the ghost of kaz

almost all of my fics are self indulgent irrevocably inlove with incel mikey

[m1lkywaywritey]

Hi guys, this is my writing side blog!!

I'm gonna post the fics that I write on here as well over on archive of our own!

I write fics for mcr in general (but mainly mikey because he's my fave :p.) If you wanna leave requests that's totally cool but again I can't promise I'll get around to them.

I mostly write nsfw stuff so if you don't like that then I'd stay away - but I'll always tag what's involved in the fic! Also I tend to only write for fem/afab reader so sorry about that!

I'll tag actual fics with #m1lkyway fics and other stuff with #not m1lkyway fics - also #m1lkyway answers! #requests🫡 and #m1lkyway reblogs fics (I'll tag all of these on this post to make them easier to find!)

MASTERLIST!

Main blog is @m1lkywaymikey - my ao3 account is also m1lkywaymikey

I think that covers everything!

[basementgerardlover]

[alcapzr]

ALCA WE NEED MORE MIKEY FICS, PLEASEEE ANYTHING IM DESPERATE😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏 no one writes em like you do🙏😔🙏🙏

𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝑶𝒏 𝑭𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝑴𝒆 𝑬𝒎𝒐 𝑩𝒐𝒚 ꨄ︎ (Mikey Way X FemReader)

Content: Smut, Mikey Gaining Confidence, Unprotected Sex, Pull out, Cum Play, Oral Fem Receiving, Mikey has a Kink With Thighs ?,

A/N: Oh To Be Half Of New Jersey And All Of Wrapped Tour 😩

The venue smells like sweat, cheap beer, and that sweet-sour tang of too many bodies pressed together in a room that was never meant to hold this many people. It’s one of those DIY-feeling places—low ceiling, sticky floor, a tiny stage that’s barely raised, and barricade so close you can count the sweat beads on the bassist’s forehead if you squint. My Chemical Romance is still playing clubs that smell like cigarettes and possibility, not arenas. Tonight the crowd is maybe three hundred heads max, all buzzing, all hungry for something loud and ugly and beautiful.

You’re right up front, left side of the barricade, forearms already bruising against the metal because you’ve been shoving back against the surge since doors opened. Your heart’s hammering from adrenaline and the two warm PBRs you chugged in line, but mostly from the low thrum of anticipation that’s been building since you first heard “Vampires Will Never Hurt You” on a burned CD.

Then the house lights drop.

Blackout.

A single red bulb flickers on over the drums.

And Mikey Way steps out first.

He’s all long limbs and messy black hair falling into his eyes, bass slung low like he doesn’t quite know what to do with how tall he is. He’s wearing that faded black tee with the sleeves hacked off, jeans so tight they look painted on, and those stupid low-top Converse that are already coming apart at the toe. He looks… uncomfortable. Like he’d rather be anywhere else than under the lights. Shoulders hunched a little, head ducked, fingers flexing around the neck of the bass like he’s trying to disappear into it.

Then he looks up. And his eyes find yours.

It’s not dramatic like in movies—no slow-motion, no swelling orchestra. It’s just… sudden. Violent. Like someone punched the air out of your lungs and replaced it with heat. Because fuck, in person he’s so much prettier than the grainy photos on the LiveJournal community page. Those hazel eyes are huge, rimmed with last night’s eyeliner that’s already smudged, and when they lock on you they widen—just a fraction—like he’s the one who got caught staring.

You feel it instantly. That stupid, embarrassing, full-body clench low in your belly. Your thighs press together without permission. Your nipples tighten under your thin tank top. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of how your skirt is riding up your thighs from all the pushing, how your skin feels too hot, how wet you already are just from him looking at you like that.

He blinks. Once. Twice. Like he’s trying to convince himself you’re real.

You can’t help it—you mouth the word “fuck” at him, slow and deliberate, lips curling into a filthy little smirk because you know he can read it even in the dark.

His mouth parts. Just barely. No sound comes out, but you see the way his throat bobs when he swallows. Hard. Then—god fucking help you—he shifts his hips, just a tiny adjustment, and you catch the unmistakable outline of him thickening against the denim. Right there. On stage. In front of everyone. Because of you.

He looks away fast, cheeks flushing so red you can see it even under the red wash of the lights. But he keeps glancing back. Every few seconds. Like he can’t stop. Like he’s trying to play it cool and failing miserably.

Gerard starts screaming into the mic, the opening chords of “Drowning Lessons …” crash through the room, and the whole place erupts.

But Mikey’s eyes keep dragging back to you.

Every time he plucks a low, dirty note, his gaze flicks down to your mouth. Every time he leans into the mic for backup vocals, he finds your face again—like he’s checking if you’re still watching. You are. You haven’t blinked. You’re mouthing along to every word, but half the time you’re just mouthing “you’re so fucking hot” or “I want you” or “look how hard you are for me already” because you’re drunk on the power of knowing he can’t look away.

And he can’t.

He’s awkward as hell up there—fidgeting, pushing his hair back with shaky fingers, missing a beat once because he’s too busy staring—but every time he catches your eye again, that shyness cracks just enough to show something darker underneath. Something hungry.

By the third song you’re both breathing like you’ve already fucked.

You press your tits against the barricade on purpose, arching just enough so the thin fabric of your top stretches tight. His eyes drop. Instantly. You see his fingers slip on the strings for half a second. He recovers, but not before his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip.

You mouth at him again, slower this time:“Come here after.”

He reads it.

His whole body jerks—like an electric shock went straight to his cock. He turns half away, pretending to check his tuning, but you see the way he has to press his thighs together. The way his hand drops low for a split second, adjusting himself like it hurts.

The song ends.

The crowd roars.

Mikey looks straight at you again, eyeliner smeared, cheeks flushed, pupils blown so wide the hazel is almost gone.

And he nods.

Just once.

Tiny. Secret.

Yes.

Your cunt clenches so hard you almost moan out loud.

The set’s only just started.

And you already know how this night ends.

The last chord of “Demolition Lovers” hangs in the air like smoke, feedback screaming from the amps for a second before everything cuts to black. The crowd loses its mind—screaming, clapping, stomping on the sticky floor—but you don’t move. You’re still glued to the barricade, chest heaving, skin slick with other people’s sweat and your own. Your thighs are trembling from standing on tiptoe for an hour and a half, skirt hiked up higher than it should be, black tights torn at one knee from someone’s boot.

The house lights come up dim and ugly—fluorescent, buzzing. Roadies swarm the stage like ants. Gerard’s already disappeared backstage, waving lazily over his shoulder. Frank’s tossing picks into the crowd with that manic grin. Ray’s carefully setting his guitar down like it’s made of glass.

Mikey’s the last one left.

He’s crouched near the drum riser, unplugging cables with shaking hands, hair plastered to his forehead. But he’s not looking at what he’s doing. He’s looking at you.

Still.

Even with the lights on, even with people shoving past you toward the exits, even with the security guy barking at everyone to clear out—he’s staring. Right at your face first, then lower. Slow drag of his eyes down your body until they catch on your thighs, bare above the ripped tights, flushed from the heat and the adrenaline and the way you’ve been clenching them together every time he looked at you during the set.

He stands up. Slowly. Like he’s trying not to make it obvious how hard he is—but it’s useless. Those stupid tight jeans don’t hide shit. The bulge is obscene now, thick and straining against the zipper, and when he shifts his weight you see it twitch.

He hops down off the stage—more of a clumsy stumble than a cool jump—and walks straight toward you. No detour. No pretending he’s going somewhere else. Security glances at him but doesn’t stop him; he’s the quiet one, they probably assume he’s harmless.

He stops right in front of you, close enough that you can smell him—sweat, cigarette smoke, that cheap vanilla body spray he probably stole from Gerard’s bag. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets like he’s trying to hide how bad they’re shaking.

“Hey,” he says. Voice low, cracked from screaming backups. Shy. So fucking shy it’s almost painful.

“Hey,” you breathe back. Your voice comes out wrecked too.

He licks his lips. Nervous habit. His eyes drop again—right to your thighs—and stay there. He doesn’t even try to be subtle anymore.

“Um…” He swallows. Adam’s apple bobbing hard. “I—fuck, I couldn’t stop looking at you the whole set.”

“I noticed.” You smirk, tilting your head. “You got hard on stage because of me.”

His face goes scarlet. He ducks his head, hair falling forward to hide his eyes, but he doesn’t deny it. Just lets out this quiet, embarrassed laugh that turns into a groan.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.” He risks another glance up at you, pupils huge. “You’re… you’re really fucking pretty. And those—” His gaze flicks down again, helpless. “Those thighs. Jesus Christ.”

You shift your weight, letting one leg bend just enough to make the muscle flex under the torn tights. His breath hitches audibly.

“You like them?” you ask, voice dropping to a tease.

“Like them?” He laughs again, but it’s strained. Desperate. “I’m losing my fucking mind over them. I’ve been thinking about—” He cuts himself off, cheeks burning hotter. “Sorry. That’s… that’s weird to say out loud.”

“Say it anyway.”

He exhales through his nose, like he’s gathering courage. Then he leans in closer—so close you feel the heat rolling off him—and whispers, barely audible over the venue emptying out:

“I wanna kiss them. Like… really kiss them. Lick them. Bury my face between them until I can’t breathe.” He pauses, voice cracking. “I’d pay you. Seriously. I’d give you whatever’s in my wallet right now if you’d just… let me.”

You stare at him for a beat. This tall, awkward, devastatingly pretty boy who was just playing bass for three hundred people like his life depended on it, now standing here offering you cash to worship your thighs in a dirty alley.

Your cunt throbs so hard you have to press your legs together again.

He sees it. Notices the way your thighs squeeze. His eyes darken instantly.

“Please,” he adds, softer. Almost pleading. “I’m so fucking hard it hurts. Been hard since the second song. Just… let me touch you. Anywhere. However you want.”

You reach out, slow, and brush your fingers along the front of his jeans—just a ghost of a touch over the swollen length of him.

He jolts like you electrocuted him. A tiny, broken whimper slips out before he can stop it.

You lean in until your lips are almost brushing his ear.

“Then come outside with me, Mikey Way,” you murmur. “There’s a shitty alley right next to the loading door. No one’s gonna look for you there.”

His eyes snap to yours. Wide. Hungry. Terrified and turned on in equal measure.

He nods so fast it’s almost comical.

“Yeah,” he rasps. “Fuck yeah.”

He grabs your hand—clammy, trembling—and starts pulling you toward the side exit before either of you can think better of it.

The side door slams shut behind you with a metallic clang that echoes down the narrow alley. It’s darker here than inside—only the weak orange spill from a single sodium streetlamp at the far end, and the faint neon bleed from the venue’s EXIT sign flickering above the door. Trash bins line one wall, graffiti tags crawling up the brick, the air thick with the smell of old beer and rain-damp concrete. No one’s around. Just you and him.

Mikey doesn’t waste time pretending to be smooth.

He turns to you the second the door clicks closed, hands shaking as they come up to cup your face—gentle at first, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. Then his mouth crashes into yours, clumsy and starving, all teeth and tongue and desperation. He tastes like salt and stage adrenaline and the cherry ChapStick he must’ve swiped from someone’s bag backstage. You kiss him back just as hard, fingers twisting in the front of his sweat-damp tee, pulling him closer until his erection presses against your hip through the denim.

He groans into your mouth—low, broken, almost embarrassed by how wrecked he already sounds.

You feel him fumble one hand down between you, digging into the back pocket of his jeans. The wallet comes out fast, leather cracked and worn, and he starts flipping it open with trembling fingers.

“Here,” he mutters against your lips, breathless. “I’ve got like… forty bucks? Maybe more. Just—fuck—just take it, okay? Please.”

You catch his wrist before he can pull the bills out.

“Shhh,” you whisper, pressing your thumb over his pulse point. It’s racing. “Don't worry, baby. I’m not charging you.”

He freezes. Blinks at you like he doesn’t understand the words.

“But I said—”

“I heard you.” You slide your hand up his arm, slow, until you’re cradling the back of his neck. “I don’t want your money, Mikey. I just want you to make me come. Hard. Right here.”

His eyes go wide—pupils swallowing the hazel completely. A shudder rolls through him so violently you feel it where your bodies touch.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Okay.”

And then he’s dropping.

Right there on the filthy alley ground—no hesitation, no second thoughts. His knees hit the concrete with a dull thud that makes you wince for him, but he doesn’t even flinch. He just looks up at you from below, hair falling into his eyes, cheeks flushed dark, lips swollen from kissing.

He starts at your ankle.

Soft. Almost reverent.

Lips brush the thin strap of your low-top sneaker, then the bare skin just above it. A tiny, open-mouthed kiss against your calf—warm, wet, the faintest scrape of teeth. You feel the shaky exhale against your skin when he presses another one higher, following the curve of your leg like he’s memorizing it.

“God,” he murmurs, voice muffled. “Your skin’s so fucking soft.”

He keeps going—slow, deliberate. Kisses up the back of your calf, then the side, tongue flicking out just enough to taste the salt on your skin. When he reaches the torn edge of your tights, he pauses. Looks up at you again—eyes pleading, asking without words.

You nod once.

He hooks two fingers under the rip and tears it wider—careful but greedy—until the black nylon parts like paper and your bare thigh spills out. The cool night air hits the newly exposed skin and you shiver.

Mikey groans like he’s in pain.

Then he dives in.

Mouth on the inside of your knee first—soft, sucking kisses that turn into slow drags of his tongue. Higher. Higher. He noses along the crease where thigh meets hip, breathing you in deep like he’s trying to get high off your scent. His hands slide up the backs of your legs, palms hot and shaky, fingers digging in just enough to spread you open a little wider.

He kisses the softest part of your inner thigh—open-mouthed, filthy, leaving wet trails that cool instantly in the night air. Then he bites. Gentle. Just a graze of teeth that makes your hips jerk forward.

“Sorry,” he mumbles against your skin, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He sounds wrecked. “They’re just… fuck, they’re perfect. I can’t—”

“Don’t stop,” you gasp, threading your fingers into his hair.

He doesn’t.

He licks a long, slow stripe up the inside of one thigh, then the other—teasing, torturing, getting so close to where you’re aching but never quite touching. His nose brushes the damp cotton of your panties and he makes this low, desperate noise in the back of his throat.

You feel him trembling—whole body shaking with how badly he wants this.

“Mikey,” you whisper, tugging his hair just enough to make him look up.

His face is flushed, lips shiny, eyes glassy. He looks like he’s already half-gone.

“Please,” he rasps. “Let me taste you. Let me make you come on my tongue. I’ll do anything.”

Your thighs clench around his head on instinct.

And he smiles—small, shy, filthy.

Then he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and starts pulling them down.

Mikey’s fingers hook into the waistband of your panties—black cotton, already soaked through—and he drags them down slow, like he’s unwrapping something fragile and filthy at the same time. The fabric peels away from your skin with a soft, wet sound that makes his breath hitch. He doesn’t even pull them all the way off; he just bunches them around one ankle so he can spread your thighs wider with both hands.

