you might get a new exiting idea every day and start planning it, promising yourself “this is the one im going to finish” but still ending up abandoning it for another one by next week because it either stopped being exiting or you ran into an issue which convinced you its too difficult or just wrong
you can fix this by reflecting and using your revelations to choose the right project
what do you like? what do you like reading about? what do you like writing about? what do you know a lot about? what are you good at writing about?
accept that there may be ideas you like as concepts, maybe you’d like reading them but not writing it into a book yourself.
is there an idea/theme/anything you’ve had in mind for a long time and havent abandoned? why is that different? list things you’ve liked for a long time. doesnt even have to be writing related
there are many new exiting things to put your focus on for a week or maybe even month but if you truly want to be consistent, its time to look at what you’re able to be consistent about
at what point do you usually abandon projects? why? whats the furthest youve gotten? what got you there?
its really important to understand the reason behind abandoning your previous projects to do your best avoiding that in the future
whats your favourite part of the writing process? which one do you struggle with the most? which part do you simply dislike? is it possible that maybe you only like the idea of writing a book or having written a book? why do you want to be a writer
when choosing a project, consider how much you’d get to do the parts you like about writing and how much you’d have to face the parts you dont
what do you usually do when faced with a hardship during the writing process? what could you do better? if someone came to you and told you all of these problems, what advice would you give them? do you think you give up too easily? what makes you give up exactly (a feeling, a thought, a mindset, a trait, etc)? what would happen if you never changed any of this? would you even finish a book ever?
the writing process isnt easy. there isnt a single author that didnt go through writers block or a plot hole that seeemed impossible to solve at the time. this is why its inportant to have the right project that is worth fighting those hardships for while enjoying the journey
try to understand the difference between something not being right for you and something simply being difficult at the time
is this project you?
is this the project you’d like to be known for?
why this project? what does it mean to you? what do you like about it?
is this the project you see yourself writing about, every step of the way? it could be helpful to make a list of everything you’d need to do in order to finish this specific project—researching a specific topic needed for the worldbuilding, coming up with all the characters, etc
which parts of this book would you enjoy writing about? which parts would you not? is it worth it?
if you find that this project isnt right, revisit the first reflection list you made and choose some key elements you’d like to include in your books, be known for, and write about. revisit your book ideas and put together a book idea that includes these elements and do reflection on that one too
whenever you feel like giving up, ask why. is it because you no longer like the project or is it just difficult? why? maybe the problem is not the project but what it has become? try going back to the very start and core of the idea and seeing when it turned into what it has become? if this is true and you realise you dont like your project anymore, go back and change the entire thing. its totally okay and happens to writers all the time. this isnt wasted effort, this is you discovering yourself as a writer and what you want your project to be. its never too late to change up everything about your project.
to solve this, make a mindmap of every possible path your story could take. write down everything and choose 2-3 you like most. then write them all down separately and reflect on which one would be the best. list the pros and cons of each one. remember: reflection is so important in every step of the way
before giving up
lets say you found yourself stuck again. everything seems difficult and you want to give up. remember that you’ve come so far. remember that its okay. and remember how many times this has happened in the past. you’ll most likely run into this moment with every single project and multiple times at that.
do all of those same steps again. reflect. change it up.
what exactly is the problem and how could it be fixed? (yes, it can be fixed but you might be looking at the problem the wrong way. you need a fresh perspective)
if you still feel like giving up, tell yourself “i can give up if i still want to after this step”
let go of all pressure and think of whatever you’re stuck on. maybe its a plot hole, maybe you cant figure out what should happen next, maybe your characters arent working with you how you want them to. now, without any pressure (just let go, maybe take a break, meditate) just think of the stupidest solutions. think of this project as something that barely matters to you. like it belongs to your friend you’re giving advice to.
i was totally stuck on where i wanted my book to go because no matter what i chose, there was an impossible plot hole i had to solve. that was until i let go of all the pressure and a totally unexpected solution just found me. something id never have come up with if i kept on cracking my brains to the point of hating writing, myself as a writer, the project itself, and everything else for that matter. i took a break, i looked over what i had with a fresh perspective and the starting idea it all sparked from. i realised that i could just switch up some things that i never even thought i could change because they were part of the starting point of the idea. i did what i feared would ruin the entire idea but in reality, it saved the entire book.
remember youre not alone, there have been millions of authors feeling the same way you do now. and you can use that to your advantage. look for other peoples stories and advice. look at interviews of (your favourite) authors (or artists in general), look for tips, reflect on everything, learn through trial, error, and reflection
and if none of this works, try writing short stories or essays
hey, could you write a dennis whitaker x female reader blurb where they are secretly crushing on eachother and making out in a cleaning closet at the hospital while they are supposed to be working 🤭🤭 thank you xx
𝓘’𝓵𝓵 𝓼𝓪𝔂 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓭 𝓶𝓮
⁺ . 𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 ! : Dennis Whitaker x fem!reader
⁺ . 𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 ! : Fluff, banter and once again a makeout scene (basically what this whole thing is abt😭)
⁺ . 𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 ! : It’s clear to everyone that Dennis and reader like eachother, but when will one of them make the move, they dance around one another until one day Dennis decides that’s enough.
⁺ . 𝓐𝓬𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀𝓵𝓮𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓼 ! : I made the banner but the pictures on it and the dividers I found on Pinterest, if anyone recognizes their work and wants credit feel free to comment on this post.
⁺ . 𝓐𝓝 𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮 ! : I had so much fun writing this and thanks to this amazing anon for this idea, first Dennis fic i’ve written so i hope it’s what you wanted, i can’t wait to put out even more.
Drop some more requests guysss
xx ⁺ .Lilyy
The thing about hospital hallways at night is that they’re never actually quiet. The lights hum. The floors squeak. Someone’s always coughing three rooms down. But at two in the morning, it feels close enough to silence that every glance means something.
You’re standing at the nurses’ station pretending to reorganize charts that were already alphabetized twice when you feel it—that weight of someone looking at you.
Dennis is across the hall, leaning against the counter like he has nowhere else to be. Which is a lie. You both have somewhere else to be. He’s holding a clipboard upside down.
“You know that’s not how words work, right?” you say without looking up.
He flips it the right way, deadpan. “I was testing you.”
“Uh-huh.”
There’s this thing he does when he’s nervous—his tongue presses into the inside of his cheek like he’s trying to keep a secret from spilling out. He’s doing it now.
You try not to stare at his mouth, but damn is he making hard not to.
You’ve been orbiting each other for weeks. Almost-touching hands when you pass instruments. Standing too close in supply rooms. Conversations that trail off into nothing because neither of you wants to say the actual thing.
Tonight feels different. Maybe it’s the slow shift. Maybe it’s the way he keeps looking at you like he’s trying to memorize your face.
“Hey,” he says, softer this time.
You glance up.
“Do you, uh—” He clears his throat. “Do you know where they keep the extra saline bags?.
You blink. “You’ve worked here for how long?”
“Long enough to forget.”
There’s a beat.
“Come on,” you say, grabbing the keys from the desk. “I’ll show you.”
The supply closet down the hall is technically off-limits unless you’re restocking, but no one checks at this hour. The door sticks when you push it open. You have to shoulder it a little, and Dennis reaches past you to help, his hand brushing your waist.
It’s barely there. A ghost of contact.
You feel it everywhere.
Inside, it smells like antiseptic and cardboard. Shelves stacked too high. A mop bucket in the corner. The fluorescent light flickers once and then steadies.
“Saline’s on the top shelf,” you say, pointing.
He doesn’t move.
You turn. He’s closer than he was a second ago. Not touching. Just close enough that you can feel the warmth from him.
