Xrlegkelxx

||She/they|| 𓏲ּAnytime you want𝄢 #1 basement gee luver

[xrlegkelxx]

Welcome ⊹ ࣪ ˖

About me 𝜗ৎ

My Masterlist <3

Hii!! My name is Khloe nd im gnna be posting nd writing fics!! (I also post on ao3 under the same name!)

My requests are always open ♡

Im going to write mainly for mcr nd Gerard x reader and im comfortable writing almost anything js ask >_<

Most of my works will be written as fem reader, but I’m open to writing for any other gender if requested!

Anons ♡

🖤 (I NEED MORE AUGH)

[xrlegkelxx]

Sanctified sins

Priest gee x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, religious themes, catholic guilt, bruising during sex, p in v, unprotected sex, semi public sex, use of y/n dont shoot me, oral f receiving, mutual yearning

Summary: Dragged back to church, you never expect to lose yourself to Father Way. What begins as stolen glances and quiet guilt unravels into a single, irreversible confession, one that fractures faith, blurs devotion into desire, and leaves you both marked by a secret neither prayer nor time can erase.

Word count: 2,249

A/N: HAI EVERYONE!!! Ive missed all of u and im finally back!!! And here is the priest gee fic that the masses have asked for bc yes WE need that catholic guilt dick

You never expected to find yourself back in a church. And if you had — if someone told you a year ago you’d be here, actually aching to see a priest, you would’ve thought they were insane. Yet there you were, cheeks burning in the pew, barely able to breathe as Father Way’s voice sang through the air. His words burrowed deeper than scripture ever had, too sweet, too gentle, and way too good for the dirty thoughts twisting in your head.

Really, you’d only come back to church because your mom had insisted, dragging you along like some lost cause. And then there was him: Gerard, Father Way, impossibly young for a priest, the kind of awkward sweet that made your heart skip and made every inch of you feel awake and hungry and terribly ashamed.

You didn’t know much about religion. But you knew how you felt each time his eyes found yours. You knew the way your gaze would dart away, guilty, your hands wringing in your lap as your pulse thrummed traitorously. Each Sunday, it got worse. You’d daydream instead of pray. You’d linger after Mass just to hear him laugh, try to memorize the way his fingers curled around a prayer book. Once, your knees brushed as you stood from the pew. He apologized. You nearly ran straight out the door.

Your mother always lingered after service, gossiping with friends. You spent that time pacing like a caged animal, waiting for him to finish talking to parishioners, watching him try to look at everyone but you for too long. You felt stupid, humiliated for wanting him. Asking yourself, again and again, if there was something sick about you. If he’d be disgusted if he ever saw the storm inside your head.

You didn’t know that he was just as wrecked, just as hungry, that afterward, alone in his silent room, Gerard would clasp that rosary until it cut red lines into his hand and whisper prayers for mercy, for relief. That every night, he dreamed himself lost in your body, your scent all over his skin, sweat cooling as he lay trembling and ruined by his own hand.

This Sunday felt sharper, all edges. You slipped away from your mother and found him organizing pamphlets at the altar. You hovered, hesitated, you shouldn’t speak, not when the very sound of his voice made your knees shake. Still, need got the best of you.

“Father Way?”

He startled when you said his name, spun around with that dazed smile and too-bright eyes. “Oh — Y/N. Hi.” His voice broke, just like yours. You hardly met his gaze, nerves growing everywhere at once.

“I just… wanted to say, thank you. For… helping me. With faith and everything,” you stammered out, feeling your heart slam against your ribs.

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck like he wanted to hide. “I, uh, that’s — that’s why I do this,” he said. “Means a lot.”

You flinched at your own boldness and left quickly, fleeing the church red faced, chest tight with shame and something else you didn’t want to name.

You barely made it a day. You drove back the next morning, the parking lot empty, your hands shaking as you pushed the church door open. The space felt cavernous, echoing every footstep as you wandered down the aisle, searching for him. You found him at a pew up near the altar, shoulders bowed in prayer. The slant of sunlight lit his hair, his neck, humble and so heartbreakingly human.

“Father Way?” Your voice scraped rough against the hush.

He jerked up, startled, eyes wide as he drank in the sight of you. “Y/N?” His breathing hitched. “You scared me.” His laugh was nervous, almost frightened.

“I’m sorry. I— I can come back—” you mumbled, heat roaring in your cheeks.