He looks up at you one last time—eyes glassy, lips parted, cheeks flushed so dark it’s almost purple under the shitty alley light.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he whispers, voice cracking like he can’t believe it’s real. “For me.”

Before you can answer, he leans in.

The first touch is tentative—almost shy. Just the flat of his tongue dragging up the center of you in one long, slow lick, tasting everything you’ve been dripping since he first locked eyes with you on stage. You gasp, fingers tightening in his hair. He groans against you like the sound vibrates straight through your clit.

Then the shyness cracks.

He dives in harder—mouth open, tongue flat and insistent, lapping at you like he’s been starving for this exact taste his whole life. No teasing anymore. He’s messy, desperate, slurping wetly, nose pressed right against your mound so he can breathe you in while he works. His hands grip the backs of your thighs, spreading you open wider, fingers digging bruises you’ll feel tomorrow.

“Fuck—fuck, you taste so good,” he mumbles into your cunt, words muffled and garbled because he refuses to pull away even to speak. “So sweet. So fucking wet for me.”

You buck against his face on instinct and he moans louder—vibrations rolling through you—then he pulls back just enough to look at the mess he’s already made. Your thighs are shiny with spit and your own slick, glistening under the orange streetlight. He stares like it’s art.

Then he attacks the soft inner flesh again—but this time with his teeth.

He starts low, right above your knee where he left those first reverent kisses. A soft suck, lips sealing tight, tongue flicking over the skin until it blooms red under his mouth. Then harder. He bites down—not breaking skin, but enough to make you yelp and arch. The suction pulls blood to the surface fast; when he releases, there’s a perfect, dark hickey already forming, oval and obscene against your skin.

He moves higher. Another one—slower this time, open-mouthed kisses turning into hard pulls, teeth grazing, tongue soothing the sting right after. You feel the bruise bloom under his lips, hot and throbbing in time with your heartbeat.

“Gonna mark you up,” he rasps between sucks. “So tomorrow when you look down you remember my mouth was here. Right fucking here.”

He latches onto the thickest, softest part of your inner thigh—where the skin is so sensitive you can barely stand it—and sucks hard. Hard enough that your knees buckle a little. He holds you up with one arm hooked around your waist, the other hand spreading you so he can keep licking while he bruises you. The contrast is insane: the wet slide of his tongue over your clit, circling, flicking, then plunging inside you for a second before he pulls back to leave another dark purple bloom right next to it.

You’re shaking now—thighs trembling around his head, hips grinding shamelessly against his face. He doesn’t care how messy it gets; his chin is dripping, hair sticking to his forehead, eyeliner smudged worse than before. Every time you clench around nothing he growls and doubles down, tongue fucking into you shallowly while his thumb finds your clit and rubs messy circles.

Another hickey—higher still, so close to your cunt that the edge of it brushes your folds when he licks over it. He pulls back to admire his work: four, five dark marks scattered up your thighs like a map only he gets to read.

“Mine,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “These are mine now.”

Then he buries his face again—deeper this time, nose grinding against you, tongue relentless, sucking your clit into his mouth and flicking fast until your vision whites out at the edges.

You’re close. So fucking close.

He feels it—feels the way your thighs start to lock around his ears, the way your fingers yank his hair hard enough to hurt.

“Come on my face,” he begs, muffled against your slick. “Please—fuck—come for me. Let me taste it.”

One more hard suck on your clit, one more bruise blooming under his lips, and you’re gone—shattering against his mouth with a choked cry that echoes off the brick walls.

He doesn’t stop.

He licks you through it—slow, greedy, drinking every pulse, every drop—until you’re whimpering from overstimulation and shoving weakly at his head.

Only then does he pull back.

His lips are swollen, shiny, chin dripping. He looks up at you with those big hazel eyes—still shy somehow, even after all that—and licks his lips slow, deliberate.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice hoarse. “You’re… you’re perfect.”

He presses one last soft kiss to the newest hickey—gentle now, almost tender—then rests his forehead against your thigh like he’s trying to catch his breath.

But you can see it: he’s still rock hard in those jeans, hips twitching like he can’t help it.

“Can I… fuck you?” he asks, raw and shaky. “Please. I need to be inside you so bad it hurts. I’ll be good—I swear I’ll make you come again. Just… please.”

The words hit you like a spark to gasoline.

You don’t answer with words.

You drop down fast—crouching just enough to grab his face with both hands—and crash your mouth against his. He tastes like you, salty-sweet and filthy, and he moans into the kiss like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. His tongue slides against yours immediately, desperate, sloppy, hands coming up to grip your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You kiss him harder—teeth clashing, biting his bottom lip until he whimpers—then pull back just enough to rasp against his mouth:“Yes. Fuck yes. Now.”

That’s all it takes.

Mikey surges up, hands sliding under your thighs in one fluid motion. He lifts you like you weigh nothing—long arms, surprising strength from all those hours lugging amps and gear—and pins you against the rough brick wall. Your back hits it with a soft thud, skirt rucked up around your hips, torn tights framing the dark hickeys he left like a brand. Your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, ankles locking at the small of his back.

He’s shaking so hard you feel it everywhere—his chest heaving against yours, breath hot and ragged on your neck. One hand stays under your thigh, holding you up; the other fumbles frantically between you, popping the button on his jeans, yanking the zipper down with a harsh rasp that echoes in the alley.

“Fuck—fuck, hold on,” he mutters, forehead dropping to your shoulder for a second like he needs to concentrate. His hips jerk forward involuntarily, grinding the hard length of him against your soaked cunt through the denim still in the way.

You reach down to help—fingers brushing his trembling ones—and together you shove the jeans and boxers down just enough. His cock springs free—thick, flushed dark, already leaking at the tip—and slaps wetly against your inner thigh. He hisses through his teeth at the contact, hips twitching like he can’t control it.

“Shit,” he breathes, voice cracking. “Look what you did to me. Been like this since I saw you in the crowd.”

You wrap your hand around him—just once, slow stroke from base to tip—and he bucks into your fist with a choked groan, head falling back.

“Don’t—don’t tease,” he pleads, eyes squeezing shut. “I’m gonna come too fast if you do that. I need—fuck—I need to be inside you.”

You guide him—line him up—until the blunt head nudges your entrance, slick and hot and ready. He freezes there for half a second, breathing hard, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling.

Then he looks at you—really looks—eyes wide and vulnerable even in the middle of all this desperation.

“You sure?” he whispers, thumb brushing your cheek in the softest contrast to everything else.

You nod, nails digging into his shoulders.“Fuck me, Mikey.”

He exhales shakily.

And then he pushes in—slow at first, inch by inch, stretching you open with a low, broken moan that vibrates against your throat. His forehead drops to yours, eyes locked, mouth open in a silent gasp as he bottoms out.

You both freeze for a heartbeat—bodies trembling, connected, the alley suddenly too quiet except for your shared breathing.

Then he starts to move.

Mikey starts slow at first—deep, deliberate rolls of his hips that drag every thick inch of him against your walls, like he’s trying to feel every single flutter and clench. His forehead stays pressed to yours, breaths mingling in hot, shaky pants, eyes half-lidded and locked on your face like he’s afraid to miss a single expression.

“Fuck,” he whispers, voice cracking on the word. “You feel… so fucking good. So tight. Like you were made for this.”

You can’t answer—words dissolve into a soft moan when he bottoms out again, grinding in deep enough that the base of his cock presses right against your clit. Your nails rake down his back through the thin tee, hard enough to leave marks of your own.

That’s when he snaps.

The pace picks up—slow turns frantic, hips snapping forward harder, faster, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing off the brick walls louder than it should in this empty alley. He’s fucking you like he’s been holding back his whole life and can’t anymore—rough, needy, every thrust punching the air out of your lungs.

His mouth finds your neck.

He starts with open-mouthed kisses—hot, messy, tongue dragging along your pulse point like he’s tasting your heartbeat. Then teeth graze. A soft bite. Then harder. He sucks—hard—right under your jaw, pulling blood to the surface until you feel the bruise forming under his lips. Another one, lower, right where neck meets shoulder. He groans against your skin, the sound vibrating straight down your spine.

“Gonna mark you here too,” he mumbles, voice muffled and wrecked. “So everyone knows… fuck… knows you let me have you like this.”

You arch into him, head tipping back against the rough wall, giving him more access. Your thighs—already bruised and sensitive from his earlier worship—clamp down tighter around his narrow hips, heels digging into the small of his back to pull him deeper. The pressure makes him falter for a second—hips stuttering, a choked whimper slipping out against your throat.

“Shit—do that again,” he begs, breath hot and ragged. “Squeeze me like that. Fuck, your thighs… they’re killing me.”

You do it on purpose this time—muscles flexing hard, locking him in place while he tries to thrust. He growls low in his chest, hips slamming forward even harder in retaliation, like he’s trying to fuck through the resistance. The angle changes—just enough—and he hits that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids.

“Oh god—Mikey—”

“Yeah?” He sucks another bruise into your neck, tongue soothing the sting right after. “Right there? You like it when I fuck you like this?”

You nod frantically, words gone, just desperate little gasps and whimpers. Your thighs tremble around him from the effort of holding on, but you don’t let go—you squeeze again, tighter, and he loses it completely.

His rhythm turns sloppy, erratic—deep, punishing thrusts that make the wall scrape your back through your tank top. One hand slides down to grip the meat of your thigh, fingers digging into the fresh hickeys he left earlier, thumb pressing right over one of the purple blooms like he’s claiming it again.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he pants against your skin, voice breaking. “You’re gonna make me come so hard—been thinking about this since I saw you in the crowd. Your thighs around me, your pussy squeezing me like that—”

He bites down on your neck again—harder this time, teeth sinking in just enough to sting—and you cry out, walls fluttering around him.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp, nails digging crescents into his shoulders. “Don’t you fucking stop.”

He doesn’t.

He fucks you faster, deeper, hips snapping like he can’t get close enough, can’t bury himself far enough. His mouth stays glued to your neck—kissing, sucking, biting—leaving a trail of dark, possessive marks that’ll be impossible to hide tomorrow.

Your thighs lock even tighter around his waist, pulling him in until there’s no space left between you, until every thrust grinds his pelvis right against your clit.

You’re both right there—teetering.

Your thighs are locked so tight around Mikey’s hips you can feel every tremor in his muscles, every desperate snap of his pelvis driving him deeper. The pace is brutal now—fast, sloppy, the wet slap of skin against skin mixing with his broken moans and your choked gasps. His mouth stays glued to your neck, sucking another dark bruise right over your pulse, tongue flicking over the fresh mark like he can’t get enough of the taste of you.

You’re right there—clit grinding against his pubic bone with every thrust, walls fluttering hard around him, that tight coil in your belly about to snap.

“Mikey—fuck—I’m—” Your voice cracks, nails digging so deep into his shoulders you feel the fabric tear under your fingers.

He feels it. The way you start to clench, rhythmic and relentless. His rhythm stutters, hips slamming forward one last time—deep, punishing—burying himself to the hilt.

“Come for me,” he rasps against your throat, voice wrecked and pleading. “Come on my cock—please, baby, let me feel it.”

That does it.

You shatter.

Your whole body locks up—thighs squeezing him like a vice, back arching off the brick, a sharp cry ripping out of you as your orgasm crashes through. Walls pulsing hard around him, milking every inch, slick gushing down where you’re joined. Stars burst behind your eyelids; your vision whites out for a second, legs shaking so violently you almost slip.

Mikey groans—low, guttural, almost pained—like your orgasm is ripping his apart too.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight—”

He tries to hold on. Really tries. But the way your cunt flutters and clenches, the way your thighs lock him in place, the way you’re trembling and whimpering his name—it’s too much.

He yanks out at the last possible second.

One hand wraps around his cock—slick with you—and he strokes himself twice, fast and rough. Then he comes with a broken, shuddering moan, hips jerking forward.

Hot ropes of cum stripe across your thighs—thick, white, landing right over the dark hickeys he left earlier. One hits the soft inner flesh, another spills down the curve where thigh meets hip, dripping slow and obscene in the orange streetlight. He keeps coming—more than you expected—painting your marked-up skin until it glistens.

He’s panting hard, forehead dropping to your shoulder, whole body shaking like he just ran ten miles.

But he doesn’t stay upright long.

Slowly—still catching his breath—he sinks down again. Knees hitting the concrete for the second time tonight. His hands slide up your thighs, gentle now, thumbs brushing over the fresh mess he made.

He looks up at you—eyes wide, hazy, still glassy with post-orgasm fog—and licks his swollen lips.

Then he leans in.

His tongue drags slow across the first stripe of cum on your inner thigh—flat and deliberate, tasting himself mixed with the remnants of your slick. He groans low in his throat, like it’s the filthiest, sweetest thing he’s ever had.

“Fuck,” he murmurs against your skin, voice hoarse. “Tastes like us.”

He doesn’t stop. He licks another stripe—higher this time—cleaning every drop with long, greedy swipes of his tongue. When he reaches a hickey, he kisses it first—soft, reverent—then licks over the cum that landed right on the bruise, soothing the mark he made while tasting what he left behind.

You’re oversensitive, thighs trembling under his mouth, but you don’t push him away. You thread your fingers back into his hair, holding him there while he works—slow, thorough, devoted.

He pulls back just enough to look up at you again, chin shiny, lips red and wet.

“You’re covered in me,” he whispers, almost shy again. Almost. “And I’m gonna clean every fucking drop.”

Then he dives back in—tongue tracing the last sticky trails, sucking gently where it pooled in the crease of your thigh, until your skin is clean and flushed and marked only by his bruises and the faint sheen of his spit

When he finally stands—legs shaky, jeans still half-down around his thighs—he pulls you into his arms, forehead pressing to yours.

“Jesus,” he breathes, laughing softly, disbelieving. “I… I think I’m in love with your thighs.”

You laugh too—breathless, wrecked—and kiss him slow, tasting everything on his tongue.

The alley’s still quiet. The show’s long over. But neither of you moves to leave just yet.

Mikey’s still catching his breath, forehead pressed to your shoulder, arms wrapped loose around your waist like he’s not quite ready to let go. Your legs are still trembling around his hips, skirt bunched up, thighs sticky and marked—his cum cleaned off by his own tongue, but the hickeys blooming dark purple under the faint streetlight. You’re both a mess: sweat, spit, eyeliner streaks, the faint metallic tang of alley air clinging to your skin.

He pulls back slowly, just enough to look at you. His eyes are softer now—still hazy, still hungry, but something tender creeping in around the edges. He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, then reaches up with shaky fingers to brush a strand of hair off your sweaty forehead.

“Shit,” he murmurs, half-laugh, half-breathless. “I… I didn’t even ask your name.”

You tell him—soft, almost shy after everything—and he repeats it back like it’s sacred, tasting the syllables on his tongue.

“I’m Mikey,” he says, even though you already know. Then quieter: “Obviously.”