“You didn’t actually forget where they were,” you say.
“No”, he confesses
“So why are we here?”
He exhales through his nose like he’s been holding his breath for days. “Because I can’t keep pretending I don’t want to-“
The door swings shut behind you with a solid click.
The sound makes both of you jump.
For a second, you just stare at each other. The space feels smaller now. The air thicker.
“Want to what?” you ask, and your voice comes out steadier than you feel.
He looks at you like you’re the bravest thing he’s ever seen. Or the most terrifying.
“This,” he says.
And then he kisses you.
It’s not polished. It’s not slow and cinematic. It’s a little messy, a little desperate. Like he’s been thinking about it too long and forgot how to start gently.
You grab the front of his scrubs without meaning to, tugging him closer. He makes this quiet sound in the back of his throat that sends heat straight down your spine.
“Dennis,” you breathe against his mouth, half warning, half encouragement.
“We shouldn’t,” he murmurs.
“Yeah.”
Neither of you moves away.
His hands hover at your waist like he’s asking permission without words. You nod, barely, and he slides them around you, pulling you flush against him. The shelves rattle when your back bumps into them, a box of gauze teetering dangerously before settling.
You laugh into his mouth, and he smiles mid-kiss, which makes it softer, slower. Less urgent. More real.
“Someone’s going to notice we’re gone,” you whisper.
“They can page us,” he says, kissing the corner of your mouth, your cheek, the spot just below your ear that makes your knees go weak.
“That’s not how pagers work.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you. His hair’s a mess now. You did that.
“I’ve liked you since the day you yelled at me for contaminating a sterile field,” he says.
“I did not yell.”
“You absolutely yelled.”
You bite back a smile. “You deserved it.”
“Probably.” His thumb brushes under your jaw, light, almost reverent. “I didn’t stop thinking about you after that.”
Your heart does something stupid and fluttery.
“I thought I imagined this,” you admit. “The way you look at me.”
He huffs out a laugh. “I’m not subtle.”
“No. You’re not.”
There’s this shift then. The joking fades, replaced by something quieter. He leans his forehead against yours.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, like he’s giving you an out.
You don’t.
Instead, you tilt your chin up and kiss him again, slower this time. Intentional. Your fingers slide into his hair, and he exhales like he’s been waiting for that specifically.
His hands tighten at your waist, then loosen, careful not to push further than you want. Every touch is a question. Every answer is in the way you pull him back when he tries to give you space.
A distant intercom crackles to life somewhere in the hospital. Both of you freeze.
“…Dr. Patel to OR two…”
Not you.
You both laugh under your breath, the tension snapping just a little.
“This is insane,” you say.
“We’re in a closet.”
“Exactly.”
He grins. “I’ve had worse ideas.”
“Should I be concerned?”
“Probably.”
You swat his shoulder, but you’re smiling. He catches your wrist and kisses your knuckles like he’s teasing you, like he’s testing how far he can go without breaking whatever this is.
Another beat of silence.
“You know we can’t make this a habit,” you say.
“Why not?”
“Because we work together.”
“So?.
“So if this goes badly, it’s awkward forever.”
He studies you for a second, serious now. “It’s not going to go badly.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I can know I don’t want it to”.
Your chest tightens.
Outside, footsteps echo past the door. Too close. You both go still, barely breathing, like teenagers hiding from a teacher. The footsteps fade.
He leans in, brushing his nose against yours. “We should go back.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of you moves.
He kisses you one last time, softer than the others. Not rushed. Not hungry. Just certain.
When he pulls away, you already miss the weight of him.
You open the door first, peeking out like you’re committing a crime. The hallway looks the same as always. Fluorescent lights. Distant monitor beeps. Nothing dramatic.
He grabs a saline bag from the shelf on the way out, finally committing to the excuse.
“See?” he says. “Totally professional.”
You roll your eyes. “If anyone asks, you got lost.”
“I’ll say you saved me.”
You start walking back toward the nurses’ station, a careful step apart now. Just coworkers again. Almost.
summary: you’re a sound tech for the swarm tour. frank finds a dirty secret on your phone and decides to show gerard.
tags: age gap, power imbalance, tension, threesome, thigh riding, oral sex, facefucking, spitroasting, double penetration in one hole uhhhh, dom/sub elements, inexperienced fem reader.
a/n: neither are married in this story obv! i had sooo much fun writing this, lowkey got a little carried away. might have to make a part 2. wc: 7,438.
You were living the dream.
Fresh out of college and suddenly part of one of the most exciting tours of the year. With the band’s highly anticipated reunion finally happening, it all felt a little unreal, like you could wake up at any moment.
They’d been your favorite band since you were a kid, posters covering your walls, lyrics burned into memory, but you’d never seen them live.
Being a sound technician was something else entirely. Not just a background crew member moving silently in the wings, you became someone woven into the rhythm of the show night after night. With ease, you slipped in and out of dressing rooms; your hands, steady as you fitted in-ear monitors, made last-second adjustments while the low thrum of the crowd leaked through the walls.
Up close, the band felt different from how they did on posters and photo shoots. More human, a little worn around the edges, all nervous energy and muscle memory. You learned their preferences quickly, adjusting on instinct as you checked their in-ear mixes, swapped battery packs, and tightened cables. By the time the arena lights dimmed, your work was done. You would step back into the shadows, heart still racing as the first few notes rang out.
You learned how to move with them. Their pre-show routines, quirks and all, soon became familiar, etched in your memory like the back of your hand. Up close with all the band members, you still sometimes felt disbelief: these were the same people you’d once had quiet, so-called “celebrity” crushes on throughout your teenage years. A fact you would never admit out loud.
It was normal to have crushes on people you idolized. Back when it was harmless, distant, and parasocial, confined to grainy interviews on Youtube and late-night playlists. But now, standing backstage, it felt different. It wasn't just a memory anymore. It was real: sudden, alive, and impossible to ignore.
Gerard, of course, his quiet intensity, the way he slipped into silence before a show, tea in hand, patient, reserved. Always polite, always kind. Every careful movement he made towards professionalism made your chest tighten, as it always had, but now sharper. The way he absentmindedly tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. The faint crease of concentration between his brows as he watched you fiddle with his monitors. How he held the cup of tea just so, careful not to spill, a small ritual you couldn’t help but notice.
Then there was Frank. Restless, joking constantly, a teasing lilt to his voice whenever he talked. The way his smile tilted when he was talking to someone else, but his eyes found yours anyway. How he adjusted the cuff of his sleeves or ran a hand through his hair mid-laugh. The energy he carried was infectious, and you found yourself smiling wickedly when he did nothing more than nod your way.
These observations were truly harmless, buried deep beneath your professional exterior.
You were sure everyone in the crew felt this way about them. Their fleeting glances. Specific habits. Quiet quirks, just observations. Little things to admire from the edge of the room. If anything, you were just honored to be in their proximity, a quiet participant in the small, intimate rituals that made the band feel alive and just within reach.
As the tour progressed, you could swear the air had shifted. It wasn’t just in your head anymore. Their movements lingered a second longer. Small, deliberate gestures seemed aimed at you. Frank’s fingers brushing yours as he reached for a cable. Gerard’s head tilting whenever he caught your eye from across the stage.
Maybe it was wistful thinking, a trick your mind was playing, desperate for a little extra attention. And yet, the more you noticed, the harder it became to pretend it wasn’t real. Every shared look, every subtle interaction, built a current between you and them, electric and quiet, threading through the backstage chaos.
Once during soundcheck, you were adjusting the levels on Mikey’s monitor pack. Crouched low, focused on the dials, your foot caught the edge of a cable. You stumbled, heart leaping as you tried to regain balance.