He shook his head quickly, swallowing hard. “No. It’s… okay. You’re always welcome.” His hands fidgeted, voice cracking around the words. “What brings you here this morning?”

You twisted your fingers, heart banging so loud you thought he could hear it. “Confession,” you said.

He blinked, startled, lips parting. After a moment’s numb silence, he nodded and stood, hands trembling. The walk to the confessional was endless, the wooden floors creaking under every step. You could feel him glancing at you, like he couldn’t help it.

Inside the booth, you broke down. You confessed the safe sins first, drinking, swearing, the little things you thought you could bear to have him hear. But the words wouldn’t stay caged.

“I’ve… I’ve been having sinful thoughts,” you choked out, voice breaking. Not specifying, but the way it hung between you, thick and electric, left no room for doubt.

Through the partition, you heard his breath falter. Silence. And you knew, deep in your gut, he understood exactly what you meant.

Shame filled you. You stood up abruptly, tears stinging, panic spilling out hotter than your embarrassment. You burst out of the confession booth, desperate to escape, wanting to run home, run anywhere and never come back.

But as you rushed through the aisle, you heard the confessional scrape open behind you. You barely made it past the first row before you felt his hand, urgent and unsteady, close tight around your wrist.

“Wait” His voice, thick and hoarse, not holy, not priestly just Gerard. Just a man, trembling in his skin.

You turned, breathless. You could feel his whole body shaking, his grip almost painful where it circled your arm. And then he was kissing you, desperate, startled, hungry, like every word he wanted to say was etched in the wet pass of his lips against yours. You gasped. He caught you around the waist, dragging you back behind the thick wooden doors, out of sight.

There, in the narrow dark, the air was humid with both your ragged breaths, the pressed close heat of bodies that had never done this before.

“God, forgive me,” he whispered against your mouth, but he didn’t stop. His hands trembled as they found your face, your jaw, down your sides, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

You clung to his collar, desperate to steady yourself. Your lips crashed together again and again sloppy, rushed, your teeth scraping his lip. His lips tasted like cheap wine and cinnamon breath mints, and it was already dizzying.

He pressed you tight to the panel, his whole body trembling as he kissed down your jaw, stopping to bury his face in your neck, shuddering.

“I can’t— I can’t stop,” he whispered raggedly, voice heavy with tears and longing. “I’ve tried. I thought I could.” He sounded terrified.

He cupped your cheek, searching your eyes for something, permission, or forgiveness, or maybe just consent. “Are you—?”

“Please,” you whispered. “Don’t stop.”

He moved clumsily, hands shaking violently as he slid over your waist, tugging up your shirt by inches. Your skin prickled. His thumb traced a line above your waistband, trembling, hesitant. He could barely look at you as your bra came off, his hands combing over the soft curve of your chest, awkward and shy and utterly worshipful.

He dropped to his knees in front of you, almost as if praying. Fingertips dancing over your thighs, every motion electric. You were burning. He pressed kisses to your stomach, his hands finding the button on your jeans. They slid down your thighs, dragging your underwear with them, and his breath hitched at the sight of you, bare and shaking.

“God—” His voice was husky, ruined, as he peppered trembling kisses along your inner thighs, nose nudging closer.

You whimpered, feeling exposed, your hips shifting restlessly.

He flicked his eyes to yours, shame burning his cheeks, voice just a ragged whisper: “Can I…?” For a second he almost chickened out, but then his mouth pressed flush to your heat. He was hesitant at first, tongue barely daring to taste you, then growing bolder as he lapped at you. His shaking hands gripped your thighs, the pads of his fingers digging into soft flesh as he angled your hips toward him.

You muffled a cry against the crook of your elbow, hips jerking as he grew braver, the sound of his frantic breathing blending with the slap of his tongue.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, wetting his lips, “I need to— you taste so fucking good, I—” Every word sounded strangled, twisted by guilt and want.

You tangled your fingers in his dark hair, tugging him closer, feeling your thighs tense. And he just stayed there, eating you out like he was starving, moaning against you, whining when you whimpered his name.

You shook, whimpering, and came hard against his mouth. He kept licking, like he couldn’t help himself, desperate to chase every drop.

When he finally broke away, his lips were slick, pink and swollen, eyes wide and shining with both awe and panic. He fumbled to his feet, stroked your jaw with shaking fingers. You could taste yourself when he kissed you again.

“I can’t—” he said again. “God, I shouldn’t—” His hands slid, unsure, to your hips, then up, hovering at your chest, needing but afraid.

