculinity he felt he was failing to demonstrate. But soon after, his posture deflated, he dropped his shoulders and looked aside, his voice losing all its strength. "Yes... but it was only once. A long time ago, it didn't mean much, I think."
You leaned a bit further forward, drastically closing the space between you on the sofa.
"And when was the last time you really kissed someone?" you insisted. "A kiss without rush, without being a drunk night mistake."
Gerard took a while to answer. He swallowed hard, unable to sustain your gaze, finally speaking in a trembling voice:
"Probably about three years ago, maybe even more."
You didn't wait for more confessions. You moved on the sofa with the fluidity of someone who knows exactly where they want to go, sliding closer until your knee touched his. You moved your hand to his thigh, making a slow and deliberate caress, feeling the heat of his body through the worn fabric. Your fingers moved up and down in a hypnotic rhythm, a caress that screamed experience, intention, and a desire that was beginning to overflow.
Gerard finally found the courage to turn his face to look at you. His eyes were dilated, the pupil taking up almost the entire iris, shining with a mixture of terror and excitement.
"(Y/N)..." he began, his voice failing and coming out in a whisper, completely at your mercy. "Would you... would you give me a kiss? Please?"
The request was made with a timid stutter, almost like a desperate prayer for salvation. You smiled and moved even closer, feeling his breath mingle with yours.
"I think I can do much better than just give you a kiss, Gerard," you whispered, millimeters from his lips, seeing him close his eyes in anticipation. "But let’s start there."
You reached out, burying your long fingers in the heavy black hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him gently. When you finally sealed your lips to his, Gerard shivered under your touch in a way you had never seen in anyone. He let out a low moan as soon as he felt the tip of your tongue decisively ask for entry. With uncertain hands, he fumbled through the air until he found your waist.
You guided the kiss with masterful patience, intentionally slowing down time. Gradually, he began to relax slightly, his hands tightening around your waist with a bit more firmness, his fingertips sinking slightly into the fabric of your blouse, while you subtly pulled the heavy black strands at the nape of his neck, eliciting short, raspy moans from him.
When you pulled away for air, you kept your forehead pressed against his, and it was in that moment of pause, of heavy silence, that your eyes found the evident, rigid, and impatient bulge forming in his jeans.
Gerard followed your gaze and, instantly, tried to shrink into the sofa, his face burning a bright red.
"Sorry... my God, (Y/N), I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice failing, trying uselessly to shift his hips to hide his own excitement. "I didn't mean to... it’s just that I... I can't control it... I'm sorry for being like this."
You didn't let him finish the litany of excuses his insecurity dictated. You leaned toward his earlobe and gave a light bite, pulling the soft tissue with your teeth. The sound that escaped Gerard's throat was one of pure shock.
"Gerard..." you whispered, your voice laden with a soft, mature authority that made him freeze where he was. "Have you ever had a blowjob before?"
Gerard closed his eyes tight, his head tilting back against the sofa’s backrest, exposing the long, vulnerable line of his neck.
"Please... don't play with me," he murmured, his voice broken, almost a plea. "You’re going to kill me…"
You let out a low laugh, biting his neck, just above the collar of his faded t-shirt, marking him lightly, before returning to his face and planting a lingering peck.
"Answer me."
"No," he confessed in a thread of a voice, his vulnerability completely exposed. "Never. No one has ever done that to me."
Without saying anything more, you moved your hand to his cock. You began to massage over the thick, rough denim of the jeans, feeling the throbbing rigidity under your fingers. The effect was immediate; Gerard completely lost his breath, hands flying to his hair, head falling against the sofa as he instinctively began to move his hips against your hand.
"Poor thing..." you said, watching the expression of total surrender on his face, the way he seemed to be dissolving under your touch. "You really want mommy to suck you, don't you?"
"Yes," he answered, the raw honesty of desire overcoming any shame now. "I always imagined... since the first time I saw you at the coffee shop... I imagined what your mouth would feel like on me."
You moved your hands to the bat buckle of his belt; your fingers worked with agility and precision, opening the metal, then the button, and sliding the zipper down.
Gerard raised his hips obediently, making the job easier for you, as if in a trance. He watched you undress him with a mixture of reverence and delicious dread. When you left him in only his underwear, you stopped for a second to admire what was in front of you. The bulge was impressive, straining the dark fabric, and you bit your lower lip with desire, a gesture that made Gerard let out a long, pained gasp.
You knelt on the worn rug between his legs, slowly spreading them, exposing him completely. Gerard was sprawled on the sofa, chest rising and falling, completely vulnerable to your will.
"You have no idea how beautiful you are," you murmured, your voice raspy, stroking the inside of his thighs with your fingertips, feeling the soft, sensitive skin.
He couldn't answer; he was too busy trying not to explode before the touch even began. When you started stroking him over the underwear, you saw the fabric begin to darken with pre-cum.
"Please... mommy... I need it... I can't wait any longer," he whispered, his hands now gripping the sofa’s upholstery so hard he was almost tearing the fabric.
With a slowness calculated to torture him a little more, you pulled off his underwear. His cock, red and completely hard, sprang out, hitting his belly as soon as it was free.
You began by placing light, wet kisses from the base up, inch by inch, until reaching the head, where you lingered, using the tip of your tongue to provoke him with circular touches. Gerard began to moan in a way you had never heard.
"Thank you... my God, thank you," he babbled, his eyes rolling back. "I don't deserve this... you’re incredible., mommy.. I can't believe you're here, in my room, doing this to me..."
"You better start believing, baby boy," you said, looking up at him with a gaze that promised this was only the beginning.
And then, you took him in completely.
Your warm, wet mouth enveloped his length, and Gerard let out a muffled cry, his body arching violently on the sofa. You massaged the base with your hand while your tongue worked the shaft. He tried to speak, tried to articulate how good it felt, but the words died in his throat, turning into disconnected sounds.
The movement of his hips became frantic, a desperate search for the climax he felt approaching.
"I'm... I'm not going to be able to hold it... I'm sorry..." he exclaimed, his voice thick with pleasure.
You didn't stop. On the contrary, you intensified the rhythm, giving an encouraging stroke on his thigh to show it was okay. Gerard reached the peak with a jolt that ran through his whole body, his voice coming out in a raspy, prolonged shout as he came deep in your mouth.
You didn't pull back, swallowing everything while maintaining eye contact with him for a second before slowly pulling away.
Gerard was collapsed on the sofa, eyes fixed on the basement’s low ceiling, chest rising and falling erratically.
"I think I'm dreaming," he finally said, his voice weak and trembling but filled with immense sweetness. "That was the best thing that ever happened to me in my whole life. I... I don't know what to say."
You smiled, standing up from the floor and approaching him on the sofa. Before you could say anything to comfort him, Gerard, driven by a sudden wave of courage, gratitude, and a desire that was only beginning to transform, wrapped his trembling hand around the back of your neck and pulled you close. The kiss that followed was no longer the timid, hesitant kiss from earlier. He kissed you hard, tasting himself on your lips.
"Gerard," you murmured, your voice sounding like silk sliding over burning coals. "Take my clothes off, I want to feel your hands on me."
The request, though softly spoken, resonated like an unshakable command in his ears. Gerard swallowed hard, feeling his mouth go dry instantly as his heart pounded against his ribs. He got up slowly, kneeling on the worn rug in front of you. His hands, calloused from the constant friction of technical pens, rose hesitantly to the height of your hips.
He started with your denim shorts. His fingers, though skilled at drawing, trembled visibly as they fought with the metal button and the fabric's resistance. When he finally pulled the jeans down, revealing your legs and the lingerie you had strategically chosen for that night, Gerard stopped.
He wrapped his arms around your hips, pressing his face against your belly with total surrender. The heat of his skin against yours made you shiver, feeling his breath warm your womb. Gerard placed a sequence of soft, slow kisses there, on the curve of your abdomen, moving up millimeter by millimeter as he stood up until he was level with your face again.
Gerard moved his hands down your back, fumbling for the clasp of your lace bra. There, his lack of practice and anxiety became evident. He felt for the hook, trying to undo it with one hand, then using both with feverish concentration, letting out a sigh of contained frustration when the metal insisted on staying fastened. He huffed softly against your neck, his face burning a bright red.
"This thing... whoever designed this definitely didn't want it to be opened by human hands," he grumbled, making you smile against his shoulder.
You guided his hands over yours, helping him find the right angle and the necessary pressure until, with a satisfying click, the bra opened. You let it fall onto the sofa, revealing your breasts to Gerard’s hungry, dilated gaze. Without saying a word, you took his hand and brought it to one of your breasts, feeling his long, calloused fingers wrap around it with care.
"Suck it, Gee," you asked, your voice now low, authoritative, and laden. "Like a good boy."
He didn't need to be prompted a second time. Gerard tilted his head with latent urgency, enveloping your nipple with his warm mouth. The contrast of his warm tongue with the basement’s cool, damp air made you let out a long, deep gasp, your back arching slightly. Gerard moaned incessantly while his tongue worked in slow circles, exploring every texture of your areola.
While he focused obsessively on your breasts, you felt something rigid and pulsing brushing against your thigh. His cock, already uncovered and throbbing, sought friction against your leg instinctively. The contact of his warm pre-cum against your skin was the trigger for your own excitement.
"Is my beautiful little toy desperate again?" you teased, feeling the vibration of his nervous laugh against your chest.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, without letting go of your breast, his voice muffled and raspy. "I can't help it, mommy. It's you. Everything about you leaves me in this state of collapse."
He continued to suck you, now with growing audacity, while his other hand squeezed your other breast with a firmness you didn't expect. The callouses on his fingers created a delicious, rough friction against your sensitive skin.
Feeling that the sofa and the basement floor were no longer enough for the immensity of what was happening, you took him by the hand, guiding him to the bed. You moved with a sense of ownership and security that left Gerard hypnotized; it was as if you were claiming not just the physical space, but his very body and will.
You lay on your sides, facing each other, on top of the messy blanket. Gerard's chest rose and fell frantically. You reached out, making a slow caress on his face, pushing away some strands of sweaty hair sticking to his cheek. Gerard closed his eyes under your touch, looking like a purring cat, totally surrendered to your attention and care.
"Gerard," you said, watching the way the lamp light outlined his profile. "Do you want to really feel me now? Do you want to know what your mommy tastes like?"
He nodded in silence, unable to formulate a complete sentence without stuttering.
"Then lie on your back," you commanded, your voice firm and sweet.
He obeyed instantly, his natural submission shining brighter than ever in the twilight. You moved over him with agility, positioning yourself so you were sitting over his face, legs spread. Gerard moved his trembling hands to your thighs, holding them with desperate firmness as you slowly descended, feeling the heat of his breath against your pussy.
"Now, baby... use your tongue," you instructed, feeling the first wet contact. "But be gentle. Soften your tongue, no need to rush. We have all night."
Gerard began to follow you with the dedication of an exemplary student. At first, his movements were a bit stiff, his tongue too tense from the anxiety of not failing, of being enough for you. But you were there to be the teacher, to mold that raw desire.
"That's it... gentler now, baby boy," you whispered, leaning forward and resting your hands on the bed’s wooden headboard for stability. "Now, insert your tongue. Just the tip. Let me feel you inside."
Gerard let out a deep, vibrant moan, the sound echoing against your body and reverberating in your bones. He began to learn the rhythm, guided by your whispered commands and the sounds of approval you let out as he hit the right angle. His tongue, now more relaxed, explored your entrance and your clit with an insatiable curiosity.
When he finally found the perfect rhythm, Gerard moved his hands to your ass, burying his fingers in the soft flesh and opening it wider. You began to grind against his mouth, a circular, rhythmic movement, while holding tight to the bed’s headboard.
"That's it, baby, just like that!" you exclaimed, his name coming out as a broken, sharp sigh.
Gerard was in a state of pure ecstasy, a sensory overload. He began to move his hips in the air involuntarily, a desperate gesture of someone who needed immediate relief. He wrapped his hands around your waist, keeping you pressed against his face while his tongue worked with growing agility and audacity on your pussy.
