hi! i’m mads or m, and this is my writing/fanfic account! read more below to know a bit more about me, what I'll write, what I won't write and some rules about requesting. <3
a little about me:
I'm 24
my pronouns are they/them/theirs
I've always been passionate about writing and I have my minor in creative writing. (gotta put this part of my degree to use somehow)
I've been a fan of my chemical romance since I was 11! (no, its not a phase)
fun fact: one time my friend and I spent 10 hours on creating a 40 slide powerpoint on why frerard is real.
my main blog is: madssmustdiee where i do most of my shitposting etc etc. don't be shy, come say hello :)
what I will write:
frerard + other ships within MCR
NSFW (there really isn't much I won't write)
angst, fluff, hurt/comfort
prompts and head canons upon request
kink
anything that fits my vibe or interests
what I won't write:
I cannot believe that this has to be said but, WAYCEST (seek help)
beastiality
underage sex (everyone I write for will be 18 and up)
pedophilia, underage characters in adult situations
noncon
scat (no no no no)
extreme violence (ex: abuse scenes)
asks are always open unless i say otherwise. i love prompts and i love seeing what unravels from other people’s ideas. I will try my best to get to them as I see them. please do not request any of the listed things above, I will ignore it. thank you!
a/n: hello!! last night i took a poll in my server for fic ideas and the winning idea got written!! the winning prompt was AND I QUOTE "frerard post show overstim with desperate frotting and touching without others picking up on it". however, i got carried away as usual and just made them go nasty crazy style with the backstage can't get caught aspect lol. the fic takes place after the above happened on stage mwhahahah. i think this is by far the most DESCRIPTIVE thing ive ever wrote! HAPPY PRIDE!!!!!
“You actually did it,” Gerard hissed, fingers digging into Frank’s hips hard enough to leave crescent moons through the thin fabric of his jeans. The stage lights had cut out seconds ago, plunging them into the smoky half-dark backstage area, but Frank could still see the wild gleam in Gerard’s eyes. Part fury, part something hotter.
Frank wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning despite the way his pulse hammered in his throat. “Yeah, and you fucking loved it.” The crowd’s roar still vibrated in his bones, and their chants of encore, muffled behind the heavy curtain. He’d planned the move weeks ago. The drag of his tongue up Gerard’s cheekbone, slow and obscene. He’d even rehearsed it in the mirror until his jaw ached. But the way Gerard had shuddered against him, the choked noise they’d made mid-song? That wasn’t part of the script.
Someone shouted Gerard’s name from across the wing, and they jerked apart like they’d been caught, though no one was looking. Frank’s skin prickled where Gerard had gripped him, phantom warmth lingering. He watched their throat bob as they swallowed, watched their fingers flex like they wanted to reach for him again.
The stage manager barreled past, clutching her clipboard like it was her lifeline. “Five minutes to load-out,” she barked, already vanishing into the maze of equipment.
Frank’s fingers tightened around Gerard’s wrist, their pulse hammering against his thumb. The stage manager’s voice had faded into the din of clattering gear and roadies shouting over each other, but all Frank could focus on was the way that Gerard’s pupils swallowed the dim light. “Five minutes,” Frank echoed, voice rough, and Gerard’s breath hitched. Just once, barely there, before they twisted their hand free only to shove Frank backward into the narrow gap between two towering amps.
The metal was cold against Frank’s spine, but Gerard’s body was fever-hot where they pressed against him, one knee slotting between Frank’s thighs with practiced ease. “You’re such a little shit,” Gerard murmured, but their hands were already working Frank’s belt loose, fingers skimming the damp waistband of his briefs. Frank bit down a groan, head tipping back against the amp with a dull thud. The noise of the crew was too close, too loud, but Gerard’s mouth on his neck was louder. Sharp teeth and wet, open-mouthed kisses that made Frank’s hips jerk forward helplessly.
Gerard’s laugh was a dark, pleased thing against his skin. "Thought you wanted an audience," they taunted, palming Frank through his jeans just hard enough to make his breath stutter. Frank’s nails dug into Gerard’s shoulders, gripping the sweat-damp fabric of their shirt. The stage had been one thing. That was calculated and choreographed. But this was something else entirely. The risk of being caught, the way Gerard’s fingers trembled ever so slightly as they undid his fly, it was all too real, too fucking much.
Someone dropped a mic stand nearby with a clatter, and Gerard froze, their breath hot against Frank’s collarbone. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then Gerard’s hand slid into Frank’s briefs, fingers curling around him with a grip that bordered on cruel, and Frank’s vision whited out for a second. "Fuck—" he choked out, hips bucking into Gerard’s fist, but Gerard just clamped their free hand over his mouth again, smothering the sound.
Frank’s knees nearly gave out when Gerard’s thumb swiped over his cockhead, smearing precome down his length with a roughness that bordered on punishment. The hand over his mouth tasted like sweat and stage smoke, but Frank couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when Gerard was jerking him off with the same rhythm they’d used onstage, all sharp, controlled movements that left Frank gasping against their palm.
Gerard leaned in, lips brushing the shell of Frank’s ear. “You gonna come for me?” they murmured, voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Right here, where anyone could see?” Their fingers tightened, twisting just shy of painful, and Frank’s hips jerked forward with a muffled whine. The amp behind him rattled with the force of it, and Gerard’s grin turned downright predatory. “Christ, you’re pathetic,” they breathed, but their own thighs were pressed together tight, rocking against nothing like they couldn’t help it.
A burst of laughter erupted somewhere to their left. Too close. And Frank went rigid, heartbeat slamming against his ribs. Gerard didn’t stop, just slowed their strokes to a torturous crawl, dragging their thumb over Frank’s slit in slow circles until his thighs trembled. “Scared?” they taunted, but their own breath hitched when Frank bit down on their fingers, teeth sinking in hard enough to leave marks.
The noise Gerard made was filthy, half groan and half laugh, and Frank could feel the vibration of it where their chests were pressed together. He arched into their grip, desperate for more friction, more anything, but Gerard pulled back just enough to watch him unravel, eyes dark and gleaming under the backstage lights. “Look at you,” they murmured, voice wrecked. “All worked up over nothing.”
Frank’s knees hit the amp with a metallic thud as Gerard’s grip twisted, their thumb pressing punishingly into the underside of his cock. The sting of it shot straight to his gut, and Frank’s vision blurred. Half from the pleasure, half from the sheer fucking audacity of Gerard doing this here, now, with roadies shouting just feet away. He could hear the clatter of equipment being loaded onto the bus, the distant hum of the crowd still chanting outside of the venue, but all of it faded beneath the wet sound of Gerard’s hand working him over, slick with sweat and precome.
Gerard’s teeth grazed Frank’s earlobe, breath ragged. “You’re dripping,” they muttered, like it was an accusation, and Frank choked on a laugh that came out more like a sob. Their fingers curled tighter, dragging up his length in a slow, filthy stroke that had Frank’s hips jerking forward uncontrollably. The amp rattled again, loud enough that someone nearby shouted, ‘Hey, watch it!’, but Gerard didn’t flinch. Just pressed their forehead to Frank’s, their noses brushing, and fucked him faster with their hand, their own hips grinding against Frank’s thigh in a desperate, uneven rhythm.
Frank’s breath came in sharp, punched-out gasps against Gerard’s palm. He could feel them shaking against him, could hear the way their breath hitched every time Frank’s teeth dug into their fingers. It was messy, too fucking much. Gerard’s knuckles bumping his zipper, the wet slide of skin on skin, the way their knee kept slipping between Frank’s thighs like they couldn’t decide whether to pin him or rut against him. Frank’s stomach tightened, heat coiling low and urgent, and he bit down harder on Gerard’s hand just to hear them groan.
Then there were footsteps. Close. Way too close.
The footsteps stutter to a halt just beyond the amps, and Frank’s entire body locks up, his breath trapped behind Gerard’s fingers. Gerard goes still, their hand still wrapped around Frank, thumb pressed obscenely against his slit. For one agonizing second, Frank can hear his own pulse roaring in his ears, then the footsteps pivot away, swallowed by the din of the crew. Gerard exhales sharply through their nose, their grip tightening reflexively, and Frank nearly bites through their palm.
Gerard leans in, lips brushing Frank’s temple. “Close?” they murmur, voice ragged. Their hips stutter against Frank’s thigh, fabric catching damply, and Frank nods frantically, thighs trembling. Gerard’s laugh is breathless, uneven. “Yeah, me too.” Their thumb circles Frank’s cockhead, smearing precome down his length, and Frank whines high in his throat, hips jerking.
For a long moment, they just breathe, foreheads pressed together, sweat dripping between them. That was until the PA system crackled to life, “Final call for load-out crew. Wheels rolling in ten.”
Frank’s knees gave out completely when Gerard finally pulled away, their fingers leaving his skin sticky and oversensitive. He slumped against the amp, chest heaving, and Gerard wiped their palm on their jeans with a lazy smirk. The PA system blared again, “nine minutes,”but Frank barely registered it over the ringing in his ears. His body felt boneless, wrung-out, but Gerard was already straightening their shirt like nothing had happened, like they hadn’t just wrecked him against a goddamn amp in the middle of a backstage frenzy.
“You’re gonna kill me,” Frank muttered, voice hoarse. He swiped a hand over his mouth, tasted sweat and Gerard’s skin, and shuddered.
Gerard’s grin was all teeth. "Only if you’re lucky." They reached down, hooked a finger under Frank’s chin to tilt his face up, and Frank’s pulse stuttered all over again at the look in their eyes. Dark, possessive, hungry. "Now get your shit together before someone sees you like this." They patted Frank’s cheek twice, condescending as hell, and Frank wanted to bite their fingers clean off.
Instead, he grabbed Gerard’s wrist again, yanking them close enough to smell the salt on their skin. "You don’t get to walk away first," Frank growled, and Gerard’s eyebrows shot up, amused. Frank didn’t give them time to quip back, just spun them around and shoved them face-first into the amp with a dull thud. Gerard’s breath hitched, shoulders tensing, but they didn’t resist when Frank crowded against their back, mouth hot on their neck. "You’re mine," Frank whispered, biting down just hard enough to make Gerard gasp. "Remember that."