You reached for his belt, hands clumsy, his eyes fluttering shut when you worked open the buckle and zipper. His cock sprang free, flushed, heavy, the head already slick with need. He sucked in a harsh, shaking breath, panic rising in his chest.

Shakily, he pulled the rosary from his pocket and wound it tight around his fist, clutching the beads until his knuckles went white. He looked like he was about to cry, or pray, or both.

He pressed forward, cock dragging over your slick heat. You shivered as the cold cross of the rosary bit into your skin where he held your hip, hard enough to bloom purple in hours or days.

You sucked in a gasp as he pressed in, slow and desperate, his forehead pressed to the crook of your neck. Your hands found his hair, anchoring him. Each inch was thick, stretching, pleasure wound with burning ache. He didn’t move, just shuddered, whimpering brokenly as he adjusted to the feel of being inside you.

“Fuck,” he breathed, biting down on your shoulder to muffle the moan. “God, please. Forgive me. I can’t— I need you—”

Slowly he started to move, rocking his hips tiny, frantic movements, his hands everywhere at once clutching, worshipping, completely lost. Soft gasping whimpers spilled from his mouth every time your walls squeezed around him, hips stuttering as he struggled to keep quiet. The beads of the rosary hit your skin at every thrust; you’d see the imprint of the cross later, angry and red, right above your hip.

He buried his head in your shoulder, mouthing at your collarbone, at the weak part of your jaw, his teeth scraping. His breath came fast, reedy moans hidden against your neck.

You pulsed around him, needy, desperate. One palm stuffed against your lips you tried not to cry out, muffled pleas leaking out “Oh god, oh— Gerard, please. Don’t stop—”

He whimpered, nearly sobbing, “Y/N— you feel— it’s too much, I—” His hips snapped harder, desperate. You could feel the tremors running through him.

“Do you hear them?” he hissed in your ear, voice cracking. “Someone’s still out there, we—” He bit down on a curse, hand sliding from your mouth to your throat, not choking, just holding, just needing. “Quiet, please, you— we can’t—”

He kept fucking you, pace frantic, frantic, like he could outrun the guilt curling up behind his ribs.

You shattered around him, your body clenching, legs locking, and he groaned, biting at your neck to keep from crying outright. “Y/N— fuck, fuck— I’m sorry, God, I’m— I need—” He whimpered, fully unraveling, cock twitching inside you as you felt the hot rush of him spill deep. He held, buried to the hilt, forehead slick with sweat against your own.

He didn’t move for long moments, just clung to you, still pulsing, nearly weeping as he forced himself to let you go.

He slipped out of you, still gasping, rosy beads of the rosary pressed so tight into your skin they’d left marks mixed with the ache of where his fingers had clung. You pulled up your clothes, desperate for dignity that wasn’t there anymore. His hand was shaking so hard he could barely do up the buttons.

He looked at you, face devastated and full of awe and remorse all at once. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have— I—” He broke off, pulling you close, pressing desperate kisses to your hair, your forehead.

You buttoned your jeans, wetness sticky between your legs, heart thumping wild. You saw his rosary on the bench, shining in the dim light. On impulse you picked it up and hid it in your pocket.

He stumbled away, ducking into the bathroom, running the water, drinking mouthful after mouthful as if he could rinse away that taste, your taste, the taste of everything wrong and holy and real.

You let yourself out the side door, feeling raw and hollow. You could never have him, and he could never have you. But beneath all that ruin and shame, something inside you burned, a secret you’d never confess, not to anyone, not even to God.

And if, weeks later, you traced the bruise of a cross on your hip with shaking fingers, you’d remember once, a man fell from grace for you, too.

[xrlegkelxx]

WHICH FIC DO WE WANT FIRST

Priest gee

Puppy princess pt.3

Vampires pt.3

Ghost gee (Ahs murder house inspired)

Voting ended onDec 29, 2025

[xrlegkelxx]

ITS MY BIRTHDAY SO EVERYONE WRITE SOME NASTY BASEMENT GEE FICS STARTING NOW!!!!

(HAIHAII SORRY FOR DISAPPEARING IM BACK AND WORKING ON LOTS OF FICS TONIGHT!!! MWUAH SO BE READY)

[xrlegkelxx]

PLS pt.2 of puppy princess i NEED to read moreee and maybe possibly a series with a happy ending if you’re up to it….??? 👀

Puppy princess

Basement gee x fem reader

Ch.2

Warnings: masturbation, cheating, pillow humping, unresolved sexual tension, mutual pining, soft angst

Summary: A quiet night in Gerard’s basement leads to a kiss you can’t forget. Afterward, guilt and longing haunt you both. Gerard obsessing over your lips and their taste, your stuck between your boyfriend and the secret you can’t shake. Between stolen glances, restless nights, and wanting what you shouldn’t, nothing feels simple anymore.