Before you could fully topple over, Frank quickly reached out and grabbed your waist, steadying you and pulling you upright. His hands pressed firmly just long enough for you to regain balance. The warmth of his body and the pressure of his fingers wrapped around you made your pulse spike, leaving you dizzy and hyper-aware of the contact.
“Careful there.” He chuckles, voice, low and poised, the faint scent of him filling your senses.
He stepped back quickly, giving you just enough room to stand on your own. Your hands shook as you continued adjusting the monitor pack, but your eyes kept flicking toward Frank, noticing every glance in your direction, every subtle movement, every rapid heartbeat.
You were still catching your breath from Frank’s sudden grip when you felt it, the weight of Gerard’s gaze from in the wings. He was leaning against the edge of a table, arms crossed loosely, quiet as always, but his eyes were sharp, tracking the moment you and Frank had shared. Not accusatory, not glaring, just observant.
Your chest tightened. The brief glance he gave held something you couldn’t name. A flicker of curiosity, maybe amusement, maybe something deeper, and it made the flush in your cheeks crawl higher. Even from across the stage, his presence pressed in, quiet but unreadable.
You had to be imagining things.
There was no way they could be watching you so closely, noticing every little shift, every subtle movement you made. They were probably just keeping an eye on you, making sure one of their crew member’s didn’t get hurt. That was all it was. Nothing more.
Another time before a show, Gerard asked you to help with his stage makeup. It was unusual, given the makeup artists usually swarming backstage, but tonight it felt quieter, more contained. You helped him paint fake blood splotches onto his face, your hands steady even as your pulse betrayed you, aware of how easily this moment could slip into something else.
Gerard’s face was calm, unreadable, but he held perfectly still as you dabbed on makeup. Every small movement felt amplified. Your fingers brushed his skin more than once, pausing a fraction of a second longer. He didn't flinch or pull away, remaining steady, as if trusting you to continue. You became keenly aware of the lack of space, the warmth radiating from him, how your knees nearly touched, and how, simply by leaning in, you could close the gap entirely.
When you finished, he glanced at his reflection and reached out, catching your hand lightly before you could pull it back. His touch was brief but deliberate. “Missed a spot here,” he said, smiling. “Perfect.”
Before you could answer, he leaned in just slightly, tilting his head in that teasing way that reminded you of Frank. His voice dropped, softer now, meant only for you. “You know,” he murmured, “I might start expecting this every night.”
His eyes stayed on yours, steady and unhurried, daring you to say something, daring you not to. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thick with tension.
The moment broke with the creak of the door.
Frank stepped inside without knocking, jacket slung over one shoulder, eyes already scanning the room as if he owned it. His gaze landed on the two of you standing too close, your hand still caught in Gerard’s. Something unreadable flickered across his face before it smoothed into something almost casual.
“Show’s in ten,” Frank said, voice easy, but his eyes didn’t leave you.
Gerard released your hand slowly, deliberately, as if he knew exactly who was watching. He turned just enough to face Frank, blocking you from view for half a second longer than necessary. “Yeah,” he replied. “We’re good.”
Frank’s mouth twitched. He stepped closer, close enough that you felt the shift in the air again, different now, charged in another direction. His attention finally flicked to Gerard’s makeup, then back to you. “Didn’t know you were on makeup duty now,” he said lightly.
“Special request,” Gerard answered, glancing back at you, his smile faint but knowing.
Frank hummed, noncommittal, then reached out, thumb brushing beneath Gerard’s jaw as if checking the work. It was casual on the surface, but his touch lingered just long enough to make the gesture feel deeper. Charged. “Looks convincing enough,” he said. “Very nice.”
Gerard didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned into it slightly, eyes never leaving Franks. “Told you she was good.”
Your pulse picked up again.
For a moment, the two of them just stared at each other, something unspoken passing between them. Then Frank stepped back, breaking the spell, finally looking at you fully. His expression softened, just a touch. “You coming out with us?” he asked. “Crowd’s waiting.”
You nodded, though your thoughts felt tangled, caught between the way Gerard watched you from behind Frank and the way Frank’s attention lingered, as if he were already planning something.
As you moved toward the door, Gerard leaned in close, his mouth near your ear. “Careful,” he murmured, barely audible. “He notices things.”
Ahead of you, Frank paused, just long enough to glance back over his shoulder. His eyes flicked between the two of you, sharp, knowing.
“Oh,” he said quietly, a smile playing at his mouth. “I already did.”
The door swung open, the roar of the crowd spilling in, but the tension followed you both onto the stage, unresolved and very much alive.
You lost it after that.
You couldn’t help yourself. Old habits truly do die hard, the ones that make you feel guilty even as you give in. Lying alone in your hotel room that night, you found yourself scrolling through old yet familiar pages of the same fics about the two of them, stories you had read countless times before years ago, the ones that seemed to know everything you could never say out loud.
Your thumb lingered over the screen as if you could draw the heat from the words into your skin, imagining Gerard leaning close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, hear his heartbeat even. Imagining Frank watching from just a step away, eyes deliberate and knowing, claiming attention in that slow, careful way that left you tense and achingly aware of where you were, what you wanted, and what you weren’t supposed to want.
Every paragraph made your chest tighten, every sentence made your pulse spike as the line between memory and fiction blurred. Words on the screen felt as immediate as a brush of fingers against your skin, and you found yourself imagining the three of you, close enough that the heat of proximity burned against your ribs, no words left unsaid or touches unmade. The quiet, almost cruel way desire hovered between them.
The next day, everyone could tell you were unrested, with dark circles under your eyes as you made the rounds between dressing rooms.
Your steps were slow, each movement heavy with the memory of the night before, your thoughts tangled and restless. The chatter and laughter of the crew and other performers seemed distant, almost muffled, as if you were moving through a haze.
Of course, Gerard noticed, possessing the same silent demeanor, as if he was looking right through you. His gaze followed you just long enough to make your pulse quicken, that quiet, reserved attention that never asked for permission but demanded it anyway. He knew something was up with you.
In Frank’s dressing room, he was quick to notice your unusual behavior. His sharp eyes didn’t miss the way your movements slowed, the way your fingers lingered on the items you were organizing, the subtle tension in your shoulders. He didn’t comment right away, just leaned slightly against the doorframe, calm and deliberate, letting you squirm under his quiet scrutiny.
“You seem… off,” he said finally, his voice low and steady, meant only for you. There was no accusation in it, only observation, and it made your pulse spike despite yourself.
You swallowed, trying to mask the lingering effects of the night before. “Just tired,” you murmured, though the words felt hollow even as you said them.
Frank’s gaze sharpened, studying you like he always did, noticing the small betrayals your body couldn’t hide: the quickened breath, the subtle flush on your neck, the way your eyes flicked toward the doorway every time you sensed movement. He took a deliberate step closer, the air between you thickening, charged with that quiet, almost unbearable tension you had learned to feel whenever he was near. “You sure you’re okay?
“Yeah,” you said, a little too quickly, the word coming out before you could soften it. “Anything else you need?”
“Nope.”
In your haze, you didn’t notice you had left your phone on Frank’s counter. Or the way he picked it up after you had left, casual at first, as if he were going to find the person who had left it behind. But then his eyes flicked to the screen, and he paused, catching sight of the tabs still open from last night.
Frank’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile, like he wasn’t sure whether to be amused or impressed. He scrolled through just enough to confirm what he already suspected: the proof of your restless thoughts, the stories you’d been reading, the way you had been thinking about him, and Gerard, long after the night had gone quiet.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. Just holding the phone, the pause, the weight of his gaze, Frank slipped out of his dressing room and walked down the hall toward Gerard's. Each step was measured, quiet but heavy with intention, as if he were carrying a secret that would shift everything the moment it reached its destination.