Your moans became louder, more frequent, filling the room. You didn't warn him when the peak arrived. Your body tensed like a violin string, your thighs shook violently, and the spasms of orgasm began to shake your frame uncontrollably.
Gerard felt everything. He felt the gush of your pleasure flood his mouth, taking every drop, pressing his face against you, wanting to absorb that experience to never forget. He only stopped when he felt you relax over him, your body heavy, muscles limp, and breath shallow.
"Baby... stop..." you whispered, your voice shaky and exhausted. "It's too sensitive now, I can't take it anymore..."
He pulled away slowly, his lips shiny with moisture, his face marked by the physical effort.
"Sorry, mommy, your pussy tastes so fucking good. I could stay like this for hours," he murmured, his voice sounding raspier and deeper than ever, filling the basement silence. "I'd spend the whole night with you sitting on my face."
Lying back down beside him, you moved slowly, feeling your muscles relaxed and heavy, closing the small distance remaining between you. Your lips found the soft curve of his neck, where Gerard's pulse still hammered erratically and violently against his skin. Feeling the wet, warm touch of your tongue, Gerard let out a sharp gasp, a sound that seemed to be torn from the bottom of his lungs, while his fingers dug hard into the messy sheet. You raised your leg, pinning it around his narrow hip and bringing his body closer.
"Shhhh... it's okay, baby boy," you whispered against the heat of his skin, feeling the involuntary shiver that ran through the young man's lean, bony frame. "It's me. I'm right here with you."
Gerard seemed to be at the absolute limit of his sanity. With trembling, cold hands, he tried to position himself, but insecurity still held him. You took the initiative, firmly and sweetly guiding the base of his cock to your entrance, which was already pulsing in hungry anticipation.
The moment his tip entered, just a brief initial contact, Gerard let out a long moan. He closed his eyes tight and bit his lower lip until it almost bled, feeling the firm, warm, and wet contraction of your pussy welcoming him.
"Mommy... oh, God... thank you... thank you for this," he began to babble, words coming out disconnected and shaky, run over by a brain that could no longer process the magnitude of reality. "You're... you're so warm, your pussy is so soft... I can't... how is this possible? I'm... I'm really inside you now? Please, I beg you, don't tell me to stop..."
Gradually, under your experienced and patient guidance, he entered completely, filling you with a depth that made him let out a dry, noisy sob of pure pleasure and relief.
"Now, baby," you said, your voice sounding like a sweet command as you pulled him into a quick, wet kiss. "Fuck me the way you always imagined you would while you were down here alone."
That was the final trigger. He began to move, slow and shaky at first, feeling the delicious and overwhelming friction, but soon the rhythm began to increase as his youthful confidence took over.
"I imagined... I imagined this every night of my life," he confessed, his voice raspy and deep, interrupted by moans as he buried himself in you. "I used to jerk off to you in this basement, mommy. I looked at my unfinished drawings and could only see your face... I was sure you’d never look at someone like me."
He pushed his hips harder, skin slapping against yours with a rhythmic sound, eyes now open and fixed on yours, overflowing with an adoration that bordered on the manic.
"Before I could even realize... you were already my addiction," he gasped, his voice vanishing in his throat as you kissed him hard, swallowing his moans of surrender.
Gerard went deeper, exploring every limit of your body. His size was a delicious and powerful surprise that filled your every space, making you feel every throbbing vein and every pulse of burning blood running through him. The intensity was such that you felt the pressure in the bottom of your womb.
"You're so tight, mommy..." he murmured, sweat dripping down his pale forehead and onto your chest, mixing with your own. "It's exactly as I imagined in every detail. I can't believe... I can't believe I'm managing to get your pussy this wet... that you're feeling all this because of me..."
He was marvelling, almost in shock, at his own power over you. The fact that a thirty-year-old woman with experience and maturity was moaning his name was something he judged impossible.
"I'm not going to be able to hold on much longer, mommy... I'm... I'm very close." he admitted, his voice thick and wet with the pleasure consuming him.
"Stay on top of me, baby." you ordered, your voice broken by short breaths.
He obeyed promptly, moving with an agility you didn't expect. You grabbed his waist with your legs, holding him tight, and he invaded you again without any shame or hesitation. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed off the walls; seeing your breasts bouncing freely as you moaned loud looking directly at him was the final blow to what little remained of his self-control.
Gerard tried to kiss you desperately, trying to fix the way your body molded perfectly to his.
"Mommy... I'm going to... can I?" he asked, his voice failing in a whisper laden with almost painful need. "Can I come inside you? Please, mommy... let me come in you so you can't forget me tomorrow... so a part of me stays in there... please."
The raw vulnerability in his request, the almost desperate need to leave a physical mark of his existence in you, was what made the moment unforgettable.
"Yes, baby boy, go on, come for me..."
He let out a raspy, prolonged cry, his body tensing to the extreme, his back muscles standing out as he sank as far as he could inside you. You felt the rhythmic spasms of his cock, the pulsations sending waves of heat into your pussy, making you let out a long, loud moan that seemed to last an eternity. Gerard collapsed exhausted on top of you, hiding his face in the warm curve of your neck, his heavy breath against your skin.
You began to make slow, circular caresses on his back, feeling the shoulder blades under the sweaty skin and the tremor that still shook him.
"I don't want to get out of you... ever again," Gerard whispered, his voice becoming playful again.
You laughed softly, the sound vibrating gently in his chest, and planted a loving kiss on his sweaty forehead.
"You need to get out, Gee. We need to breathe a bit," you joked, trying to bring some lightness to the intensity of the moment.
He let out a small protest but eventually slid out of you slowly, lying by your side. The "shy mode" seemed to return instantly; he avoided direct eye contact, his cheeks flushed a vivid shade—you couldn't tell if from extreme physical effort or the sudden, overwhelming awareness of what had just happened between you two.
"(Y/N)?" he called, his voice small, almost a whisper.
"Hi, Gee..."
"Would you... would you go on a date with me?" He blurted out the question with desperate speed before his courage fled completely. "Like... a real date. Outside of the coffee shop counter. And it's okay if you don't want to! I know... you know, it’s not because we... well, you know what happened... it's not because that happened that you have to go out with me out of obligation. I totally understand if this was just a one-night thing for you, or if you think I'm too young or... I just wanted to very much. And if you want to repeat this here too... I swear I wouldn't mind at all..."
He would continue talking for hours, mentally building a huge wall of justifications, theories, and excuses to protect himself from a possible rejection he already expected by habit. You leaned over him, silencing him with a long peck.
"You talk too much, Gerard Way," you whispered against his lips, seeing him finally fall silent and focus all his attention on you.
You reached out and grabbed a piece of scrap paper and wrote down your address and phone number clearly and firmly.
"Pick me up tomorrow at 7:00 PM and don't get lost on the way, since I won't be in the passenger seat to guide you this time."
A slow, wide, and dazzling smile began to spread across Gerard's face. His tiny, slightly misaligned teeth appeared, shining in the yellowish gloom of the basement.
You settled into the pillows, the exhaustion of body and mind finally overcoming the rest of the adrenaline. Instinctively, Gerard hugged you from behind, fitting his body perfectly to yours, as if they were made to measure. In a few minutes, the sound of his breathing became heavy, regular, and deep.
Without knowing that under that same bed, in folders hidden among Dungeons & Dragons manuals, there were dozens of sketches of you, you fell asleep feeling strangely protected and complete.
Everyone say thank you to @drmzofbeingstabbed for this post
well that time away was short, anyways MDNI
You fidgeted against the soft sheets under your thighs, trying anything to calm the need between your legs. Your arms behind your back, a soft tie keeping them tied together. Your eyes, slightly widen with panic as you realized just what Frank was doing, “no, noooo Frank that isn’t fair, please.” You watched as Frank stood in front of you, his hand wrapped around the base of his cock. His fingers tightly gripping before releasing some of the pressure and lightly stroking himself. Your eyes followed his hand that ran down his body, brushing against the dark hair at his base. You felt like you were on fire, the wetness coating your inner thighs not helping.
Frank smirked at your turmoil, “oh yeah baby this is happening- fuck- you teased me all day so now it’s my turn.” Frank’s free hand reached out to your cheek, thumb grazing it as he bit his bottom lip. His other hand moving up to twist around his tip, the liquid that had gathered there now flinging onto your thigh making you both look down. You groaned as if it pained you to not be able to touch him as the hand on your cheek moved down to grope your breast, “so pretty, prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Do you see what you do to me? all for you baby, this is all for you” Frank’s hand moved a little quicker, the wet sounds echoing off the walls, clouding your brain even more.
“Frankie, please I want to help” Your eyes roaming over the tatted skin, the ones on his stomach catching your eye, “I’m sorry, so sorry, just wanted your attention Frankie.” Your voice high and whiny as Frank’s free hand dropped to his balls, causing you to sink in defeat, knowing he only does that when he is close. His moans, whimpers causing your thighs to press together, trying to find some relief. Your mouth slightly hung open as you watched his hips start to push him forward, fucking up into his fist.
“fuUuck, god you look so good sitting the-there all desperate, hmm you my desperate little slut?” Frank’s rhythm faulting, causing you to push forward off the bed, sinking onto your knees, “holy fucking- fuck shit.” A drunken smile covered Frank’s face as you opened your mouth to stick your tongue out, “there you go baby, going- mhmm- fuck.”
The next moment you felt the warm liquid paint across your cheek, and tongue. The deep moan from the man above you causing a shiver up your spine. When he finally glances back down at you, you stick your tongue back out showing him what you caught before swallowing it. Frank let out a huff as his cock twitched from the action. You tried your best to give him the puppy dog eyes, wanting nothing more to ease your need, “is it my turn?”
Frank smiled at you as he squatted to be at your level, “but you look so pretty like this-” His fingers came up to run through the mess dripping off your face, “think you should stay like this for a little bit longer.”
maybe Y/N takes the idea as an invitation - like mikey inadvertently saying “oh yeah, go fuck my friends”
maybe Y/N goes down on the other guys and lets them record it so she can show it to mikey later
he obviously gets pissed and jealous. either taking her immediately or setting up another day where he gets to be included (with only ray and frank and reader - no gee)
or maybe gee is only there for a minute and has to leave - then mikey replaces em - catching them and being all pissed cuz it just feeds into his beliefs of her beings for the streets
ooooor or ooor
mikey only shows reader off to frank and ray on a day that gee is busy! (maybe he had been waiting for a day specifically where gee was away)
i love the idea of him trying to show reader off :3 i also think it would be funny if maybe someone else pleased her better than mikey could so he gets all jealous mid session lolol or maybe reader lets frank or ray fuck em first cuz they came prepared with a condom or some shit
IDK IM THROWING SHIT OUT THERE!!!
HOPE IT SPARKS SOMETHING CUZ I LOVE THIS LIL SERIES :3 but also no pressure in continuing it!! im just happy we got lucky with a part 2 🩷
LOVE UR STUFF!! KEEP IT UP!!
- 🧚♀️
I’m mixing all these up and creating the freakiest media
ɪɴᴄᴇʟ - ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏɴ’ᴛ ꜰᴜᴄᴋ ᴍʏ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅs (PT 3)
Pairing: Bullets!Ray Toro x Bullets!Frank Iero x Bullets!Gerard Way x f!reader
Notes: Slight somno, masturbation, foursome, intoxication, sex tape, blowjob, handjob, facefucking, tit fucking, fingering, pussyjob, cum eating
Inspo/Request: the fire ideas above! Is is that a a MCR song lyric I see in da title AHHH
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5
That night, since your parents were out, you just stayed the night at Mikey’s. It was a rough sleep, though, hearing him jacking off every hour to you right next to you. The thought of you being sound asleep and him getting to stare at your ass fitted in your underwear, the stain from his cum leaking out of you still there, but you were too exhausted the rest of the day to care. In the morning, you relaxed in the same spot while watching Mikey pick at his bass, just out of boredom and waiting to feel awake enough to go home. Then his brother walked in. “Mikey, mom wants y- oh shit.” Gerard quickly notices you in the bed, covering yourself from him at the speed of light. Mikey jumps up. “Don’t tell mom. I’m serious!” Raising his hands, Gerard chuckles, “I won’t. But she wants to see you.” That has Mikey storming out of the room, but Gerard remains, even sitting on the edge of Mikey’s bed to start a conversation with you.