Word count: 1,560

A/N: EEK yay so happy u like it!! Nd trust there will be a happy endingg ♡

The three of you always ended up in Gerard’s basement. It was the default, cheap, quiet, half lit by a desk lamp and the old neon sign he’d rescued from the diner’s trash. Your boyfriend lounged on the couch, shoes kicked off, flipping a lighter between his fingers.

When he smacked the empty cigarette pack against his knee, you knew what was coming.
“Out again,” he muttered. “I’ll run to the corner store before they close.”

You started to rise, but he waved you off. “Stay. I’ll be five minutes. Gee, keep her entertained.”
Gerard gave that nervous half laugh he always did. “Yeah, sure. I can manage that.”

The door at the top of the stairs thudded shut, and silence folded over the room like a blanket that was suddenly too heavy. The hum of the fan, the scratching of his pencil against paper everything sounded louder now. Gerard’s stomach churned. He tried to concentrate on his sketchbook, but every little sound made him jump, the scuff of your shoes on the floor, the brush of your hair as you leaned forward, the soft hum of your voice when you muttered, “You’re really quiet tonight.”

You sat back on the couch, pretending to scroll your phone. “He’ll be quick,” you said.
“Yeah,” Gerard murmured, still sketching, though the pencil barely moved. He stared at the lines he’d drawn, but the page looked wrong somehow. Nothing looked right without thinking about you, your laugh, your smile, the way your eyes would flicker when you caught him staring.

A minute passed. Then another.

You leaned forward, elbows on your knees. “What’re you drawing?”
“Nothing. Just… shapes.”
“Shapes with a face?” you teased, leaning closer.

He froze. You caught the faint outline before he slammed the sketchbook shut. hair, a curve of a smile you recognized too easily. His throat went dry. His hands trembled slightly as he tried to cover the sketchbook, as if closing it could erase the memory of you from the paper.

“You don’t have to hide it, you know,” you said softly. “It’s pretty.”

Gerard’s laugh came out cracked. “You always say that. I don’t know how you do it…make everything sound like you mean it.”

“I do mean it.”

That landed somewhere deep. His shoulders tensed, breath shaky. He glanced up, eyes darting to yours then away again. He could feel heat crawling up his neck, his chest tightening, heart hammering like he’d run miles in place.

“You always go quiet when it’s just me,” you said.
“Because I don’t trust myself to talk.”

You smiled, unsure if you wanted to press or protect him. “You don’t have to be weird around me, Gee.”

“I’m always weird,” he said, a tiny, hopeless grin tugging at his mouth.

The lamp flickered. The air between you thickened, humming with something that felt both fragile and dangerous. You shifted closer on the couch, knees brushing. He startled, then didn’t move away. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. Every nerve ending in his body screamed that leaning closer, staying near you, was dangerous, but irresistible.

“I’m not good at pretending,” he whispered, voice barely audible.

You tilted your head. “Pretending what?”

“That I don’t—” He stopped himself, voice breaking. “Never mind.”

You should have let it go. You should have leaned back, made small talk, checked your phone. But something rooted you to the spot. His eyes lifted slowly, searching your face like he was memorizing it, trying to imprint every small curve and shadow.

Then, almost too quiet to catch he muttered

“Kiss me, kiss me with your eyes closed.”

Your breath hitched. The words trembled in the air, heavy with everything neither of you were supposed to say. And before you could think about consequences, you moved.

The kiss wasn’t smooth; it stumbled out of both of you. His hand hovered at your jaw but never quite touched. Your heart raced so loud it drowned out the fan. It was clumsy, scared, and real. Gerard’s mind was spinning. this shouldn’t be happening, he shouldn’t feel like this, but it was everything he had wanted for weeks, months, years, compressed into this single moment. You could taste the hesitation, the worry, the something sweet and dangerous, and it made him dizzy.

When you pulled away, you both stared, eyes wide, breathing ragged.

“I shouldn’t have,” he said.
“Yeah,” you breathed. “Me neither.”