You both laugh—small, wrecked giggles that bounce off the brick.

He glances down at your thighs again—those dark bruises he left, the faint red marks from his teeth—and his cheeks flush all over again.

“You’re gonna have to hide these tomorrow,” he says, thumb brushing one gently. “Or… don’t. Up to you.”

Then he’s moving—careful, like he’s afraid to break the moment. He lets your legs slide down until your feet touch the ground again, steadying you with both hands on your hips when your knees wobble.

“Wait here,” he whispers.

He steps back, tugging his jeans up just enough to button them (still half-hard, still obvious, but he doesn’t care). Then he yanks his hoodie off in one fluid motion—black, worn soft, smells like cigarette smoke and vanilla body spray and him. Underneath he’s got a faded MCR tee, sleeves hacked off, collar stretched out.

He drapes the hoodie over your shoulders without asking. It’s huge on you—sleeves swallowing your hands, hem hitting mid-thigh—but it’s warm from his body heat, and it covers most of the mess: the torn tights, the skirt riding too high, the constellation of hickeys climbing your neck.

“Keep it,” he says, voice low. “It looks better on you anyway.”

You pull it tighter around yourself, inhaling deep. It smells like the whole night.

He digs into his back pocket again—this time not for his wallet, but for a Sharpie. Black, cap chewed to hell. He uncaps it with his teeth, spits the cap into his palm, then drops to one knee again—gentle this time, reverent.

“Lift the hoodie a little,” he murmurs.

You do. Just enough.

He finds a clear patch of skin on your inner thigh—right above one of the darker hickeys—and starts writing. Slow, careful block letters. His number. Area code first, then the rest. When he’s done he blows on it softly, like he’s drying ink on a drawing, then presses a single soft kiss right over the last digit.

“Don’t wash it off tonight,” he says, looking up at you with those big hazel eyes. “Please. Text me when you get home safe. Or… whenever. Just text me.”

You nod—throat tight for some reason you can’t name.

He stands up, pockets the Sharpie, then pulls out his flip phone.

“Hey—yeah, it’s me. Need a cab at the side alley behind the venue. Yeah, now. Thanks, man.”

He hangs up, slips the phone back in his pocket, then pulls you close again—one arm around your shoulders, the other hand cupping your cheek.

“Cab’s coming in like five minutes,” he says. “I’d drive you myself but… van’s full of gear and the guys are probably already waiting. I don’t wanna leave you here alone though.”

You lean into him, forehead against his collarbone.

“I’m okay,” you whisper. “But thank you.”

He kisses the top of your head—soft, lingering—then pulls back just enough to look at you again.

“I’m serious about the text,” he says, voice cracking a little. “Even if it’s just to tell me you hate my hoodie or whatever. Just… let me know you’re safe.”

Headlights flash at the end of the alley—yellow cab pulling up slow.

Mikey walks you the few steps to the curb, hand on the small of your back the whole way. Opens the door for you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You slide in. He leans down through the open window, elbows on the frame.

“Text me,” he repeats, softer this time. Almost pleading.

You smile—small, real—and nod.

The driver asks where to.

You give your address.

Mikey steps back as the cab starts to pull away, hands shoved deep in his pockets, watching until the taillights disappear around the corner.

You lean your head against the window, hoodie pulled up around your face, Sharpie number burning warm against your thigh.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket before you even get halfway home.

Unknown number:

Hey. It’s Mikey.

Just checking if you’re okay.

Miss your thighs already.

You smile into the dark, fingers already typing back.

[mikeyrevenge05]

Indulgence 

Mikey Way x F! Reader

Authors note : I haven’t written a fic since the olden days, I also have not been practicing my writing, so have grace ya’ll. I hope this is enjoyed, at that my fellow Mikey lovers out there feel slutty and well fed.

Tags/Trigger warnings: Biting, under negotiated kink, use of “good girl, baby, hon, and poor thing”, porn no plot, scratching, teasing, overstimulation, light choking, unprotected sex, light degradation, oral (f! receiving), p n v, this was not proof read, dom! Mikey

This is so long omg ….

NSFW UNDERCUT

I think this might be the worst movie I’ve ever seen, not even good bad, just bad. I glance at Mikey next to me in the bed, he’s restless shuffling around, unsure what to do with his hands. This isn’t uncommon so I pay no mind

“Are you into this?” I look at him trying to keep my tone flat, if he is I don’t want it to seem like I’m in agony and need to watch something else. Not trying to be a buzz kill over here.

“It’s okay, I think I’m kind of neutral. We can watch something else, or maybe just sit here and enjoy each other’s company?” He’s very gentle when he speaks, I think I’d like to hear it more “We can just hang, don’t need to watch anything. I think my attention span is kinda shot anyway.” The air in the room feels nice, no pressure or complications, just two people. “Yeah, can’t focus right now.” He hits pause and looks over once more “I’m happy you came to see me, I know it was a long way.”

“I’m happy I’m here too, I love where I live but a change of pace is nice. Plus I like the east coast.” He rolls onto his side glancing at my hand then back up to my face.

“Yeah? What do you like about it?” I roll to face him, thinking hard about my response

“I think I like the grime, and salty air. I like how it breeds the best and worst kind of punks, the fashion and music that comes from this area, all that.”

I look into his eyes as he slowly glances down chewing on the inside of his lip, I feel his fingertips run across the back of my hand I have placed on the bed in front of me. He hums in response waiting for a minute to speak “You have very soft skin.” The change in the air should throw me but, I feel myself relax into it. Letting the moment sink in. His finger tips move slowly and softly from my hand a little further up my arm and back down.

“You have very calloused fingers” he smiles and looks up into my eyes “I would say that makes sense.” Scooting a little closer I see the faint shadow or stubble under his bottom lip, acne scars, and a wrinkle forming between his eyes from years of a brow furrowed in focus. I want to reach out and touch all these small details but don’t want him to stop the gentle touch of his hand. “This is weird, but can I touch your face?” My voice barely above a whisper. He smiles and lets out a quiet breath that brushes across me “I don’t think that’s weird, you can touch me however you like.” His gentle tone matches mine, and I slowly reach up to let my fingers drag along his jaw then up to his forehead. His hand caresses down my arm then my ribs and back where he finally continues the same up and down motion as before. “Is this okay?” The best part of the question isn’t how breathy he is when he speaks, or how intimate the moment, the best part is the mere fact that he asked. “It’s great.”

My fingers move down his face, hitting every piece of texture I can find, reeling in the feeling of him. I hear a small hum while my thumb dances under his lip, his hand moving lower on my back griping me just a little bit. His eyes never moving away from me as he chews on his bottom lip “Can I please kiss you?” As he speaks he lets out a breath

“I would love it if you kissed me.” I move my hand to lay flat on his cheek as he leans in tilting his head to the side. The first kiss is sweet, gentle just as everything else has been. He pulls away for just a moment before leaning back in with a new found confidence. Leaning up on his elbow, pushing me onto my back, kissing me roughly. Hands sliding around my waist and grabbing me with fever. The kiss is all teeth and tongue at this point, sharp canines grabbing at my lower lip and pulling. With a gasp I wrap my leg around his hip and pulling him against me grinding against him slowly. He kisses down my neck soft and slow while I run my hands to the back of his neck and gently tug at his hair moaning breathily. I feel a sharp sting at the base of my ear as he bites down sending a wave of tingles down my neck and through my shoulder. The feeling itself is borderline addictive. His hard glasses poking just under my jaw, I can’t do anything but throw my head back “please more, please.” I know I sound pathetic begging to be bitten, begging to be hurt and bruised, but the sound of my own voice pleading and the shame that comes from it is so intoxicating I can’t help but grind harder on his growing erection. Humming he moves to the nape of my neck “You want me to bite you? Eat you up hun?” He looks up with a grin and playfully nips at me. Feeling suddenly shy and nervous, I almost don’t want to say it “Yes please, please eat me.” He groans before sinking his teeth into me, it hurts so bad in a mix between sharp and dull, tears brim my eyes but the pain feels so good. I can feel myself practically soak through my panties as the seam of my jeans rub on me while he pushes against me hard and eager. Slipping his hands up and under my shirt grabbing softly at my chest and tracing my nipples with his calloused fingers, Mikey hums “God you feel so perfect, for me” he sucks gently on the bite mark before slipping my top over my head, I leaned up to make it easier. Using my grip on his hair to pull him back down with me, kissing him again, I feel him moan into my mouth as I gently bite his lower lip. Mikey grabs at my chest pinching my left nipple between his fingers so hard it almost hurts. I can’t stop pulling him against me, trying so hard to ask for more but being unable to speak, tears welling in my eyes as he moves down the opposite side of my neck to my chest adding more rough bites along the way using his teeth against my other nipple, I feel the sheets shift beneath me as I writhe and whimper, not really sure what else to do. He stops for a second “Hun, can you look at me?” Casting my gaze down towards him I see how tousled his hair has become, not that it wasn’t messy to start, but I definitely did a number. He drops a hand to my hip rubbing small circles with his thumb “You look like you’re having trouble talking, are you okay?” I hum a little nodding my head yes “Okay baby, can you give me a color?” I think for a second, breathing slow and taking in my body, it feels a little like a push to get the word out, but I trust myself “Green.” I slide my hand down squeezing his shoulder keeping one soft and limp in his hair “Good job baby.” He leaves a gentle kiss to my sternum before looking back up at me and speaking “If you need to stop, or slow down, or anything just give me a little tap like this.” He uses three fingers on my hip to gently tap twice “Can you do that for me?” I nod again before doing the same where my hand lays on his shoulder “Such a good job, doing so well for me.” He leaves another short peck before I’m tugging at the collar of his shirt dying to feel the warmth of his skin “You want this off?” He sits up on his calves to slide it off. The movement isn’t smooth, it actually comes off quite awkward, especially when his glasses get a little stuck and he mumbles a little ‘aw geez’ under his breath. When he finally gets his shirt off he has to scrunch his nose and push his glasses up a little bit, I’m covering my mouth with one hand trying my best to hold in a giggle when he tells me it’s okay to laugh

He slides his right hand down the side of my thigh as he leans down over my face planting a kiss on my forehead, I’m soaking in the feeling of his fingers finding their way to the front of my jeans tracing down the button between my legs and back up again. “Is this okay hun?” I let out a soft sigh “Yes, yes please.” He smiles against me before undoing the button and slowly moving the zipper down. “Hips up baby.” I listen letting him help me take my pants off, he slides his hands down my legs with ease making sure to take his time moving towards my upper thighs. Mikey lays down spreading me open and gripping me hard leaving gentle kisses along the way before opening his mouth and biting me rough, the pain catches me off guard and I find myself lurching forward but still grabbing the back of his head pushing him further into my leg encouraging him to bite down harder. He does so eagerly, breaking a little bit of skin leaving a metallic taste in his mouth, I feel him suck and lick before moving up further and repeating the process. I fall back onto the bed arching as I tug at his hair, I notice his hips moving against the bed while he groans on the wounds he’s pressing into me. I can feel the wetness starting to pool and drip out of me, I’m so desperate it hurts, and I can’t decide if I want to reveal in the ache or beg him to touch me higher, as if he’s reading my mind I feel him slip my underwear off and onto the floor somewhere “hmm god, you’re soaked baby. Have I been torturing you that much?” His fingers slide against my folds, yet refusing to reach where I want him most. “Can you use your words baby? Tell me what you want?” I hum, knowing what I want but I can’t find the words. I want his mouth, his fingers, for him to fill me and fuck me into outerspace, all of it, I want all of it. “Anything, please, decide for me, please.” My voice comes out quiet and carrying desperation, he smiles at me, and I know he’s heard it too.

Slowly, gently, he slides one finger inside of me then leans forward and leaves a short suck at my clit then starts to pump his finger.

Without my permission I feel my back arch. Something so small sending fire through my whole body. “Good girl, so polite, I’ll give you everything you can take.” He mumbles against me, the vibrations sending my thighs flying shut against his head “mhhh I’m sorry.” I mutter it but can’t stop moving, he pushes in another finger sucking harder and longer, then flicking his tongue “it’s okay baby, do what you need. Listening so well.” Continuing his mantras in a perfect slow agonizing rhythm, leaving me to writhe and moan, grilling his hair so hard I’m afraid I might rip it out.

I know he is appreciative of the feeling by the way he groans and pushes his hips into the mattress underneath him. As the pressure builds inside me I want drown in it, mind hazy, legs weak, heat radiating up from my core through my whole body. He has me right on the edge slowing when I clutch to hard or my legs start to shake, he wants me desperate and hanging on for dear life. I would beg, but I don’t think I can form words.

He takes his mouth off of me, removing his hands, panting while he stops to look at me. “How are you feeling?” His voice gentle and smooth, leaning against my thigh to leave a small peck at my skin “I need more please, please let me cum, I came so close please. I need it so bad. Hmm need you so bad.” I can feel my chest rising and falling, tears still brimming my eyes, aching for some kind of release. “Aww, poor thing. You wanna cum on my cock baby? Can you tell me?” His words shoot straight down as I imagine how it would feel to have him moving inside of me, so close touching as much as possible my voice straining comes out as a desperate whisper “yes, yes please. I need that so bad, need to feel you as deeply as possible, please Mikey.” The tears finally start falling, just a few, running down my cheeks, heat painted over my flushed skin while he looks at me bare and laid out in front of him. He leans up again rubbing his hand across my hip, using the other to undo his belt, he really takes his time and it’s starting to piss me off. “It’s okay baby, I’ll give you what you need. I’m here. right here, no need to cry, I’ll take care of you.” Moving back to shuffle off his jeans, I look down when he pulls himself out, red leaking and twitching in his own hand, before he crawls back on top of me kissing where the tears fell. He takes a pillow and positions it under my hips providing support for me. He moves one hand under my back, clutching me and hold me close, bodies pressed right against each other.