“How ya doing?” Very casual for a man who knows you’re in your underwear and Mikey’s t-shirt. “Peachy.” You sarcastically reply, staying curled up. “Can’t believe Mikey hasn’t introduced me to his girlfriend yet. I’m Gerard.” Sighing, you roll your eyes, “I’m not his girlfriend. He’s been lying.” There’s not much of a reaction from Gerard, except of a raise of his eyebrows. “Oh.. so you’re no way committed to him?” Shaking your head no, Gerard places a hand on your thigh, smiling mischievously. “Well, you know where I am if you wanna switch it up.” The flirtatious tone brought heat to your cheeks. Then an idea popped into your head. “You free tomorrow?” Gerard nods, and then there’s your follow up question. “What about your buddies?”
After information being exchanged, plans were set. Tomorrow, you were hanging out with Gerard, Ray, and Frank; Mikey’s friends and brother, without him knowing. The three men were invited to your place, along with offerings of alcohol and weed to ensure they have a good time, as if your sex wasn’t the best offer. The first there, a few minutes early, was an awkward, curly headed one with a bright smile. “Hey, uh, I’m Gerard’s friend, Ray.” The nerves on the boy were obvious, making you want to tease him a bit as you stood there, looking like you were pondering. “I think Gerard said we were all meeting up Sunday, not Saturday.” The moment his cheeks heated up and smile fell, you smirked. “I’m just joking. Please, come in, Ray. I’m (Y/N).” His expression turned shy, but laughed, coming in and taking a seat on your couch. “Heard you love movies. I have a little collection there, if you wanna find something to put on.” Obviously, whatever was on would be designated background noise, but Ray piped up and began searching for the perfect background noise.
Next knock was exactly on time, and you opened the door to Gerard, who had a more cheekier expression than Ray when you opened the door. “Welcome. Your friend’s already here.” Stepping aside, Gerard came in, checking out your place before joining Ray on the couch and chatting. You sat on the living room chair, Gerard shifting towards you from the couch. “Frank might be a minute. He’s never on time.” “That’s completely fine. We’re in no rush. Parents are on a business trip.” Gently smiling, you wink, seeing Ray’s cheeks heated again home looking between you and Gerard with a soft smile. Like Gerard predicted, 20 minutes after the time, there was another knock you answered to. A shorter guy, but with punky hair and a neck tattoo. And the one who has the sleaziest vibes ever, lookin you up and down like he was gonna pounce on you then and there. “Hey. Right place, I assume?” Frank notices Gerard and Ray inside, as you nod and leave the door open for him to enter while grabbing some beers from the fridge for you four.
Each of you cracked a beer, and started off with some small talk. “All of you are single?” Each of them nod, which was surprising to you. They were all very attractive. “Shame.” “Speak for yourself, doll,” Frank’s eyes are still roaming over you. Clearly he came for one thing and one thing only. Speaking of that one thing, Gerard brought it up. “Only if you’re comfortable, just putting ideas out there for a lil safe keeping’s of yours… can’t help but notice you have a camera.” You looked to your little camcorder left on the table, from last time you went on a walk and seen a pretty view. “That’s a really nice model.” Ray compliments, making you smile. “Thanks. And what about it, Gee?” The name makes him chuckle slightly, under his breath, looking from it to you. “You know what about it. What do you think?” “I think you’re some kind of genius, sweetie.” Standing up, you grab your tray, which had a joint rolled on it and a lighter.
Once it was lit, you took a puff, passing it around for the others. Together, you all finished a 12 pack of beers, everyone slightly tipsy and more relaxed, and more flirty. There wasn’t room on the couch with the four of them, but you’d make room. Plopping down right into Ray’s lap, you kicked your legs up into Frank’s lap, and had eye contact held with Gerard on the very end of the couch. It was nerve wracking for Ray, unsure where to put his hands, but Frank got real comfortable with massaging up and down your legs. The conversation continued, and when the moment felt right, Frank brought up the real intentions of this gathering. “So, are any of us leaving with blue balls?” Laughing, you lean forward, being sure to shift a little in Ray’s lap with your face getting closer to Frank’s. “I have enough hands and a mouth for all you lovely boys. Wouldn’t be fair if I left someone out.” Slyly, you turned your hand, mouth close enough to Ray’s neck for the air to tickle down him. “‘S that right, baby? I have just enough for all you boys, maybe each to take a turn in my mouth…” This one was just too easy to fluster. He was rock solid underneath you.
“Hey,” Frank tugged your arm, “I think some of us need some sugar, too.” “You’re eager. I think saving you for last will put you in your place.” Watching his face turn red with sexual frustration, you walked past him to straddle Gerard’s lap, resting hands on his shoulder while you were sure to roll your hips against his crotch. “As for you, you’re real patient. Barely had your hands on me like the other guys. You just know it makes me more eager for you or somethin’?” Gerard’s hands wrap around your thighs, dragging you firmly against his hardening cock, eyes flickering between your face above him and your tits right in his face. “I can take whatever you give me, honey. If you weren’t so generous, I’d sit and watch while you did my buddies instead. It’s hot how you have them both red in the face.” Giggling, you look to Ray, who’s flustered and horny out of his mind, and Frank, who’s frustrated and horny out of his mind. To make them crave it even more, you remove your top, now in your sexy bra and shorts.
A groan came from Gerard, who started kissing his way up your sternum, around the curve of each clothed breast. Frank shook his head, grumbling, “You’re some tease, (Y/N).” Ignoring Frank, who just craved your attention, you tugged on the back of Gerard’s hair, gasping over dramatically as he bit along your neck, higher and higher until your lips soon meeting Gerard’s. The harder you pulled his hair, the more he bucked up into you, until he respectfully let you go when you pushed him away. Finally kneeling in front of Frank, he definitely had high expectations for himself, eagerly trying to undo his pants until you put your hand out to stop him, “Whatcha think you’re doing, man?” “C’mon, just suck it already-” Laughing, you stood and managed to pin his hands away from him, straddling him like you did Gerard. Looking to Gee, while he was squirming desperately into you. “God, is he always such a douchebag?” The talking about him as if he wasn’t there upset him, whining with a frown, and then you cocked your head at him. “Not so tough now, are you? Maybe you need to ask nicely.” When he whined in disapproval to that, you hummed, “Or I should get the camera out now to record what an eager bitch you can be.” Both other men let out a giggle at his behavior, pissing him off some more.
Showing some mercy, you kissed along his neck, while letting go of his hands (in expectation he won’t do anything he wasn’t allowed to), while one of your hands slipped below his unbuttoned waistband. “Fuck, fuck, please, please…” The begging lingered, but he whined once again when you only did it over his underwear. Since he seemed to crave more, you gave him nothing, climbing off him and back to your knees. “You gotta sit there and watch until you’re ready since you’re so ungrateful. Ray, could you stand up, baby?” Snapping back to reality, he slowly stood to his knees, a real shy guy in the situation. Ray has had sex, he’s done stuff, but not with his friends watching. Kissing along his jean clad thigh, you took one hand in yours, while the other went to palm at his bulge. “Don’t be shy, okay? They won’t embarrass you. Plus, I’m sure they’ll find you hot, if anything. You lot definitely aren’t the straightest bunch.” That loosened Ray a bit, a small laugh coming from all of them.
Stopping the attention to Ray for a second, you take the camera, holding it to Ray. He flipped it open, turning it on and everything, pointing it down towards you. God, it was such a fucking hot shot for Ray. Especially the way you stared at his crotch, licking your lips, while undoing his pants and tugging them down to his ankles with his boxers. Before you could even speak, Frank did, “Fuck, Ray, you’re fucking hung!” Ray’s face reddened, but everyone else, including yourself, giggled, as you took him into your hand. “Mmm, they’re not wrong, you know. Better not take your eyes off me when I take you in my mouth, who knows if I’d be able to do it again.” Of course, you flustered Ray even more, but he forced his eyes on you while you took his big cock into your mouth. Just you lightly sucking on the tip had a small whimper fall from Ray. His shyness egged you on, your hands resting on his thighs as you pushed yourself to deep throat him rather than using your hand the rest of the way.
The noise of you choking suddenly worried him, thinking something was wrong, “A-Are you okay?” But you just laughed, pushing his hand away that shot out just in case you were going to be sick, continuing to deep throat him while expertly breathing through your nose. “Just keep filming. Film it all.” You reminded. When your throat started to feel a bit sore, you popped him out of your mouth with a pop, spitting onto his cock and using your hand to slick him up and begin jerking him off. Next you gestured to Frank to stand up, putting Ray in your left hand to have Frank in front of you. With one hand, you worked his pants down, taking his heavy cock into your hand. Rather than taking him quick like Ray, you gently licked his tip, catching his precum before sucking along the sides and underside of his cock. Then spitting into your hand to start jerking him off while taking as much of his balls into your mouth as you can, watching his eyes screw shut at the feeling, eyebrows upturned. The poor guy wanted to fuck your face so bad. When he thought you were finally going to suck him off, wrapping your mouth around him and bobbing your head, you pulled off after a few times. Like you did Ray, you spit onto his length, beginning to jerk him off before signalling for Gerard to stand.
Politely, Ray moved your hand, using his own. “Y-You can have a minute. Y’know. Less work.” “Aww, so sweet.” You teased, giving his balls a firm squeeze before finally coming face to face with Gerard’s crotch, “You take it out for me?” Nodding, Gerard got his pants down, giving his length a few pumps in front of your face. The smallest of them, but still average length. Opening your mouth as a gesture, he suck his length along your tongue, moving his hood back and forth for him to make you teasingly suck him off. Gerard looks to Ray, taking the camera from his hands to record while instructing him to remove your bra. Ray struggled with the front clasp a moment, but once the bra was off, Gerard gave him the camera again to get a nice shot of your tits. The look you gave Gerard said it all, making him smile. “Touch her, Ray.” But before he could, you pulled off Gerard. “One sec. I have a nice idea.”
You took the three to your room, lying on your bed. “Gerard, can you keep the camera and come stand right here?” At your request, he stood beside the bed where you pointed, camera in hand roaming up and down your body. Spitting into your hand, you started stroking him, then gesturing to Ray. “Listen, honey, I’m gonna get you to straddle me n’ fuck my tits. I think you can do that. He nodded, nervous, but proceeding to straddle your chest, placing his cock between your tits, using his hands to push them together. Unintentionally, Ray begin grinding, but he obediently stopped when told. “And I get front or back door?” Frank asks, waiting impatiently beside the bed with his arms crossed. You rolled your eyes. “You get to use my face however you want. Is that enough for you?” Considering that’s what Frank has wanted this entire time, he gladly climbs on the bed, kneeling beside you while sliding his cock along your lips.
When Frank moves, Ray moves, and you keep your hand moving along Gerard’s cock. The cameraman, Gerard, gets is sure to get the best shots. The way Ray squeezes your tits together, taking his time really fucking then. Any faster speed, he’d spill. Frank slaps his cock on your tongue, making you stick it out for him to rub his tip all over it and your spitty lips. “I’ll have to get you alone sometime. Usually don’t let a girl suck my cock til I’m done going down on her.” What a douche, but the offers nice. On Gerard’s cock, your hand keeps a steady pace, more than enough to please him. Watching how you whorishly let the three of them use you at one is the equivalent to a good fist fucking. With him being the one with the most hands out of your four, he stands as low on your horizontal body as he with your grip still intact. Slim fingers spread your thighs, pulling the fabric on your short little shorts aside, and your panties, to gently flick your clit. The gentle moan you let out around Frank is enough for him to continue, and feeling the way your hand grips around his cock.