Every second felt stretched thin, like the basement itself was holding its breath with you. Upstairs, the front door creaked. You stepped back, trying to steady yourself as your boyfriend’s voice drifted down the stairs.

“Got the smokes!” he called.

Gerard sat down fast, flipping open the sketchbook again. You forced a laugh, too bright, when your boyfriend walked in and dropped beside you on the couch. He started talking about the song that was playing in his car, something upbeat and careless. Gerard nodded along, eyes fixed on his pencil, drawing lines that didn’t connect.

Even after that night, every time you saw him in the halls at school, your chest would tighten. He’d be talking to your boyfriend, laughing at something dumb, and you’d glance away, pretending not to notice. But Gerard’s eyes were hard to ignore. Every so often, they’d flick to you, fast, sharp, searching for a reaction.

You tried to focus on your friends, your locker, your phone, but those glances lingered, and you could feel them even when he looked away. There was a weight there, something neither of you wanted to name out loud, but you both knew it was there.

Sometimes, when your boyfriend laughed at a joke or nudged Gerard, Gerard would glance at you, just for a fraction of a second, as if to say, I remember. And every time, your stomach would twist, a mix of guilt and longing that wouldn’t go away.

The words echoed in your head, stubborn and impossible to shake

Kiss me, kiss me with your eyes closed.

For days after, Gerard couldn’t think about anything else. At school, he tried not to look at you, but the memory of your lips, the taste, the nervous way you kissed him back played over and over in his mind like a song he couldn’t shake. In class, in the hallway, replaying that moment until he felt sick with want. He’d go home, drop his backpack, and shut himself in his room with the sketchbook buried under his pillow, heat pooling low in his stomach every time he remembered the softness of your mouth, the way your breath hitched, and how his hand had hovered stupidly at your jaw, desperate to touch.

He started jerking off more than ever, pressed down against his mattress, eyes squeezed shut tight, the room heavy and hot. He’d imagine your mouth, cherry sweet chapstick and your scent everywhere, his hand clumsy pretending it was yours. He’d rut into his pillow, hiding his face in the cotton, picturing your fingers in his hair and tasting you again. The shame made him rougher, biting his knuckles to keep quiet, hips stuttering, your name caught between his teeth. When it was over, he’d roll onto his back staring at the ceiling, hating how badly he wanted this, how pathetic it was, how much it hurt.

He couldn’t even bring himself to throw out the old pillow. It had gone flat and threadbare, but it still smelled faintly like his shampoo, and he’d clutch it close, mouth pressed to the edge, pretending it was you. Nights were the worst, aching and restless, desperate, reliving your kiss until he was raw with want.

For you, being with your boyfriend got complicated. You tried to focus on his hands on your waist, his mouth on yours, the way he pulled you close when nobody was looking. It should’ve felt good, but it was never right. Every time his lips touched yours, you thought about Gerard, how his kiss had been nervous and unsure, how his lips had been chapped but gentle, tasting like nervous energy and cigarettes. Sometimes you’d close your eyes, and you could almost convince yourself it was Gerard instead, his hands trembling at your waist. The guilt twisted inside you, sharp and insistent, but the wanting was worse, you’d press your thighs together, flush with memory, aching for the way Gerard had looked at you in the half light, like you were the whole world.

Sometimes, when things with your boyfriend went further, mouth on your neck, hands under your shirt you’d zone out, heart beating fast for all the wrong reasons. You’d picture Gerard, desperate and soft and starved for touch, and shudder, wishing it was him above you, his mouth on your skin, his hand shy and eager, no longer holding back.

At night, you’d lay awake replaying it, Gerard’s shaky breath, the way he’d said kiss me like he couldn’t help it, like the secret had been leaking out of him for ages. You’d bite your lip, hips rocking, remembering the clumsy hunger, wishing you could do it again, wishing you’d gone further and knowing in some shameful, secret part of yourself that you would if you got the chance.

The song words haunted you both, a secret that threaded through every glance, every lingering touch, every moment alone
Kiss me, kiss me with your eyes closed.

[xrlegkelxx]

Vampires will never hurt you

Vampire hunter gee x vampire fem!reader

Ch.2

Warnings: religious themes, non human reader, implied violence

Summary: Gerard hasn’t slept in weeks, haunted by the city’s rot and by the ghost of someone he can’t stop chasing. When he finds you again waiting beneath a broken streetlight, half smile sharp as glass he tells himself it’s coincidence. But the way you look at him, the way the rain bends around you, makes him wonder what kind of mistake he’s walking into. He should be afraid of you. Maybe he already is.