He positions himself to start slowly pushing into me, making me feel every inch as I’m filled with him. I unconsciously clinch down, Mikey following with an exaggerated moan as he pushes down to the base of his dick, his hand moving down between us to rub at my clit. My legs lock back around him and my hands fly to clutch at his back, nails digging in to his skin. I hear him let out a needy ‘oh fuck’ as he starts thrusting. Making my eyes rolls back, and toes curl with every moment. “God hon, you feel amazing. So fucking pretty right now.” His words once again shooting through me, tightening that coil in my core, my hands slip sending bright red marks down his back. “Aahhh, do that again baby, harder for me, yeah.” He pants out into my neck, I move my hands back up, digging into his shoulders, intentionally pushing into his skin as I drag my fingers down slowly. Trying to compose myself through the feeling of my body needing to jerk and convulse around his cock. He bites back down into my neck, I feel my back arch off the bed, and with no warning I can’t hold it back anymore. I push him as far into me as I can, cumming so hard my scream comes out silent. He stills inside of me but continues to rub my clit through my orgasm, only pulling out once my body went lax. He pushes himself up before quickly flipping me onto my stomach. Putting his whole weight on top of me, pushing back in roughly, using my over sensitive cunt to get himself off. He brings one hand back around my waist continuously rubbing at my clit, leaving me over stimulated and squirming against him while he fucks into me. He takes his other hand lightly grabbing at my throat waiting for a sign that he can push down harder. I feel another orgasm creeping upon me, he’s cutting off some of my airflow making me grip at the sheets trying to push back on him with each thrust. “That’s it, you can cum again for me. I know you can baby. Just made for this, mhhmm made to be fucked.” He babbles on behind me the combination of everything is all too perfect, once again I can’t hold on anymore. It hits hard this time somehow, I feel myself twitch and spasm around him, that dull ache then relief coming in waves. Taking my breath away and leaving me with a tingling sensation throughout my bones. I feel his warm release inside of me with a few last thrusts. His hands leave my neck slipping down to my ass and spreading me apart to watch himself drip out. I hear a hum behind me before I feel the weight of the bed dip beside me. I turn my head to look over at him, gasping and sweaty before he cracks a smile letting out a soft ‘how do you feel’ all I can do is lowly hum reaching my hand over to touch his side. He pulls me over to him, feasting my head against his chest. We stay like that for awhile, resting a breathing together.

[briderey]

unicorns are real

record store! mikey way × afab reader

notes: mikey req !! this is my first time writing mikey.. (gulp) I hope it's good, typically I write gerard fics, (dreamy sigh) but i thought this would be good to expirament with to get better at writing too.

warnings: awkward introduction, flirting, semi-public sex, unprotected sex (this is definitely a pattern atp), doggy style (kinda), rough sex, hair fisting, cursing.

number count: 4.2k (huuuhh??)

Jersey fucking sucks.

how can you apply for nearly any little shop in the townhouses, and no one gets back to you? it doesn't help that money has been tight lately. Gas is pretty much all you can afford other than some chump change for small groceries.

the town market basically blew you off from your restock application, the comic store off the corner block didn't even review your application, and blockbuster basically said “fuck you” in so many professional words when they called you back after your interview last week.

and before you could fully give up, you found a last ditch effort in some record store off the corner in your neighborhood.

music was kickass.

surely you could get accepted there, right?

so that's what you decided on. you'll go in and ask for an application. ..after you get ready.

sitting on your bed, sipping a lukewarm mug of coffee. you gently shut your eyes as you take a long sip, feeling the warmth of the caffeine freshen you a little more. a gentle sigh as you withdraw the mug.

setting it aside on your nightstand besides you to your left, pushing the clutter on top out of the way with the mug as you slide it onto the wooden surface.

“this shit better work out.. I'm just gonna give up if it doesn't.” you mutter to yourself, a low groan leaving your throat at the idea of another failed application.

you stand up, wearing nothing but a loose band shirt and your underwear. rubbing the morning haze from your eyes, then stretching your arms high above your head, arching faintly as the cool breeze kisses against your midriff from the lift of your shirt before you relax once more.

you reach off nearby into your laundry hamper to grab out your shower towel, walking off towards the bathroom. feet softly padding against the carpet of your apartment. leaving your coffee to go cold carelessly.

the bathroom is small, but it's enough for you. a sink and a toilet installed next to one another, a mirror above the sink, doubling as a cabinet to keep your toiletries inside. and your small tub of a shower, combined.

your clothes make a gentle “thud” as your shirt falls to the ground along with your delicates, turning the knob for the shower's temperature as the water begins to cascade down within the tub as you step inside.

steam slowly fogs inside the cramped bathroom, rising the humidity in the air and bringing condensated moisture to the mirror above the sink while your fingers massage shampoo into your scalp, humming some little rock tune by yourself. some song you heard on the radio by a junkie band that had a decent beat.

the scent of soap and fragrance fills the air, the refreshing warmth of being clean spreads throughout you like the growing roots of a tree, helping you feel ready to take on the day despite whatever the record store might bring. the body wash making your skin more smooth, the conditioner you had massaged within your hair made your ends feel more soft.

turning the knobs off, the shower screeches to a stop as you finish up washing off. wrapping up in your towel, and opening the door. the heat in the air from your steaming shower billowing out into the open air of your living room.

you pass it by mindlessly, heading back inside of your bedroom while beginning to dry your body off, lathering on lotion, your usual spray-on, conducting through the typical routine before you leave.

zipping up your jacket, you grab your keys as you walk out of your bedroom, heading straight for the front door and pausing when you reach the knob.

keys, phone, pen just in case.

you nod, and then open the front door to head out, the heavy door making a deep click behind you before the gears within the lock clink and grind to secure it shut.

you exit your apartment building, and walk out to your car across the street. ..Parking meter. you swear you parked behind it, not at it.

“damn it.. really?” you grumble, plucking the ticket from under your windshield wiper. “well, there goes the rest of my fucking money this week.”

you crumple the offending red paper into a ball and stuff it in your pocket. you tell yourself that you'll deal with it later, but there's a better chance of you forgetting about it rather than paying for it with money you didn't even have.

with a heavy sigh, shaking your head in irritation as you unlock the car door, slipping into the driver's seat. buckling the seat belt as you put the key into the ignition and turn it to power the car.

it rumbles and huffs. …but nothing.

you try again, yet with nothing. and one more time after that. the car just groaning in an attempt to power on every time you shift the key.

you groan loudly and lay your head on the steering wheel. “Such fucking bullshit..!”

being broke already sucks, but now you had a parking ticket and a broken car?

you try it one more time, and by what almost feels like the grace of god, the car powers on. your back hits the driver's seat in relief. “jesus..”

you reach over, turning on the radio and setting it to the rock station. some misfits song starts to play as you back out of your spot, ready to head out to this record store. saying a silent prayer to yourself as you begin down the road. “please, god. I need this damn job..”

as you drive through the cramped roads of jersey that have cars parked against the curb of the sidewalks, people walking alone the sidewalk and shops waiting for customers, you nod your head along slightly while singing along to the rock tunes coming from the radio.

when you found the record store, it took you nearly five full minutes to find a spot to park on the side of the road against the sidewalk. and when you did, the walk was pretty far. But.. it was better than nothing.

you try not to make eye contact with the occasional junkies you see wandering on the sidewalks, or the young kids that think they're tough. either looking at your shoes or straight ahead. it was better, safer even, to act like you were invisible rather than to risk looking at the wrong person. in the area you lived in, the shadows and the streets were always watching, it never truly slept anywhere in this area.

you finally approach the record store, you steps coming to a slow stop to look at the store. “Avenue Records”. It was small, and maybe they had some cool shit you could check out. ..whenever you had some spare cash.

theres a guy smoking a cigarette out front, leaning against the window. he blocks out what the latest record is in the window that the store has, and he greets you with a nod. short black hair, pointy nose. He wears a leather jacket with some band shirt. theres a name tag on his chest of the jacket. probably works here.

you nod back in response and then slowly enter the store, taking the time to look around as you stand in the entry. there's rows of vinyl recorded, CDs, and even cassette tapes too. and a section that has all VHS tapes of different movies throughout the years. all organized together on tables in crates with labels on the walls of what was what. and on the crates, it stated the form of media and the genre.

at the register, of whom you don't notice, stands some guy. tall and lanky, originally reading through some nerdy comic flick while his shift drags on slowly. But upon hearing the twinkling chime of the bell above the door, he had raised his head.

and his heart fluttered upon seeing you.

wow, you were beautiful.

unnoticing somehow of the cashier, you walk further into the store, walking over to the vinyls organized, going to the rock crate. flipping through the different sleeves of physical music. pulling up the sleeve of an iron maiden record, before a voice chirps up from behind you.

“iron maiden fan, huh? me too.”

you look back over your shoulder, the guy at the register. he was tall, lanky. Glasses perched on his nose, brown locks that frame his angular face nicely. wearing a band shirt, and a name tag.

“I could give you some recommendations, we just got some new stuff in that's pretty sick if you're into maiden.” he adds on, coming from around the register to join your side. scanning through the different covers before pulling up a sleeve of a newer misfits album.

“the misfits.. those guys rock pretty good, uh, I think we might have a black flag record or two. we have a smaller selection in CDs of this stuff, though. And if you're into.. some of the softer stuff, the smiths are good.”

you stood there quietly while the guy rambled softly besides you. you glance down at his band shirt briefly, “Michael” it said on his name tag.

He suddenly stops, and you lift your eyes back to his face. “ah.. sorry.” he mumbles shyly. “I should just.. let you look at this stuff yourself.”

“it's alright,” you assured him. “it's not everyday I find some cute nerd to show me cool music.”

his face flushes, like a rose blooming in the spring from the deep red blossoming along his face as his smile grows, a faint scoff of a sheepish laugh leaving him.

“well..” he trails off, a bit nervous to look directly at you for a moment before he meets your eyes, looking you up and down briefly. “It's not everyday I get to tell a cute girl about cool music.”

you glance a this name tag once more before meeting his framed eyes again. “So.. michael.”

“Huh?” he asks, before following your glance to his name tag, “oh,” he notes before meeting your eyes once more. “actually.. usually it's just mikey.” he says as he leans against the table.

“mikey, hm? cute name for a cute boy.” you smile a little at him. “im guessing clearly.. you work here?”

“yeah, with my brother. he's having a smoke outside, though.” mikey nods in response.

“oh, that guy? yeah, I saw him before I came in.” you tell him, “he's blocking up whatever you guys have displayed in the window, by the way.”

“eh, who cares.. no one really comes to this little shit shack, anyways.” mikey shrugs in response. “well, no one pretty like you, at least.” he grins.

“I could say similar about you, mikey.. it's not all the time you find a cute boy working in some raggedy music shop.” you feel the smirk forming on your face back to him just from seeing his own.

you flit your eyes over his form again. his band shirt hugs his lanky frame nicely, blue jeans and scuffed sneakers. his glasses frame his eyes that have a small glare from the dim light as he looks at you. you see his eyes doing the same motions.

“you know, i think I might start having to come here for more than just my paycheck if you'll become a regular customer..” mikey comments.

“oh really?” you asked him softly in response, “you want me to just come in and start buying out the whole store or something?” you joke lightly, and the soft chuckle that escapes him makes your heart flip.

“I mean.. if it'd be an excuse to see you here, why not? I wouldn't mind if you became my everyday view.” mikey answers as he slowly lays his hand over yours from where he leans on the table, the crates of filed up records remaining sturdy.

you glance down at your hands, and then slowly lift your gaze to meet his once more. Something about this boy was enchanting to you for some reason..

maybe it was his glasses, or the way his hair frames his face. maybe it was that chuckle you heard, or how warm his fingers feel laying on top of yours. or maybe it's just the decent privacy of this moment while it's just the both of you in the store.

either way, you can feel something beginning to warm in your lower abdomen. something sensitive and exciting.

and it seemed he felt the same way, because he shifts his legs in his stance where he leans against the table lined with crates of different rock genres secured through vinyl sleeves. in a weak attempt to hide the growing tent at his zipper.

you lifted your eyes from the brief trail, forcing yourself to meet his gaze once more.

“so.. you guys hiring, or?” you ask.

“oh, you're looking to apply?” mikey asks, seeming surprised. “did my charms wit you that much?” his smile stayed there upon his lips.

“well.. I need the money. but that too..” you replied back, your cheeks faintly aching from the smile that was stuck on your own face.

“Uhh.. yeah.” mikey says, and then nods, “yeah. I can get you an application.”

“papers are in the back. but.. there's also some new stuff we just got in that isn't out yet. I'm not really supposed to, but..” he trails off, like he's trying to gain the courage to push himself instead of just saying ‘nevermind’.

“I could take you back there with me.”

and now a blush starts to come across your own face. or maybe the room just warms up a few degrees. or perhaps it's even that warmth now beginning to boil in your lower abdomen that makes your chest ache and thighs want to clench.

you knew you should say no, after all.. you just met this guy. but it's been awhile, and everyone in jersey was just a little crazy. ..right?

“..show me the way.”

“follow me.” mikey says, his voice lowering to something more soft, more intimate.

he pulls you by the hand gently, taking you with him to a hallway near the register, dimly light and narrow. he approaches some door, with a metal plate over it that reads “storage”. He fishes in his pocket to pull out a key and unlock the door, bringing you inside.

the door shuts, and he turns to face you and to which you act out on impulse. stupidly so, by throwing yourself onto this guy, smashing your lips against his. to no surprise, mikey is shocked and you back away from each other.

well, fuck. there goes your ditch-effort at a job.

right before you can open your mouth and make yourself even more stupid in this moment, you're interrupted by the sudden reciprocation of mikey pulling you close to him by the waist and crashing his lips back into yours.

your lips demand one another, lasting long and firm in the abrupt attentions, breathing quickly starting to deepen as it fills the small space of this storage room you didn't even have any time to take in and look around at.

but it didn't matter what it fucking looked like.

what mattered was this dude wants to get in your pants.

and you were going to let him.

“fuck, mikey..” you breath between aggressive kissing, he takes full advantage to slip his tongue into your mouth. reaching to tangle with yours. it's all teeth and tongue and deliciously overwhelming on your senses.

you can feel the warmth of his chest pressed against yours, the way his fingers dig into the dip of your waist as he holds you close against him. the simmering of warmth arousal that had been brewing in your lower abdomen began to broil hotly and now fills your entire body with aching need.

your hands tightly grip his shoulders, anchoring yourself onto him even under his intense grip on you, pressing your body more firmly against his. he groans against your mouth, pressing you back against the nearby wall. you grunt softly as you do.

you know for certain the building dampness between your thighs is not from sweat in heat of this moment, it's from the deep crave of wanting to chase please. of yearning for friction.

mikey's hands slide down from your waist, ending up behind you to grope your ass, moaning against your lips in the way the denim fills his palms and molds under his fingertips.

you softly gasp, your back arching from the wall to press your hips into his. a test, an ask, a beg.

and he answers, rocking his hips back into you. the thick, firm ridge of his jeans insistently pressing into your core as he grinds into you, releasing a moan against his mouth whilst the both of you eagerly chase for friction together.

mikey's hands start to wander once more, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt at the small of your back, gliding up your sides to feel your bra-clad breasts. the soft material cups perfectly in his hands, unable to stop himself from squeezing lightly.

“want you so bad..” he huffs eagerly against your lips, pulling his mouth off of yours to attack at your neck. his lips covering and sucking at the heated, sensitive skin. forcing out a whimper from you.

“mikey..” you whisper, your voice a plea as it comes out in a low hush of a breath. and he tends to you impatiently, his hands sliding down once more to find the button of your jeans, his fingers too excited and making him fumble in a haste to feel you.

the button pops, the sound almost like a gunshot in the mix of quiet panting and eager kissing throughout the cramped space. but he pauses before he dips his hand inside, pulling back to look down at you.