The PA crackled again, “eight minutes”, but Frank barely registered it over the rush of blood in his ears. Gerard’s back was pressed flush against his chest, their breath coming in sharp, uneven pants as Frank dragged his teeth down the nape of their neck. He could feel the hitch in Gerard’s ribs when his fingers slid under their shirt, skimming the damp skin of their stomach, and the sound they made, half protest, half plea, sent a fresh wave of heat straight to Frank’s gut.
“You’re insatiable,” Gerard gasped, but their hips arched back into Frank’s grip anyway, their ass grinding against his still-hard cock. Frank’s laugh was ragged against their shoulder, his fingers digging into Gerard’s hip hard enough to leave marks. “And you’re full of shit,” he muttered, nipping at Gerard’s earlobe. “Like you weren’t begging for it.
Gerard twisted in his grip, their smirk sharp enough to cut glass, and Frank’s breath caught at the sight of them. Lips swollen, hair a mess, their shirt riding up where Frank’s hands had been. They looked wrecked, and the knowledge that he’d done that, that he was the reason Gerard’s knees were still shaking, sent a thrill down Frank’s spine.
Then Gerard’s knee knocked between Frank’s thighs, their grin turning downright mean, and Frank’s vision blurred for a second. “You gonna do something about that?” they taunted, nodding pointedly at Frank’s crotch, and Frank growled, shoving them back against the amp hard enough to make the metal shudder.
Frank's fingers dug into Gerard's hips, the fabric of their jeans bunching under his grip as he ground against them slowly and deliberately, just to watch their throat bob when they swallowed hard. "You talk too much," Frank muttered, lips dragging along the shell of Gerard's ear before biting down, sharp enough to make them gasp. The amp behind them rattled with every shift of their bodies, and Frank could feel the way Gerard's breath hitched when his knee pressed tighter between their thighs.
Someone shouted, “Move your asses, wheels in five!” from across the wing. Jesus, how was time moving that fast? They hadn’t heard the PA system over the heavy breaths between them. Frank didn’t care, though. Not when Gerard's back arched for him, not when their fingers scrabbled at the amp's edge like they were trying to hold on. Frank slid a hand up their shirt, palming the sweat-slick skin of their stomach, and Gerard made a sound, half laugh, half groan, before twisting their head to catch Frank's mouth in a kiss that was more teeth than tongue.
Frank could taste the adrenaline on them, the sharp tang of stage smoke, and the faint copper hint of blood where Gerard's lip had split during the set. He chased it, licking into their mouth with a hunger that bordered on desperation, their teeth clacking together before Gerard bit down hard enough to make Frank hiss. The sting of it only made him grind forward harder, his cock throbbing against the rough denim of Gerard's jeans.
Gerard's hands flew up, fingers tangling in Frank's hair to yank his head back. "You're obsessed," they breathed, lips slick and swollen, but their voice cracked halfway through, betraying the way their thighs trembled against Frank's knee. Frank grinned, wild and mean, and dragged his thumb over the damp spot on Gerard's crotch, watching their pupils blow wide. "Yeah," Frank agreed, voice rough. "And you're fucked."
The PA system screeched again, “Four minutes”, and Gerard's grip tightened in Frank's hair, pulling until his scalp burned. "Then fuck me," they demanded, low and wrecked, and Frank's breath stuttered. He could feel the heat of Gerard's body through their jeans, could smell the sweat and sex clinging to their skin, and the sheer audacity of them, demanding this here, now, with the crew shouting just feet away.
Frank didn't hesitate. He spun Gerard around again, shoving them face-first into the amp with enough force to draw a clang from the metal beneath them. Gerard's breath punched out in a gasp, their fingers scrabbling for purchase on the slick surface, but Frank was already yanking their jeans down just far enough to expose the curve of their ass. He spat into his palm, slicking himself up with rough, hurried strokes, and Gerard groaned, low and throaty, when Frank pressed the head of his cock against them.
Gerard's back arched, shoulders tensing as Frank pushed in, slow, deliberate, savoring the choked noise Gerard tried to swallow. The amp behind them rattled with every thrust, the metal cold against Gerard’s palms where they braced themselves. Frank leaned in, biting the jut of Gerard’s shoulder blade through their damp shirt. “Quiet,” he growled, but Gerard only laughed, breathless and sharp, when Frank’s hips stuttered at the clench of their body around him.
Footsteps clattered past, too close, and Frank froze, fingers digging into Gerard’s hipbones hard enough to bruise. Gerard’s breath hitched, their muscles tightening around Frank in a way that made his vision blur for a second. Then the footsteps faded, swallowed by the roar of the loading bay doors slamming shut, and Frank exhaled harshly through his nose before snapping his hips forward again, harder this time. Gerard’s muffled curse was half-lost in the creak of the amp, their knuckles whitening where they gripped the edge.
Frank leaned in, lips brushing the shell of Gerard’s ear. “You gonna come?” he murmured, mimicking Gerard’s mocking tone they’d taken with him earlier, dragging his teeth over the sweat-slick skin just below Gerard’s jaw. “Right here, where anyone could see?” His hand slid around Gerard’s hip, fingers curling around them with a grip that bordered on cruel, and Gerard’s hips jerked forward with a punched-out gasp. Frank grinned against their shoulder, thumb swiping over their cockhead in slow, filthy circles. “Fucking pathetic,” he breathed, but his own thighs trembled where they pressed against Gerard’s.
Gerard twisted their head to glare over their shoulder, lips swollen and pupils blown wide. “Shut up,” they hissed, clearly feeling mocked, but the effect was ruined by the way their voice cracked when Frank’s fingers tightened. Frank laughed low and mean, and fucked into them harder, the wet slap of skin echoing beneath the hum of the PA system’s countdown. “Three minutes.”
Gerard’s knees buckled when Frank’s thumb pressed into the underside of their cock, twisting just shy of painful. They bit down on their own wrist to muffle the groan, shoulders shaking as Frank fucked them harder into the amp. Each thrust was punctuated by the metallic creak of the casing. The noise alone should’ve been enough to get them caught, but Frank didn’t care. Not when Gerard’s body clenched around him like a vice, not when their breath came in ragged, punched-out gasps against their own skin.
Frank leaned in, lips dragging along the sweat-damp curve of Gerard’s spine. “You’re close,” he muttered, more observation than question, and Gerard’s hips jerked back into his grip with a broken noise. Frank’s grin was all teeth. “Yeah, I know.” He tightened his fingers, stroking Gerard in time with his thrusts, and watched their shoulders tense, their fingers scramble for purchase on the slick metal.
The PA system crackled to life once again, “Two minutes,” but Gerard barely registered it over the white-noise rush of blood in their ears. Frank’s teeth sank into the nape of their neck, sharp enough to leave marks, and Gerard’s vision blurred at the edges, their thighs trembling. They could feel Frank’s breath hot against their skin, could hear the ragged hitch in his voice when Gerard clenched around him on purpose just to watch Frank’s rhythm stutter.
Frank growled, low and rough, and pinned Gerard harder against the amp. “You fuck,” he hissed, but his hips snapped forward anyway, driving into Gerard with a force that made the metal shudder even louder. Gerard’s laugh came out strangled, their fingers slipping on the amp’s edge, and Frank’s hand shot out to brace them, his palm flat against the casing beside Gerard’s head.
Frank’s fingers dug into Gerard’s hipbones, the sharp press of bone against his palms the only anchor as he fucked into them with rough, uneven thrusts. Gerard’s breath hitched with every snap of Frank’s hips, their shoulders tensing as the amp rattled behind them, loud, too loud, but Frank didn’t care. Not when Gerard was biting down on their own wrist to stifle the noises, not when their body clenched around him like a vise every time he dragged his thumb over the head of their cock.
Gerard’s knees gave out just as the PA system blared “One minute,” their hips jerking forward into Frank’s grip with a choked-off gasp. Frank caught them by the waist, yanking them back against his chest, and Gerard’s head tipped back against his shoulder with a ragged exhale. “Fuck—” they breathed, voice wrecked, and Frank grinned against the sweat-damp skin of their neck.
“Yeah,” Frank muttered, twisting his fingers just shy of cruel. “Like that.” He could feel Gerard trembling against him, could hear the way their breath stuttered when Frank’s teeth scraped the shell of their ear. The amp was cold against Frank’s forearm where he braced them both, but Gerard’s skin was fever-hot under his hands, their pulse rabbiting beneath his fingertips.
Gerard’s hips stuttered, their thighs shaking as Frank’s thumb circled their cockhead, smearing precome down their length in slow, filthy strokes. “Frank—” they managed, voice cracking, and Frank bit down on their shoulder just to feel them jerk in his grip.
Frank didn't let up. Not when Gerard's back arched against him, not when their fingers scrabbled at the amp's edge hard enough to leave marks. He kept his grip tight, his strokes relentless, watching the way Gerard's throat worked as they swallowed back noises that would've given them away instantly. The PA system blared “Thirty seconds,” a death knell. But Frank only fucked into them harder, the wet slap of skin lost beneath the crew's shouted warnings about the bus doors closing.
Gerard came with a silent, shuddering gasp, their body clamping down on Frank so tight it stole his breath. Frank bit down on their shoulder to muffle his own groan, hips stuttering as he chased his climax. Rough, frantic, barely holding on. The amp rattled violently when Gerard's knees finally gave out, their weight dragging Frank down with them in a tangle of limbs and damp fabric.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. They just breathed against each other's skin, sweat-slick and trembling until the PA screeched “Doors sealing in ten,” and reality came crashing back. Frank jerked upright, wiping his hand hastily on his jeans before yanking Gerard to their feet. "Move," he hissed, shoving their jeans back up with rough hands. Gerard's laugh was breathless, uneven, but they staggered upright, their shirt clinging to their back in damp patches.
They barely made it, Frank's boot hitting the bus steps just as the hydraulics whined behind them, the door sealing shut with a hiss. The driver didn't even glance back as they stumbled down the aisle, still half-hard and reeking of sex, but Ray shot up from his bunk when Gerard collapsed onto the bench opposite him with a groan.
Ray's smirk was immediate, sharp as a blade. "Jesus. You two look like you just got dragged through a tour bus exhaust pipe." He kicked Gerard’s boot lightly, nose wrinkling when they didn’t even bother flipping him off, just slumped against the seat, breathing ragged. "Or," Ray added, grin widening, "almost like someone rode you through one."