By the time he reached Gerard’s door, Frank lingered for a beat, hand poised, like he was savoring the moment before crossing the threshold. The pause was deliberate, teasing, intimate even from afar, especially as he imagined how everything would play out.
The adrenaline from the show had woken you up a little bit, shaking off some of the haze that was weighing on you all day. Your movements were sharper now, your mind more alert, but the tension in your chest remained, a low, persistent hum that reminded you of last night and everything that had followed.
Towards the end of the show, the stage manager called you over and said that Gerard wanted to see you afterwards. Your pulse quickened, the energy from the performance running through your veins, but now mingled with a nervous tension that made your chest tight.
When you entered his dressing room, Gerard was leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, calm and relaxed, but the quiet intensity in his eyes kept you rooted in place.
Turning to the other side of the room, you could feel your blood run cold as you saw Frank sitting on the couch, holding your phone casually between his legs.
You were terrified.
Not the kind that made you want to run, but the kind that froze you in place, rooted your feet to the floor as your pulse roared in your ears. Your breath felt shallow, uneven, every instinct screaming that something had shifted the moment you turned your head.
Gerard noticed immediately. His posture didn’t change, but his gaze sharpened, focused entirely on you. “Hey,” he said quietly, not unkind, but firm enough to pull your attention back. “Easy.”
“You left your phone in my room,” Frank said, his voice low and deliberate, casual on the surface but carrying a weight that made your chest tighten instantly. He held it up slightly, the screen glowing softly, and for a moment, you were acutely aware of how small the room felt, how close he was, how deliberate his attention had become.
You flushed, words catching in your throat. “I… must have,” you managed, trying to keep your voice steady, though your pulse betrayed you.
Gerard’s eyes flicked to the phone and then back to you, calm but unyielding, his presence pressing against you in a way that left no room to escape. “Seems like you’re forgetful tonight,” he said, a teasing note undercutting the quiet intensity in his gaze.
Frank’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “Or distracted,” he added, holding the phone just a little longer than necessary, letting the moment stretch, letting every heartbeat and glance between the three of you thrum with tension.
You shifted slightly, your hands instinctively moving as if to reach for the phone, but they hovered midair, aware that every small movement was being watched, measured, and savored. The space between you, Frank, and Gerard felt impossibly charged, intimate in ways that made your skin tingle and your pulse spike.
Frank reached the phone out to you, but as your fingers hovered, he stopped you, holding it just out of reach. “Just one question,” he said, voice low, almost a purr, letting the words hang in the charged air between you.
You froze, breath catching, pulse hammering wildly in your ears. Every instinct told you to snatch the phone and run, but the way he held it, and Gerard’s steady gaze bore into you, made it impossible to move.
Frank’s smirk deepened, slow and knowing. “What were you thinking about last night?” His eyes searched yours, giving nothing away but promising everything.
Your hands hovered uselessly near the phone, every heartbeat stretching long and tense. The room felt impossibly small, the air thick, and the weight of their combined attention pressed in, intimate and unrelenting.
Frank leaned forward slightly, still holding the phone, letting the smallest fraction of space remain between your hands and it, teasing, deliberate. “Answer the question first,” he said softly. “Then you can have it back.”
You swallowed, heart hammering in your chest, fingers still hovering near the phone. Every instinct urged you to snatch it and escape the weight of their attention, but the deliberate closeness of Gerard and the quiet, teasing intensity of Frank held you in place.
“I… I was thinking about…,” you started, then faltered, shame flooding your cheeks as the words caught in your throat.
“Hmmm?” Frank prompted.
“Thinking about you,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. Your cheeks heated instantly, pulse spiking at the sound of your own words.
Frank’s smirk widened slightly, slow and knowing, as if your answer confirmed exactly what he had suspected. “Mhm,” he murmured, almost to himself, letting the word hang, tasting it.
Gerard’s eyes darkened, steady and unrelenting, his presence pressing closer, just enough that the warmth of him brushed your side. “Just him?” he asked softly, low, deliberate, letting the weight of the question hang like a promise.
You couldn’t answer. Your voice felt trapped in your chest, caught somewhere between fear and anticipation.
“Please,” you finally blurted, words tumbling over themselves, “Just give me my phone and you’ll never hear from me again. I… I apologize for being so… unprofessional.”
The room fell silent.
“You think we’re firing you?” Gerard said, glancing at Frank.
For a moment, neither of them gave anything away, their expressions unreadable, until a slow, almost wicked grin spread across Frank’s face, sharp with mischief and something far more deliberate.
Frank opened his mouth to say something else, some sharp remark aimed at Gerard, but Gerard cut him off with one look. Not annoyed. Not angry. Just quiet and loaded.
“You’re enjoying this too much,” Gerard scowled.
Frank huffed out a laugh.
Their eyes locked again, the bickering thinning into something electric. You barely had time to register the shift before Gerard stepped closer to Frank, grabbing him by his jacket collar.
“Drop it.”
Frank didn’t. Instead, he tilted his head, smile gone now, replaced with something intent. “Make me.”
For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Gerard’s hand stayed at Frank’s collar, not tightening, not pulling away either, the tension between them thick enough to taste before Gerard turned to you fully.
“Show me,” Gerard said, but the mockery softened, edged now with something more searching than commanding. “What I was doing to him in your stories.”
Frank glanced between the two of you, curiosity flickering across his face, then lifted his hands slightly in a wordless pause. “Only if you want to,” he adds quietly.
The room holds its breath.
Your pulse thunders in your ears, heat crawling up your spine. You didn’t move right away, but you didn’t step back either. Their attention stayed on you, steady, expectant, not pushing.
Frank tilted his head, watching you closely now. “You just gonna stand there?”
They both look at you, eyes sharp, reading the hesitation in your gaze. Frank’s smirk softened into a knowing grin, and he tilted his head just slightly, understanding instantly.
“Oh my god,” he murmured, mock disbelief threading through the words. “Have you even done any of the things you were reading about?”
Your cheeks burned, hot and heavy with shame, and you couldn’t stop the small, embarrassed laugh that escaped despite yourself.
Gerard’s lips twitched, trying and failing to hide a grin, the quiet intensity in his gaze flickering with amusement. “Not a single thing?” he asked, voice low, deliberate, letting the teasing hang.
Frank leaned back just slightly, phone still forgotten for the moment, eyes glinting with that sharp, mischievous light. “You’re adorable,” he said softly, letting the word brush against you like a touch, teasing and intimate all at once.
“Such a little pervert,” Frank murmured, a playful edge to his voice. He beckoned toward you, fingers curling slowly, deliberately, letting the invitation hang in the charged air. “Come here.”
Your pulse spiked, chest tightening as every instinct warned you to hesitate, but you didn’t. Something in the way he looked at you, the teasing glint in his eyes, made it impossible to resist.
You stepped closer, each movement careful, measured, aware of Gerard just behind you, his presence steady and pressing, watching every inch of the small space between you and Frank.
Frank’s smirk deepened as you neared, eyes flicking to yours with quiet amusement. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice low and intimate, “Just like that.”
Frank didn’t wait any longer. He leaned in, lips brushing yours in a deliberate, teasing kiss. It was soft at first, testing, hesitant, letting you respond on your own terms. Your chest tightened, pulse spiking, every nerve alert as the world narrowed to the press of his lips, the warmth of him, the quiet hush of the room.
He guided you onto the couch, keeping the kiss gentle but insistent, lips pressing just long enough to make your heart race, tongue swiping over your bottom lip in a question as you parted your lips just enough for him to slip inside.