“are you sure? I mean.. we just met–” the feeling of you tugging the collar of his shirt to slam his lips back against yours cuts him off any further as you give him your answer in the action alone.

he takes that as all he needs, and slips his hand down inside your jeans. fingers feeling the now soggy material of your panties. “god, you're soaking for me..” he mutters against your mouth roughly, as if in utter disbelief he can make someone he barely knows so desperate.

“touch me, mikey, please..” you plead him, your voice breathless. it had been a long time since you hooked up with anyone, and your body was in dire need of some relief, even just a small amount.

he moans into your mouth, lips locked firmly with yours as he shifts his hand to slide under the waistband of your panties, feeling how drenched your folds are. a deep groan from low in his throat escapes him at the revelation.

“god, fuck..” he grunts against your mouth, continuing to grind his hips against you, even as his fingers stroke through your folds, gathering your wetness onto his fingertips before he starts to rub quick, soothing circles on your clit.

you gasp abruptly against his mouth, letting out a choked up whimper of pleasure. the action causes you to nearly clench your thighs and squish his hand, but you resist the urge.

and when his fingers delve further, exploring your cunt more in depth by sliding two fingers into your hole to start working you out, you moan. a real moan, not the muffled little whines and sighs that have been mingling with his groans and huffs.

“yeah, give me more..” he mutters against your mouth, dragging his lips down to nip at your neck and collarbone.

your hands fist in his shirt at his shoulders, securing yourself against him as much as you can, moaning right besides his ear as he scissors his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt, preparing you for him.

“mikey, please..” you whine in the air, your eyes glossing over in a near mindless haze.

in a swift yank, his hand is drawn from your waistband. he brings it to his lips, cleaning himself of your juices with a low hum. “fuck, you taste amazing..” he rasps, before guiding you to turn around. he presses you into the wall. your cheek and breasts pressed up against it as he works to tug your jeans down enough for him, they reach your mid-thigh.

your heart races in your chest, the cool air exposed to the heated flesh of your aching cunt making you whimper softly. the sound of his zipper coming down is louder than any of the sounds you've made in the last ten minutes.

you feel him press up against you from behind.

he's hard, and thick.

it teases you, prods you. it makes you whine in need as you arch your back, your stomach pressing against the wall. “mikey..”

“I've got you..” his tone is thick with desire as he guides himself to rub against your folds, the wet slick sound filling the air. you can feel the way his tip parts your lower lips to make room for him to rub against you, massaging your folds deliciously.

he wasn't even inside you yet, and your eyes were slightly starting to roll. you flutter them shut, chest heaving in burning need.

he coats himself in your wetness, getting himself nice and lubricated for when he goes to enter you. after a moment, he adjusts to press against your entrance. the head of his cock prodding at your opening that clenches desperately, as if trying to pull him inside.

he holds himself there, holding your suspense before he finally, suddenly pushes just his tip inside. making you moan out. god, he was probably only half an inch inside and you were ready to fucking cry.

“mikey..!” you moaned in the enclosed air of the closet, and his hand fists into your roots at the crown of your head.

“tell me what you want, or I won't give it to you.” he demands of you, his voice a soft rumble besides your ear, the warmth of his body radiating against your back.

“I want you..! I.. I want your cock, I want your cock inside me, all the way..” you managed to somehow confess, your voice a needy whine as you answer to his demands.

it doesn't take very much other than that in order for him to give you what you want. he was probably a pent up nerd himself, after all.

without warning, he sheathed himself inside of you. Thrusting in hard, full. Balls pressed against you as he holds himself there, letting you feel him. letting you stretch around him. the sensation makes you feel like you're learning pleasure for the first time all over again.

your walls clench, hugging his thick shaft tightly as you adjust to him, molding to the shape of his dick. he lights rocks his pelvis for a moment, before withdrawing from your depths until just his cockhead remains, harshly slamming back inside to you at full capacity once more.

the sound of his balls hitting against you fills the air of the closet, mingling with your moans as you begin to wail for him. His knuckles turn white where they remain fisted in your roots, holding himself in place as he fucks you hard and fast inside of the storage room.

the way he fits inside of you, how roughly he takes you, makes you his, it sends shockwaves up your spine. the tension in your stomach starting to coil tighter and tighter as your orgasm grips at you, stalking closer and closer with every deep thrust he pounds into you.

he could feel the pressure mounting up inside his balls, the way they were starting to tighten, to draw up against his body, quickly preparing to unleash a hot load inside of you, mikey had entirely forgotten he was still on shift with his brother.

and outside, gerard had just came back inside from his smoke break. freezing immediately in the entry of the store as the loud and unmistakable sounds of loud sex filter from the back of the store.

“oh god.. mikey.. fuck, I'm.. I'm gonna..” you whimper shakily, your voice coming in broken up whines.

“oh yeah, I know you are.. come on, let me feel it. give it to me..” mikey growls in response, the want and the need clear in his tone.

and it was your complete undoing.

with a loud cry of his name, your orgasm slams right into you like an freight train, your walls tightening up intensely as you begin to push around his thick shaft still working you in deeply.

but your orgasm was a reflex for his own.

with a heavy groan himself, mikey began to unload. his hips studder in their thrusts as he begins to spurt his thick musk inside your walls, painting your insides white. continuing to fuck you through his trembles of orgasm to prolong the pleasure for you both until you were completely spent.

“oh god.. come on, mikey. fuckin' gross.” gerard mutters to himself, shaking his head as he goes back outside. needing another cigarette after having to hear that bullshit.

[m1lkywaywritey]

Pretty Bunny

Relationship: Mikey way x fem afab reader

Tags: Fluff and Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Pet Names (bunny, princess, babygirl etc), Dom/Sub, Dom Mikey Way, Daddy Kink, (Very) Light Edging, Caring and Sweet Sex

Summary: Youre very strong and independent in your day to day life but that can be so tiring, with mikey you can simply turn your brain off and let him take care of you.

A/N: Hey this is my first smut fic in FOREVER, ik i usually write sub mikey (because HELLOOO???) but i thought this would be really cute and i #needthat lmfao (posting from tumblr web cause of course i write something as soon as i delete tumblr lol, a fic writer has duties)

Word count: 1108

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In every aspect of your life you were responsible and independent, needing to be strong, not taking any shit, respecting yourself and having complete control. It was exhausting but it was just how you were wired, so your time with Mikey was always what you needed. He took care of you like you hung the stars in the sky, letting you turn off your busy brain and be his princess for a little while.

Today was just the same, you came home after an excruciatingly long day at work and you couldn't wait to just melt into his arms. You discarded your coat and shoes at the door as you heard Mikey call out from the kitchen, "How was work honey?"

"So bad baby, I'm so tired" You replied as he came into view walking over to you.

"Oh sweetheart," He said in that soft voice that made you all mushy, pulling you into a hug and planting tiny kisses on the top of your head. " 'm sorry baby, wanna get all cozy and watch some tv together?" You responded with a weak nod, looking up at him with pouty puppy eyes.

He lead you to the bedroom and helped you slip into your favourite pj's. "You did such a good job today princess" He said giving you a gentle kiss on the lips before crawling into bed with you. He put on your favourite show and you curled up against his side. You found it hard to focus on the tv as Mikey traced his hands smoothly over your waist and hips. Every tiny squeeze at your skin released a tiny whimper from your throat as it went straight to your core, you began to lightly grind against his leg and this didn't go unnoticed by Mikey.

"You feeling all needy for me babygirl?" Your brain melted from the petname alone.

"Mhm" You hummed with barely contained arousal.

"Aww all you had to do was ask bunny!" He cooed, "c'mon what do you say?"

"Please daddy" You squeaked out, slightly embarrassed by your easy submission but far too horny to dwell on it.

"Good girl baby" He said as he tilted your chin up into a kiss and slipped his hand past the waistband of your pyjama pants. He traced your clit with his middle finger, feeling how wet you already were through your underwear and you shivered at the contact.

"This all for me pretty girl?" He said, now rubbing steady circles against you.

"Yes sir" You said through your whines.

The tv was long forgotten, all you could think and feel were Mikeys fingers and his body close against you. As your moaning grew louder, Mikey continued to talk you through it, "You feel good sweet heart?" You couldnt formulate a proper response, a slew of 'please's fell from your mouth trying to tell him you needed more.

"Please what bunny? Daddy cant help if you dont say honey, use your words f'me " He said, speeding up his hand knowing itd only make it harder for you to respond.

"M-Mph More please daddy- need more" You managed to whine out to him in incoherent babbles.

"That's it princess good job" He said, finally pulling your panties to the side and slipping two fingers inside easily. You let out a high keen and buried your head into his chest, your moans even louder than before as he used his other hand to pet your hair. "Shh baby i know, youre doing so good for me sweet thing"

He knew exactly how to handle you, saying all the right things and hitting all the right spots, it was like he was put on this earth to make you feel good and Mikey honestly wouldnt mind that. You lifted your head to look at him and you were the prettiest mess he had ever seen. Your hair messed up and cheeks flushed red, rutting wildly against his hand and looking at him with puppy eyes as you tried not to let them roll back into your head.

"So fucking gorgeous like this princess," He said leaning in to capture your lips in a messy kiss. He mumbled more praises into your mouth as you felt yourself growing closer, he knew it too from the way you spasmed around him and grew louder.

"Daddy please- 'm s-so close" You begged as it became harder and harder to hold back your orgasm.

"Hmm I dunno bunny, youve been so good i think you can manage a little longer yeah? You wanna make me proud dont you pretty girl?" Fuck you both loved and hated his teasing, You nodded with a disappointed, needy whine. You were so desperate to be good for him yet equally desperate to cum all over his fingers. You bit your lip and scrunched your eyes, dead set on prolonging your orgasm, Mikey chuckled at your focus, "Your so cute like this babygirl."

"Th-Thank you sir" You moaned.

"Can you tell me how bad you need it sweetheart?" He cooed in a honeyed voice, he loved making you talk when you were like this, your whiney needy voice was like a drug to him.

"Fuck so bad daddy~ please just- please let me sir, I need it- I need you" You continued your slurred begging until Mikey was satisfied.

"Go ahead princess, you did so good for me" And just like that you came undone on his fingers, he didnt relent his pace for a second letting you ride out your whole orgasm. He cradled your head sweetly as your hips bucked violently against him. He waited until all the aftershocks had passed before he pulled out his fingers, you were so hazy from cumming so hard you almost didnt notice the way he sucked his fingers clean, groaning a little as he tasted you. He shifted a little as he tried to go to the bathroom but you quickly wrapped your arm around him, not wanting him to leave.

"Please dont go" You squeaked, holding him tightly.

"Baby, its okay, 'm just gonna get us some snacks and some water okay bunny? I'll be right back I promise" You reluctantly released him, feeling cold at the loss of contact, but sure enough he came back quickly. He got you all cleaned up, brushed your hair for you and put the show back to the beginning seeing as the two of you got a little distracted.

As you began to fall a sleep you murmured out a small, "Thank you for taking care of me."

"You dont have to thank me babygirl, anything for my pretty bunny."

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A/N: I hope you enjoyed, thank you for reading!!

[m1lkywaywritey]

Sweet Love

Relationship: mikey way x fem reader

Tags: Domestic Fluff, Valentines Day, Gentle Love, Pet Names, Tooth-Rotting Fluff

Summary: Mikey is your boyfriend and you spend a very sweet valentines evening together

A/N: I wrote this in like 20 minutes cause im sad and lonely lmao but may we all find someone like Mikey in this fic (i know its late for valentines but sshhhh)

Word count: 871

Fic under cut- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was a long day at work, your boss had scheduled you to work on valentines and all you could think about was getting home to your sweet boyfriend Mikey. You had all of his gifts ready, a long letter expressing your devotion, the latest issue of his favourite comic and a basket of all his favourite snacks. You couldn't wait to give them to him when you got back but here you were serving annoying customers and itching to race home to your love.

After what felt like years, you clocked out of work and rushed to your car. You pulled in to the driveway and raced up the stairs to your apartment. As you fumbled with your keys at the door you were welcomed in to the room by Mikey who stood there with a beaming smile and a large bouquet of flowers. You practically jumped into his arms, trapping him in a crushing hug and maybe squishing some flowers in the process.

"Happy Valentines baby" Mikey said, slightly muffled as he planted a kiss on the top of your head.

"Happy Valentines Mikes" You said, lifting your head to meet his loving eyes. You reached on your tip toes to meet his lips and broke the hug to shut the door behind you to enter your little apartment. The lights were dim and cosy, and you noticed a small pile of presents on the coffee table. You set Mikey's gifts down beside them and Mikey directed you to the dining table. You'd been so wrapped up in him you hadn't noticed the smell of your favourite dinner hanging in the air from the kitchen.

You took your seat and Mikey came from the kitchen with two dinner plates. He set his down then served yours to you as if he were a waiter at a fancy restaurant. You chuckled at the silly gesture and the two of you began to eat. You chatted away about your days, conversations always came so easily with Mikey, he understood you like no one else. Once you had finished eating the two of you got comfy on the couch, ready to exchange your heartfelt presents.

Each one you opened was perfect and thoughtful, his love ever-present in the things he had picked out, making you feel seen, known and entirely loved. The way his eyes lit up as he unwrapped his comic made your heart swell as the smile that you so adored spread across his face. The way the warm lights hit his eyes was so gorgeous and you felt the same way you did when you first developed a crush on the nerdy boy back in high school. As you read his letter, your eyes began to well with tears and his did the same as he read yours. You looked up to find his wet eyes and you looked at each other, totally content and head over heels in love.

He welcomed you into his arms, cosying up on the couch and the two of you sat in comfortable silence. No words needing to be said, feeling your love for each other in the embrace alone. The way he traced the skin of your arm with his thumb as you buried your head against his chest, feeling safe in each others arms, taking in every moment.

"I love you so much honey" You mumbled drowsily, hardly noticing you were falling asleep on him.

"I love you too, my pretty girl" He replied, lifting your chin to place a gentle kiss on your lips, "Do you wanna get into bed baby?" He asked softly.

"Mhm" You hummed as he lifted you up bridal style and walked you to the bedroom. You giggled at the princess treatment you were getting but that was always how Mikey was, gentle and caring as he carried you like a fragile porcelain sculpture.

He set you down softly on the bed, climbing in next to you quickly to resume your cuddling. You shuffled over almost laying completely on top of him but he didn't mind one bit. His fingers traced lazily over your back and through your hair mumbling sweet words that fell like honey over your ears. He called you tooth-rotting nicknames that only made you melt further into him.

You felt so safe with him, you knew this was forever and you couldn't be happier. He was so tender and true with you, he was the light of your life, even with a shitty job and a small apartment you wouldn't change a single thing.

"You're so gorgeous, princess" He said softly, admiring your face as you slowly drifted off to sleep. You were hardly conscious but he kept speaking to you, he treasured this time with you, knowing you were vulnerable with your love and never taking a single piece of it for granted. He'd hum sweet melodies of your favourite love songs and pet your hair until he himself fell asleep.