Gerard’s fingers twitched against the vinyl seat, still shaking from the aftershocks, and Frank watched the way their throat worked as they swallowed, like they were trying to piece together words through the haze. Ray’s grin didn’t falter, sharp as a switchblade, and Frank kicked his boot up onto the bench beside Gerard, deliberately crowding into their space just to watch their breath hitch.
"Exhaust pipe’s got nothing on me," Frank muttered, voice rough, and Gerard’s laugh came out punched-out, half a groan. Their knee knocked against Frank’s thigh, warm even through denim, and Frank didn’t miss the way their fingers curled into the seat like they were stopping themselves from reaching out.
Ray whistled low, shaking his head. "Disgusting," he said, but he was already tossing Gerard a half-crushed water bottle from his bunk. "Drink something before you pass out. You look like you got hit by a truck."
a/n: hello!! last night i took a poll in my server for fic ideas and the winning idea got written!! the winning prompt was AND I QUOTE "frerard post show overstim with desperate frotting and touching without others picking up on it". however, i got carried away as usual and just made them go nasty crazy style with the backstage can't get caught aspect lol. the fic takes place after the above happened on stage mwhahahah. i think this is by far the most DESCRIPTIVE thing ive ever wrote! HAPPY PRIDE!!!!!
“You actually did it,” Gerard hissed, fingers digging into Frank’s hips hard enough to leave crescent moons through the thin fabric of his jeans. The stage lights had cut out seconds ago, plunging them into the smoky half-dark backstage area, but Frank could still see the wild gleam in Gerard’s eyes. Part fury, part something hotter.
Frank wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning despite the way his pulse hammered in his throat. “Yeah, and you fucking loved it.” The crowd’s roar still vibrated in his bones, and their chants of encore, muffled behind the heavy curtain. He’d planned the move weeks ago. The drag of his tongue up Gerard’s cheekbone, slow and obscene. He’d even rehearsed it in the mirror until his jaw ached. But the way Gerard had shuddered against him, the choked noise they’d made mid-song? That wasn’t part of the script.
Someone shouted Gerard’s name from across the wing, and they jerked apart like they’d been caught, though no one was looking. Frank’s skin prickled where Gerard had gripped him, phantom warmth lingering. He watched their throat bob as they swallowed, watched their fingers flex like they wanted to reach for him again.
The stage manager barreled past, clutching her clipboard like it was her lifeline. “Five minutes to load-out,” she barked, already vanishing into the maze of equipment.
Frank’s fingers tightened around Gerard’s wrist, their pulse hammering against his thumb. The stage manager’s voice had faded into the din of clattering gear and roadies shouting over each other, but all Frank could focus on was the way that Gerard’s pupils swallowed the dim light. “Five minutes,” Frank echoed, voice rough, and Gerard’s breath hitched. Just once, barely there, before they twisted their hand free only to shove Frank backward into the narrow gap between two towering amps.
The metal was cold against Frank’s spine, but Gerard’s body was fever-hot where they pressed against him, one knee slotting between Frank’s thighs with practiced ease. “You’re such a little shit,” Gerard murmured, but their hands were already working Frank’s belt loose, fingers skimming the damp waistband of his briefs. Frank bit down a groan, head tipping back against the amp with a dull thud. The noise of the crew was too close, too loud, but Gerard’s mouth on his neck was louder. Sharp teeth and wet, open-mouthed kisses that made Frank’s hips jerk forward helplessly.
Gerard’s laugh was a dark, pleased thing against his skin. "Thought you wanted an audience," they taunted, palming Frank through his jeans just hard enough to make his breath stutter. Frank’s nails dug into Gerard’s shoulders, gripping the sweat-damp fabric of their shirt. The stage had been one thing. That was calculated and choreographed. But this was something else entirely. The risk of being caught, the way Gerard’s fingers trembled ever so slightly as they undid his fly, it was all too real, too fucking much.
Someone dropped a mic stand nearby with a clatter, and Gerard froze, their breath hot against Frank’s collarbone. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then Gerard’s hand slid into Frank’s briefs, fingers curling around him with a grip that bordered on cruel, and Frank’s vision whited out for a second. "Fuck—" he choked out, hips bucking into Gerard’s fist, but Gerard just clamped their free hand over his mouth again, smothering the sound.
Frank’s knees nearly gave out when Gerard’s thumb swiped over his cockhead, smearing precome down his length with a roughness that bordered on punishment. The hand over his mouth tasted like sweat and stage smoke, but Frank couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when Gerard was jerking him off with the same rhythm they’d used onstage, all sharp, controlled movements that left Frank gasping against their palm.
Gerard leaned in, lips brushing the shell of Frank’s ear. “You gonna come for me?” they murmured, voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Right here, where anyone could see?” Their fingers tightened, twisting just shy of painful, and Frank’s hips jerked forward with a muffled whine. The amp behind him rattled with the force of it, and Gerard’s grin turned downright predatory. “Christ, you’re pathetic,” they breathed, but their own thighs were pressed together tight, rocking against nothing like they couldn’t help it.
A burst of laughter erupted somewhere to their left. Too close. And Frank went rigid, heartbeat slamming against his ribs. Gerard didn’t stop, just slowed their strokes to a torturous crawl, dragging their thumb over Frank’s slit in slow circles until his thighs trembled. “Scared?” they taunted, but their own breath hitched when Frank bit down on their fingers, teeth sinking in hard enough to leave marks.
The noise Gerard made was filthy, half groan and half laugh, and Frank could feel the vibration of it where their chests were pressed together. He arched into their grip, desperate for more friction, more anything, but Gerard pulled back just enough to watch him unravel, eyes dark and gleaming under the backstage lights. “Look at you,” they murmured, voice wrecked. “All worked up over nothing.”
Frank’s knees hit the amp with a metallic thud as Gerard’s grip twisted, their thumb pressing punishingly into the underside of his cock. The sting of it shot straight to his gut, and Frank’s vision blurred. Half from the pleasure, half from the sheer fucking audacity of Gerard doing this here, now, with roadies shouting just feet away. He could hear the clatter of equipment being loaded onto the bus, the distant hum of the crowd still chanting outside of the venue, but all of it faded beneath the wet sound of Gerard’s hand working him over, slick with sweat and precome.
Gerard’s teeth grazed Frank’s earlobe, breath ragged. “You’re dripping,” they muttered, like it was an accusation, and Frank choked on a laugh that came out more like a sob. Their fingers curled tighter, dragging up his length in a slow, filthy stroke that had Frank’s hips jerking forward uncontrollably. The amp rattled again, loud enough that someone nearby shouted, ‘Hey, watch it!’, but Gerard didn’t flinch. Just pressed their forehead to Frank’s, their noses brushing, and fucked him faster with their hand, their own hips grinding against Frank’s thigh in a desperate, uneven rhythm.
Frank’s breath came in sharp, punched-out gasps against Gerard’s palm. He could feel them shaking against him, could hear the way their breath hitched every time Frank’s teeth dug into their fingers. It was messy, too fucking much. Gerard’s knuckles bumping his zipper, the wet slide of skin on skin, the way their knee kept slipping between Frank’s thighs like they couldn’t decide whether to pin him or rut against him. Frank’s stomach tightened, heat coiling low and urgent, and he bit down harder on Gerard’s hand just to hear them groan.
Then there were footsteps. Close. Way too close.
The footsteps stutter to a halt just beyond the amps, and Frank’s entire body locks up, his breath trapped behind Gerard’s fingers. Gerard goes still, their hand still wrapped around Frank, thumb pressed obscenely against his slit. For one agonizing second, Frank can hear his own pulse roaring in his ears, then the footsteps pivot away, swallowed by the din of the crew. Gerard exhales sharply through their nose, their grip tightening reflexively, and Frank nearly bites through their palm.
Gerard leans in, lips brushing Frank’s temple. “Close?” they murmur, voice ragged. Their hips stutter against Frank’s thigh, fabric catching damply, and Frank nods frantically, thighs trembling. Gerard’s laugh is breathless, uneven. “Yeah, me too.” Their thumb circles Frank’s cockhead, smearing precome down his length, and Frank whines high in his throat, hips jerking.
For a long moment, they just breathe, foreheads pressed together, sweat dripping between them. That was until the PA system crackled to life, “Final call for load-out crew. Wheels rolling in ten.”
Frank’s knees gave out completely when Gerard finally pulled away, their fingers leaving his skin sticky and oversensitive. He slumped against the amp, chest heaving, and Gerard wiped their palm on their jeans with a lazy smirk. The PA system blared again, “nine minutes,”but Frank barely registered it over the ringing in his ears. His body felt boneless, wrung-out, but Gerard was already straightening their shirt like nothing had happened, like they hadn’t just wrecked him against a goddamn amp in the middle of a backstage frenzy.
“You’re gonna kill me,” Frank muttered, voice hoarse. He swiped a hand over his mouth, tasted sweat and Gerard’s skin, and shuddered.
Gerard’s grin was all teeth. "Only if you’re lucky." They reached down, hooked a finger under Frank’s chin to tilt his face up, and Frank’s pulse stuttered all over again at the look in their eyes. Dark, possessive, hungry. "Now get your shit together before someone sees you like this." They patted Frank’s cheek twice, condescending as hell, and Frank wanted to bite their fingers clean off.
Instead, he grabbed Gerard’s wrist again, yanking them close enough to smell the salt on their skin. "You don’t get to walk away first," Frank growled, and Gerard’s eyebrows shot up, amused. Frank didn’t give them time to quip back, just spun them around and shoved them face-first into the amp with a dull thud. Gerard’s breath hitched, shoulders tensing, but they didn’t resist when Frank crowded against their back, mouth hot on their neck. "You’re mine," Frank whispered, biting down just hard enough to make Gerard gasp. "Remember that."
The PA crackled again, “eight minutes”, but Frank barely registered it over the rush of blood in his ears. Gerard’s back was pressed flush against his chest, their breath coming in sharp, uneven pants as Frank dragged his teeth down the nape of their neck. He could feel the hitch in Gerard’s ribs when his fingers slid under their shirt, skimming the damp skin of their stomach, and the sound they made, half protest, half plea, sent a fresh wave of heat straight to Frank’s gut.