Once you’re wet enough, Gerard slides his fingers inside of you, your back arching your tits further into Ray’s grip. Two skills fingers curling deep inside you, automatically spreading your legs further and encouraging you. Your free hand grips Frank’s thigh, pulling him forward to push deeper down your throat. Of course, he takes the invitation, shakily fucking your throat. “Yes, yes, you like that? Fuck…” Frank stutters, the only talkative one, and Ray silently whimpers, shy to be vocal. Briefly, you pull Frank from your mouth. “F-Faster, you two.” Talking about Ray and Gerard, Gee speeds his fingers up in your soaked cunt. The noise makes each man groan, while you let out loud noises around Frank’s cock. It takes him a minute, but Ray starts confidentially fucking your tits, watching his tip hit your chin with every hard thrust. And now you have Gerard in an iron grip, stroking his with a tight fist while he fingered you. The feeling of being close already began.
Like he predicted, Ray spills all over your chest, knowing it was going to happen if he went any faster. Some cum landed on your chin and neck, mostly on your chest. The fact one already came made Frank more eager, fucking your throat worn lewd noises filling the room. Spit covered his cock, so he pulled out, jerking off in your face. That dazed out expression on your face drove him crazy. “Eyes on me. Look at me until I cum on your pretty face.” Each man paid attention, looking at your doe eyes as Frank’s cum shot in spurts all over your face, catching some in your mouth to swallow. Left was Gee, who judged Ray to climb off you, and then climbed between your legs. Trusting him to not penetrate you while he removed his fingers, he began rubbing his pulsing cock along your clit, hard and fast as you writhed. Gee’s chest began to rise and falls with yours, your moans filling the room louder, reaching over and gripping onto Ray’s used cock to tease him with a firm grip while Gerard finished you. He let out a loud, shaky moan, but let you use his cock as something to hold onto.
Then, of course, Gerard came all over your tummy right after your orgasm washed over you, sobbing in pleasure while the last man to cover you in cum orgasmed. Frank took the camera from Gerard, being sure to get a shot of where the cum landed on you. Face, tits, belly, and then Frank instructing Ray to scoop it and put it in your mouth until most of it was gone. Then the stop recording button was pressed, Gerard dressed, leaving to return with a wet facecloth he grabbed from your towel rack. “Well… how was that?” Gerard asked, wiping you down while you laughed. “Not too bad.” You joked, watching Frank and Ray getting dressed, meanwhile you just grabbed an oversized shirt laying on the floor. “I have another joint. Want some more before yas leave?”
When the guys left, after talking and smoking and having a genuine good time with you, you quickly downloaded that video onto a hard drive. The next day, you gave it to Gerard, for him to secretly toss the hard dive and note you made onto Mikey’s bed. Once Mikey returned, after hearing about the sale at the comic book store, he noticed something different on his bed. And a note, signed by you. Hey Mikes :) Was feeling a little creative after you fucking me the other day! I filmed a little movie for you. The casting is listed below: Ray Toro, Frank Iero, and my best fuck yet (Gerard Way). You should ask your brother for some tips, boyfriend. Holy shit. No way you took him seriously. Popping in the hard drive, he couldn’t tell if he was hard, disgusted, or angered watching the entire video. Seeing your cummy face at the end… you had it coming.
hihihi! I genuinely cannot get enough of your writing
I’ve just been imagining current!frank as a guitar teacher, making the reader practice while putting her in increasingly difficult (hot) positions,,, wrapping his meaty arms around her body as she attempts to play the notes correctly, praising her throughout
before he loses control and fucks her lovingly in the studio x3
oh my yes yes yes yes…. Last Frank req for a while guys!!! Wanna get an even amount for each member going cuz I feel I write Frank da most <333
𝓗𝓸𝓽 𝓕𝓸𝓻 𝓣𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓻
Pairing: Current Guitar Teacher!Frank Iero x Younger Learner!Reader
Notes: age gap, Frank is sort of parent figure sort of sort of sort of, praise, innocence kink, unprotected p in v, oral sex, use of daddy
Inspo/Request: Above!!! Based this off the little things this real hot music teacher I had a massive crush on. Hope everyone understand the positions they’re in and it’s not too confusing
You’ve been taking on guitar lessons for about the last month, and do you ever have a crush on the guy! His name is Frank, a lonely middle aged man who loves music, doing guitar lessons, working half at a music shop and half at a tattoo parlor. The lessons are cheap and relatively close to where you pursue your bachelors, and something that takes your mind off stress. The reason you’ve come to conclusion for your feelings for him is the way your tummy sparks when he helps, the way he pats his thigh to help you keep rhythm, the way he’s so passionate about this, the way he calls you honey, his hot bulky body, his tatted fingers dancing on the fret board, basically everything about him and everything he does. Except you’d never come forward about it. He’s two years over twice your age. But little do you know, Frank himself wishes he could take you and mold you into his sweet girl.
Today, you were a little off your game. You must’ve been starting your period soon, because everything Frank did made you fucking horny. When his fingers adjusted your hand on the neck of the guitar: butterflies. The way he laughed, shaking his head at you and saying something teasing about how silly you are: blushing . And now, where you were sat in front of him, his legs on the outside of yours with your back to his chest, arms wrapped around you tightly: gushing. “This okay? It’ll help you play?” Frank questioned, one hand not touching you and the other on your hand with the guitar pick. You nodded, sighing softly, “‘M just tired, I’m sorry I keep fucking up.” The fact you kept fucking up worried you you’d frustrate him. “(Y/N), honey, don’t beat yourself up. Clearly, there’s something bothering you, but that’s okay. Do you wanna talk, or wanna play?” Helping you strum, while using the fret himself, you relax a little into the touch of him on your back.
Frank knows that he’s a little too close with you, but you’re a sweet girl and he seems to be your favorite person around here. If there was something wrong and you wanted to tell him, he was there to listen. “Well,” you began, incredibly quiet while Frank played the guitar around you, using one of your hands to strum and his other on the fret board making the music come to life. “I guess being very independent, studying away from home, can get a bit tiring. It’s not like I’m not having fun; I’m having plenty of fun. I’ve made good friends, went to parties, caught up in school. But my parents don’t answer the fastest from my messages and calls, so that’s messing me up a bit.” It all makes sense to Frank. You’re craving that parental love, that validation, those check ups to make sure everything is okay and how your time far, far away from home is going. “You’re having fun, just missing love. Hm?” He concludes, spot on as you nod in confirmation.
He sighs. “Well why don’t we keep it simple today? Let’s try a song you already know.” You’re given the song title, one you’ve played countless times, but when you try to play regular tempo and everything, you keep fucking up, resulting in frustration. On your third try, your fuck-ups really start to piss you off. “I don’t think I can even do this today.” “Hey, don’t get like that,” Frank barely even lets you finish before correcting you, “Take it slow, as if you were learning again. You’re still doing good.” Attempting at doing it slow,, the first chord sounds scratchy. When you take a deep, tense breath, about to complain, Frank doesn’t even let you. “Alright, honey, let’s just take a deep breath and get situated. Before you blow your lid.” Looking away with your frustrated pout, Frank moves himself to sit beside you instead, but pats his thigh. Your eyes dart between him and his thigh, but he just gives you that “I’m waiting” look. You take the guitar and sit on his lap.
“It won’t be so hard if you just relax, (Y/N),” you certainly wish he wasn’t talking about the guitar playing skills, “go really slow again. With me.” First, Frank counts, and you start on three. Each string you go to pick, he says the fret number first, letting you match along with him. Almost done the song, you fuck up again, stopping to look at Frank with another frustrated sigh. “Frank-” “Come on, hun! You did so good. Quit putting yourself down like that, and you’ll get somewhere. It was one mess up when you were almost done the song. You’re doing great. Again, with me.” Repeating the process again, slow and steady with his deep voice guiding you through it, but you get a little distracted watching his fingers tap along his thigh, causing you to fuck up again. There’s no frustration this time, because come on, that was your fault reasonably…. And Frank just smiles, corny and placing a small tap to your nose with the same thick, calloused fingers you were staring at. “That’s alright. We still got all the time in the world. I don’t got anyone after you today.”
Another shot, and you successfully get through it without messing up, a small, prideful smile coming to your face along with a blush from Frank’s gentle praise. “That was your very best, honey. See how you just gotta relax sometimes and you can do hard things? Wanna try another song?” Analyzing your exhausted face, your mouth hesitantly opens at first, and Frank knew you were going to say yes just because there was no other option, but you looked so tired. “Actually,” Frank added, “why don’t we just relax here in the studio til you gotta go? We can talk some more.” That option, with or without the additional of your dirty thoughts, sounded best, so you nodded. The feeling of Frank’s hands around your hips made your heart stop for a second, but it was just to scoot you to the cushion beside him while he stood up.
Grabbing two bottles from the mini fridge, he tossed one to you, then took the guitar from you to place back on the guitar stand before sitting next to you. “So, you’ve been lonely. A sweet thing like you shouldn’t be lonely. What can I do?” Frank’s very straight to the point, wanting to help you in anyway he can. There’s plenty of ways you want him to help you, and those are the exact ways he wants to help you, but the idea of you saying it first simply terrified you. To seem unsure, you have a small shrug, taking a sip of water to swallow the truth. “I don’t know what I can even do.” There, still truth, but not about how much you want him. He cocked his head, sighing, “Well, I can help in many ways. I’ve been on this earth longer than you, and assuming I have more experience than you and a different perspective, I could give you advice.” Nervously fiddling with your pick, you think about how to put it. Maybe he can help you with some boy talk. “I’m making friends, but… I thought when I’d go away, there’d be boys interested in me too. Boys don’t really seem interested in me. I’ve even tried dating apps, but they end up being pervs.”
Frank can definitely help with this topic. Except how could boys not be interested? You’re absolutely adorable, intelligent, completely unique. If an old man like Frank wants you, younger boys should. But he shakes his head, remembering how much teenagers have probably changed. “If you feel no boys think you’re as amazing as you are, then either you’re wrong, or they’re blind. Have you tried… different types of men? Different cliques, different personalities, different ages, different standards?” Of course, he had to slip in the age one, unaware of how fuzzy it’d make your mind. Except it’s really hard to lie to Frank with how comfortable he makes you feel. “All of that, but… but age. I haven’t had a lot of, um, sexual experiences, but I’m not inexperienced. I feel someone older would expect more.” Frank laughs, “If you’d like my point of view, that makes you more endearing. I’d want to be associated that way with a girl like you.” Now he’s really teetering over the edge, watching your every language. How you constantly drink some water for the change to look away, how tense you are, how your body betrays your shyness while you completely face him.
Poor girl. You just really need two things: a parental figure and sex. The only way you’re going to get want you want is to say it, and you really, really want to say yes, you just can’t be the one to confirm what you’re saying yes to. That’s completely set, and Frank will do what he needs to do. With that, he stands before kneeling in front of you, a hand on each knee. And you were still avoiding eye contact before he even opened his mouth. “I’m going to need you to look at me, (Y/N).” Once your eyes are him, Frank begins. “I can help you, honey. You’re absolutely fuckin’ gorgeous and the sweetest thing I’ve ever met. You’re also not the only one lonely. It’s been a while f’me too. There’s a lot of factors of why I want you. Yeah, there’s some just plain desire, you’re beautiful and young, but there can be more behind that. ‘S that what you need, honey? Just say yes, and I’m yours.” Every word is exactly what you wanted to hear, and you nodded a little too quickly with how eager you are. “I just… yeah, I want exactly what you’re thinking, Frank. I’m sorry. I hate to sound desperate, I just want…. I want you really, really bad.”
“Oh, sweetie, don’t worry about being eager. It’s cute - no hiding your face either, come on.” You immediately went to hiding your face, but he yanked you into his lap as soon as he sat next to you. Frank didn’t let you hide your face, cupping your face and guiding it right to his while he twirled your hair between his fingers. “There, get to see your pretty face. Are you gonna keep hiding it, or gonna listen to me?” With your eyes darting between his eyes and lips, you shook your head no, resulting in a growing smile from him. “Atta girl. Now we know what you want, but no explicitly. Now that I took you in my lap, I think that’s enough for in exchange, you tell me in detail what you want me to do to you.” Obviously, you whine in disagreement, but he gives you a disapprovingly look. How can you take his disapproving look when all you crave is his praise? “I know you must’ve pictured some stuff. You didn’t think twice about saying yes.” He wasn’t letting you out of this, clearly.