The apartment fell completely quiet as the night took over, gifts left on the coffee table, two coats and two sets of shoes by the door, dishes in the sink and the both of you tangled in each others arms.

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A/N: okay im gonna go die now

[fake-ur-death89]

Bullets Gerard Drabble

Tags: Smut, (mommy kink, pillow humping and small dick Gerard hc…)Warnings: NONE!

This one’s pretty short, I’ve been in a winter slump lately and I haven’t had very much motivation to write. So give me ideas for drabbles…

Works: under 1k

The both of you had been peacefully rotting in his basement for most of the day now. Since you lived relatively far away, you couldn’t see him as much as you’d like. And by now, your boyfriend was getting antsy. You sat unenthused as they began to run a hand up your leg, reaching your thigh, he kissed at your neck. Your eyes shot daggers at them, “Do you really think you deserve me?” While you scoffed at the puppy dog eyes he shot you in response, he muttered a soft, “yeah, mommy-.” A hand came to clutch the side of their face, thumb rubbing against his sideburns, “Then prove it to me, sweetheart.” Before reaching behind you to give them a pillow you’ve been lying on. Gerard whined and rolled his eyes dramatically before placing the pillow underneath them, right between his thighs.

Gerard started rutting against the pillow, grunting at the friction growing in their pajama pants. Watching them, you shimmied off your shorts, muttering a small “Good boy,” to them as he humped the pillow. Their face relaxed as they found a good rhythm, head lulling back before you spoke again, “How about you take your pants off, sweetheart.” They groaned at the order, combing a hand through his short, sweaty hair. Maneuvering themselves off the pillow, he sat on the edge of the bed and shimmied his pants and underwear off. Your eyes met their leaking cock, all red and pulsing as he straddles the pillow once more. At this point their T-shirt has ridden up their stomach, you practically drooled at the sight.

Then, they started rolling his hips, pre-cum soaking the pillow with every thrust. Letting a hand slip between your thighs as you watched him mount the pillow and whine like he’s in heat. “Mama..” they managed to croak out, however you scoffed pouting out your lower lip in fake pity. “Awwww poor baby,” you sighed while stroking your clit softly. Somehow, his round cheeks reddened even more, gasping and moaning as they got closer. Taking the hand out of your pants, you crawled to Gerard on the bed. You wrapped a hand around the base of their cock, watching as his eyes shot open. Hips pausing on the pillow, letting his balls grind one more time on the slick pillow.

You chuckled softly and teasing before wrapping your lips around his leaking cock. Quickly taking the pillow between their plush thighs and grip them hard. Enough for bruises of your fingertips to turn yellow and purple later, starkly different than his pale thighs. Truthfully, his cock wasn’t big, more cute than awe inspiring. It was below average but that never changed your pleasure. Gerard was still hot and knew how to fuck, and that was that. One of Gerard’s sweaty hands made its way to your hair, gasping, “Wanna fuck you so bad, mommy.”Humming, you moaned against them, licking his tip once more before latching off of him with a pop! Lying back, you spread your legs for them, this part of you was only his. Something that only he could see, touch and taste. Gerard swallowed, watching as you traced a hand down his chest, large frame towering over you.

Smiling softly up at them as your fingers diligently explored your wetness, “Did you miss fuckin’ your mommy? Because I missed you baby…” Gerard let out a shaky breath at your display, “I missed you so so much,” before bending down and kissing you. Hands threading into their short hair as your lips melted with their soft ones. Slipping a hand between you and guiding their erection into your folds. Letting it catch your clit on its way to your hole, slipping into it easily. Gerard gasped, nuzzling their head into your neck, peppering small kisses there. Chest and stomach also pressing against you as they started to fuck into you. Wrapping your arms around him, “Can’t get enough of mama’s pussy, sweetheart?” He nodded, thrusting into you harder, grunting softly.

Gerard’s breath was hot against your ear, “love you so much, mommy…” trailing one of his hands down your body. Eventually it landed on your lower stomach, eyes furrowing when he couldn’t feel himself. Seeing this, you scoffed, “Dick too small to feel yourself baby boy?” He frowned, whining as he picked up the pace. Arching up into them, you moaned, tummy also grinding against your clit. But now Gerard was frustrated, he wanted to feel himself fucking his mommy goddamnit! Biting his lip, they gripped the sheets for more leverage. Heavily breathing into your ear as he fucked into you anomalistically, all while a hand pressed on your lower abdomen.

Your boyfriend was fucking you deep into the mattress, this was a side of him you haven’t seen (or felt) before. Grabbing your leg and hoisting it up on his shoulder to get a better position, groaning as he went deeper into you than before. You could tell he was dangerously close, he never lasted that long. So one of their thick fingers came down to play with your clit. Making you whine and squirm under them, “Your such a good boy for me!” Groaning as your boyfriend spilled into you, filling up your wetness nicely. Staying inside you, his fingers kept circling your clit until completion. Moaning loudly as you do so, hearing the sound echo throughout his dirty basement bedroom. Pulling out of you, Gerard kissed your forehead and murmured a soft, “Thank you…”

Wrapping your arms around him, and kissing his sweaty neck, you muttered, “Of course, baby.” Gerard’s large hand rubbing your back in a moment of comfortable silence.

[razed-rosary]

Perv Illi McMillin who you caught sneaking upskirt photos of you, so you pull her into a storage closet and make her pay <3

“Fuck–fuck, I’m sorry, sososo sorry–”

She’s whining so loud you have to clamp a hand over her mouth. The other is wrapped around her flushed, dripping cock. 

“Oh, she’s sorry,” you coo mockingly in her ear before laughing breathlessly. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before being a pervert.”

In all honesty, maybe you should be more upset about it. But when you caught her with her cellphone held down, camera aimed up under the pleated skirt you were wearing that day, you didn’t feel horrified or furious (like any sane person would). You felt horny. And you wanted to make her cry.

Illi’s head is tipped back, panting and practically drooling against your palm as her hips jerk up in needy little thrusts into your fist like she can’t help herself. She’s a fucking mess, with her jeans undone and pulled down (along with her panties) just enough to have let her cock spring free.

You swipe your thumb over the tip, collecting the pearl of precum there and smearing it down her length. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it, you filthy little freak?” you purr, pulling back to get a good look at her. You lower your hand so she can speak, but only whimpers come out.

It would be cute if it wasn’t so pathetic.

“Don’t even think about showing those photos to anyone,” you taunt, a hint of cruelty oozing into your tone as your hand speeds up. “What would you do if it got out that quiet little Illi is a closeted sex-pest perv?”

Illi whimpers something that sounds like a cross between “fuck” and “‘m sorry.”

You squeeze her in a tighter grip, jerking her off rougher. Her precum makes the slide sound slick and obscene.

“Oh god, I’m close,” Illi gasps out, those pretty hazel eyes flying open, and as soon as her hips stutter, you stop, giving the base a firm squeeze. She mewls in protest, hand grabbing at your wrist.

“Aw, did you wanna cum? Were you about to squirt all over my hand?” You taunt. Illi squeezes her eyes shut, whether in shame, embarrassment, arousal, or all three at once. 

Her chest is rising and falling rapidly with each shaking breath. “Please,” she whispers, sounding so utterly broken it makes you ache. “Please.”

That’s all you need. Your hand resumes a fast pace as if it never stopped, and Illi keens, doubling over. You shove her back against the wall. 

“You better be quiet. If anyone catches us, I’ll tell ‘em you made me. Serves you right for trying to sneak pictures of my panties. Maybe I won’t wear any under my skirt next time, really give you something to drool over. You wish, huh? I hope you’re enjoying this, because it’s a one-time thing. You’ll be pumping your poor clit for months trying to chase this feeling. C’mon, squirt all over me like the desperate little degenerate you are.”

[defiledpurity]

I Pay Attention

a/n: hiii everyone, a mikey fic!! i enjoyed writing this one a lot, thank you to the lovely anon requesting it<33

summary: you're a frequent customer at your local bookstore where mikey works, he secretly obsesses over you for months, guiltily jerking off to your sweet smile... one day you notice his stares, flirt back, and turn his pervy fantasies into reality.

tags: sex, shy, awkward mikey, pervy thoughts, he’s crushing on you, it’s fluffy

word count: 3,282

Powdered snow dusted your boots as you walked down the quiet street. Cold air stung your cheeks almost like a burn, your breath fogging in the chill. You clung to your tote bag, shoulders tense as you marched forward—luckily, your destination was only a block away from your apartment.

You loved to read. Escaping reality into a different one, vividly living through the characters. You weren’t sure how many books you’d finished in the last few months, but it had been a lot. The employees at your local Barnes & Noble knew you by your name now, even slipped you good discounts whenever they could.

Most of them were chatty, but one guy always loomed in the shadows of the aisles, peeking at you from behind his rectangular glasses as he restocked shelves. You always noticed him—shot him a smile, a peppy “good morning”. He fumbled, cheeks flushing, scrambling to return the greeting.

Truth was, he wished he could interact with you like the others. But he couldn’t help letting his eyes wander, and he felt guilty about it. 

The curve of your ass when you bent over the counter to laugh at some joke his co-worker made, how your soft stomach peeked out from under your shirt whenever you reached for books on the top shelves. Your breasts bouncing when you jumped up and down and squealed from excitement that one time he told you they’d ordered a special release just for you… He felt awful. You were just so sweet and genuine. And he was a perv.

Not just figuratively. He was a perv. 

Because the second he got home from his shift, he ran upstairs to his room, ignoring the cheerful “how was work?” from his mom in the kitchen that smelled of tomatoes and basil.

He hastily unbuckled his belt, jeans dropping heavy to the floor with a thump, before he slumped into his desk chair with a loud creak. Fist flying over his throbbing cock—already leaking at the tip, imagining your sweet smile, the way you smelled, how perfect you’d look bouncing up and down on him right there in that chair.

His socked toes curled, head thrown back, broken moans and pleas spilling from his lips.

“Please—yeah, please—take me, just like that—“

It never took long. He shot warm, long stripes across his hand, some hitting his t-shirt, which he cursed about.

He immediately felt guilty afterward, that’s why he couldn’t meet your eyes at the store, but he could never get himself to stop. You were too good.

You stomped your boots on the doormat as the heavy wooden door closed shut behind you, snow falling off and instantly melting into little puddles.

It was quiet, your sniffles from the cold air sounded loud in the space. Warmth enveloped you, along with the scent of paper and a faint trace of spice from the candles they lit near the registers in winter. Shelves stretched in every direction, soft overhead lights casting gold on the hardwood floor. 

It felt like stepping into another world.

You shook the last flakes of snow from your scarf and headed toward the new releases table, tote bag bumping against your hip. Your boots left faint wet prints.

From the corner of your eye, you caught movement in the sci-fi/fantasy aisle.

Mikey.

He was balanced on a step-stool, sliding a stack of graphic novels onto the top shelf. Tall and lanky, dirty blonde hair falling into his eyes in that side-sweep, glasses perched on his nose, slipping slightly as he stretched. His usual uniform—faded band t-shirt, skinny jeans, scuffed Converse, made him look more like he belonged in a dimly lit basement show than restocking shelves.

But here he was, every shift, quiet and careful, like he was afraid he was taking up too much space.

You smiled automatically. “Morning, Mikey.”

His whole body jerked. One of the books slipped from his fingers, he caught it against his chest at the last second, cheeks blooming red.

“H-hey,” he managed, voice low and a little rough, like he’d forgotten how to use it. He pushed his glasses up with a knuckle, eyes flicking to you then away, then back. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Liar,” you teased gently, stepping closer. “You always know when someone’s in your section.”

He swallowed hard enough that you saw his throat bob. “I-uh. Yeah. Maybe.”

The silence stretched for a bit, comfortable but charged. You pretended to browse the table in front of you, but really you were watching him from under your lashes. The way his long fingers flexed around the book spines, the slight fidget as he shifted weight from one foot to the other. He looked like he wanted to say something, anything, but the words kept getting stuck.

You decided to throw him a lifeline.

“Got anything good in today? I finished that horror trilogy you recommended. Wrecked me.”

His eyes lit up behind the glasses, shyness cracking just enough for real excitement to show. “Yeah? Shit—uh, sorry—yeah, it gets dark fast. Did the last one ruin you?”

“Completely. I couldn’t sleep.”

He laughed under his breath, soft and surprised, in awe at how honestly you’d answered and how freely the conversation flowed. “I… I figured you’d like it. You’ve got good taste.”

Your cheeks flushed slightly from the quiet compliment. You tilted your head. “You always know exactly what I’ll like.”

Mikey froze again, lips parting. For a second you thought he might faint. Instead he climbed down from the stool and set the remaining books on a nearby cart.

“I pay attention,” he mumbled. Then, even quieter. “To you.”

You shifted your feet, suddenly feeling your pulse hammer. The store felt smaller, the hum of the heater and distant chatter from the register fading away.

He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s… um. A new limited edition graphic novel came in yesterday. Signed. It’s in the back. I—I held it. For you. If you want it.”

You blinked. “You held it?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged one shoulder, awkward and so endearing. “Didn’t want it to sell out before you came in.”

Something warm spread across your chest. “Show me?”

He nodded too fast, almost tripping over the cart as he turned toward the staff door. You followed, past the “employees only” sign, down a short narrow hallway lined with boxes and extra shelving. He moved efficiently, shoulders hunched like he was leading you somewhere secret, it felt intimate in a way.

He stopped at a locked cabinet near the break room, fished a small key from his pocket. Fingers trembling just enough for you to notice.

When he opened it, there it was—sleek black cover, silver foiled accents, author’s signature in sharpie on the first page. He lifted it carefully, held it out to you like it was made of glass.

Your fingers brushed his as you took it. He inhaled sharply at the contact.

“Thanks,” you whispered, eyes locked on his.

He didn’t back away. Just stood there, close enough that you could smell the faint coffee on his breath, the clean laundry scent clinging to his t-shirt.

His eyes dropped, to your mouth, then lower... dragging over your throat, the soft swell under your sweater—before snapping back up, guilty and wide, mortified that you noticed.

“Sorry,” he breathed, so quiet you almost missed it. “I—fuck. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t step back.

In fact, you leaned in closer. Close enough that your chests nearly touched.

“Mikey.”

He looked like a deer caught in headlights. Pupils blown wide, breathing shallow.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, gaze still locked.

“Wanna get coffee?” He blurted it like his tongue didn’t have a choice.

Silence for a long heartbeat. Then your soft voice finally cut through. “Yeah.”

Mikey straightened, cheeks flaming, twiddling with the hem of his shirt.

“Shift ends at six,” he said hoarsely. “You’ll meet me here?”

You smiled, slow and sweet.

“I’ll be here.”

And you were. Through cold winter air and snowflakes relentlessly flinging against your cheeks, you met him outside the store at six. You were about to open your mouth to speak when a car pulled up at the curb—dented, spewing fumes, window rolled down.

“Hop in, Mikey, it’s freezing!”