Your chest tightened, pulse hammering, every nerve alert as you responded tentatively at first, then with more certainty, letting the kiss deepen slowly. His hands settled on your hips, warm and steady, grounding you while letting the tension grow.
Gerard shifted slightly behind you, the warmth of him brushing your back, steady, magnetic, and impossible to ignore. His gaze followed every motion, eyes dark and intent, a quiet, deliberate amusement flickering across his features.
Frank’s lips moved against yours with deliberate patience, teasing and unhurried, savoring the way you responded. “Relax,” he murmured softly, voice low and intimate, letting the charged silence stretch, leaving you in control even as the air around you throbbed with anticipation.
The space between the three of you felt impossibly small, thick with unspoken desire. Every heartbeat, every breath, every glance magnified, leaving you fully aware of the heat and closeness threading through the room.
All was good, the world narrowing to the press of Frank’s lips and the warmth of Gerard behind you.
Then Frank bounces his thigh.
You stare at him in shock as he builds a rhythm, light and and teasing, sending heat straight up your spine and into your core.
The movements become sharper, each shift pressing against the seam of your jeans like lightning. A new layer of warmth began spreading across your body, sharp and insistent as you looped your hands around his neck for support, moaning softly into his mouth.
You begin moving with him, grinding down on his knee until the wetness pooling in your panties becomes impossible to ignore.
Frank pulls back slightly, signature smirk tugging at his lips, eyes dark and amused. “You feeling that?” he murmured, voice low, letting the tension between you simmer as you nod, crimson blush flooding your cheeks.
Your breath catches, chest impossibly tight, aware of every glance as you look behind yourself at Gerard, seeking some reaction, some anchor.
“Don’t look at me,” Gerard says, almost disinterested as his eyes flick back to Frank’s. “Look at him.”
The weight of his gaze pressed against you, steady and magnetic, and your focus snapped back to Frank, who began grinding you on his thigh as you whimpered, head swimming in pleasure, in the heat. Every subtle moment, the press of Frank’s lips against yours, the warmth of Gerard behind you, the faint smirk on Frank’s face, pulls you deeper into the charged space between them, fast approaching the edge.
Frank pulls back just enough to let you catch your breath, eyes dark, intent, lips parted. “Let go for me, sweet girl,” he murmurs softly, one look into his eyes all it takes. Your chest heaves, pulse hammering, every nerve ablaze with anticipation as pleasure crashes over you in soft waves.
Gerard’s voice cuts through the charged silence, low and mocking. “Is that the best you’ve got, Frankie?”
Frank’s eyes snapped to him, dark and sharp, smile vanishing into something serious, precise. In an instant, he lunges forward, pinning Gerard firmly against the couch, hands pressing into his chest with controlled force.
Gerard freezes, a flicker of surprise and challenge in his eyes, but Frank doesn’t relent, letting his face hover close, every inch of him radiating intensity. “Say it again,” he hisses, voice low and lethal, each word wrapped in restraint.
“Aww, don’t be like that, Frankie. I guess you really can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
“The fuck did you just call me?”
Before Frank can even take another breath, Gerard grabs him roughly by the hair, pulling him down onto his lips, teeth clacking, breaths hard and uneven as they wrestle for power, for control.
“Look at you,” Gerard growls against his lips, hand cupping the tent in Frank’s jeans.
“Haven’t changed one goddamn bit,” Gerard snaps, voice strained.
A loud slap rings through the room as Frank shoves Gerard back, the force enough to make the couch groan. Gerard doesn’t falter. A smug, dangerous smile plays across his lips, palm pressing the red mark beginning to form.
Frank’s breath comes out ragged, chest heaving, eyes hazy, pupils blown wide, tension radiating off him in waves that almost knock you back. Both of them swivel toward you, sharp, electric focus cutting through the haze, and suddenly the doorway feels impossibly far, impossibly small.
“I should… go,” you whisper, voice trembling, fear and fascination warring in your chest. Every instinct screams to run, to escape the raw, dangerous energy thrumming in the room. You were in way over your head at this point, yet some part of you couldn’t move, frozen by the intensity of their stares and the tension between them.
Frank stills immediately, pulling off of him and stepping closer to you. “Wait,” he says quietly, the edge in his voice now gone. “Just ignore this bastard.”
Gerard exhales sharply, rolling his eyes at Frank, looking back at you, softer now. “I’m sorry, baby. He just gets me so worked up.” A crooked, almost sheepish smile flickers across his face. “But you don’t owe us anything.”
The room holds its breath.
When you don’t step back, Frank’s hand finally settles at your back, warm and steady, grounding rather than pulling. “Come back,” he murmurs, gentle this time.
Gerard reaches out more cautiously, guiding you back down onto the couch only after you let him, his touch light, almost reverent. “We’ll be gentle,” Gerard says, voice low and sincere. “You deserve only the best, sweet thing.”
You stayed. Just barely, just long enough to let yourself sink back onto the couch, heart racing, aware of both of them hovering close. Every nerve in your body was on fire, but this time, it’s different.
Frank leans in first, calm and collected, lips brushing yours in a gentle kiss. It’s soft at first, testing, letting you respond on your own terms.
Your fingers twitch, hovering at his shoulders before tentatively sliding into his hair, drawing him closer, deepening the kiss. The heat between you two builds, slow and unrelenting.
Behind you, Gerard shifts closer, lips brushing your neck in slow, sensual patterns that make your head swim. His hands trace idle circles on your lower back, gentle yet deliberate, grounding you even as the sensations coil tighter through your body. When Frank finally leans back for air, Gerard chases your lips, stealing a smooth, sensual kiss, lips working against yours for a minute before settling close again.
Frank responds to the movement, returning back to you with a firmer, more insistent kiss. lips pressing harder, tongue teasing your mouth while his hands rest firmly on the front of your hips, anchoring you. The room feels impossibly small, charged with their presence, every brush of skin and glance magnified.
It’s almost too much to take in at once. “C-can you two slow down?” You manage to gasp out, voice trembling, breath ragged.
Immediately, both of them freeze, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze with puppy dog eyes. “I just need a second to… Aaah!” Frank doesn’t give you another second to breathe, shoving you into the cushions, lips working all over your neck, hands groping, touching, exploring.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, pressing quick, apologetic kisses to your collarbone. “I just can’t wait any longer.” His hands explore rapidly, sliding up and down your hips, tracing your curves with deliberate, teasing pressure.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Frank?” Gerard growls, voice low but laced with annoyance, clearly irritated by the scene unfolding before him. His fingers flex slightly along your lower back, a quiet counter to Frank's teasing, his presence firm, magnetic, and impossible to ignore.
Frank pauses for a heartbeat, lips hovering near your skin, smirk twitching despite Gerard’s glare. “You love it,” he murmurs, voice dark, edged with mischief, pressing closer again, hands relentless. “Bet I can make her come more than you.”
Gerard just smirks, dangerous and calm, eyes ablaze. “Is that a challenge, dear boy?”
“Don’t call me that,” Frank snaps, voice sharp, every ounce of his intensity focused on Gerard. His hands grip your hips a fraction tighter as he slides down your body in one smooth motion, settling between your legs.
Carefully, very carefully, Frank reaches for the button of your jeans, glancing back at you for a final confirmation that what he’s doing is okay. When he doesn’t see any hesitation in your eyes, he unbuckles your pants, pulling them down in one swift motion. Gerard makes quick work of your top, throwing it to the side of the room, fingers palming the swell of your breasts.
“So beautiful.”
Humiliatingly enough, your panties are soaked through, a shameful wet spot visible as frank smirks. “Cute.”