“You’re insatiable,” Gerard gasped, but their hips arched back into Frank’s grip anyway, their ass grinding against his still-hard cock. Frank’s laugh was ragged against their shoulder, his fingers digging into Gerard’s hip hard enough to leave marks. “And you’re full of shit,” he muttered, nipping at Gerard’s earlobe. “Like you weren’t begging for it.
Gerard twisted in his grip, their smirk sharp enough to cut glass, and Frank’s breath caught at the sight of them. Lips swollen, hair a mess, their shirt riding up where Frank’s hands had been. They looked wrecked, and the knowledge that he’d done that, that he was the reason Gerard’s knees were still shaking, sent a thrill down Frank’s spine.
Then Gerard’s knee knocked between Frank’s thighs, their grin turning downright mean, and Frank’s vision blurred for a second. “You gonna do something about that?” they taunted, nodding pointedly at Frank’s crotch, and Frank growled, shoving them back against the amp hard enough to make the metal shudder.
Frank's fingers dug into Gerard's hips, the fabric of their jeans bunching under his grip as he ground against them slowly and deliberately, just to watch their throat bob when they swallowed hard. "You talk too much," Frank muttered, lips dragging along the shell of Gerard's ear before biting down, sharp enough to make them gasp. The amp behind them rattled with every shift of their bodies, and Frank could feel the way Gerard's breath hitched when his knee pressed tighter between their thighs.
Someone shouted, “Move your asses, wheels in five!” from across the wing. Jesus, how was time moving that fast? They hadn’t heard the PA system over the heavy breaths between them. Frank didn’t care, though. Not when Gerard's back arched for him, not when their fingers scrabbled at the amp's edge like they were trying to hold on. Frank slid a hand up their shirt, palming the sweat-slick skin of their stomach, and Gerard made a sound, half laugh, half groan, before twisting their head to catch Frank's mouth in a kiss that was more teeth than tongue.
Frank could taste the adrenaline on them, the sharp tang of stage smoke, and the faint copper hint of blood where Gerard's lip had split during the set. He chased it, licking into their mouth with a hunger that bordered on desperation, their teeth clacking together before Gerard bit down hard enough to make Frank hiss. The sting of it only made him grind forward harder, his cock throbbing against the rough denim of Gerard's jeans.
Gerard's hands flew up, fingers tangling in Frank's hair to yank his head back. "You're obsessed," they breathed, lips slick and swollen, but their voice cracked halfway through, betraying the way their thighs trembled against Frank's knee. Frank grinned, wild and mean, and dragged his thumb over the damp spot on Gerard's crotch, watching their pupils blow wide. "Yeah," Frank agreed, voice rough. "And you're fucked."
The PA system screeched again, “Four minutes”, and Gerard's grip tightened in Frank's hair, pulling until his scalp burned. "Then fuck me," they demanded, low and wrecked, and Frank's breath stuttered. He could feel the heat of Gerard's body through their jeans, could smell the sweat and sex clinging to their skin, and the sheer audacity of them, demanding this here, now, with the crew shouting just feet away.
Frank didn't hesitate. He spun Gerard around again, shoving them face-first into the amp with enough force to draw a clang from the metal beneath them. Gerard's breath punched out in a gasp, their fingers scrabbling for purchase on the slick surface, but Frank was already yanking their jeans down just far enough to expose the curve of their ass. He spat into his palm, slicking himself up with rough, hurried strokes, and Gerard groaned, low and throaty, when Frank pressed the head of his cock against them.
Gerard's back arched, shoulders tensing as Frank pushed in, slow, deliberate, savoring the choked noise Gerard tried to swallow. The amp behind them rattled with every thrust, the metal cold against Gerard’s palms where they braced themselves. Frank leaned in, biting the jut of Gerard’s shoulder blade through their damp shirt. “Quiet,” he growled, but Gerard only laughed, breathless and sharp, when Frank’s hips stuttered at the clench of their body around him.
Footsteps clattered past, too close, and Frank froze, fingers digging into Gerard’s hipbones hard enough to bruise. Gerard’s breath hitched, their muscles tightening around Frank in a way that made his vision blur for a second. Then the footsteps faded, swallowed by the roar of the loading bay doors slamming shut, and Frank exhaled harshly through his nose before snapping his hips forward again, harder this time. Gerard’s muffled curse was half-lost in the creak of the amp, their knuckles whitening where they gripped the edge.
Frank leaned in, lips brushing the shell of Gerard’s ear. “You gonna come?” he murmured, mimicking Gerard’s mocking tone they’d taken with him earlier, dragging his teeth over the sweat-slick skin just below Gerard’s jaw. “Right here, where anyone could see?” His hand slid around Gerard’s hip, fingers curling around them with a grip that bordered on cruel, and Gerard’s hips jerked forward with a punched-out gasp. Frank grinned against their shoulder, thumb swiping over their cockhead in slow, filthy circles. “Fucking pathetic,” he breathed, but his own thighs trembled where they pressed against Gerard’s.
Gerard twisted their head to glare over their shoulder, lips swollen and pupils blown wide. “Shut up,” they hissed, clearly feeling mocked, but the effect was ruined by the way their voice cracked when Frank’s fingers tightened. Frank laughed low and mean, and fucked into them harder, the wet slap of skin echoing beneath the hum of the PA system’s countdown. “Three minutes.”
Gerard’s knees buckled when Frank’s thumb pressed into the underside of their cock, twisting just shy of painful. They bit down on their own wrist to muffle the groan, shoulders shaking as Frank fucked them harder into the amp. Each thrust was punctuated by the metallic creak of the casing. The noise alone should’ve been enough to get them caught, but Frank didn’t care. Not when Gerard’s body clenched around him like a vice, not when their breath came in ragged, punched-out gasps against their own skin.
Frank leaned in, lips dragging along the sweat-damp curve of Gerard’s spine. “You’re close,” he muttered, more observation than question, and Gerard’s hips jerked back into his grip with a broken noise. Frank’s grin was all teeth. “Yeah, I know.” He tightened his fingers, stroking Gerard in time with his thrusts, and watched their shoulders tense, their fingers scramble for purchase on the slick metal.
The PA system crackled to life once again, “Two minutes,” but Gerard barely registered it over the white-noise rush of blood in their ears. Frank’s teeth sank into the nape of their neck, sharp enough to leave marks, and Gerard’s vision blurred at the edges, their thighs trembling. They could feel Frank’s breath hot against their skin, could hear the ragged hitch in his voice when Gerard clenched around him on purpose just to watch Frank’s rhythm stutter.
Frank growled, low and rough, and pinned Gerard harder against the amp. “You fuck,” he hissed, but his hips snapped forward anyway, driving into Gerard with a force that made the metal shudder even louder. Gerard’s laugh came out strangled, their fingers slipping on the amp’s edge, and Frank’s hand shot out to brace them, his palm flat against the casing beside Gerard’s head.
Frank’s fingers dug into Gerard’s hipbones, the sharp press of bone against his palms the only anchor as he fucked into them with rough, uneven thrusts. Gerard’s breath hitched with every snap of Frank’s hips, their shoulders tensing as the amp rattled behind them, loud, too loud, but Frank didn’t care. Not when Gerard was biting down on their own wrist to stifle the noises, not when their body clenched around him like a vise every time he dragged his thumb over the head of their cock.
Gerard’s knees gave out just as the PA system blared “One minute,” their hips jerking forward into Frank’s grip with a choked-off gasp. Frank caught them by the waist, yanking them back against his chest, and Gerard’s head tipped back against his shoulder with a ragged exhale. “Fuck—” they breathed, voice wrecked, and Frank grinned against the sweat-damp skin of their neck.
“Yeah,” Frank muttered, twisting his fingers just shy of cruel. “Like that.” He could feel Gerard trembling against him, could hear the way their breath stuttered when Frank’s teeth scraped the shell of their ear. The amp was cold against Frank’s forearm where he braced them both, but Gerard’s skin was fever-hot under his hands, their pulse rabbiting beneath his fingertips.
Gerard’s hips stuttered, their thighs shaking as Frank’s thumb circled their cockhead, smearing precome down their length in slow, filthy strokes. “Frank—” they managed, voice cracking, and Frank bit down on their shoulder just to feel them jerk in his grip.
Frank didn't let up. Not when Gerard's back arched against him, not when their fingers scrabbled at the amp's edge hard enough to leave marks. He kept his grip tight, his strokes relentless, watching the way Gerard's throat worked as they swallowed back noises that would've given them away instantly. The PA system blared “Thirty seconds,” a death knell. But Frank only fucked into them harder, the wet slap of skin lost beneath the crew's shouted warnings about the bus doors closing.
Gerard came with a silent, shuddering gasp, their body clamping down on Frank so tight it stole his breath. Frank bit down on their shoulder to muffle his own groan, hips stuttering as he chased his climax. Rough, frantic, barely holding on. The amp rattled violently when Gerard's knees finally gave out, their weight dragging Frank down with them in a tangle of limbs and damp fabric.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. They just breathed against each other's skin, sweat-slick and trembling until the PA screeched “Doors sealing in ten,” and reality came crashing back. Frank jerked upright, wiping his hand hastily on his jeans before yanking Gerard to their feet. "Move," he hissed, shoving their jeans back up with rough hands. Gerard's laugh was breathless, uneven, but they staggered upright, their shirt clinging to their back in damp patches.
They barely made it, Frank's boot hitting the bus steps just as the hydraulics whined behind them, the door sealing shut with a hiss. The driver didn't even glance back as they stumbled down the aisle, still half-hard and reeking of sex, but Ray shot up from his bunk when Gerard collapsed onto the bench opposite him with a groan.
Ray's smirk was immediate, sharp as a blade. "Jesus. You two look like you just got dragged through a tour bus exhaust pipe." He kicked Gerard’s boot lightly, nose wrinkling when they didn’t even bother flipping him off, just slumped against the seat, breathing ragged. "Or," Ray added, grin widening, "almost like someone rode you through one."
Gerard’s fingers twitched against the vinyl seat, still shaking from the aftershocks, and Frank watched the way their throat worked as they swallowed, like they were trying to piece together words through the haze. Ray’s grin didn’t falter, sharp as a switchblade, and Frank kicked his boot up onto the bench beside Gerard, deliberately crowding into their space just to watch their breath hitch.