Word count: 1,665

Sleep was a wasted effort for Gerard lately. Days bled into nights and nights into days, and nothing seemed to wash the city clean anymore, not the rain, not the sunlight that barely snuck past the clouds. He went through the motions up before dawn, a mug of bitter coffee, the slow drag of routine like armor he could barely keep straight.

He kept seeing you not in real life, at first, but in the wet shimmer of storefront windows and the halos of streetlights. Sometimes he swore he heard your voice echoing from some alley behind him, playful and sing song, pushing at the edges of his tired skull. He hated what it meant, how he kept walking routes he didn’t need, how his eyes flicked over every shadow hoping yours would be the one to step out.

The city felt off balance, stretched too tight. The regulars in the corner diner barely talked over their coffee, and everyone moved too quick, heads down, keys clutched between their fingers, making sure to get off the streets before dark. Rumors of attacks circled like crows, and even the hunters were twitchier than normal, itching for violence.

He’d convinced himself this was the real reason he was up tonight. Things had gotten worse. There was a job to do, a city to protect from whatever skulked in its veins. Except his patrol led him farther and farther from the safe neighborhoods, deeper into side streets rimed with old neon and rainwater, where every sound echoed and every shadow felt deliberate.

He turned a corner, boots splashing through puddles black with city grime, and there you were. Almost like you’d been waiting.

You were perched on the edge of a low loading dock under a busted, humming streetlamp, legs crossed tight and tossing smooth stones at a bruised water bottle. You didn’t bother to look up when he stopped, but a grin crept across your lips as though you’d smelled his approach from a mile off.

“You again,” you called, voice steady and clear. “Didn’t take you for the obsessive type, Father.”

The smile tugged at his mouth despite himself. “Don’t flatter yourself, it’s just a coincidence.”

You shot him a look, flicking another pebble at the bottle and watching it clatter to the pavement. “Someone as tense as you doesn’t do ‘coincidence.’”

He stepped closer, the damp concrete slick under his boots, a streak of rainwater running down the back of his jacket. “Funny, I could say the same about you.”

“Maybe I’m just bored,” you replied with a mischievous tilt of your head. “Danger makes good company.”

He leaned onto the dock beside you, hands tucked into his pockets, every muscle strung tight. The silence stretched at first easy, then thickening, every unsaid word sparking between you like the glimmer of lightning that sometimes crackled overhead.

You let out a soft sigh, letting the drizzle dampen your hair. “So, what’s the big scary hunter doing lurking around dead zones without backup? Don’t tell me you picked up a death wish, Father.”

He studied you for a long moment, the glimmer of city lights casting strange shadows in your eyes. “Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing. Seems like you make a habit of wandering places where people… disappear.”

Your smile sharpened, flickering at the edges. “Maybe I’ve never had a reason to be scared.”

“Maybe that’s what’s wrong with you,” Gerard muttered, half-serious.

You shrugged, pushing yourself to sit straight. “Everyone’s broken in their own way. Some of us just don’t bother to hide it.”

The rhythm of rainfall filled the spaces where your words left off. It hadn’t been like this with anyone else, banter that spun between you like knives above a table, never quite cutting, never quite letting up.

You turned back to him, squinting, voice unexpectedly gentle. “Can I ask you something? Something real?”

He nodded, wary.

“What keeps you doing this, night after night? The killing. The patrolling. You look like you haven’t really slept in months.”

For a heartbeat, he wanted to laugh it off, but something in your expression soft, open made him falter.

He answered with honesty he barely recognized. “It’s all I know how to do,” he admitted quietly. “It’s ugly work, but someone has to. I’m the only line between this city and monsters that would tear it apart.”

You were quiet for a long moment, chewing on some thought. “And you think that makes you a hero?”

He winced at that. “No. I don’t think I’m a hero.”

You looked at him sideways, eyes searching. “Do you want to be one?”

A gust of wind sent water streaming off a nearby awning, spattering the pavement. Gerard watched the dark, the moving shapes in the alley, the flickering shadows at the edge of the light. “No one who’s good at killing wants to be a hero.”

“Ah,” you grinned, mocking but not unkind. “That’s the secret, huh?”

He gave you a dry look. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not getting all my secrets tonight.”

You bumped his arm with your elbow and for a second just sat there in companionable silence, the city humming on the edge of your awareness. The sound of footsteps made both of you tense, but when a stray cat darted out and disappeared behind a trash bin, you both relaxed, laughing under your breath.