Frank’s impatient. You know he is, the way his eyes are glazed over in desperation. It’s been so long since he’s had it, had someone like you. Wasting no time for pleasantries, he slips your panties down between your legs, greedily lapping at the wetness collecting at your core. He doesn’t waste another moment, greedily mouthing at you as he builds a pattern alternating between licking and sucking. His ministrations have you seeing stars, back arching off the mattress as Gerard looks down at you, cradling your head in his lap.
The pleasure builds steadily, rocking your hips against his mouth as he eats you like a man starved, eyes completely lost as he takes breaks in between to nip at the inside of your thighs. You’re a moaning mess, hands traveling into Frank's hair for purchase as you grind against his face.
From above you, Gerard looks down with wild eyes, hunger seeping out of every pore. “Help me out, sweetheart?” He says as you eye the tent in his pants. He sees the uncertainty in your eyes, the questions as his eyes soften. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll teach you,” unbuckling his belt with one hand and throwing it aside. “Why don’t you start by taking it out first?”
You slowly cup his bulge, pulling the waistband of his boxers down in a singular motion. His cock springs free, wetness seeping out of the tip onto the couch. And what a sight it is, long and thick, tip flushed, veins protruding from the sides. He could break you with this thing if he isn’t careful. The thought makes your blood boil in lust as you gather the wetness on his tip, pumping his cock to spread it down his length.
You want to please him, want him to always look at you like this, praise you. Beg you. Reaching your head out, you give the tip a kitten lick, hesitant, looking up into his eyes as he nods down at you, giving you just enough encouragement to take it all the way into your mouth. You build a rhythm, alternating between little sucks and licks with the underside of your tongue.
“F-fuck yeah, just like that. Open up your mouth up a little more.” Gerard grunts, eyes hazy and unfocused as you take him in deeper, being mindful of your teeth as you alternate up the sides between patterns.
The dressing room becomes a symphony of sounds, wetness ringing out in an obscene way as the three of you get lost in the pleasure, in the sensations.
Frank slips two fingers inside of you, easy, no resistance with how wet you are for him. Carefully, he scissors his fingers to stretch you open, rutting his hips into the cushions to alleviate some pressure.
You’re about halfway down Gerard’s cock, gaining more and more confidence with his breathy groans, when you're suddenly shoved down to the base with no warning. You panic, lips tightening as you try not to accidentally bite down, looking up at Gerard in alarm.
“Sorry, hun. I like things a bit rough.” You gag on his length, obscene sounds filling the room as you quickly learn to open up your throat. He tangles his fingers in your hair, pushing you down to the hilt with every stroke, tears slipping down your cheeks from the efforts of keeping him down.
“You’re such a good girl,” Gerard grunts out, eyes rolling to the back of his head with every push.
Seeing him in such a state puts you in a frenzy, tears slipping down your cheeks as the pleasure builds and builds. Frank is grinding you against his face at this point, tongue working magic down on the little bead as your climax hits you suddenly, sharply, loud moans gagged by Gerard’s length as your body releases the hot tension.
Gerard releases your hair, panting heavily, pulling you off of him as you try to catch your breath, gasping loudly for air.
Frank unbuckles his belt, coaxing his painfully hard length out and passing it through your folds to gather the wetness as you shiver into him. “Spread yourself open for me,” he grunts huskily, barely hanging on.
Still dazed, you spread your folds as he presses the tip in. It’s so much, all at once, thick, heavy. What a heady feeling. You don’t have much time to think about it, not as Frank bottoms out with a harsh thrust of his hips, groaning so loudly his eyes roll into the back of his head. He sets a brutal pace, thrusting erratically as he hooks your legs over his elbows to keep you open.
You struggle to adjust, and Gerard notices this. “Calm down, Frank,” Gerard growls. “Do you want to come before she can even enjoy it?”
Frank growls under his breath, leaning in, lips brushing against yours in a rough, sharp kiss that leaves sparks trailing across your skin. The tension between them, and around you, thickens, crackling like electricity.
“She can take it,” he snarls, sucking marks into the skin of your neck, pinching and squeezing your nipples as you’re utterly consumed by him, his hands, his warmth.
Looking back at Gerard, you take his length back into your mouth, sucking so eagerly he throws his head back in surprise.
Frank is furious. The way Gerard is always teasing him, sneering at him, always pulling focus away. The way your attention keeps drifting anywhere but where Frank wants it.
And the worst part is, a part of him deep down that he would never admit to himself, likes it. These thoughts snowball, and one look at your hooded eyes as you suck Gerard off has him tipping over the edge, pulling out of you in one swift motion and shooting hot white ropes all over your stomach.
He hasn’t even fully recovered before Gerard is on him, rough hands forcing him back, tearing him away from you. “Move,” he snaps. “It’s my turn.”
Gerard doesn’t waste another second, flipping you around on your hands and knees as he settles behind you, guiding his cock to your entrance with one hand as he pushes into you.
Fuck. You were even better than he could’ve ever imagined, gummy heat pulsing around him euphoric with every drag along your walls. So wet, so warm, cunt clenching around his length so tight he knows you can feel every inch of him, every ridge and vein.
He presses his hand down on your back, arching your body gently to take him deeper. Frank settles in front of you, cock hard and still throbbing as you begin jerking him off with both hands.
Frank’s happy to let you go at your own pace, taking him into your mouth with exploratory licks, hollowing out your cheeks to make it tighter as you look up at him, lashes lowered. He wasn’t going to last long, not like this.
“You’re a natural, baby. So beautiful. So good to us,” Frank grunts, fingers holding back your hair as you take him deeper. “Still a pervert though. You like the way we’re fucking you? Stuffing your greedy little holes to the brim?”
You’re utterly blissed out, already so fucked out as you’re coming again, body locked in a rigid state of shock as the heat washes over you. Clenching down on Gerard’s length is heavenly, pleasure prolonged as he pounds you straight through it, unrelenting, fingers wrapping around your body to rub at your clit.
“Doin’ so good for me,” Gerard snarls, fisting your hair by the roots as he hoists your body up. “You like my cock? Like the way it stretches you?”
Gerard’s close, but he’ll push himself off for now, holding off his orgasm to watch you squirm. You’re scrambling, nonsensical sounds slipping out of your lips as you claw your nails into the couch cushions. He knows you’re a little too full, it’s a little too much, but he couldn’t stop even if he tried. Not in the way he’s fucking you mindless, almost fucking you dumb, slamming you forward into Frank’s cock with every snap of his hips.
Frank notices the hazy look in Gerard’s eyes, brows creasing with perspiration as his rhythm falters. “Pull out.” Gerard ignores him, creeping closer and closer to the edge with every passing second. “Gerard, I said pull out.” His pleas fall on deaf ears as Gerard’s eyes roll back, shooting as deep as he can get inside of you. The feeling is euphoric, the heat, the way it pools, the stickiness, and you’re coming again before you even realize it, vision going white as you clam up.
“You asshole!" Frank snarls as Gerard hoists you up onto his lap, still buried deep inside of you as he starts bouncing you on him.
“Oh, please. She enjoyed that, didn’t you, sweetheart?” Gerard teases, voice low and amused.
You nod, breath shaky. “M-more…”
In your lust-filled haze, you see Frank's jaw tighten, a vein standing out on his forehead, knuckles white. He looks ready to explode.
“You don’t wanna play by the rules, fine. I’m comin’ in.” He spits on his palm, coating his cock with even more lubrication as he roughly kicks your and Gerard’s legs open with his knee.
“I-I’m sorry, Frank, I’ll get off!” You whimper as Frank shoves you back down onto Gerard with a choked slam. “Stay still,” he barks, predatory look in his eyes forcing you into submission.