"Exhaust pipe’s got nothing on me," Frank muttered, voice rough, and Gerard’s laugh came out punched-out, half a groan. Their knee knocked against Frank’s thigh, warm even through denim, and Frank didn’t miss the way their fingers curled into the seat like they were stopping themselves from reaching out.
Ray whistled low, shaking his head. "Disgusting," he said, but he was already tossing Gerard a half-crushed water bottle from his bunk. "Drink something before you pass out. You look like you got hit by a truck."
Hi hiii m,,, thinking about more ray toro 🥹🥹 how do you think he would react to an extremely bratty reader?? Arughh,, theres soo many possibilities...
Thank you for feeding us 😖🖤🖤
We're in a Ray Toro fic drought rn. Here's some brat tamer Ray Toro Headcanons. I went a little buckwild I'm not gonna lie
Pairing: Ray Toro x You
Tags: Brat Tamer, Brat, Established Relationship
Brat Tamer Ray Toro Headcanons
Ray never raises his voice. That's the scary part. He'll sit there calm as anything, speaking softly, while completely controlling the situation. The more upset you get, the quieter he gets.
He's observant to an almost terrifying degree. He notices every tiny change in your attitude. Your eye rolls, the muttering under your breath, your deliberate defiance. Instead of reacting instantly he stores it away. He lets you think you're getting away with it for HOURS before addressing it later with surgical precision.
Ray's version of being vindictive is incredibly calculated. If you push him in public? He'll embarrass you later in the softest, sweetest way possible. He'll make you sit in his lap while everyone's around. Quietly correcting you. Holding eye contact until you fold.
He keeps meticulous control because underneath all the softness is somebody who hates unpredictability. Bratting doesn’t actually upset him unless it feels genuinely disrespectful or emotionally manipulative. Playful resistance? He enjoys that. He likes the game.
He's the type to smile while completely dismantling your attitude. "You're done now, aren't you?" in the calmest tone imaginable while you're still trying to act difficult through tears and frustration.
He doesn’t believe in explosive punishment. Everything is intentional. measured. If he disciplines you, it’s because he’s decided it’s necessary, not because he lost control emotionally.
Ray’s punishments are never messy or impulsive. They’re humiliating in the most controlled, intimate way possible. Making you sit perfectly still beside him while visibly worked up, one hand heavy on your thigh as a warning every time you twitch.
He loves forcing eye contact during punishment. tilting their chin up gently whenever they look away. “Don’t start acting shy now. you wanted my attention earlier.”
Ray LOVES overstimulation as a punishment specifically he stays so calm during it. You're falling apart while he remains composed, talking you through it in that quiet steady voice like he's got all the time in the world.
He sometimes makes you hold certain positions for him while he casually goes about other things. Occasionally checking your posture with a soft touch to your shoulder or waist.
He's huge on control through denial. You get needy and demanding after acting out? Congratulations, now Ray's dragging things out for hours. Making you ask nicely and earn every scrap of affection he's willing to give you.
Ray likes consequences that feel psychological. Making you repeat exactly what you did wrong while he watches you carefully, waiting for the moment where your cockiness dissolves into embarrassment.
Ray is the type to make his punishments feel inevitable. No arguing, no bargaining. Once he's decided on something, it's happening.
Afterward he’s intensely attentive. Quiet praise, hands smoothing over skin, checking for any lingering tension. He wants you calm and melted into him by the end of it, like the whole point was reestablishing control and closeness at the same time.
A/N: Hey everyone! Totally forgot I did not get around to cross-posting the rest of the available chapters of this that I have on ao3. I'm in the process of writing chapter 5, however I'm lowkey scared of the ao3 writer's curse because I'm convinced it got my ass lmfao.
Summary: Gerard invites his old frenemy Bert over to discuss vampire territory disputes, but the conversation quickly turns to Gerard’s exclusive attachment to Frank. When Frank accidentally cuts his thumb, the scent of blood triggers tension, and Gerard immediately steps into a possessive, protective stance, feeding just enough to heal him and make their claim clear. Bert warns that exclusive feeding without publicly presenting Frank to the vampire council is politically dangerous and will soon require a formal declaration, leaving Gerard and Frank facing the looming reality of a public claim.
Pairing: Vampire Gerard x Revenge Frank
Tags: Vampires, Blood, Blood Drinking, Predator/Prey, Possessive Behavior, Mind Control, Frenemies, Power Imbalance, Power Dynamics, Courting Rituals, Mating Rituals, Voyeurism, Territorial Behavior, Devotion
READ NSFW UNDER THE CUT
Bert does not come unannounced. That’s what makes it worse.
The invitation had been deliberate. Written in Gerard’s careful hand. Sealed with wax the old way. Delivered through channels that still respect ritual.
Frank had known the moment they sent it: this was not casual. Vampires do not gather casually.
He felt it all evening. The tension in the house could be cut with a knife. Gerard is quiet in a way that means calculation, not calm. They had been seated at the dining table for over an hour before Bert arrived, a stack of documents spread before them. None of them are modern. Nothing digital. Ink and parchment. Laws that predate electricity.
Frank lingers in the kitchen doorway watching them. They look like the embodiment of restraint, chiseled into a person.
Twenty-five years old in appearance. Frozen in that sharp, almost fragile kind of beauty that never softens. Dark hair brushes their cheekbones. Sleeves cuffed neatly to their elbows. Long fingers resting lightly over paper that smells older than memory.
They sensed Frank watching.
“I need you upstairs when he arrives,” Gerard said without looking up.
Frank leaned against the doorframe. “You invited him.”
“Yes.”
“So why do I have to hide?”
Their jaw shifted slightly. Not irritation. Consideration.
“You do not have to hide,” they corrected. “You have to remain uninvolved.”
“That feels like hiding.”
Now they look at him.
Their eyes were a steady green tonight. Controlled. Human enough that anyone passing on the street would mistake them for merely intense.
“This is not a social call,” they said. “He is here to talk about the Northern territory. There have been violations.”
Frank raised an eyebrow. “Violations like what?”
“Feeding disputes. Boundary crossings. Rumors of unauthorized siring.”
That word sent a small chill through him. Unauthorized siring refers to the creation of new vampires without council approval. Which means instability. Which means bloodshed.
“And Bert is involved,” he said.
Gerard’s mouth pressed thin.
“Bert is adjacent.”
Which means yes.
“You two always circle each other.”
“We do.”
There is no hesitation in it.
Frank moved closer to the table, eyes scanning the pages. Old names. Old places. Lines drawn in red ink mark territories that existed long before highways were established.
“How long have you known him?” he asked quietly.
“Two hundred and seventeen years.”
That should not shock him. But, it does.
“Were you friends?” Frank asked.
Gerard’s gaze dropped back to the parchment.
“We survived the same war,” they said. “That passes for friendship in our world.”
A knock sounded at the door. Not loud. Not polite. Measured.
Gerard stood, and the air shifted with them. They did not rush. They never rushed. But something in them straightened into a harder line. The stoic mask settled into place.
“Upstairs,” they said softly.
Frank hesitated. They noticed.
Gerard’s eyes soften just slightly. Only for him.
“This will not be interesting,” they assured him.
Frank nodded and stepped back toward the stairs. He did not go far. He lingered at the landing where he could hear without being seen.
The door opened.
“Gerard.”
Bert’s voice is warm in a way that is almost mocking.
“Bert.”
Footsteps. The door closed. The faint thudding of shoes against wood.
“I see you have not redecorated,” Bert remarked.
“I see you still talk too much,” Gerard replied evenly.
Frank tried to picture Bert without seeing him. Taller than Gerard by a fraction. Brown hair that never seemed to darken, no matter how many centuries passed. A smile that always looked like he knew something you did not.
They moved into the dining room.
“You said this was urgent,” Bert said.
“It is,” Gerard replied. They slid the papers across the table towards Bert.
“You crossed into Northern territory three times in the last month.”
A soft chuckle. “Crossed is a dramatic word. I visited.”
“You fed.”
“I always feed.”
“Not there.”
Silence.
Frank leaned against the railing, listening.
“That territory is unclaimed,” Bert said.
“It is neutral.”
“Neutral is unclaimed with better branding.”
“It is protected.”
“By whom?”
Gerard did not answer immediately.
Frank knew why.
Neutral territories often fall under Gerard’s watch.
“I am monitoring it,” Gerard said at last.
Bert exhaled through his nose. Amusement. “You cannot monitor everything.”
“I can monitor what matters.”
“And this matters to you?” Bert says.
A pause.
“Yes.”
Frank heard the subtle shift in Bert’s tone.
“Ah,” he says. “So that is what this is about.”
The air tightens.
“You were seen,” Gerard continued calmly. “Feeding publicly. Without discretion.”
“I was hungry.”
“You are always hungry.”
“And you are always disciplined. It is exhausting to watch.”
There is movement. A chair scraped lightly across the floor.
“Is this about politics?” Bert asked, voice lowering. “Or is this about something else?”
“You know exactly what this is about.”
A longer silence.
Then, lightly, “Is he here?”
Frank’s breath catches. He did not realize Bert knew about him.
“I did not invite you to discuss my personal affairs,” Gerard said, tone sharpening a fraction.
“Oh, I think you did.”
Footsteps shifted, coming closer to the staircase. Frank stepped back instinctively, his heart pounding, even though he knew that Bert could not see him from that angle.
“He smells different,” Bert continued softly. “Marked.”
Gerard moved.
Frank does not see it, but he hears it. The sudden shuffling of fabric and shoes against the floorboards once more. The low sound in Gerard’s chest that he had only heard once before.
“You will not speak of him.”
“Why not? Is it not the most interesting thing you have done in decades?”
“I said enough.”
The warning is quiet. Deadly. A beat. Then Bert laughed.
“Relax. I am not here to steal what you so carefully guard.”
There was history in that sentence. Something sharp and unfinished.
“You are here because you were reckless,” Gerard replied. “The council is watching.”
“They are always watching.”
“And they are looking for weakness.”
“Then perhaps you should not be displaying it.”
Silence. Frank knew those words hit Gerard like a punch to the gut.
There was a faint shift in the air that felt like two predators circling each other.
“You mistake attachment for weakness,” Gerard said.
“I mistake obsession for distraction.”
Before Gerard could answer, something small and ordinary interrupted. Frank’s stomach growled loud enough to echo faintly down the staircase.