You flicked the nick on his knuckle. “You’re bleeding.”

He looked down. A thin scrape, probably from the busted asphalt or maybe when he’d caught himself on a fence. He hadn’t even felt it. “Doesn’t hurt.”

You reached for his hand anyway, cradling it so gently it made something flutter in his chest. “Dramatic, Father. I could patch you up, if you’d let me.”

“Used to worse,” he said, but didn’t pull away.

Your fingers lingered at his wrist, tracing along the thumping pulse there. The rain slowed as if time itself was holding its breath.

“Sometimes I wonder if you even care about living,” you said, voice quiet. “Don’t you ever want something different? Even once?”

There was no lie to give you, so he just looked at you the realest answer he had.

You could feel the weight of the night pressing close around you both. The city was breathing slow again, the danger easing into something more fragile.

“You never answered me,” you said, breaking the silence as you both turned toward a busier stretch of street. “What would you do if you weren’t a hunter?”

He shook his head, lips quirking. “I can’t even imagine it.”

You grinned, shoulder nudging his. “That’s the difference between you and me. Even if I can’t have it I still dream.”

The quiet that settled after was softer, fuller. Both of you walked with a bit more ease, every block dissolving the tension in slow increments, the city seeming almost gentle for once.

You stopped at a rusted old dumpster, kicking a pebble and watching it skitter away. The loading dock was bathed now in a spill of amber from a lamp overhead, shadows pooling beneath your boots.

You turned towards him, suddenly serious. “I don’t do this…get close just because I’m bored. There’s something about you, even if I haven’t figured it out yet.”

Gerard’s heart hammered in his chest, painfully aware of every inch between you. “You terrify me,” he breathed, more vulnerable than he’d meant.

Your eyes softened, though your smile stayed faint. “You should be,” you murmured not unkind, not a threat, just the truth wrapped in something that sounded almost like regret.

A tension strung between the two of you, high and electric. He stepped closer, not breaking eye contact, electricity crackling in every inch of air between you.

You barely whispered “If this is a mistake, I don’t care.”

He hesitated barely a breath then closed the last bit of space, lips brushing yours, hesitant, almost sweet.

The first kiss tasted like rain and old secrets, your smile melting slowly into his mouth. He felt the tremble in your hands, the unsteadiness, the way you leaned into him like you'd been waiting for this almost as long as he had.

It deepened, urgent and rain soaked, gentle bruising pressure and laughter tangled up with longing. The world felt smaller, just you and him and the city holding its breath.

When you pulled back, breathless, Gerard blinked through the haze of it and for a heartbeat, the world tilted. Your skin had been cold. Not just cold from the rain, but deep, unnatural cold, like the warmth of him hadn’t touched you at all. He almost said something, but the look in your eyes stopped him something sharp and sad and impossible all at once.

You smiled then, soft and lingering, and the moment slipped back into silence as if nothing had happened.

He saw cigarette smoke, rain, and somewhere deep a wary hope.

Neither of you spoke for a while, just resting there, side by side as though the city had always meant for you to find each other.

You finally drew away, brightness lingering in your gaze. “You’re going to regret that, Father,” you murmured, voice tinged with mischief and something else.

Gerard managed a shaky, genuine smile, heart pounding against his ribs. “I already do,” he said softly though his eyes lingered too long on your mouth, on the faint pallor of your skin, the glint in your eyes that didn’t quite belong to the light.

You smiled, small and knowing. “Good,” you whispered. “Maybe you finally see me.”

Your laughter hung in the air as you backed away, dissolving into the shadows, footsteps echoing in the mouth of the alley.

Gerard stood rooted under the broken light, watching until you vanished, his whole world feeling rearranged like the promise of dawn before the sun, like the hush after a storm.

For the first time in a while, he hoped the night would never end.

[xrlegkelxx]

Puppy Princess

Basement gee x fem reader

Ch.1

Warnings: one sided attraction, masturbation, pillow humping, best friends girlfriend, nsfw

Summary: Gerard is a hopeless, awkward boy working lonely late shifts at the Dandy Diner, and completely, painfully in love with his best friend's girlfriend. Even though you'll never be his, he can't help drawing you (sometimes in ways he's ashamed of), pining for your kindness, and wishing every giggle you share was just for him.Hiding his obsession behind sketches and desperate fantasies, Gerard tries to make do with stolen glances, sticky nights, and the memory of your laugh. always knowing if your boyfriend ever found out, he'd never forgive him.