Taking a deep breath, you collected your thoughts, looking at your lap but not hiding your face like he said. One hand stays in your lap, but the other played with the fabric of his shirt, around the neck where his tattoos peaked from. “Like… sex?” You stall, making Frank laugh. “You know what I mean. You’re not that stupid. You’re a smart girl.” Squirming the slightest bit, licking your lips subconsciously, you begin, “I’ve always really wanted to know what a guys tongue feels like o-on me.” Pausing, you swallow the build up in your mouth from it watering over the look of Frank. “And… letting you do what you want to me. I think you’d know what I need. I think you could help me.” “That’s right, smart girl. You know I know what you need. Do you want that?” Collapsing into him, you just buried your face in his neck, unable to show your blushing face anymore, especially with how much you need this. “Oh, Frank, please! I’m so sorry, but I just need it so bad. I need to know what it feels like. Please just give me it.” There’s no way you could beg like this get away with something gentle, considering Frank turned hard almost immediately. When your thighs curled up to your chest, squirming around on his lap like it was nothing with your face to his chest.
Forcing you to stand up, he pulled you around by your hips like you were his doll, before bending you over the arm of the sofa. Your pants and underwear were ripped from you, causing you to squirm shyly at the fact Frank groaned at the view of your cunt. He kneeled, tongue diving eagerly between your folds, listening to your surprised gasps as he held right to his face. “Oh my god, honey, you taste so sweet.” Frank mumbles, out of breath while sloppy travelling between your clit and tasty hole. “How’s that feel? D’you like my tongue?” “Yes, yes, daddy! I really like it!” You can’t help but moan while pushing back on it while he growled into you. The fact you want to call him daddy, he can totally fuck with. Except he wanted to thoroughly eat you out, but the name made his cock ache. So, he spread you open one last time to spit on your pussy, before he dropped his own pants and lined up with your tight pussy. Ever so slowly, he pushed just the tip in, letting you quiver around him with little whines. “Fuck, fuck, my sweet girl’s so tight. I bet I could get you to cum on just the tip of I tried enough. My sweet, sensitive girl.” As he pushed pass another ring of resistance, you sharply cried out, gripping the couch with how he was halfway inside of you. More praise came from Frank, whose hips were near trembling to slam into your pretty little cunt. “You’re taking me sososo well. So lucky to have you right here, over an old man’s couch. Wish I could see more of this body, though. D’you think you could take your shirt off, honey?” Still eager to please, you quickly maneuver your shirt off, unclasping your bra immediately as well.
And the moment you did, you were full of Frank, enough to make you feel like cumming on the spot of he went near your clit. Your moans filled the room, out of breath just from being filled by him. “What, honey? Daddy’s cock too big for you?” Slowly, he pulled out, with a slow, controlled thrust back in, and another groan. “So fucking tight. You’ll be screaming like a good girl in no time.” Being slowly, lovingly fucked allowed you to adjust to his size, long moans being dragged from your throat. All your brain could think about was his praise. “Fuckin’ soaked all from just me teaching you guitar.” “Thereee ya go, nice n’ easy, in n’ out.” “Tight little cunt is filled to the brim. God, I think you’d fall apart if you took anything bigger than me.” “But you won’t be taking bigger than me, will you? You’re mine now, aren’t you, sweetie?” You couldn’t help beginning to bounce back onto him, needing more. “Yes, daddy! All yours, ‘m pussy is all yours. All yours.” Big hands suddenly held you still, continuing to pump in and out slow.
Frank even tsked in disapproval. “Didn’t say you could do that, honey. Daddy didn’t say fuck back onto him. Can’t be getting too needy. Gotta let daddy stay in control. Do you think you can do that? Just let daddy pump this pussy.” With that, he uses one hand on your back to pump firmly, not fast yet, while the other wraps around to pull you up. His tatted fingers trace along the sculpture of your chest, letting goosebumps rise before touching any sensitive skin. Your cunt fluttered around him when he pinched your nipple softly, rolling it between his fingers. “Perfect tits too. Tell me, you play with them while you rub your pretty clit? Do you rub and tease them, or pinch and pull them?” Every movement he mentions, he preforms on your tit, sticking to pulling on them because of how you whine. “I said tell daddy.” He reminds you. “‘M sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t think with you inside me, daddy. Feels g-good. I p-play with them like this thinking of you.” “Good girl. Using the little cock dumb brain to think just enough f’me.” Frank praised, before fucking you ruthlessly. Deep, fast, hard, making your noises fill the room.
Clawing behind you at his thighs, your back arched further, allowing his cock to reach the best spots inside you. Mouth permanently open from moaning so loud, drooled pooled over your mouth slight, even more when Frank took his hand on your body to shove two fingers down your throat. The one playing with your tits snaked between your legs, rubbing firmly over your clit to make you scream louder. “Yeah, I bet you like that, honey. Getting so close for me. Almost there?” “Yeahyeahyeeah!” “Okay, okay, let me get you there. Let it happen. Cum on my cock.” Fucking you hard, and rubbing your clit even harder, you shook while cumming all over Frank’s cock, his seed spilling inside you right after. The warm feeling made your cunt flutter around him, while he pumped every last bit inside you. “If this is an often thing, I’ll be charging you less for lessons.”
a/n: hello my fellow stump lovers. Today I bring to your tumblr feed a birthday fic. I loved this sm, definitely one of my favorites I’ve written. Hope you enjoy it!
warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected sex (cover it up tho guys), alcohol, oral (fem receiving), dom/sub, cursing, handjobs, brief mention of puking, slight body worship, nervy Patrick
w/c: 4.8k
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The summer heat is unbearable, especially in your room. The mornings were perfect weather, but the afternoons were filled with a thick heat that filled every corner. This afternoon was no different, and that was apparent as you woke up sweaty from head to toe.
You groan, opening your eyes slowly as the sun blazes through your window. At first, the sweat was the only thing you felt, kicking off the covers to cool down, though it doesn’t do much to you. Looking at your clock on your desk, in bold red numbers it reads 1:00 pm. You sit up, wiping your face with your equally damp forearm before it hits you.
You know this throbbing pain, becoming very familiar with it ever since you started drinking. A sharp pain in your brain that tells you, you are in fact hungover. What did you even do last night? The last thing you remembered was…
You looked at yourself in the mirror, putting away your lipstick and zipping up your makeup bag. You pop your lips together a few more times before hearing a loud knock on your front door at 7pm exactly. You opened it to find Patrick, Pete, Joe, and Andy there with bright smiles and hands full of your favorite alcoholic drinks.
“Hey birthday girl!” Pete greets obnoxiously, letting himself in and setting the stuff down on your counter. They each gave you a hug, wishing you a happy birthday. Your other close friends came shortly after, and the party started with a group shot. The liquid slid down your throat as you shook your head at the gross taste.
Then more shots came, and then Pete demanded more. Who were you, already tipsy and giddy, to deny? You remember Patrick skipped quite a few rounds of shots, not wanting to get that drunk just in case. He was sitting on your couch, a beer in his hand as he talked with Andy.
“Patrick!” You drunkenly called in a sing-songy voice, stumbling over to him and taking his hand. His blue eyes find yours immediately, smiling at how drunk you already were. “Come take another shot!”
“I don’t know, Y/N. I think you need to slow down a little…” he says, and you pout. You give him your pleading look that he can’t bring himself to resist, but he stays quiet. You kneel on the ground next to him, putting your head on the arm of the couch as you look up at him.
“Please, ‘Trick! It’s your duty as my best friend to take another shot with me.” Your words slightly slur, giving him a drunken smile. Patrick laughs, shaking his head defiantly. “Jus’ one more.” You plead, squeezing his hand and pulling him. Patrick rolls his eyes and sighs, getting up.
“Okay, one more.” He helps you up with a fond smile, and you cheer as you lead him to your counter. He pours it for the both of you, hooking arms as you throw your heads back. You remembered the liquid fought back that time, but you prevailed as you gulped it down.
“Birthday girl! Get on the dance floor!” Joe called from the living room. You giggled and tugged Patrick to the ‘dance floor.’ You danced your ass off, wrapping your arms around Patrick as he tried to keep up, dancing in his own awkward way. You were too drunk to care, hanging off of him and stumbling.
All you remember is his smile, looking at you like you changed his life. You can’t deny that you are head over heels for him, and you can only imagine the things you said when you were drunk. How embarrassing…
You were all over him all night, you remember that much.
“Patrick, dance with me!”
“Trick, come play this game!”
“Patrick, I need you.”
That one was particularly humiliating. You remember Pete mocked you for that one. But Patrick obliged with a grin, meeting you with every beckoning call. You remember laughing loudly at a dumb joke he made, putting your hand on his chest and kissing his cheek.
“You’re the cutest.” You told him, which you would have never said to him. But alas, you were wasted and of course you turn into a flirting machine when you’re drunk.
You remember at one point you ended up sobbing on your bed, Patrick coming in shortly after with a concerned look. He sat next to you on your bed, patting your shaking back.
“What’s wrong?” He asks softly, running his hand on your arm soothingly as you hiccuped and whined. You sob something incoherent into your mattress. “Hm?” He hums softly, wanting to know if you’re ok.
“I’m so drunk.” You pick your head up to say before slamming your head down into your blanket and sobbing once again. Patrick laughs softly, though not loud enough to upset you more. You mumble something unintelligible again, and he tugs your arm to turn you over. You’re defiant at first, but comply on his second try.
“You’re crying because you’re drunk?” He asks lightly, giving you a soft smile as you look at him. You shake your head fervently, wiping your eyes. Mascara was running down your face, making you look like a raccoon. It made him want to laugh, but he held it in to protect your fragile state.
“I’m crying b’cause,” you sit up, taking a shaky breath before continuing. “…I don’t know.” You say, sniffling as you look at him. After a moment Patrick stands, letting go of your shoulder which makes you whine.
“I’ll be right back, I’m gonna get you some water okay?” He says, turning away to leave. You grab his wrist, looking up at him with wide wet eyes.
“No! Let me go with you.”
Patrick looks back with a shocked expression before it melts into a gentle smile. He nods his head, tugging your hand. You held his hand the whole way, wiping away the stray tears on your face as he led you out. You passed by the bathroom where someone was puking. He got you a water bottle, making sure you sipped on it.
“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Your friend Lottie approaches you with a stumble. She looked so drunk, a party hat barely hanging onto her head. “Let’s take a shot! That’ll make you feel better!”
“Okay!” You light up, and Lottie grabs your arm. Patrick speaks up to protest, shaking his head. But everyone else was already cheering you on as you downed another shot.
And from then on, it was a blur. Man, do you regret it now. Your head is pounding as you borderline crawl your way to the bathroom, looking at yourself in the mirror. You look like a wreck, hair messy and eyeliner smudged everywhere. How did it get on your thigh?
You hope and pray that a shower will help, so you turn it on and get under the lukewarm water. It felt nice on your scalp, but the pounding persisted relentlessly. After your shower, it made your head feel a little better but you still took some pain killers to help.
After you ate, you decided to finally check your phone. It was filled with messages telling you they had fun, or asking how you were feeling. One message caught all of your attention and as you read it, you felt the undying urge to go to Patrick's house.
“Hey, are you okay? I’m worried about you.”
So that’s exactly what you’re doing. You can technically walk there, it’s only a 30 minute walk. There's no way you should be driving anyway. So you put on comfy shoes and leave your apartment, making sure to put on sunglasses before you leave. The walk was nice, the summer heat was bearable enough as long as the wind hit your face. There were beautiful trees along the way that blocked the rays of sun from making your head worse.
The stroll allowed you to think of some things, even if your head was still aching. From what you could remember, you said some already embarrassing things to Patrick. But since you completely blacked out after that shot, you get this chilling feeling that you might’ve said worse. There’s only one way to find out, and that is asking Patrick about everything. You know damn well Pete or Joe won’t remember shit anyway.