He froze. Downstairs, both vampires went silent.
Bert laughed first.
“So he is here.”
Gerard’s voice turned to ice. “Stay where you are.”
That was directed at Frank, yet he ignored it because now, he's annoyed.
Frank descended the stairs calmly, refusing to skulk like something fragile. If Bert was going to assess him, he could do it to his face.
The dining room came into view. Bert was exactly how he’d pictured him to be. Leaning casually against the table. Arms crossed. Smile sharp.
His eyes landed on Frank immediately, darkening as he inhaled.
“There he is,” he said softly.
Gerard stepped subtly into Frank’s space. Not blocking him. Not yet. But close enough that he felt their presence like a wall at his back.
“You were supposed to be upstairs,” Gerard said quietly, breath hot against the shell of his ear.
“I was hungry,” Frank replied.
Bert’s grin widened. “That makes two of us.”
Gerard did not look at him.
“You should eat,” they said to Frank. The normalcy of it would be comical if not for the tension threading through the room.
“I was about to,” Frank said. “I just needed to cut something up.”
He moved toward the kitchen. Frank felt the weight of both vampires watching him. The air in the house was becoming too thick.
Frank tried to ignore it. He grabbed a peach from the bowl sitting atop the kitchen counter, then a knife from the drawer. He heard their voices lower again across the way as they resumed their discussion, though the topic had shifted.
“You cannot keep this quiet forever, Gerard,” Bert said sharply under his breath.
“I am not keeping anything quiet.”
“You have not presented him.”
“He is not an object to present.”
“Gerard, he is mortal.”
The words landed heavily.
“Yes,” Gerard said.
“And you feed exclusively from him.”
Silence.
“That is not sustainable,” Bert continued. “Not politically.”
“It is controlled.”
“It is unheard of.”
“It is mine.”
Frank pressed the blade into the peach. His hands were steady. Frank told himself they were steady. He's listening too closely. He thought about the word presented. About what that might entail.
The knife slipped. It was small. Stupid. Barely a mistake. A thin slice across his thumb, eliciting a soft hiss. For half a second, nothing happened.
Then everything did.
The scent bloomed instantly. Bright. Metallic. Alive. Everyone present could feel it in the air like an electric current.
Gerard was in the kitchen doorway before Frank could even process that they had moved. Their eyes were already darkening.
Behind them, Bert straightened slowly.
“Well,” Bert murmured.
Frank instinctively lifted his thumb to his mouth. Gerard’s hand caught his wrist before he could. Not harsh. Firm.
“Do not,” they said. Their voice was low and roughened.
“It’s just a cut,” Frank insisted.
The blood welled again. Bert inhaled. The sound was subtle. Predatory.
“That,” Bert said quietly, stepping closer, “is a problem.”
Gerard moved.
They stepped fully between Frank and Bert this time. One hand braced against the counter beside Frank’s hip. The other was sliding behind him to Frank’s waist. The gesture was unmistakable. Possessive, protective, and territorial.
“Back,” Gerard said.
Bert’s smile faded slightly. Not offended. Interested.
“I am not lunging,” he said mildly.
“You are thinking about it.”
“That is my nature.”
“And this is mine.”
Gerard’s fingers tightened against Frank’s waist. He could feel the tension vibrating through them. Gerard’s control was now a visible thing. A wire pulled too tight.
“You invited me into your home,” Bert said. “And you bring him into the room bleeding.”
“He was not bleeding when I brought him in.”
Bert tilted his head.
“You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“I’m managing it.”
“With what? Sentiment?”
“With discipline.”
Bert’s gaze flickered to Frank’s hand again. The blood. The scent.
“You cannot expect the rest of us to ignore that,” he said softly.
“I expect you to respect it.”
The word respect carries weight. Old weight. Bert studied Gerard’s face carefully.
“You would challenge me over this,” he said, tone questioning.
“Yes.”
The answer was immediate. Absolute. Silence stretched. The air felt charged. Ancient. Then Bert exhaled slowly and stepped back.
“I do not want a challenge,” he said. “I want you to remember what we are.”
“I remember,” Gerard replied.
“Do you?”
Gerard did not respond.
Instead, they turned slightly toward Frank.
“Show me,” they said quietly.
Frank lifted his hand. The cut was shallow. Embarrassingly small for the chaos it had caused
.
Gerard took his wrist gently. Their thumb brushed the inside of his palm. They inhaled once. Their eyes flickered darker.
“Look at you,” Bert murmured. “You are unraveling.”
Gerard ignored him.
Gerard brought Frank’s thumb closer to their mouth but paused. Frank saw the struggle. They did not want to feed in front of Bert. They did not want Bert smelling it. Witnessing it. Claiming knowledge of it.
But Gerard also did not want anyone else to have even the slightest opening.
“You do not have to,” Frank whispered.
Their gaze snapped to Frank.
“I do,” Gerard said.
Not because they are starving. Because this is control.
Gerard’s lips closed around Frank’s thumb. It was slow. Measured to the point of strain. Frank felt the shift in them the instant his blood touched their tongue. The tension in their shoulders. The subtle tremor they suppressed.
Gerard only took enough to seal the wound, then they pulled back. The cut was already knitting closed. Gerard’s breathing was uneven while Bert watched the entire thing with open fascination.
“Exclusive,” he said softly. “You are truly serious.”
“Yes.”
Bert’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You know what that means.”
Gerard’s hand slid from Frank’s wrist to his jaw. Not rough. Not performative.
Intimate.
“I know.”
“You will have to formalize it.”
“Yes,” Gerard agreed. “But not tonight.”
Bert’s gaze moved between the two of them.
“They will demand it soon,” he said. “You cannot keep feeding from him without acknowledgement.”
Gerard’s jaw tightened.
“I’m aware.”
“And when you do,” Bert continued, voice almost thoughtful now, “you will be challenged.”
“By you?” Gerard asked, voice deadly calm.
Bert smiled faintly.
“Perhaps.”
The threat was not heated. It was old. Layered. Frank felt the weight of something much larger than the kitchen pressing in around him.
“This is why I invited you,” Gerard said finally. “Not to argue. To inform.”
“To warn.”
“Yes.”
Bert studied them for a long moment.
“You always did like control,” he said softly.
“And you always did like testing it,” Gerard replied.
A flicker of something passed between them. Shared memory. Shared violence. Then Bert straightened.
“Very well,” he said. “I will respect your territory. For now.”
“Thank you.”
“But when you stand before the council,” Bert added, “you will not be able to hide him upstairs.”
“You should understand,” he said gently, almost kindly, “that what they are doing with you, Frank, is not small.”
“I know,” Frank replied.
Bert searched Frank’s face.
“You are either very brave,” he said, “or very foolish.”
“Probably both.”
That earned a genuine laugh from him.
“I liked you better when you were reckless,” he said to Gerard.
“I was reckless,” Gerard corrected. “Then I survived.”
The words hung heavy. Bert nodded slowly.
“Be careful,” he said at last. “Attachment has a scent. And the others will notice.”
“They already have,” Gerard replied.
“Yes,” Bert agreed. “They have.”
He moved toward the door. The tension in the house shifted with him. At the threshold, he paused.
“If you intend to claim him publicly,” he said without turning around, “do it decisively.”
Then he was gone. The door closed softly behind him. Silence settled. Gerard remained still for several seconds. Only when the night outside resumed its normal rhythm did they exhale.
Frank watched their shoulders lower fractionally.
“Are you angry?” Frank asked quietly.
“No.”
“You look like you want to kill something.”
“I always look like that.”
Frank almost smiled. Gerard turned to him fully now, the stoic mask slipping. Not gone. But thinner. Their hand lifted to his face again.
“You cannot bleed in front of them,” Gerard said softly.
“I cut my thumb.”
“You scented the entire house.”
Frank glanced toward the door.
“Was he really going to lunge?”
“Yes.”
The answer was immediate.
“He would not have hurt you,” Gerard continued. “Not with me here. But he would have tested the boundary.”
“And you,” Frank said.
“And me.”
Frank studied them.
“You would have fought him.”
“Yes.”
“For a small cut?”
“For you.”
There it was. Not dramatic. Not theatrical. The simple truth. Gerard’s thumb brushed the place where the cut had been.
“You make this difficult,” they murmured.
“I did not ask you to.”
“I know.”
Gerard’s composure wavered then. Just slightly. Frank saw it in the way their eyes darkened again. Not from hunger now, from something deeper.
“You should not have to fight your entire world for me,” Frank said.
Their gaze sharpened.
“I am not fighting them,” they replied.
“I am reminding them.”
“Of what?”
Gerard stepped closer. Their voice lowered.
“That I do not share.”
The air between them felt charged again. Not violent. Intimate.
“You are going to have to present me,” Frank said softly.
“Yes.”
“And it is going to be ugly?”
“Yes.”
Frank nodded once.
“Then we do it properly.”
Something shifted in Gerard’s expression at that. Approval.
Their hand slid to the side of Frank’s neck.
“You’re not afraid,” they observed.
“I am,” Frank admitted. “But I am more afraid of being treated like something you are hiding.”
Their eyes softened.
“I would never.”
“I know.”
Gerard leaned their forehead briefly against Frank’s. A rare crack in their armor.
“They will try to provoke you,” they said quietly. “They will try to provoke me.”
“Let them.”
Their lips curved faintly.
“There it is,” they murmured.
“What?”
“The recklessness.”
Frank smiled.
“Maybe you missed it.”
Gerard studied Frank for a long moment before their expression settled back into that familiar, controlled calm.
“We will call a gathering,” they said. “Soon.”
“How soon?”
“Before the rumors become declarations.”
Frank nodded. The house felt different now.
“You should eat,” Gerard said again.
This time, there was no tension in it. Frank reached for another peach. Gerard stayed close.
Not because they feared Bert would return. But because something in Gerard had shifted. The stoic discipline was still there. The ancient control. But beneath it, something more dangerous now hummed.
Not hunger. Claim.
And both Frank and Gerard knew that the next time the vampires gathered, it would not be about territory disputes.
A/N: Hellooooo! I have been gone for a while but, I did indeed re-write the Vampire Gerard fic as a Frerard fic! I feel like tumblr does not have enough Frerard and so, HERE I AM BECAUSE SHIPPING IS WHERE MY PASSION LIES!!! I hope you guys enjoy and love this as much as I loved writing it! I missed y'all! Shoutout to my beta readers River and Julien, I love y'all! Full list of tags on my AO3 because tumblr hates certain words lol.