Mikey tensed. Then groaned.

“My brother…” He turned to you, gesturing toward the vehicle and the driver, a mop of messy black hair and the same sweet smile.

“Forgot he was picking me up,” he said lowly, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, looking shameful.

“You got coffee at home?” You shot him a playful smile, cheeks pink from cold.

He nodded.

The car ride was quiet at first, not really awkward just loaded. Mikey sat in the front passenger seat, long legs folded uncomfortably, one hand gripping the door handle like he was considering bolting at the next red light.

You were in the back, tote bag cradled against your chest, snow melting off your boots into the worn floor mats. The heater blasted warm air that smelled faintly of stale coffee and motor oil.

Gerard, of course it was Gerard, the older Way brother you’d heard Mikey mention in passing, glanced at your in the rearview mirror. His hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction like he’d just rolled out of bed, and his eyes were sharp, curious, flicking between the road, you and his brother’s flushed face.

“So,” he drawled, voice low and amused, “this is the bookstore girl.”

Mikey groaned, sinking lower in his seat. “Shut up, Gee.”

You caught Gerard’s smirk in the mirror, crooked and knowing. “What? I’m just saying hi. Hi.”

“Hi,” you replied, fighting a smile. Your cheeks were still stinging from the cold, but heat crawled up your neck.

Gerard just chuckled under his breath and turned up the radio, some old punk pushing through the speakers. Mikey stared straight ahead, fingers drumming nervously on his thigh. Every once in a while he sneaked a glance back at you, like he couldn’t quite believe you were really there, in his brother’s shitty car, heading to their house.

You watched Mikey’s profile painted in gold streaks from streetlights, the way his glasses kept slipping down his nose, the nervous bob of his throat when he swallowed. He looked like he was mentally preparing a thousand things to say and discarding them all.

When the car finally pulled into a narrow driveway, the house came into view. Modest on a quiet residential street, porch light glowing yellow against the snow. It looked normal. Cozy. More normal than you’d expected from someone quietly losing his mind over you in the shadows of sci-fi aisles.

Gerard killed the engine. “Home sweet home. Mom’s probably got sauce on the stove, hope you’re hungry.”

Mikey was already out, rounding the car to open your door before you could reach the handle. He grabbed onto you as he helped you step over a wet, slushy patch on the driveway. Not letting go right away.

Inside, warmth wrapped around you like a hug, the scent of garlic, tomatoes and herbs drifting out from the kitchen. The living room was dimly lit, a little cluttered, comic books sprawled on the coffee table, a worn couch that had probably seen a few decades. Family photos on the walls, two boys with bowl cuts and a woman with big hair and an even bigger smile.

Mikey kicked off his boots by the door, muttering something about hanging up your coat for you. You followed him deeper into the house, and then a woman appeared in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“Oh hi! You must be the girl Mikey’s mentioned.” She shot him a teasing look. “Didn’t know he was bringing company.”

Mikey’s ears went scarlet. “Mom—“

“I’m just saying hello,” she laughed. “I’m Donna. You kids want some food? It’s almost ready.”

“Maybe later,” Mikey said quickly, already steering you toward the stairs. “We’re… uh… gonna hang out upstairs.”

Donna’s eyebrow lifted, but she just smiled. “Alright. Door open, Michael.”

Gerard smirked. Mikey made a strangled noise and tugged you up the narrow staircase, steps creaking under your weight with every step. He led you down the hallway, his door was at the end. He pushed it open, flicked on the light.

The room was small, lived-in, a little chaotic in the best way. Band posters taped to the walls, a low bookshelf crammed with graphic novels and CDs, desk piled with notebooks, bass guitar leaning against the wall. The bed was unmade, sheets tangled. It smelled like him in there, laundry detergent mixed with the undeniable musk of a young man.

He closed the door behind you both. Not all the way, Donna’s rule, but enough to muffle the kitchen sounds.

You set your tote on his desk. Turned to face him.

He was standing by the bed, hands shoved in his pockets, looking anywhere but directly at you. Cheeks red. Chest heaving a little too fast.

“So,” you said softly, stepping closer. “This is where you run to after work.”

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

You let your gaze wander deliberately, over the rumpled sheets, the chair angled toward the desk, and at the same time you felt his eyes wander too. Over your exposed collarbones, your breasts under that tight sweater, the curve of your hips.

Your eyes finally met. His were wide. Guilty. Hungry.

“I’m sorry—again—“

You reached out to touch his arm. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“Not for looking. Not for wanting.”

He swallowed hard. “I… I think about you. Too much. All the time. It’s not right, you’re nice and I’m just—“

“A perv?” you finished softly, echoing the word he’d called himself a hundred times.

He winced, but didn’t deny it.

Your hand found his wrist, pulse racing under your thumb.

“Maybe I like that you’re a perv,” you said. “Maybe I like that you think about me when you’re alone. You ever say my name when your fist’s around your cock?”

His knees almost gave out. A broken sound escaping his throat, close to a moan.

“Jesus—“

“Show me,” you whispered. “Show me what you think about when you’re alone in here.”

He froze completely. In utter disbelief at what you’d just said.

Then his hands found you, careful, fingers curling into your sweater, pulling you flush against him. Your eyes stayed locked relentlessly, not even blinking, until your lips brushed his and his eyelids fluttered shut.

He let out a whimper as your tongue slid against his bottom lip, prompting him to open up more. Your mouths worked together graciously, tentatively, tasting of nerves and months of want mixed with that sweet gum you’d seen him chew earlier.

Downstairs, the faint clink of dishes continued. Gerard’s footsteps thudded somewhere below, heading toward the basement stairs with a muttered “Gonna work on some stuff.” Donna hummed along to the radio.

Up here, though?

The door might’ve been cracked, but the rest of the world felt miles away. Along with the promise of that coffee.

The kiss turned filthy fast, tongues, teeth, little broken sounds muffled against your mouth. His fingers dug into your hips, then slid up under your shirt, palms hot and trembling against your bare skin.

You pushed him backward until the back of his knees hit his desk chair. He sat down hard. You followed, straddling his lap, grinding down once just to hear that pretty sound again.

“Shhh,” you breathed against his ear. “Your mom.”

He whimpered. Nodded frantically.

You slid off his lap, sank to your knees between his spread thighs. His jeans were already tented an obscene amount. When you tugged them down, his cock sprang free, flushed, leaking at the tip. He slammed a hand over his own mouth when you licked a slow stripe from base to head.

You took him into your mouth and his whole body jerked. Head thrown back, throat bobbing, teeth sunk into his palm to stay quiet. You bobbed slowly at first, indulging in the way he twitched against your tongue, the salty taste of him, the way his thighs trembled under your hands.

“This what you imagine at your desk?” You lifted off just enough to tease before sinking back down.

He wasn’t gonna last long like that.

“Gonna—fuck—wait—“ His voice was wrecked, desperate. “Want—want you on my face. Please.”

You pulled off with a wet pop, grinning at how close he already was.

You kicked off your jeans and panties while he scrambled to lay flat on the bed instead, shoving pillows aside. When you climbed over him and lowered yourself, his hands clamped around your thighs so hard you were sure you’d have marks the next day.

His face was flushed, pupils blown wide, glasses askew.

He ate you like he was starving.

Messy, desperate, nose buried against you, tongue working in frantic laps. Every time you rocked down harder, he moaned—muffled, vibrating straight through your clit. You leaned back to fist his cock, pumping him in a sloppy rhythm as you felt yourself get close.

When you came, you had to bite down on your wrist to stay quiet, thighs shaking around his head, slick coating his chin.

He didn’t stop until you were squirming away from his grip.

Then he flipped you gently, always gentle, even when he was this far gone and desperate. Your back hit the mattress and he settled between your legs, forearms braced on either side of your head, forehead pressed to yours.

“Condom?” you whispered.

“Y-yeah, drawer,” he rasped, already reaching.

He rolled it on with shaking hands. Lined up. Pushed in slow, agonizingly slow, just so he could watch the way your face changed with every inch. When he bottomed out he dropped his head to your shoulder, breath hitching.

“Fuck… so tight… feels so good…”

He started moving. Long, deep rolls, careful, respectful even.

Missionary in his childhood bedroom felt strangely intimate, the way he kept eye contact, the way his fingers laced with yours and pinned your hand beside your head, the way every thrust made the bed frame creak just enough that you both froze and listened for footsteps.

Then he lost whatever battle he’d been fighting with himself.

Hips snapped harder. Faster. Deeper. The wet slap of skin on skin was way too loud in that quiet room. He buried his face in your neck, panting against your pulse.

“Gonna—shit—gonna come—“ His voice cracked.

“Yeah, come. Come. Mikey, please,” you whispered, locking your legs tight around his waist, urging him deeper.

That undid him.

He slammed in one last time, hips stuttering, a broken moan muffled against your throat as he came, pulsing hard inside the condom, whole body shaking. You clenched around him, milking every tremor until he was gasping, collapsing on top of you.

For a long minute there was just the sound of your ragged breaths. His heartbeat slamming against your chest. Your fingers combing through his damp hair.

Then, from downstairs.

“Mikey! Food’s ready!”

He jolted like he’d just been pulled back down to earth.

“Coming!” He yelled back, voice cracking so badly his cheeks turned pink.

You laughed softly into his shoulder, biting your lip. He groaned in embarrassment, but didn’t move, just nuzzled closer, pressing soft kisses under your jaw.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled against your skin. “Then… bolognese. And pretending I’m normal.”

You smiled, tugged him down for one more slow kiss.

“And a coffee.”

[floralsfadingg]

kick me like a stray

pro rev frank iero x reader.

.ᐟ summary: your tour bus breaks down during the last few weeks of pro rev summer. looks like you’ll have to find somewhere else to spend the night…

.ᐟ tags: pwp, lots of teasing, werewolf elements, unexpected rut, pheromones, dry humping, lowkey a pity fuck, handjobs, breeding kink, knotting, switch frank, mean fem reader.

.ᐟ a/n: trying out some new aesthetics for my page. wc: 3,351.

Frank was insufferable. 

You hated the way he pranced around onstage, nothing but cheap swagger and noise he mistook for talent every night. Offstage, he was even worse: joking, sneering, always finding new ways to laugh at your expense.

He would hover over you whenever he got the chance, crowding your space and acting like your attention was something he deserved.

Tens of thousands of fans screamed his name every night, camping outside of venues just to catch a glimpse of him slipping backstage. They clawed over one another for a look, a sign, anything that might convince them they were special, that they stood a tiny chance of being different from the rest.

It was pathetic, the constant fixation, the endless adoration; it was no wonder Frank had the most obnoxious, repulsive personality to match. Your band had been trapped in his orbit for years now, booked on the same festivals, locked into the same tours, and repeatedly forced to open for his band. The fact that anyone thought to group your bands together was unfathomable, the comparisons often diminishing your band entirely. 

It didn’t help that you saw him everywhere you looked, strutting down red carpets at awards shows, laughing like a spoiled brat in every “band in town” interview, posing ridiculously for Kerrang magazine shoots; It truly never ended.

Frank’s signature smirk would greet you each time, smug and untouchable as you scowled back at him. Nonsensical tattoos sprawled across almost every inch of his skin, and he made a point of randomly showing you the newest ones whenever your paths crossed. Worst of all were his eyes: bright, piercing, boring into your soul with every glance.

He was infuriating, revolting in his arrogance and charm, a walking storm that demanded attention, yet no amount of hatred in your chest could erase how absurdly, maddenly attractive he was. Somehow, that made it even worse.

It was night three of five somewhere in the Southwest, the sweltering summer heat clinging to your skin and eating the festival grounds alive. Sweat ran down your temples as your band scraped through the final notes of the encore. You were exhausted, every muscle screaming from months of non-stop touring, and it showed. The crowd didn’t care, cheering anyways, louder because you were the act right before his band. 

The lights and heat made your head spin as you staggered into the wings completely spent. The crew members were scattered, tied up in the chaos of a malfunctioning sound system to give a damn about you and your heatstroke. Your ears were ringing, body trembling as you pushed your way backstage towards your trailer. Outside, a full moon shone brightly, the cold light stark against the lingering heat of the night. You followed its glow to your trailer, crew members scattered around the bus when you approached.

“Wetbay’s flooded, miss. We’ll need to call a maintenance company to fix it. Bus is out of commission for now.”

Your manager was livid. Someone had left the sink running before your set, and everything from your gear to your bags, even your shoes were soaked through. “Great. Looks like the entire team will have to find somewhere else to crash until the bus is fixed. Every hotel within fifty miles is booked until at least the end of the week.” 

The crew shuffled around nervously, murmuring apologies to you and your bandmates, but you didn’t have the energy to care. Every muscle ached, your mind fogging up with fatigue as you stumbled to the nearest trailer. You yanked the door open, collapsing onto the nearest bunk and letting the world fade around you without much of a second thought. 

Oh well. Whoever slept here probably wouldn’t mind. 

You were woken by the sound of shuffling, low laughter drifting through the space as the trailer lights flickered on behind the curtain. For a moment, your mind struggled to catch up, groggy and disoriented from your heat-induced haze. You tried to place where you were, whose bus this might be, but before you could fully make sense of it, the curtain was yanked open. A shadow fills the entrance, smug and unmistakable as your pulse jumps. 

There’s no way… 

Frank is drenched in sweat from head to toe, hair sticking to his forehead as he begins to pull off one of his “homemade” muscle tanks. He stops immediately as the realization hits. 

“Oh shit… ”

You glare up at him, voice sharp. “Go away.”

“Should I even ask what you’re doing here?”Frank smirks, kicking his shoes off under the bunk.

“No.” You roll onto your side, eyes pointed anywhere but him.

“Fine with me. Guess we’ll have to share then, sweetheart.”

“No. And don’t call me that, you animal.”

“You love it,” he chuckles. “Besides, our bus is full. Are you gonna let me in, or am I gonna have to crash on the couch?”

“Crash on the couch,” you mutter, trying to sound firm but failing to hide the shakiness in your voice.

“Someone’s more irritated than usual…” Frank mumbles under his breath. “Must be the heat. Now make room.” 

You grumble, sliding over as Frank slips beside you. He’s warm, heat radiating from his body as his shoulder brushes yours. You stiffen, glaring daggers into him, but your pulse has a mind of its own. He smirks, shifting slightly to get comfortable. 

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, voice tight.

“And yet, here I am,” he whispers, close enough that the words tickle your ear.

Eventually, the tension gives way to exhaustion, both of you drifting off to the steady hum of the portable fan he keeps on in his bunk. The small space presses around you, the side of his body practically pressed into yours as the scent of sweat lingers in the air. 

You wake up turned away from Frank, dragged from the edge of a dream by movement besides you. Soft, almost hesitant pants echo through the dark trailer, mingling with the snores drifting in from just outside of the curtain. 

You turn around slowly. 