The doorbell rings through the home, and leaves you waiting for longer than you wanted. You sighed impatiently, reaching to ring the doorbell again. Before you could press it a third time, the door opened quickly. Pete stands before you with cheap sunglasses and a scowl on his face. You give him a scowl of your own back, and his frown dissolves into a smile.
“You’re alive.” He says, voice a lot quieter than it was last night. He brings you into a hug before inviting you in.
“Barely.” You mumble, placing your purse on the couch. “Is Patrick home?” You ask, looking down their hallway to see his door closed.
“Yeah he should be, though I only saw him this morning.” Pete responds, and you hum. “You were crazy last night, I’ve never seen you party like that before.”
You let out a tired laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah and that’s not happening again for a while.” You sigh, rubbing your temples. Pete just laughs, shrugging before grabbing his keys.
“Anyway, I gotta head out for my shift.”
“Working while hung over? You’re a trooper.” You laugh, and Pete nods with a sad smile. He hugs you once more before leaving in a hustle. You lock the door behind him and make your way to the kitchen. Your walk made you incredibly thirsty, so you gulp down some cold water before trudging on to Patrick’s room.
You’ve been friends with Patrick long enough that you don’t even ask to come over anymore, you just do. It’s not like he minds, and you know he secretly loves it even if you catch him in a bad mood. You grab his door handle and come in the way you always do, making a grand entrance.
“Wake up hermit! I’m hungover and- oh.” You squeak as you take in the sight before you. Usually Patrick is just at his computer, or playing video games. One time you did walk in on him changing, but that embarrassing instance is nothing compared to now.
Patrick is sitting up against his headboard, holding his hard dick in his hand. His face is flushed red and sweaty, his glasses hanging on the tip of his nose. His eyes are closed and his mouth hangs slightly open. The moment he sees you he is putting his blanket over his waist with an embarrassed yelp. You just stand there frozen, unable to look away.
“W-what are you doing here?!” Patrick squeaks, his face bright red and his eyes bulging out of his head. That was the first thing he said? He’s not even telling you to leave.
You stay frozen, eyes looking at the area that was once uncovered. There is a beat of silence before you close the door behind you, locking you both into his dark room. It was a matter of minutes before you had him whining at every touch you gave him.
“Oh- oh my- god, mmh- we shouldn’t be doing this-“ Patrick stutters out with a shaky breath, face flushed and sweaty as you stroke him. You are kissing his neck desperately, licking and sucking on the parts that make him groan the loudest.
“Why not?” You hum against his neck, picking up the pace of your hand as he answers. His hands are grasping his sheets, not having touched you once. However, you’re all over him.
“Because- fuck! This isn’t what- mph- friends do.” He whines loudly, his hips bucking up into your hand. That makes you sit up, taking your hand off his leaking member.
“Do you want to stop?” You ask, and he lets out a desperate whine. “I can go home right n-“
“No! Nononono- please!” He begs, one of his hands coming to grip your shirt. That makes you smirk, raising your eyebrows at how desperate he is. His pleading look sends a throbbing wave traveling from your stomach to your core.
“Then what do you want?” You ask, looking down at him. He stays silent for a moment, panting before grabbing your hand and putting it back on his dick. Your hand wraps around him once again, slowly stroking him up and down. Patrick’s eyes close again, head lolling to the side as he lets out a stuttered sigh.
“Have you ever been touched like this?” You whisper, eyes still on his face. He shakes his head, squirming as embarrassment takes over his face. “You’re a virgin?” You whisper, and he nods.
“Do you…still want to be a virgin?” You ask shyly, hand still slowly stroking his erection. Patrick opens his eyes and looks at you, swallowing before he responds.
“No…are you saying that you…” he breathes, looking up at you with nothing but hope and desperation in his eyes. Your heart is beating fast and hard, something you haven’t felt for quite some time.
“Patrick, I want you.” You confess, barely above a whisper. Patrick’s blue eyes widen, and his mouth hangs open but nothing comes out at first. You wait patiently, never breaking eye contact between you.
“I-“ he starts, letting out the air he had been holding in. The tips of his ears are red, and he looks at you in a way you’ve only seen in movies. “I always wanted it to be you.” He confesses, and your heart feels like you ran a marathon.
You crash your lips onto his, and he returns it with a moan. Patrick grabs the back of your head, and you take the opportunity to climb on top of him. He doesn’t know where to put his other hand, having it hovering in the air before you grab it and put it on your waist.
His hand runs up and down your side, kissing you sloppily as he groans into the kiss. Every move of his is hesitant but so sure at the same time, like he’s not sure what to do but he knows that he wants this - needs you. In contrast you’re so sure of everything, and you have been wanting this for so long.
That’s why you’re eager to touch him, your hands finding themselves under his T-shirt touching his soft plush stomach. Your tongue slips into his mouth, swirling your tongue with his as he lets another moan slip out. His hips come up to grind against yours, his unclothed hard dick rubbing against your core. You groan, grinding back down on him.
Patrick lets out a choked moan, parting away from the kiss to plant wet kisses on your neck. You continue to grind, while his hands slide down to your ass, slightly squeezing and pushing them to meet his hips. His breathing is labored as he works down your neck, eyes squeezed shut and glasses foggy with how sweaty he is.
“I’ve always wanted to…to try something.” Patrick mumbles between kisses. You hum, mind hazy as you try to listen to him. “Can I…mmh- can I please try eating you out?” He asks, his hands finding your waist again. You lean back to finally look at him, taking note of how his eyes are glassy and lips swollen. You slowly nod, before climbing off of him
“Can I take your clothes off first?” You ask, your hand still on his shoulder. He’s hesitant, looking away from you nervously. “I’ll take my clothes off too.”
That seems to convince him, though he stops your hands as they reach for the hem of your shirt. “Wait.” He says, his hand holding yours. “Can I do it?”
“Yeah, of course.” You give him a reassuring smile, and he sits up on his knees in front of you. His shaky hands reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. His eyes immediately fixate on your covered breasts, reaching around you to unhook it.
He fumbles with the back for a minute, and you sit patiently before he huffs a frustrated sigh. You reach around and help him, putting your arms on his shoulders when you do. He slides the straps down your shoulders slowly, eyes tracing over every unseen feature as it’s revealed.
His touch is so unbelievably soft and tender, making you feel like a porcelain doll. You take his hand, gently placing it on your chest. Patrick sucks in a quick breath, squeezing the flesh. Even though he’s noticeably nervous, his eyes are filled with excitement like it’s Christmas Day and he’s a little boy again.
His thumb lightly traces over your nipple, causing you to let out a small needy whimper. His eyes flicker up to your face, mouth slightly agape in wonder. As much as you wish you could tackle him and fulfil your every need, you let him have his fun. This is his first time, after all.
Both of his hands find your breasts, squeezing them a few times before his hands trail down to your shorts, his thumb touching the button. He looks into your eyes once again as if to check if it’s ok. You smile softly, and you see the corners of his lips twitch up as he hooks his fingers under your waistband to unbutton and take off your shorts.
You help him slide them down, now in your underwear. He wastes no time to slide those down as well, licking his dry lips as his eyes gaze over your body. At this point, you’re not sure if you want to waste another second. You’re incredibly needy, and at this point you want to rip off his clothes.
So you reach for the hem of his shirt, taking it off of him with confidence. Since his pants were already unbuttoned and halfway down, you decided to slide them down all together.
“I’ve never…been naked in front of anyone before.” He mumbles, visibly self conscious about this. You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him into a soft kiss. Parting from it, you bring your forehead to his.
“I’ve always thought you were incredibly attractive, Trick.” You breathe, and he lets out a shaky huff and shakes his head. You persist, “I’ve always imagined what it would be like, but the real deal is so much better than anything I fantasized about.”
“You…you fantasized about this? About me?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper.
“All the time.” You say, chucking lightly as your face turns a light shade of red. It was embarrassing to admit, but at this point does it matter? Patrick is quiet for a moment, closing his eyes as his slightly sweaty forehead rests against yours.
“I was thinking about you earlier…when you- y’know…walked in.” He mutters. You stay quiet, grabbing his hand from your waist and slowly moving it to your wet cunt.
Patrick’s breath catches, his hand staying still as you guide his fingers through your folds. You let out a soft moan, circling his fingers on your clit. Once Patrick starts moving his hand with yours, you let go and allow him to continue. His circles are unsure but consistent.
“What- mmh, can you tell me what you were thinking about?” You huff, your hands sliding up to his shoulders. Patrick hesitates, staying quiet for a second to listen to your small noises.
“I-I was thinking about…” he trails off as you let out another moan of pleasure, his fingers circling your clit faster. “…about touching you- like this. And tasting you, making you f-feel good with my tongue.” He mumbles.
That only makes you more aroused, slightly moving your hips in time with his fingers. You groan, putting your head in the crook of his neck. You’ve never felt so turned on, and had never been this soaked before. It just goes to show how much you needed this from him.
Patrick wraps his other arm around you, pulling you closer to him. Feeling your chest pressed up against his puts Patrick’s mind in a haze - he can’t help but let out a groan in your ear. You both stay in this upright position with his hand between your legs for a few minutes. Honestly, Patrick could cum just by listening to your labored breaths and desperate noises.
“Can you use your t-tongue now?” You say through tiny moans, and Patrick immediately agrees with a needy “please?”
At that you lay down on his plush pillow, guiding him to get in between your legs. Patrick is on his knees looking down at you, and god does he look hot. He gets onto his stomach, and the moment he’s within arms reach you tangle your hands in his hair.
“W-what do I do?” He asks you shyly, looking up at you. You run your fingers through his hair, and he closes his eyes for a moment. He’s like putty in your hands, he would do anything you wanted him to.
“Circle the clit with your tongue.” You say quietly, and he obliges. You feel the wet muscle touch your clit, doing exactly what you told him to do. “G-good, that’s- so good.” You moan out, putting your head back on the pillow.
Patrick moans at your praise, closing his eyes as he tastes your juices on his tongue. It’s nothing like he imagined, in fact it’s even better. His hips move slowly, humping his sheets the more you moan.
“Mmh, faster ‘Trick.”
He obeys. You let out louder moans and strings of curses as he works his magic. Either you’re a good teacher or he’s a natural, because whatever he’s doing is making you approach your orgasm at a fast rate. You feel the pressure low in your stomach, clenching around nothing.
“Fuck- baby can you finger me?” You rush out, moving your hips to grind into his face. Patrick moans at the name, his hand leaving your thigh and pressing a finger into you, working it in and out, but it’s not enough. “Two fingers.”
He inserts another finger, pumping them into you slowly and sloppily, focusing more on your clit than fingering you. But it works anyway, and you’re both a whining mess. The tug on his hair makes him grind harder and faster into the mattress, and his moans send vibrations through your whole body.
“Good- good boy. God, you’re doing so good!” You cry out. Patrick groans at the praise, going faster with his tongue and hand. You’re reaching your climax at a fast rate, clenching and convulsing around his fingers.
“Patrick- ngh- I’m gonna cum.” You mumble out through labored breaths, grinding against his face. Patrick lets out an absentminded hum, and you're sent over the edge.
Your walls clench around his fingers, clit throbbing as he stimulates you through your orgasm. You let out a string of loud moans and groans, and Patrick cums just by feeling you release on his fingers. You pant as he continues, feeling the overstimulation through your body.
“Okay, okay Patrick.” You gently push him from your clit, catching your breath as he gets up. He lays next to you, propped up on his elbow as he looks down at you.
“Was I okay?” He asks after a few minutes of silence. You finally open your eyes, looking at how messy he looks. Your juices coat his lips and chin, mixing with the glistening of his sweat. His hair is a mess, and his glasses are put away. His brows are knitted up in a worried look. His question makes you laugh breathlessly, putting your hand to your forehead as you giggle.
“You weren’t just okay,” you said through laughs. Patrick opens his mouth to speak but you continue, “that was the best I’ve had.”
“You have a crazy good tongue.”