Summary: Gerard, once a stoic and ruthlessly controlled vampire, begins unraveling after refusing to feed from anyone but Frank. Starving themself out of obsession and devotion, their restraint weakens in his presence until the tension finally snaps. Frank offers himself willingly, and the feeding becomes intimate, intense, and deeply emotional. Afterwards, restored but changed, Gerard admits they no longer want blood from anyone else. Their hunger is no longer just survival. It is Frank.
Pairing: Vampire Gerard x Revenge Frank
Tags: Vampires, Blood, Blood Drinking, Predator/Prey, Possessive Behavior, Mind Control, Frenemies, Power Imbalance, Power Dynamics, Courting Rituals, Mating Rituals, Voyeurism, Territorial Behavior, Devotion,
READ NSFW UNDER THE CUT
Gerard stopped going out at night. That was the first sign.
They used to vanish after sunset, coat collar up, shadows bending toward them like old friends. They would return just before dawn, distant but steady, color restored to their otherwise bloodless skin.
Now they stayed in.
They stayed in the darkest corners, staring at nothing. Their hands, colder than usual, sent chills reverberating through Frank’s bones.
“You haven’t fed,” Frank said quietly one evening.
They didn’t look at Frank. “I’m fine.”
“Gerard, you’re shaking.”
Gerard stilled immediately, as if he’d caught them doing something shameful.
“I said I’m fine.”
But he could hear it. The strain in their voice. The roughness of their tone under the calm. The way their throat bobbed when he swallowed.
Frank’s pulse betrayed him as it always did around them. Their eyes flickered to his neck, tracking the fluttering movement of his pulse with a precision that only their starvation could cause.
It was only for a second, but it was enough.
“Who have you been feeding from?” Frank asked.
Silence. The air changed. Thickened.
He stepped closer to them, closing the remaining distance. “Gerard.”
Their jaw tightened. Their fingers curled around the edge of the table beside them, wood creaking under the pressure. He could tell their strength was waning. That same action weeks ago would’ve rendered the table useless.
“No one,” they said at last.
Frank’s breath caught. “You haven’t fed at all?”
Their laugh was soft and humorless. “Not in weeks.”
“Why?”
That made them look at him. Their eyes were darker now. Not red. Not monstrous. Just hollowed out with want.
“Because it doesn’t taste like you.”
The words settled heavily between them. Frank stared at them. They swallowed slowly. “Everyone else tastes empty. Thin. I can’t stand it.” Their voice dropped lower. “It feels wrong.”
“Gerard, you’re starving yourself.”
“I can manage.”
They couldn’t. Frank knew they couldn’t. They would wither away, not quite dead, but not quite alive. They would be forever suffering the longer they didn’t feed.
Frank saw it in the way their gaze lingered on his throat too long. The way they flinched backwards when his wrist brushed theirs. The way they left the room when his heart started racing.
Gerard was avoiding Frank. Not because they didn’t want him. Because they wanted him too much.
They had not always been restrained. There was a time, long before Frank, when their hunger ruled them.
Gerard was turned young enough to still revel in the thrill of human fear. The first years were blood and noise and instinct. They fed recklessly; they did not count the bodies.
They did not apologize. They learned quickly that immortality does not forgive indulgence.
Hunters found them once. Not with stakes and torches, but with patience. With knowledge. They survived only because they learned what restraint truly meant.
After that, they became deliberate.
They fed rarely. Carefully. They never took more than necessary. They never fed from the same person twice. They refused attachments. Refused the intimacy of it.
To them, feeding was not sex. It was survival. Mechanical. Detached.
They built control the way other men built religion.
They counted heartbeats before biting. Measured breaths. Timed the pull. They could stop mid-feed if they needed to. They could walk away from warm blood if instinct told them it was unsafe. If they left a victim, there was the risk of being caught.
For decades, no one ever saw them lose that control. Not in clubs thick with sweat and perfume. Not in alleyways where prey offered themselves willingly. Not even when someone begged them to take more.
They were calm. Stoic. Untouchable. Until Frank. It started subtly. Frank’s blood did not just taste different. It felt different.
When they fed from him the first time, they heard something they had not heard in over a century.
Their own pulse.
Not literally. They were still dead, of course. But something in them stirred. Something remembered, and that terrified them. Control had been the only thing keeping them safe for so long.
Control kept hunters from noticing them. Control kept bodies from piling up. Control kept them from becoming the monster they had been at the beginning. But around Frank, control wavered.
Frank’s scent lingered in rooms after he left. They would stand there long after he was gone, breathing it in like it was something holy.
His pulse did not sound like prey. It sounded like an invitation. And the worst part was that Frank trusted him.
He leaned his throat toward them without fear. He held their face after they fed. No one had ever done that. That kind of trust does not make a vampire stronger. It makes them dangerous.
Because now they had something to lose.
______________
The breaking point came three nights later.
Frank found them in the spare room at the back of the house. The curtains were drawn tight. The lights were off. The air was thick and unmoving. They were sitting at their desk, gripping the arms of their chair hard enough to splinter it.
“Don’t,” they said the second he stepped inside.
Frank shut the door behind him anyway.
“Go back to bed.”
He took another step.
Their shoulders were tense. Their head bowed slightly, like they were listening to something only they could hear.
His heartbeat.
“You’re not feeding from anyone else,” Frank said. “So feed from me.”
They made a strained sound, somewhere between a laugh and a warning. “You don’t understand.”
“Then explain, Gerard.”
They turned slowly, pupils blown wide. Not feral. Not out of control. Hungry.
“You think this is just hunger?” they asked quietly. “It isn’t.”
Frank moved closer despite the way his pulse thudded in his ears.
“It’s possession,” they continued. “It’s an obsession. I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want to taste anyone else. And if I start, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”
“You always stop. I’ve seen it.”
Their eyes dropped to his throat.
“When you tilt your head like that,” they murmured. “You make it very difficult.”
Frank stepped into them. They inhaled sharply. The sound shuddering out of them.
“Gerard,” he said softly. “Look at me.”
They did.
“Do you want to feed from me?”
The question trembled between them both. Their hand lifted slowly, almost cautiously, hovering at his waist but not touching. “More than anything, my sweet.”
“Then do it.”
They hesitated.
Even starving, even unraveling, they waited.
Frank settled into their lap. He reached up and brushed his fingers along their jaw. “It’s okay.”
That was the moment their restraint snapped. Not violently. Not cruelly. Just completely.
Frank straddled Gerard’s thighs. Gerard’s hand slid up the side of his neck, firm but careful, brushing his hair away from the side of his neck. They exposed the skin, their hand trembling with barely concealed want. Their other hand gripped his hip with a strength only mustered by the starving. They bent their neck slowly, giving Frank time to pull away.
He didn’t.
Their mouth brushed his first. Warm breath against warm skin.
A kiss.
Another. His mouth crept down to the side of his neck, breath heavy over Frank’s pulse.
Then: the faintest graze of teeth.
Frank could feel their thumb rubbing small circles into his hipbone and eventually hooking into the hem of his briefs. They whispered his name like it was something sacred.
When their fangs sank in, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t wild. It was intimate. A slow pull of breath from him. A soft sound from them that almost sounded like relief.
Their grip loosened at his waist, dipping lower and finding his cock, rubbing small circles over the head with their thumb. They were determined to make this as pleasurable for Frank as it was for them.
The feeling was dizzying.
They made a low sound in their chest when his heartbeat stuttered faster. It drove them deeper, hungrier. Their control thinned. Taking the shaft in their hand, they squeezed at the base of Frank’s cock, slowly stroking upwards, syncing with the pace of them drinking from him.
They drew sounds out of Frank that he wasn't aware he could make.
For a moment, they felt it. The edge of something dangerous. The ancient thing inside them that did not care about tenderness.
Then they tore themself away too abruptly.
They leaned back like they’d been burned. Frank’s blood stained their mouth. Their lips were dark and shining. Their pupils were still blown wide. They looked wrecked.
“I’m sorry,” They breathed.
“You didn’t hurt me, Gerard.”
They were shaking now. Not from hunger, but from the way he was looking at them.
“Say it,” they demanded quietly.
“What?”
“That you’re alright.”
“I’m alright, Darling.”
They were on him again in an instant, hands framing his face, eyes scanning him for the smallest sign of weakness. They pressed their ear to Frank’s chest. Listening. Their hands drifted down to hold his waist again, thumbs soothing circles against his skin.
His heartbeat was strong and steady. They exhaled slowly.
“I won’t feed from anyone else,” they said. “I don’t want to.”
“You don’t have to starve.”
“I’m not starving.” Their fingers tightened slightly at his waist. “Not anymore.”
There was something darker in their tone now. Something possessive.
“You’re mine,” they growled.
Not as a threat. It was devotion.
Gerard pulled Frank against them, cold body wrapped around his warmth, holding him like he was the only living thing tethering them to the world.
And maybe he was.
_________
After they fed from him that night, something changed.
Not in their hunger. In their posture.
For the first time in weeks, they stood straight. The tremor in their hands was gone. The hollowness behind their eyes filled in with something darker. Sharper.
But the control they once wore so easily does not slide back into place the way it used to. They stay close to Frank. Closer than necessary.
When Frank walks through the house, they follow without meaning to. When someone’s name appears on his phone screen, their jaw tightens just slightly.
They tell themself that it’s just instinct. Protective instinct. Territorial instinct. But they know better. It’s an attachment, and attachment is far more dangerous than hunger.
The next night, they did not leave the house. They did not hunt. They sit beside Frank on the couch, fire blaring in the fireplace, fingers tracing idle patterns along his wrist, listening to the steady rhythm beneath his skin.
They have always been able to ignore heartbeats if they so chose.
Frank’s… they cannot.
“You’ve changed,” he says softly.
They look at him with an unreadable expression.
“In what way?”
“You look... alive.”
That almost makes them smile.
“I’m not alive, my sweet.”
“You feel like you are.”
They studied Frank carefully, as though committing his face to memory.
“If anything happens to you,” they say quietly. “I will not survive it.”