Frank’s eyes are closed, drool seeping out of the corner his mouth onto the pillow. From what you can see in the darkness, his face is flushed, breathing coming in heavy and uneven as he presses into you. He looks almost sickly, most likely a result of the heat and exhaustion catching up to him. The stench hits you before anything else: sweat and grime mixed with a sour, unrecognizable tang that makes your stomach twist. 

“You look like shit,” you mutter, voice escaping a little harsher than you intended. 

His eyes flutter open, half-lidded, confusion flickering before he lets out a weak groan. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Frank doesn’t respond, burying his face into the pillow. 

“Are you sick?” 

He shakes his head. 

You reach down, pressing your palm to his forehead. “Shit, you’re burning up. You’re sick… Let me get you some medicine. I think I have some in my bag…”

Before you can slip past him, a strong arm shoots out, grabbing you and pulling you flush against his chest.

“What the hell?” you hiss, blinking up at him, your words lost somewhere between shock and the heat radiating off him.

“Don’t go… please.” He whimpers into your neck, his spit tracking against your skin.

“What are you doing?” you snap, a mix of irritation and disbelief lacing your voice.

“… Need help,” he whimpers, pressing closer, ragged breath warm against your skin.

“Help? Huh?”

Before you can react, Frank grabs your hand roughly, forcing it between his thighs. The movement is sudden, shocking, leaving no room for hesitation as you gasp in disgust. 

“What the fuck?” you hiss, trying to jerk your hand back to no avail. Frank holds your hand there, pressing your palm up against the bulge in his jeans. Your pulse spikes, heat surging through you in a mix of anger and mortification

“Let go. Now.” 

Frank is panting openly, grip tightening on your hand just enough to keep you from moving away. 

“P-please…” he whines, voice desperate and strained, rutting his hips into your hand as you struggle against him. 

You freeze in his hold, chest pounding, caught between disgust and morbid curiosity. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you snap, yanking back harder unsuccessfully.

Frank’s whines deepen into low, urgent growls as his hips press harder into your hand. You grit your teeth, finally twisting your hand free as you groan in disgust. Your mind is reeling with a messy mix of irritation, disbelief, and something you’re not ready to name. 

“Fuck this, I’m leaving.”

You shove against him, trying to untangle yourself, but his arms snap around you in an iron grip, far stronger than what you were expecting. “Hey!” you hiss, writhing against his chest, heart hammering in your ears. Frank doesn’t budge; if anything, his grip tightens, nails digging painfully into your sides. The heat radiating off him makes it impossible to think, every breath shared, every movement magnified as you stare at him in disbelief.

“Is this a joke?” 

He shakes his head, tongue lolling uselessly out of his mouth as a bead of sweat rolls off of his chin.

You almost laugh, almost shove Frank away, spit something cruel in his face before walking out, but the look in his eyes stops you cold. There’s no smugness. No mischief there. Not even a signature smirk. Just hunger.

Pure, unadulterated hunger, stripped bare and frighteningly sincere.

You swallow abruptly.

“Fine,” you mutter. “But you’re going to owe me. Big time. And if I get sick because of this, you’re gonna owe me double.”

“Please… please… shut up and fuckin’ touch me… please.”

You roll your eyes, pissed that he’d have the audacity to beg, but something inside of you softens. You shift slightly, rolling your hips as best as you can, his bulge slotting right up against the seam of your jeans.

Your bodies are pressed together in the cramped space, impossibly close as you grind down on him. You can feel slickness building between you, Frank’s soft whines echoing through the bunk as he presses clumsy, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. 

He begins rolling his hips into yours, the heat making your head spin as he grinds his hardness against you. The friction is electrifying, the rough denim of your jeans rubbing perfectly against your clit. A little gasp escapes you, hands planting on Frank’s chest to brace yourself.

Frank is blissed out, eyes squeezed shut as sweat drips off of him onto the sheets. Somehow, it intensifies the smell of him tenfold, the air thickening until the scent clings to everything around you. He’s bucking his hips up into yours now, grunting loudly as the pleasure becomes too much to contain.

You wrinkle your nose, breaths shallow, feeling a little dizzy with how intense the smell is hitting you. Your thoughts scatter, trapped somewhere between the friction between you two and the sheer absurdity of the situation.

Maybe this is all a dream, something fueled by the summer heat, the closeness, by the way air itself seems too heavy to breathe. It’s strange, intense, too disconnected from any form of logic. And yet, your body doesn’t cares about reason, not with how perfectly he’s moving against you, begging you, choking on his own spit. 

“Open your mouth for me,” you whisper, words barely louder than a breath. 

As smooth as you can, you slide out of your shirt, balling it up and slipping it into his mouth. 

“Stay quiet for me. You don’t want the others to hear, right?” You grin. “Or maybe you do, pervert.” 

Frank whimpers at your words, jaw tightening as he swallows hard behind the fabric and does his his best to follow your lead. You shift downwards, hands fiddling with his belt buckle until the clasp unlocks, helping him shift out of his jeans just enough you can slip his boxers down and… 

Jesus.

He’s massive, cock springing out against his stomach with a wet slap. It’s thick, so fucking thick, tip spurting bouts of pre cum all over his sweat-slicked skin. It almost looks swollen, veins jutting up and down the sides, an untamed mess of dark hairs at the base…

You try to wrap your hand around it, giving him a few messy pumps as Frank sighs in relief. He thrusts lightly into your palm, wetness coating your fingertips as you build a steady rhythm, thumb swiping over his tip with every pass. Desperation rolls off of him in heavy waves, the air thick with tension as his body pleads for more.

Still pumping him, you peel yourself out of the rest of your clothes, shoving them to the other side of the bunk as Frank grows more and more impatient. He whines as you press down onto his chest, fisting at his shirt as you wrangle it off of his head. As expected, his torso is covered in tattoos, dark hair curling and spreading across every inch of him. Frank’s fingers scratch at you, a little too eager for his own good, as he pulls the gag from his mouth. 

“Easy now,” you tease, lining yourself over him, tip catching your entrance. 

“Fuckin’ need this…” he pants, hips jerking upwards to spread his pre all over your folds. “Need you…”

“Ask nicely.” 

“Goddamnit—“  

Without warning, Frank shoves you off of him, flipping you onto your side as he shuffles in place behind you. You’ve had him wound-up, frustrated, begging for you this entire night, and he’s fucking pissed. He guides his cock towards your entrance, lining himself up and forcing his way inside.

It hurts, the stretch more painful than pleasant, but you don’t have another second to adjust as he starts slamming into you, sloppy and uncoordinated.

“S-slow down, asshole.” You hiss, teeth gritting together as his fingers latch onto your hips, nails digging into your skin. Frank sets a brutal pace, each thrust knocking the wind out of you as pain swallows you whole. It’s aggressive, detached, and you can feel the irritation building in your veins.

You’re being used, completely at his mercy as his hips snap against yours so hard you know they’ll bruise. Frank is snarling into your hair, drool dripping down your neck as he loses himself inside of your tight warmth. 

You can’t take it anymore, beyond frustrated and annoyed, elbowing him so hard in the chest you hear the air get knocked out of his lungs.

“I said slow down!” you growl as he whines, stilling inside of you. He obeys, easing the pace just enough you can finally take steady breaths.

“Good boy.” 

Frank leans his head down again, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the back of your neck, leaving little bites anywhere he can reach. His hands wander your body, one hand settling on your chest while the other snakes down between you. He parts your folds with a surprising grace, fingers rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts. The rough callouses on his fingertips only add to the sensations as you pant.

The sounds of wetness fill the air, the fan doing little to muffle the obscene slaps and squelches echoing around you. You arch your back to take Frank in deeper, feeling him tense up as he begins fucking you harder. You bite down on your lips in an attempt to silence yourself, needy moans slipping as his nails dig into your hips so hard you can feel the skin breaking. 

Frank is slamming his entire body into you, using the leverage to pull your body back onto his with every forward thrust. He presses his nose along your neck, nipping at the oversensitive flesh, almost like he’s trying to mark you. It’s strange, animalistic, but you don’t seem to care, not with how good he’s making you feel. He goes lower, pressing his teeth against your neck, razor sharp, in an attempt to hold you in place.

“M-more…” You moan, completely drained, but the sensations are too intoxicating to resist. Your whimpers and cries only encourage Frank as he continues to drive into you relentlessly. You don’t know whether it’s the heat between you or something else that’s driving you crazy, pushing you into a trancelike state as you instinctively clench around him. 

He whines, hand frantic on your clit, his heavy panting music to your ears as your eyes roll to the back of your head. The pressure peaks, wrapping around every one of your nerves so tight it pushes you over the edge. Your body trembles as you ride it out, loud moans escaping your lips as you clench onto him. The feeling is better than anything you’ve ever felt, completely overwhelming your senses as you write in his arms.

Is it because of the heat?

Or because of him?

You don’t have time to think about it, Frank pounding you through it with ragged breaths. The thought of you, swollen and round, carrying his pups is too much to bear. You would make such an amazing mother, an amazing mate, always keeping him in line, always taking care of him even when he doesn’t deserve it.

The thoughts spiral, obsessive and consuming as he imagines the perfect life you would share together. Frank grabs your chest, pulling you as close as possible as his cock catches inside of you, his knot locking into place as he spills into you. You scratch at him weakly, struggling to escape his grasp, but he doesn’t relent, focused on nothing but filling you to the brim.

Your cries for him to get off fall on deaf ears, Frank absolutely spent, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth as his cum pools inside of you, hot and sticky. You grimace at the feeling, body slumping against his as you shift awkwardly to get comfortable. When Frank finally comes to, he brushes the hair from your face, looking into your eyes almost lovingly as he admires your sleepy form.

He sighs dreamily, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead as he wishes more than anything for his thoughts to become a reality. You slump against him, eyes fluttering shut as you drift off to sleep.

Frank would allow it. Your first knotting and you had taken it so well! His heart swells, pride and admiration warming his chest as he curls your body against his, still buried deep inside of you. It would be a while before his knot went down, and you had definitely earned your rest. 

After all, you were going to need it. The night was still young.

Hours later, you wake to a steady pounding in your head and the feeling of achingly stiff muscles. Frank is snoring beside you, clutching you loosely into his chest as he mumbles into your hair. You untangle yourself from his grasp and slip out of the bunk, every inch of your body protesting as you make your way to the bathroom. 

You don’t remember much from the previous night, only hazy fragments that slip away the harder you try to hold onto them. The boys are sipping coffee, Ray and Gerard sitting on the couch as you shuffle by. They steal glances, Gerard looking you up mischievously.

“Rough night?” Gerard asks, a coy smile tugging at his lips. 

Your neck is covered in bites, blues and purples blooming across your skin, your eyes bloodshot and heavy, hair wild and untamed.

“Mmhm,” you croak, voice completely gone. “It was too hot.”

“Yeah,” Ray says dryly. “Bet it was especially hot in Frank’s bunk.”

You move to the counter, pouring yourself the last of the coffee when a pair of arms wrap around you, making you stiffen. Frank is there, miraculously not looking as terrible as you do in the moment. He grabs the mug from your hands, sipping the coffee and flashing you that familiar, idiotic grin.

“She helped me out last night,” he says casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, pressing a kiss to a bruise on the back of your neck. “Thanks, baby,” he whistles, strolling off with the mug like nothing happened.

You groan, face twisting in disgust.

“We heard,” Gerard snickers. 

“Everything,” Ray adds humorlessly.

“All night long.”

[makhopemustdie]

Weird ask but: hanging out with basement Gee before a show and watching him apply the fake blood. When you mention how much you like, he says he's got extra if you want it, which of course you do because who wouldn't. As Gee applies the blood he accidentally pours too much—right down your top. Well, Gee can't help himself and you can't ever say no to your best friend

Featuring: titfucking with fake blood

“Ya know I really like the blood on you, looks good.”

You said as you watched Gerard pour the cold liquid onto his shirt, smudging a bit onto his face.

“Yea? I have extra if you wanna try it.”

You nodded your head, letting him pour some onto your top. He turned the bottle upside down causing it to spill out, running down into your cleavage.

“Oh fuck! I’m so s-sorry!”

The blood was cold between your breasts, and Gerard was blushing hard, his face turning beat red.

“It’s okay! Don’t worry, I guess it’s a good thing I decided not to wear that bra huh?”

He couldn’t answer, dumb founded by your statement. He just poured fake blood down his best friends top, and she was braless.

“Gee? Snap out of it. It’s okay really.”

He was staring at your tits, fixated on them, and then an idea popped into his head.

He felt himself growing an erection at the mere thought, but fuck he couldn’t help himself. He reached out, cupping his hand onto one of your breasts, massaging it through your shirt.

“Oh-um…Gee…Jesus…” you said to him, completely shocked, but not turning down the touch or pushing him off. You enjoyed the attention from him, he was your best friend after all.

“N-need to fuck these tits…please? Please can I fuck these tits? I-I’ll be good. I swear. Just n-need it so bad.”

The begging was turning you on more than you wanted to admit, you could feel yourself getting wet at the thought.

You shook your head yes at him, amping him to remove your top, letting your tits bounce free.

He looked at them almost mouthwateringly, immediately cupping them into his hands, rubbing and squeezing them, sucking on your nipples and leaving marks all over them.

He laid you down on the couch, not caring about the mess that was getting all over it.

You watched as he un did his pants, the bat buckle dangling heavy on your stomach has he inched him self up to your chest.

He squeezed your tits together, slotting his hard cock in between them, and he started thrusting.

“F-fuck…so warm and w-wet…feels so good…thank you…th-ank you so much…”

His whines and praises were turning you on so much you thought you’d cum at his words. Watching him rut between your chest, it was arousing and strange all at once. Of course he found this hot.

“You’re such a good boy Gee, fucking my tits so good. Keep going baby, cum all over them for me.”

He whined and praised you some more, telling you how good it felt, how good you were for letting him do this, how much he loved you for it.

When he finally came, it was hard and god it was a lot, getting on your tits and shooting up to your mouth, which you so kindly licked away.

He got down and licked his cum from your tits, taking some of the blood with him.

He kissed you gently, laying his forehead on yours for a moment to catch his breath.

After a while, he sat up, bringing you with him to help clean you up and put your top back on.

He pulled his pants up, snapping his belt back into place.

“Thank you, really. I appreciate it.”

You giggled at him nodding.

“Of course Gee, but you’ll have to return the favor next time yea?”

You said as you walked out the door of the dressing room. Leaving him a flushed, aroused mess.

[m1lkywaywritey]

I want to write a cheerleader mikey fic

Shed be so hot

[m1lkywaywritey]

lowkey shit better back here. i been missing out icl. i can finally find kabanos in the store more often

Thats good bro😭🙏

[m1lkywaywritey]

ice bruh... was literally about to call to extend my visa then they got my ass.

I hope youre okay bro🙏

my main question is why youre telling an mcr fanfiction blog but is all good i guess

[m1lkywaywritey]

deadass just got deported back to slovakia

care to elaborate?

[yrikk]

[snuff-gf]

THIS with incel!mikey