What Patrick was about to say died in his throat, he looked down at you shocked. It only makes you giggle more, and that finally makes Patrick laugh at the situation. You prop yourself up on your elbow, leaning in to give him a toothy kiss, a smile unable to be wiped from your face.
Patrick kisses back, now more comfortable with it. Your lips fit perfectly together like you were made for one another. At first, it was light hearted, but now you’re back on top of him. Your tongue dives into his mouth, tasting yourself on his lips as you make out.
Your hands roam from his shoulders, to his stomach, then lower. You reach down to feel his dick already hard again. Wrapping your hand around it, you stroke up and down, pulling moans out of him. His hands find your waist, squeezing your skin. You break the kiss and look down at him.
“Do you still want to lose your virginity?” Your voice is like honey, running your other hand up and down his chest. You’re hopeful, and once again horny.
“Please?” Patrick nods vigorously.
It makes you smile smugly, kissing him once more.
“Let me take care of you baby.” You whisper. The name makes him squirm, letting out a small huff and another nod.
Taking his throbbing dick and aligning it to your hole, you slowly sink down onto him. The both of you let out shaky breaths and tiny groans at the feeling. Your gummy walls wrap around his cock so snugly, and it’s everything he wished for and more. He fills you up so nicely, it makes your brain foggy.
“Ready?” You ask, and he looks up at you desperately.
“Y-yes.”
You move your hips up slowly, coming back down to meet his hips with a small smack. Patrick gasps under you, gripping at the sheets with his eyes squeezed shut. You continue to move, watching every twitch and contortion in his face.
His lips are parted into a small ‘o,’ and it’s truly the best thing you’ve ever seen. It makes you all the more aroused, picking up the pace to make him do more. Soon enough you’re slamming your hips down into his, pulling whines out of him.
Your hands grab his, interlocking them and putting them on either side of his head. You can feel his dick twitching inside of you, threatening to spill his hot ropes into you soon.
“Oh my- oh my god. Fuck, I’m gonna- agh!” He moans out, which spurs you on. Your legs are burning but you don’t back down, slamming down onto him just to hear his sweet noises.
“Good boy, mmph cum for me baby.” You groan out, feeling the coil tighten lower in your belly. Patrick lets go, spilling into you with whines filling the room. You follow after, your gummy walls clenching around him, milking everything out of him.
You collapse on top of him with a huff, panting in each other's ears as you come down from your high. Patrick is silent, untangling his hands and wrapping his arms around you. You’re limp from cumming twice in one time period, something you hadn’t done before.
Once you regain your strength, you roll off of him. The area in between your legs feel slimy and wet, which usually would gross you out. But right now you strangely feel content.
“Best birthday ever.” You say after a while, making Patrick laugh. He turns his head to look at you, and his eyes haven’t lost the lovesick look. It makes your stomach flutter.
“Wanna know something funny?” Patrick asks, his eyes crinkled from his grin. You hum, smiling back. “After everyone left, Pete and I stayed behind to help you into bed…” he paused, letting out a huff of a laugh, “you kissed my cheek and the tip of my nose and told me you loved me before immediately crashing.”
“I don’t remember that at all.” You scrunch your face, bringing your hands up to cover your blush.
“But I thought you meant it in a friendly way.” His smile falters slightly. “And I was going to ask you if it was real.”
There was a beat of silence, and you brought your hands down from your face.
“It is, but not in a friendly way.” You admit, looking at him again. “I thought it was obvious after what just happened.” You giggle, and it pulls one out of him too.
“Well now it is.” He says with a blush. There’s a moment of silence, the both of you staring at each other. “I love you too.” He adds shyly.
Your expression softens, and he closes the gap between you two. Patrick kisses you softly, pulling away with a smack. Pulling him closer, you cuddle up to him with your head resting on his arm.
-
tag list: @patrickstumplabubu67 @manofwar141 @sc3nicdi0xide67 @buniriski
Summary: There are very few things harder than playing guitar while your teacher stares directly into your soul. Unfortunately for you, Frank Iero decides to test that theory thoroughly. Or that fuck makes you keep playing the stupid guitar while his hands are all over you.
Before reading: consensual power dynamic, eye contact, praise kink, dirty talk, pentatonic scale but make it sexy…
Word Count: 3211
Quick note: I have no idea how I’m going to go to my bass lesson today and act normal after sinning like this.
Frank has these hands that most certainly do something for you.
Sure, the tattoos help, but it's really his fingers. They way they move deftly over the fretboard. Like the guitar is less instrument and more an extension of him. Sometimes you find yourself feeling jealous of the inanimate object.
“Are you even paying attention?” Frank’s sigh snaps you back into yourself.
He’s scolding you for not having practiced your pentatonic scale like he had told you to, which is technically the reason why your mind had wandered in the first place.
Frank telling you off is also doing something for you.
You nod quickly, clutching onto your guitar harder praying to god he doesn't notice the heat rushing to your face. He gives you a weird look before demonstrating the scale again, fingers gliding across the strings in a smooth waterfall of notes. Then he looks at you expectantly. The slight uptick of his mouth says, Go on. your turn.
You have practised this. Obsessively. You wanted to impress him so badly it was honestly pathetic. But god, he smells good today.
Your fingers fumble immediately, creating a pathetic buzzing sound that is nowhere near what Frank had just played.
He shakes his head.
“I guess I can’t be that annoyed.” He says with an easy shrug “Longer you fuck around instead of learning the more easy money I make” He says it offhandedly. A shrug of one shoulder.
He’s joking, you know his deadpan tone by now.
Still, you would gladly give him easy money for an eternity.
Anything to keep coming here. To sit in this cramped little room with its bright red walls and crooked Ramones poster hanging behind him. To get lectured by Frank once a week and, every once in a blue moon, earn one of those rare warm looks from him. The crooked grin, the soft eyes whenever you finally nail something he’s been drilling into you for weeks.
Today is not a warm-look sort of day.
“Alright kid, I’m gonna go get coffee.” Frank stands, stretching a little before setting his guitar aside. “Use this time to get that scale right. When I come back, I expect a perfect run through. Got it?”
You nod immediately, eyes wide and guitar practically clutched to your chest.
Frank snorts slightly at the sight before heading for the door. You watch his tattooed hand pull it shut behind him, hear his low chuckle fade down the hallway toward the lobby.
Jesus fuck.
You had practiced this all week. Ran it perfectly four times over before coming here.
But sure.
Obviously the five minutes it will take Frank to make a shitty keurig coffee will finally force your hands to cooperate.
You run through the scale. And now that Frank isn’t in the room it comes out fucking perfectly
Of course it does.
You do it over and over again praying for muscle memory to sink in deep enough to survive Frank’s presence.You are so focused that when the door opens again, you jump hard enough to miss a note.
Frank settles back into his chair with a quiet sigh.
“Sounds great kid,” he says. “What the hell happened five minutes ago?” He holds out a paper cup toward you. Coffee with so much cream and sugar it borders on a sin. He remembered how you take it. Which is somehow both sweet and deeply terrifying.
You reach for the cup too quickly and immediately knock into it sideways, splashing coffee across Frank’s lap. He stares down at his jeans with the exhausted expression of a man reconsidering every life choice that led him here.
“Sorry!” you squeak.
Frank waves you off with a tired little sigh, already digging through his bag for one of those microfiber towels he always carries around. He wipes at his jeans while muttering,
“Your awful jumpy today”
Then he tosses the rag into the corner and takes a long sip from his own coffee. Black, because of course it is.
You don't respond. Just carefully take a sip of your sugar coffee and then set it under your chair, pushing it safely out of kicking distance.
Frank watches you over the rim of his cup.
“You nervous about something?” he asks.
“No.” The answer comes way too fast.
His eyebrow lifts. “Right.”
Heat crawls higher up your neck. You absently drag one finger along one of the strings, letting the ridges bite into your skin.
“Okay,” Franks says after a moment, setting his coffee down beside him. “Run the scale again.”
You nod immediately, repositioning your fingers. This time you’re determined not to fuck it up. Frank leans back in his chair, one ankle hooked over his knee, tattoos disappearing beneath the sleeves of his black hoodie as he folds his arms.
You make it halfway through before making the mistake of glancing at him. Frank’s watching you too closely. Not in his usual teacher way either. There’s something curious in it now, intent. Like he’s trying to solve you.
Your fingers slip. The note buzzes ugly and dead.
“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, dropping your head into your hands.
Frank snorts softly. “Okay, now I know something’s up.”
“Nothing’s up.”
“You’re acting like I’m holding you at gunpoint over a pentatonic scale.”
You laugh weakly into your palms. “I mean… aren’t you?”
“No,” he says, grinning now. “But if you keep murdering that guitar, I may have to confiscate it.”
You groan. “I practiced, okay? I swear I practiced”
“I believe you.”
“Then why do I suddenly suck?”
Frank studies you for another second before leaning forward, forearms braced against his knees.
And there it is again.
That look. Warm and focused. Enough to make your stomach twist painfully. Frank’s eyes narrow slightly, like he’s finally noticing a pattern.
“Kid,” he says carefully, “Are you scared of me or something?”
“What? No.”
“Then why are you looking at me like I’m about to ruin your life?”
God, maybe because he already kind of did.
You stare down at your guitar instead, flexing your fretting hand trying to loosen the sudden tension in your fingers.
“Look at me.”
The tone is different from anything you’re used to hearing from him. It’s still calm but commanding in a way that makes your mouth go dry instantly.
So you look at him.
There doesn’t really feel like another option when he says it like that.
Frank tilts his head slightly, eyes darting between yours, your mouth, the sharp rise and fall of your chest. Then he wets his lips slowly and says, “Run it again.”
You nod and take a deep breath. Place your fingers carefully where they belong and this time start slow. Making sure each note rings out clean and precise. Eyes locked on your hands and focused.
“Keep going,” Frank says quietly. “Loop it.”
You obey automatically, feeling yourself fall into the flow of it. Muscle memory finally kicking in. Your fingers glide smoother now, forearm beginning to burn pleasantly as you pick up speed.
Not as fast as Frank could play it. But clean and consistent.
“Good,” he murmurs “keep going.”
The praise sends warmth straight through your chest. You nod, not even fully paying attention to your hand anymore. Just letting the motion take over. He’s had you do this before with other songs and simple scales. He will have you keep going until you fuck it up or until he gets bored and right now you are determined to make it the latter.
“Keep playing, but look at me.”
Ah, fuck.
You look up automatically but aim for the Ramones poster behind him instead. He’s done this one too, wants to see if you can play blind.
“No.” He says, same tone back in his voice. “I said look at me.”
Your eyes snap to his face.
The intensity in his expression hits you like a truck and your hand immediately locks up, another awful buzzing note breaking the rhythm.
A grin spreads slowly across Frank’s face.
“Oh,” he says softly.
Your stomach drops.
“Got a crush on me kid?”
Jesus fucking Christ.
You shake your head so fast the room blurs.
Frank breaks into startled laughter.
That fuck.
“Oh my god,” he wheezes, scrubbing a hand over his face. “That’s why you’ve been acting insane.”
Humiliation burns through you instantly. You start shoving things into your guitar bag without even looking at them.
Cool. Great. Awesome.
You’re never coming back here again.
“No, no- hey!” Frank reaches out quickly, catching your hand before you can zip the bag shut. His laughter dies the second he sees your face. “Oh, shit,” he says immediately. “Hey. I’m sorry.”
You don’t look at him.
Frank’s hand loosens against yours, thumb brushing once across your knuckles before he pulls back slightly.
“I wasn’t laughing at you,” he says quieter now. “I just…” He exhales hard through his nose. “Honestly thought I was imagining it.”
That makes your head tilt a little despite yourself.
Frank leans back in his chair again, studying you carefully now. Less teasing. More nervous than before.
“I like you too, okay?”
You freeze.
The room goes completely silent.
Frank huffs out another small laugh, softer this time. “You have no idea how relieved I am that you’re freaking out because you think I'm hot and not because you secretly hate me.”