You and Gerard freeze, both staring at him in shock. Both of you are stunned at his actions, shocked faces apparent as he lines his tip up with your entrance, pushing in as best as he can. You scream, clawing at him as Gerard watches in alarm.
“W-wait, Frank, she isn’t ready for this…” Gerard says, panic breaking through his tone. Frank cuts him off, thrusting himself in all the way with a strained growl. It’s so tight, it’s so full he can barely move, already slightly regretting the decision as he sees your face contort in pain.
You mewl out, clutching Frank’s arms as you attempt to adjust to the thickness. It’s too much, feeling almost as if you’re being split in two. Frank watches you with bated breath as tears slip down your cheeks, choked sobs escaping your lips as you scratch weakly at him to get off.
“Doin’ amazing, sweetheart. Breathe for me,” Frank murmurs, kissing you slowly, as if he could kiss the pain away.
For a long minute, the three of you remain completely still, the room filled with steady panting as you adjust to their sizes, relaxing your lower muscles as best as you can. Gerard presses gentle kisses along your neck, slow and reassuring, hands tracing soothing circles over your hips in an effort to comfort you. After a moment, you nod at Frank to keep going.
Frank keeps a slow, steady rhythm, forehead pressed to yours, every motion deliberate, controlled, as if he’s memorizing every shiver, every gasp. His breaths mingle with yours, deep and heavy, pulling you into the moment.
Gerard watches you both from behind, eyes glazed over, utterly lost in the heavenly friction wrapping around his cock. He shifts slightly, pressing closer to you, letting the heat of the room and of Frank wash over him. A low, breathy moan escapes him, betraying just how much he’s enjoying it.
You arch into his chest. instinctively, the sensation making Gerard’s chest tighten as he also begins thrusting into you, alternating his movements with Frank.
It’s a long process: taking a little, pausing. Taking a little, gasping out from the sensations. The pleasure building is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before in your life, and both Frank and Gerard’s care, praise, and attention on you has your heart ready to explode out of your chest.
“Feel that?” Frank murmurs, pressing down on the bulge poking through your lower stomach. “How deep we are inside of you?”
You’re caught between them, every touch, every glance, every groan amplifying the heat coursing through you. And for a long moment, time feels suspended. You don’t fully register it yet, the wave of pleasure, until it’s crashing fully over you, sudden and overwhelming. You’re gasping, sucking a deep bruise on Frank’s shoulder in an attempt ground yourself as you ride it out, body trembling between them.
The feeling of you contracting around them so tightly sends them both over the edge. With a final devastating thrust, Frank releases into you, grunting and groaning so loud he’s sure anyone still at the venue can hear. Gerard’s not much better off, slamming into you, cum mixing with Frank's as he muffles his loud, loud moans of pleasure into your neck.
Everyone is exhausted, energy completely spent. You all lie there for a while, limbs tangled, bodies warm and heavy together. The room is quiet except for ragged breaths and the occasional soft sigh, Frank’s forehead resting against yours while Gerard lies in your hair, eyes half-lidded, a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. Even in the stillness, the tension lingers beneath the surface, a quiet hum of heat and anticipation. Slowly, they pull out of you one by one, combined fluids seeping out all over the couch.
After a long pause, Frank leans down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your lips, soft but lingering, grounding you in the warmth of the moment. Almost simultaneously, Gerard pulls your face toward him, brushing his lips over your cheek and then onto yours. You melt into his kiss, lips molding perfectly to his as he nips your bottom lip. You’re caught perfectly between the two of them, hearts and breaths intertwining.
Gerard is the first to move, pulling Frank away from you and onto his knees, his hands firm and commanding, leaving you momentarily suspended between them as your heart races with anticipation.
“Clean me up.”
Without hesitation, Frank takes him down to the hilt with a practiced ease, nose grinding up against the hairs on Gerard’s pelvis as he maintains eye contact, lashes lowered slightly.
There’s no fanfare, no fight. Not even a single gag from Frank as Gerard roughly fucks into his mouth, fisting his hair as he pulling him down to the hilt with every rough push.
“T-that’s it, take it all.” Gerard grunts, control fraying by the wayside, lost in the heaven that is Frank’s mouth.
“I’ve missed this.” Gerard moans shamelessly, pulling Frank off of him slowly with a satisfied sigh.
“I’ve missed you.”
Frank groans softly, leaning back just enough to let Gerard take the lead, eyes dark and unreadable as he presses a slow kiss to his lips. Frank melts into it for a heartbeat, then deepens the kiss, hands brushing Gerard’s chest as it slides up his jaw. The tension between them is soft, intimate, and you watch, heart racing, caught in the swirl of heat and shared intimacy.
Smiling, you glance between them, reaching for your clothes, but Frank’s arm catches you, stopping your movement.
He looks over at Gerard, the look they share devious, smiles curling before their attention snaps back to you.
“You think we’re done?” Frank teases, voice low and playful, while Gerard smirks, eyes dark and mischievous.
it was one of the first things people noticed about him. even during the most dangerous missions, when curses surrounded him and everything seemed to fall apart, suguru remained composed. his voice never rose, his expression rarely changed, and he always seemed to have a plan.
but there was one thing that could break through that calm.
you.
not in a way that made him reckless. not in a way that made him forget who he was.
you simply mattered too much.
and everyone knew it.
especially satoru.
“do you ever get tired of checking on her?” gojo asked one afternoon, leaning against the doorway with a teasing smile.
geto glanced up from where he was sitting beside you, his hand resting gently over yours.
“no.”
gojo blinked.
“that was a really fast answer.”
“because it’s obvious.”
gojo stared at him for a moment before grinning.
“wow. you’re down bad.”
geto rolled his eyes. “you’re annoying.”
“and you’re smiling.”
“i am not.”
“you are.”
geto ignored him, but you couldn’t help laughing. that was the thing about suguru—he could deny it all he wanted, but everyone could see how different he was around you.
the man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders became softer when he was with you.
suguru always noticed when something was wrong.
it didn’t matter how well you tried to hide it.
you could walk into a room with a smile on your face, insist that everything was fine, and he would still know.
“y/n.”
you looked up from your desk.
“yeah?”
he studied your expression for a moment.
“you’re upset.”
you sighed. “i’m fine.”
his eyes softened.
“you always say that when you don’t want to talk about something.”
you looked away.
it wasn’t that you didn’t trust him. you trusted him more than anyone.
you just hated feeling like a burden.
“suguru, it’s not a big deal.”
he was quiet for a moment.
then he reached over and gently turned your chair toward him.
“don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“make yourself smaller just because you think your feelings aren’t important.”
the words caught you off guard.
because that was suguru. he never forced you to talk. he never demanded answers.
he just reminded you that you deserved to be heard.
but when someone else was the reason you were hurting, suguru was different.
he wasn’t loud.
he wasn’t dramatic.
that was what made it worse.
his calmness became something colder.
you noticed it immediately.
“suguru.”
he looked at you.
the anger in his eyes disappeared the second he saw your worried expression.
“i’m okay,” you said softly.
his jaw tightened.
“i know.”
“then why do you look like you’re about to destroy something?”
a small sigh escaped him.
“because i don’t like seeing people treat you like you’re disposable.”
your expression softened.
“suguru…”
“i know you can handle yourself,” he said. “i know you’re strong.”
he reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.
“that’s one of the reasons i love you.”
you smiled slightly.
“then you know i don’t need you to fight every battle for me.”
“i know.”
“then what do you need?”
for once, suguru didn’t have an immediate answer.
because the truth was simple.
he didn’t need to save you.
he just needed to know you were okay.