It is not dramatic. It is not romantic. It is a fact. Because for the first time in decades, their control depends on something outside themself.
Around others, they’re still composed. Still untouchable. But when Frank’s pulse spikes suddenly in a crowded room, their head snaps toward him immediately.
When someone stands too close, Gerard’s hands find the small of his back without fail. When he tilts his head back absentmindedly while laughing, their pupils dilate before they can stop them.
They hate that Frank sees it. They hate that they cannot hide it from him.
“You undo me,” they admit, voice low against his hair.
Frank turns to face them.
“I built myself out of restraint,” they continued. “Out of rules. Out of distance.”
Their fingers tighten slightly at his waist.
“And you make me forget every single one.”
There’s no anger behind their statement, only awe. And something darker beneath it.
The world outside the house remains the same. Hunters still exist. Other vampires still roam. The city pulses with warm, living blood. But Gerard does not care about any of it the way they used to.
Because now their hunger has a name.
And for the first time in over a century, the most dangerous thing about them is not that they are starving.
you should forcefem mikey way. it would be so silly and goofy if we forcefemmed mikey way together. preferably current era but any era works. I think it would be really cool and neat if you wrote mikey way forcefem please :3
obviously only if you want, im bein silly
Moment of Truth
a/n: hello hello! anon this is delicious and i'm obsessed with this idea. i love love love love forcefem. i will say though i really was not feeling a reader insert for this one so have some RIKEY. yayyyyyyyy
Ray had imagined this moment so many times that when it finally happened, it almost didn’t feel real.
The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. The bag sat on the coffee table between them like something dangerous neither of them had decided to touch yet.
Mikey now knew what was in it. He hadn’t said anything for a while.
He sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, staring down at the carpet while the skirt and bra rested beside the bag like silent evidence of Ray’s strange, embarrassing secret.
“You’re serious about this,” Mikey muttered finally.
Ray didn’t answer right away. His fingers were laced together so tightly that his knuckles had gone pale.
“...Yeah.”
“That’s... Really not in my comfort zone, Ray.”
Ray let out a small breath. “I know.”
But, he didn’t say that he was sorry.
Mikey glanced at the clothes again. “You think I’d look good in this?”
Ray’s throat tightened. He forced himself to nod.
Mikey shook his head, laughing under his breath in disbelief.
“You’re unbelievable.” But, he didn’t push the clothes away. A tiny detail that made Ray’s pulse start racing.
A quiet silence settled over the room again.
Finally, Mikey sighed heavily and stood up, grabbing the skirt and bra in one awkward motion.
“If I do this,” he said without looking at Ray, “you don’t get to make fun of me.”
Ray sat up straighter immediately.
“I wouldn’t.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
Mikey pointed at him. “And you’re not allowed to stare like a creep either.”
Ray didn’t answer that one.
Mikey squinted suspiciously.
“…Ray.”
“I’ll behave,” Ray said quickly.
Mikey didn’t believe him, yet he walked toward the bedroom anyway.
The door shut behind him. Ray sat perfectly still. His heartbeat had become painfully loud in his ears.
He dragged a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. What the fuck was wrong with him?
He had felt embarrassed when he bought the clothes, and even more embarrassed when Mikey found them. But now that Mikey was actually changing, something darker and more electric had taken over that embarrassment. His mind kept replaying the image he’d imagined a hundred times.
Soft fabric.
Bare thighs.
Mikey blushing.
The bedroom door opened, and Ray looked up instantly. And everything in his chest seized.
Mikey stood in the doorway, frozen.
The skirt rested low on his hips, the black cotton brushing the tops of his thighs when he shifted his weight nervously. The bra straps sat slightly crooked on his shoulders, clearly not designed for his frame.
His arms were crossed tightly over his chest. His face was bright red. He refused to look up.
Ray’s pupils blew wide immediately. The sight of him hit like a punch straight to his lungs.
For a moment, Ray didn’t breathe. He just stared.
Mikey noticed right away.
“Don’t,” he muttered.
Ray stood slowly. His eyes never left him. Taking in every detail.
The way Mikey’s knees pressed together slightly. The way he kept tugging the skirt down, even though it wouldn’t move. The way his shoulders curled inward like he wanted to fold himself smaller.
Mikey shifted under the weight of that stare.
“Ray, stop looking at me like that.”
Ray took a step closer. Then another. He looked completely transfixed.
Mikey backed up instinctively until his shoulders touched the wall.
“Ray.”
Ray stopped inches away from him. Up close, he could see the tremble in Mikey’s breathing.
“You’re shaking,” Ray murmured.
“Because this is humiliating,” Mikey snapped quietly.
Ray lifted a hand slowly. Mikey flinched slightly.
But Ray only reached for the bra strap that had slipped halfway down his shoulder, sliding it gently back into place.
His fingers lingered there for a second longer than necessary.
“You look…” Ray began.
Mikey squeezed his eyes shut instantly.
“Don’t.”
Ray swallowed.
His voice dropped into something softer.
“…pretty.”
Mikey’s face burned hotter.
He tried to cross his arms tighter around himself, but Ray caught his wrist gently before he could.
“Don’t hide,” Ray murmured.
Mikey shook his head weakly. “I should be hiding.”
Ray tilted his head slightly, studying him with intense focus. Pupils blown wide, almost swallowing the color of his irises entirely.
“You’re so shy,” Ray said quietly.
Mikey’s breathing had slowed without him realizing it. Something strange was happening inside his chest.
The embarrassment was still there. Heavy and hot. But the way Ray was looking at him made everything feel distant and soft around the edges.
Ray noticed immediately.
“There you go,” he whispered.
Mikey blinked slowly, confused by the softness creeping into his thoughts.
Ray reached up and brushed Mikey’s hair back from his face. The gesture was careful. Gentle and almost reverent.
Mikey’s shoulders loosened slightly.
Ray inhaled sharply, completely captivated.
His thumb brushed lightly under Mikey’s eye. A tear had gathered there without Mikey noticing.
Mikey sniffed softly, embarrassed. “This is so stupid.”
Ray’s voice softened even more.
“Shhh.”
His thumb wiped the tear away.
“Shhh, shhh.”
Mikey looked up at him, finally. Ray’s expression had gone dreamy, almost dazed with fascination.
“You’re my pretty girl,” he whispered.
Mikey froze. The words should have snapped him out of the strange haze forming in his head.
Instead, he sank into it.
Ray hand cupped his cheek gently.
“Shhh, shhh,” he murmured again, voice low and soothing. “Don’t cry.”
Mikey’s breathing slowed further.
Ray brushed his thumb across Mikey’s cheek again.
“You’re my pretty girl,” he repeated softly.
Mikey’s face flushed deep red, but he didn’t pull away this time.
Ray watched the change happen in real time.
The tension in Mikey’s shoulders was easing. The nervous resistance faded into something quieter.
His pupils were widening even more. He looked utterly enthralled, like he’d just discovered something delicate and beautiful that he couldn’t stop staring at.
Ray leaned a little closer.
“See?” he whispered.
His voice was gentle, almost hypnotic now.
“You look perfect.”
Ray didn’t move away. If anything, something inside him seemed to snap. The careful distance he’d been holding vanished as if it had never existed.
His hand was still cupping Mikey’s cheek, thumb brushing under his eye, but now the touch lingered longer, warmer, like he couldn’t make himself stop.
“Shhh,” Ray murmured again, voice rougher now, breath uneven.
Mikey let out a trembling breath.
“I’m— this is so embarrassing,” he whispered, voice breaking.
But he didn’t step away. That was the thing that made Ray unravel completely.
Because Mikey was still right there.
Tears sliding down his face, cheeks burning red, the skirt barely brushing his thighs as he shifted his weight nervously. And he wasn’t leaving.
Ray’s pupils were huge. Dark. Completely blown wide. He looked almost lost in it.
“You’re okay,” Ray murmured, but the words sounded more like he was convincing himself than Mikey.
His other hand came up without hesitation now, settling firmly at Mikey’s waist. The fabric of the skirt bunched slightly under his fingers.
Mikey gasped softly at the contact. Ray inhaled sharply. The sound seemed to go straight through him.
“There you are,” he whispered, voice low.
His hand moved. Slow at first. Sliding along Mikey’s waist, feeling the shape of him through the thin fabric, but once he started, he didn’t seem capable of stopping.
His fingers traced the edge of the skirt.
Then his hand slid up Mikey’s side, across his ribs, like he was mapping every inch of him.
“You’re so—” Ray stopped himself, breath hitching.
His other hand had moved too now.
One thumb still brushing under Mikey’s eye, catching tears as they fell.
The other gripping lightly at his waist.
“You’re so pretty,” he finished, voice barely above a whisper.
Mikey was crying openly now, though the sound was quiet and breathy.
“I feel weird,” he murmured.
Ray barely seemed to register the words.
His attention was completely consumed by the way Mikey looked. Flushed, trembling, glassy-eyed, and standing there in the soft black fabric with tears sliding down his cheeks.
Ray’s hands moved again.
He smoothed Mikey’s hair back, fingers lingering in it for a moment before sliding down to his neck, his shoulder, the strap of the bra.
His breathing had gone uneven.
Like the sight of Mikey had completely taken him over.
“You’re floating,” Ray murmured, almost to himself.
Mikey sniffed softly.
“I think I am.”
Ray exhaled slowly, like the words sent a shiver through him.
His hands were everywhere now. Gentle but constant. Brushing Mikey’s arms, settling again at his waist, sliding up his sides like he needed to keep touching him to believe he was really there.
“You’re my pretty girl,” Ray whispered again.
Mikey’s head dipped slightly, tears still slipping down his cheeks.
Ray watched him as if he’d never seen anything more beautiful.
His hands pulled Mikey a little closer without thinking.
“Don’t cry.”
Mikey’s forehead nearly brushed Ray’s shoulder as he leaned forward slightly, breathing slowly and unsteadily.
Ray’s arms wrapped around him instinctively, one hand still tangled gently in his hair.
I love ur writing soooo much omg I imagine you writing with a quill and fire no joke….are you writing the third part of nightfall’s first sign? its ok if not but it’s so good!!
NO BC I FORREAL WOULD DO THIS IF I COULD. i wanna be giving lady whistledown writing in my nightgown with a fire type beat. but yes! part three is in the works!
thank you so much for your kind words! i could cry! xoxo
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