“I don’t remember saying anything about thinking you're hot” you say dryly. Still flushed with embarrassment, but at least no longer actively dying.
He laughs at that. Warm and open.
“Get your guitar out again, we still have some time left.”
You nod and do as you're told. Glad to have something to focus on besides him.
“Run it again.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.” his mouth twitches “Run it again.” And there’s that stupid tone again. You roll your eyes mostly to preserve some tiny scrap of dignity before starting the scale over.
Frank watches you for a moment. Same lazy posture, arms crossed, ankle hooked over one knee. Then he slowly leans forward. Both feet on the ground legs spread.
“Look at me.”
You take a deep breath and look up, willing your hand to keep moving, to keep playing. The scale stutters briefly before smoothing out again. Sloppy compared to usual, but recognizable.
“Good” he says, eyes dark and focused. “Don’t you fucking stop.”
You swallow hard and keep playing. He leans closer, invading your space inch by inch until all you can smell is coffee, cigarettes, and something darker underneath. Velvet and smoke.
By some fucking miracle you play on. Notes still ringing out clean.
“Stop playing only if you want me to stop.” He murmurs. One of his hands lifts, hovering near your jaw like he’s giving you every possible chance to pull away.
You keep fucking playing. Please god dont let me fuck up now you think desperately.
Frank moves unbearably slow.
Then his lips brush yours.
Technically a kiss.
But so light it almost feels imagined. Barely there. Just warmth and breath and the soft press of his mouth against yours.
Your brain short circuits instantly. The scale dies in a horrible buzzing note.
Frank pulls back immediately. Hands open on his thighs. Eyes searching yours carefully now.
“No,” you blurt out quickly. “I didn’t want you to stop. I just fucked up”
Something tense eases out of Frank’s shoulders.
“You know” he says lightly, though you can hear the strain underneath it, “if you ever play on stage, you're gonna have to learn how to play through distractions.”
“Yeah?” Your laugh comes out shaky.
“Yeah.”
He studies you for a second like he’s testing the edges of something dangerous. “Play the song we were working on last week”
You start automatically, fingers finding the chords almost on instinct now.
“Stand up”
You obey immediately. And that seems to do something to him.
Frank’s expression shifts, eyes narrowing slightly as he watches you rise with your guitar still hanging from its strap. A dangerous little smile pulls at his mouth.
“No.” he says suddenly. “You missed your solo. Back to the second chorus.” His fingertip drags lightly along your collarbone as he says it, making your entire body shiver.
You go back without argument, restarting the section while trying desperately to focus. This time you hit the solo with only one tiny mistake.
Frank notices immediately. Of course he does.
“Again.” He says, shaking his head once.
You reset obediently and play through the chorus again while his lips brush yours for a second time. Longer now. Not enough to stop you from playing. Just enough to make your hands shake.
When you finally stumble through the section, Frank sits back down. Leaning back in his chair and watching you quietly for a moment. His gaze feels impossibly direct, like he can see straight through you.
Something about him suddenly feels like deja vu and pancakes. Familiar comfort wrapped around something devastating.
“From the top” Franks says. Then crooks two fingers at you. You move closer automatically. Frank catches your elbow gently, turning you before pulling you down onto his lap in one smooth motion. The sudden movement throws you off completely and the song dies in another ugly stutter of notes.
“Want me to stop?” He asks immediately. His voice is quieter now. Open and serious beneath all the teasing.
You shake your head.
“then why did you stop playing?” You let out a mortified little sound and start strumming again while Frank laughs softly against your shoulder. “C’mon,” he murmurs, pulling you closer against his chest. “from the top again.”
Your breathing is uneven now, impossible to steady with the warmth of him underneath you. You can feel the shape of his grin against the side of your neck every time you mess up.
And worse
You can feel his arousal beneath you. Tangible proof of exactly how much he’s enjoying this. You shift a bit, more to get under his skin than to get comfortable.
Frank brushes your hair aside slowly before pressing a line of kisses beneath your ear.
“No” he says, tapping lightly against your elbow “Quarter notes. You know this.”
You bite your lip and correct yourself, trying to force your focus back onto the song while his hands drift lazily along your thighs.
“That’s a pick up note, sweetheart,” he says softly “Again”
A Frustrated noise catches low in your throat. Because honestly, concentrating on timing becomes nearly impossible when Frank Iero’s fingers are wandering ever further up your inner thigh and correcting your technique like this.
You can feel him smile against your skin. Like he’s waiting for something.
Testing you.
Waiting to see how long you can last before the music falls apart completely.
“Again,” he whispers as your solo approaches. This time his fingers dip between your legs and up your skirt. Thumb tracing slow circles that make your fingers threaten to lock up around the fretboard.
“Keep playing.”
He tugs aside your panties and gently caresses you. Groaning at how wet you are for him. It’s enough to make you stumble on your solo.
Frank immediately pulls his hand back, making you whine at the sudden loss of touch.
“I taught you better than that.” He says words hot against your neck. “Run your solo again.”
You do as you're told and his hand slowly caresses back between your legs. His fingers find your clit and circle it gently. Touch feather light and slow. Your hands are playing through pure muscle memory now as you throw your head back against his shoulder and moan in desperation.
Now that he has started you need so much more.
But Frank keeps his touch light and continues whispering corrections about your playing into your ear. Voice unbelievably smug now.
“Please Frank” you whimper reduced to strumming the same chord over and over again because he has latched onto your neck and is biting a mark into the sensitive skin.
“What is it sweetheart?” He asks fingers toying with you ruthlessly. “Forgot how the bridge goes?”
You make a frustrated noise and grind your hips into him. trying desperately to find more stimulation than his featherlight strokes provide. And it feels like a victory when he gives you an answering groan.
He takes the guitar from your hands and sets it gently aside. “You wanna do this?” He asks voice deliberately gentle. The question feels ridiculous to you right now because you are practically vibrating in his arms but he waits patiently for you to answer.
“Yes. So fucking much.”
Frank lifts you off of his lap just long enough to pull out his cock. Already solid and glistening at the tip with precum. The head is the loveliest shade of pink.
He wastes no time lining himself up and pulling you onto his length with a movement so sudden it makes you gasp in surprise before moaning out your pleasure.
Jesus, Frank is direct.
“Been thinking about getting this pussy around my dick since you walked in asking for lessons” he growls hips immediately snapping into you. “Looking so god damn innocent”
His hands reach under your shirt and twist at one of your nipples making you cry out.
He uses his other hand gripped right at your hip to lift you up and slam you back down. Filling you so completely it makes you dizzy.
“Always so eager to please” his fingers are back on you clit and he is thrusting up into you with a wild abandon. The noises coming out of you would be embarrassing if it wasn’t for the fact that you are so gone right now.
“Looking at me with those big eyes” he stands suddenly lifting you with him and placing you onto his desk never breaking the rhythm of his thrusts “waiting for my next instruction.”
The new angle hits just right and you find yourself whimpering beneath him. Babbling. Asking for more, always more.
“Taking it like a good girl hmm?” His thrusts come harder now. Hands grip tighter. Like he can claim you through touch alone. “Take it sweetheart. Take it”
You can feel your body respond to him as you claw at anything within your reach desperately chasing your release.
“Gonna come for me?” And you nod, lips parted and eyes fluttering.
“Fuck.” He buries his face into your neck and continues his assault. Little whimpers escaping his lips now between breaths. “Such a sweet girl. My favorite student—Jesus doing so good”
You can feel yourself unraveling as his words push you closer and closer.
“That’s it baby” he coos into your ear “let go for me. Come all over this dick” and it’s all too much so you come undone. Calling out your release and letting pleasure crash over you. Dragging you down and leaving you breathless.
You are vaguely aware of him following just after you. Your pulsing walls taking him with you and he collapses onto you murmuring words of praise. Calling you his favorite girl. Telling you how you are such a good little teacher's pet.
And all you can think about is how you can’t fucking wait until next week to do it all over again.
Getting head in a black 2007 Nissan Versa hatchback
2009 ! Frank Iero x NB ! Reader
Author's note: I wrote this little drabble after seeing the photo on the far left. Look at him and his gay little car. Also, lowkey written for my friend who loves Frank <3
Summary: A long road trip with a boyfriend who is adamant that he doesn't need rest can be stressful. Luckily, you know the perfect way to tire him out.
In this fic: SMUT, roadtriiiip, Frank is stubborn, you are assigned passenger royalty, head while driving (and almost swerves off the road), oral (m receiving), dirty talk, hair pulling, face fucking, no full-on fucking (sorry)
Word count: 769
~ NSFW UNDER CUT ~
You were trying to stay on your best behavior for this road trip, really, you were. But it felt impossible when your boyfriend looked so attractive after what felt like 12 hours of nonstop driving, looking like he was ready to kneel over and die.
It was painfully obvious the man needed a break, and for some godforsaken reason, he didn't want to admit it. You had offered to take over a few hours ago, but he furiously denied the help, insisting he was fine and that all you needed to do was sit there and be pretty.
And what's a prettier view than your partner's lips wrapped around you, sucking you off like it's their life's mission? ... What? It's keeping him awake, right?
"Shit- baby… mmn- what's gotten into you?" question going unanswered as one of Frank's hands tangled in your hair, forcing your head down when traffic allowed, and pulling you up before he started swerving.
He was trying to keep his sounds to a minimum, lip caught between his teeth, as if it would keep him focused on the road. His eyes were darting down, groaning at the view of you working him, soft praises leaving his lips each time. "Hmm- Taking it so fucking good. ah-fuck."
You had one hand on his thigh for support, the other squeezing around the base of his dick in teasing pulsations, teeth ghosting just enough to keep him in check. The threat of pain made him twitch, hissing like your teeth already made contact.
To reward him for being so good at multitasking, you wanted to see if you could take him all the way. A sharp curse leaving him as the tip hits the back of your throat, car violently lurching to the side. You shoot up, gasping as he swerves back into his lane, "shit! sorry- sorry." His hair is stuck to his forehead from sweat, panting with both hands on the wheel now, his cock still standing tall, begging for attention.
You let your breath catch up, placing a hand over your hammering heart, "Jesus fucking Christ, Frank-" you hiss. "What? You started it! and you know what that shit does to me-" he shot back with a weak glare, his need for more still evident but too embarrassed to ask.
You sigh, grateful he didn't just total a car for some head, "Pull over, Frank." An order he follows without hesitation, pulling over on the side of a long road in the middle of nowhere. "Thank you- gods- fucking thank you." His appreciation spills from his lips in waves as he undoes the stubborn seatbelt and pushes his seat back.
His head falls back with a groan as you take him in your mouth again, this time unashamedly bucking up into the heat. His hand, re-tangled in your hair, keeps you from pulling away completely. "That's it- that's my pretty fuckin slut." His hand tugs harder at the roots, pushing you deeper with a moan, "So fucking good-"
You let out a moan of your own, vibrations causing him to fuck into your mouth harder. "Already fucking close-" he warned in between heavy breaths, "can you take more? c'mon- take it." Not giving you much choice despite asking, he pushes your head all the way down, forcing you to breathe exclusively through your nose that was pressed against his thigh as he shallowly fucks into your throat.
"Yes- holy fuck. Sweetheart- cumming-" he strains out as his hip lifts to meet your lips that are desperately trying to pull away for air as thick warm ropes shoot directly down your throat.
Eventually, he went limp, letting your head go as you gasp for air, coughing up whatever couldn't be swallowed. Grumbling a quiet "fuckin greedy asshole-" under your breath, your voice rough from being used. You're met with a blissed out smirk, his eyes half lidded, "What? think I won't return the favor, babe?"
You scoff, rolling your eyes, "You won't because you're about to pass out, Frank. C'mon, let me drive the rest of the way." Not giving him time to respond, you're already swinging the passenger's side door open to switch spots.
He lets out a groan when you open the driver's side door, like even getting up is too much for him right now. A hand runs down his face, stuffing himself back in his jeans as he mumbles out, "Fine, but I swear I'll make it up to you when we get to the hotel."
You give a disbelieving laugh, "Yeah, ok, Romeo. get the hell out so I can drive."