“i need to know i can still be there for you.”
later that night, the two of you sat together in silence.
no missions.
no curses.
no expectations.
just the two of you.
“you worry too much,” you whispered.
“i know.”
“you’re supposed to argue with me.”
“i’m trying something new.”
you laughed quietly.
and that sound alone made him relax.
because for all the things suguru had lost, all the things he carried, all the reasons he felt like the world was becoming heavier every day…
you were the one reminder that there was still something good left.
something worth protecting.
something worth coming home to.
he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.
“i love you, you know.”
you smiled.
“i know.”
“good.”
“why?”
“because i’m going to keep reminding you.”
and knowing suguru geto, you knew he meant it.
lol guys im gen on a roll. ive been flipping back and forth between texting my bf to writing this 😭😭😭
… supernatural boys with jealousy. established relationships, gn! reader, no mention of size, age, or race, kinda suggestive
sam
sam has had to maintain a pretty good poker face for the majority of his life, so he's pretty good at masking it when he gets jealous. he gets quiet, more withdrawn, not wanting to explode and seem like a controlling jackass. but he's watching. watching much closer than necessary. he, himself has issues with saying no, and he never wants you to be in that kind of situation. he doesn't want to make it about him, and he knows you're more than capable of defending yourself, but he also knows that he loves you and wants to keep you safe.
if it's a one off thing, like a creepy dude at a bar, he's able to get over it. you might notice that he's a little clingy after you get back, but for the most part, he looks to be about the same as usual.
if it's not a one off thing, like one of your friends or one of his friends, he doesn't let go of it so easily. he feels awful about it, like he's doubting your love and loyalty to him. logically, he knows that you love him and he doesn't think for a second that you’d ever cheat on him. but there's a little voice in the back of his head that already thinks you're way out of his league and that it's only a matter of time before you leave. when he can't take it anymore, he sits you down on your shared bed and tells you what's been going wrong. he rambles a little, trying to make you understand every nuanced emotion he's experiencing, that he isn't accusing you of cheating and that you mean everything to him. you calm him down, holding him and kissing him until your gentle reassurances land. after that, you two have a heart to heart and figure out where to go from there. in the future, he's more open about things like that. and you're more than happy to help him see just how much you love him.
dean
similar to his brother, dean has a great poker face. unlike his brother, he has no issue with being obnoxious about it. he’ll wrap his arm around your shoulder or your waist and pull you against his side. he makes some snide comment like “hey gorgeous. who's this you're talking to?” or “you know, you're typically supposed to hang out with your boyfriend when you go drinking with him, not whoever this is.” occasionally, when he's really fed up with the person, he'll say “baby, i told you not to wear those jeans in public. you know what they do to me. we better get going, unless you want to do this in the middle of the bar.” he relishes the way the person you're talking to gets red in the face and are suddenly stumbling over their words. you shoot him an annoyed face, but some part of you likes when he gets a little jealous.
if it isn't something that's contained in a single night, then it gets a little worse. he’ll be 10x handsier around them, hands wandering, squeezing your ass or thighs, anything he can get his hands on. all the while sending them death glares. he is not subtle in the slightest and he isn't trying to be. it came to a head when he was openly trying to get his hand down your pants right in front the person. ..you were more than a little pissed. you dragged him to your room to talk, telling him that you noticed how he’d been acting and that you didn't exactly appreciate his lack of ability to keep his hands to himself. he was defensive about it at first, but you wore him down and he caved. he explained how he'd been feeling lately and that he knew he had no reason to, but he couldn't help it. you both calmed down a lot after that. from there, the conversation was gentler, ending with a promise from dean that he wouldn't try to keep that kind of stuff from you(along with a promise to keep his hands in his pockets in public).
gabriel
now, i think gabriel has a good poker face too. BUT!!! i also think that really only applies to pain tolerance and when he's trying not to laugh. when he's jealous, though.. it's completely obvious. gabriel has experience with being in pain, he has experience with humor, but what he doesn't have experience with is love. sure, he's slept with a lot of people, but they don't mean anything to him, not like you do. he's never been in a committed relationship, at least not one that didn't revolve around sex. the issue isn't that he isn't committed, he is, the issue is that he's not accustomed to the extra feelings that come with it. he's deeply insecure when it comes to romance since it isn't something he has control over. he knows what jealousy is and when it happens, he knows that it's what he's feeling, but it's weird and uncomfortable and he hates that this stupid guy is apparently incapable of leaving you alone. like i've said, he's utterly transparent about his jealousy, the look on his face says everything. he's trying his best to give them the benefit of the doubt— maybe they just didn't know you were dating someone, dating him. he supposes he can't fault them for that. he’ll come up behind you, wrap his arms around your middle and not so discreetly declare your relationship. “there you are. i was looking everywhere for you, love bug.” he’ll throw the person you're talking to a glare and drag you away.
if the person is someone you can't avoid seeing, it gets worse. he won't admit it to anyone, but he doesn't need to. he's glaring daggers at the person anytime you speak to them, being endlessly affectionate in public, and coming up with increasingly ridiculous nicknames. you eventually sat him down and told him that you knew he'd been jealous lately and that you were a little worried about him. he caved immediately. he had been worried too— worried that he wasn't enough and that you'd leave him. well.. he didn't say that in so many words, but the message was clear. i'm scared to lose you. it was going to be a long night, but you wouldn't stop until he understood that you loved him and no one else. he’d learn, he'd learn over many years that you wouldn't leave, but it would take time. luckily, he was worth the trouble.
crowley
crowley is never quiet about his jealousy. ever since he started dating you, he's made it clear that he's not above being jealous and that he is certainly not above solving it with violence. he's made several threats against people who get too comfortable with you and he's also made good on those threats dozens of times. he knows it's a little extreme, but what about him isn't? he appreciates dramatic flair. plus, he can't go around making empty threats, he's the king of hell. well, that, and there's a twisted sort of enjoyment he gets from getting rid of the competition. not that they ever really had a chance with you to begin with. you're far too good for them, too good for him even. but you chose him anyway, and he would do anything to keep it that way. you practically co-rule hell at this point, he can't lose that(or you).
if it's someone like Sam or Dean that he can't actually kill off who's causing his jealousy, then it all gets worse. he does everything in his power to make sure you see them as little as possible. he'll go down to earth to meet them, send his demons to speak to them, and keep you far, far away. he doesn't like the idea of you getting attached to them in any capacity. the only one you need to be attached to is him. but of course, he can't keep you away from them forever. and anytime they're around.. his threats get worse, more vitriolic. instead of his usual veiled insults, he brings up things that hurt. things they don't like thinking about. their losses, their failures, their actions that they can't take back. if you ever ask him about it, he'll deny it to high hell. he doesn't get jealous, it's not something that happens to him. but eventually.. the stress gets to him. he can't balance all of hell and keeping you away from them and make it all look easy. he starts to get sloppy. he tells you he's going to earth to meet with someone, but you see right through it. he's clearly walking into a trap and he somehow has no idea. how your quick witted, cunning, clever husband fell for something so obvious, you have no idea. okay, you have some idea. you're not an idiot, you know what's been going on, but you didn't think it had gotten that bad. you stop him, and gently explain that you’ve noticed his behavior lately and that he can't keep going like that or he'll get seriously hurt one day. he sighs, but he lets you go on. he tells you all of it, and for once in his demonic afterlife, he apologizes. he kisses you and tells you that you're his world. he bails on the meeting he had to spend the day with what actually matters to him, you. it won't be easy for him, but if it means keeping you in his life, he'll learn.
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a/n: gummi here! first post done!! this took forever but i’m really proud of it. crowley's my favorite, but maybe you can tell. anyway, yipie! thanks for reading !!