Word count: 1,312

Gerard worked the late shift at the Dandy Diner because he was the only one who didn’t complain about it. Nights suited him. He liked the way the flickering neon could make a mostly empty room feel electric, like something might finally happen.

He liked the way he could draw on order pads during the quiet hours. scrappy sketches of superheroes with your face, princesses with your hair tumbling over their shoulders, sometimes nothing but the curve of your thigh, trailing off into a blur where courage left him. Sometimes he’d draw you laughing, the way you did when he fumbled a joke, the kind of laugh that made your shoulders shake. He could never capture it just right. Maybe no one could.

Gerard was drawing that half smile one Friday night, hunched behind the counter, when the bell above the door rang. He looked up and the world got smaller, sharper. You, in a flannel with your hair tucked behind your ear, your boyfriend beside you, arm swung around your shoulders like he owned you. Which he sort of did. He was Gerard’s best friend, had been since they were kids. If he ever found out what Gerard thought about you, which is what Gerard did most nights, imagining you, there friendship would be over. Maybe worse.

The thing about your boyfriend is that he wasn’t even making you laugh most of the time you just couldn’t help yourself. You laughed because you wanted to. And you laughed extra at Gerard, even when he stammered or tripped over the punchline.

Tonight you ordered breakfast for dinner, pancakes and hash browns, the cheap, greasy kind and you nudged your boyfriend’s foot under the table, telling him to behave. Gerard came over, trying to focus on writing the order because if he looked at you too long, his ears would go red, and your boyfriend would see everything.

“Late night pancakes,” you teased, “that’s a bold move, Gee.”

He nearly dropped his pen. It took everything not to look right at your lips. “Bold is my middle name,” he blurted, instantly regretting it, and then you laughed hard, snorting, covering your mouth with your hand.

Gerard felt his dick twitch. Pathetic. You were just being nice, probably, but it lit him all the way up. He bit his lip. For a second, you caught his eyes, and he felt seen, really seen, in a way that was almost painful.

Behind the counter he tried to focus on the greasy orders, but the diner melted around him. He imagined the lights going soft and pink, the tables empty except for the two of you. He’d wipe syrup from your fingers, make some dumb joke about maple trees, and you’d laugh just for him. You’d lean over, brush your lips against his, shy at first and then not at all.

Instead, your boyfriend was there. He reached for you as “Teenage Dirtbag” played on the radio, humming the riff out of tune. You laughed again, and Gerard wanted to crawl out of his skin.

After your food arrived, your boyfriend popped a cherry into your mouth and watched you bite down, his gaze smug, careless. Gerard stood by the register with a forced grin, his face aching. All he could do was watch, and want.

By the time he got home, Gerard’s hands were shaking. The diner’s stink of fryer oil clung to his clothes, but all he could think about was the way you’d rolled your eyes at your boyfriend and then flicked them over to him. Sometimes it felt like you really saw him, not the grease stained apron or the half assed jokes, but Gerard. The dorky boy from the basement.

He stepped into the musty dark, flipping the switch so a single desk lamp glowed weakly against stacks of comics, discarded soda cans, and the messy sprawl of his art. He shuffled through the pile until he found the sketch, the one he made of you stretched out across an imaginary bed in nothing but a sleep shirt. Knees pressed up, a sly little smile on your face. He’d made your eyes too soft, maybe, but it was enough.

He shut the door, locked it, pressed his forehead against the cool wood. His heart beat so hard it hurt. Lying back on the bed, he dug his hand under his waistband, gasping a little at how hard he was already. Gerard always got hard too quickly and thought about you even faster.

He grabbed his pillow, that ancient thing that still smelled a little like detergent and desperation, and pulled it to his mouth. If he closed his eyes he could pretend the shabbiness was you, your soft skin against his jaw, the weight of your hair, the warmth of your giggle caught in the dark.

He humped against the pillow, slow at first as he dragged himself over the imagined shape of your body. He wanted to be good, wanted to imagine you saying sweet things, but what burned hottest was the idea of you on your knees beside him, tugging down his sweatpants and laughing at the way his cock jumped against his stomach. “You’re so red, Gee,” you’d tease, voice gone breathy and sweet. “You’re always so nervous with me…”

He moaned into the fabric, rutting harder, gripping the edge of the sketch like a lifeline. He fantasized about your hand on his cock, about the look in your eyes if you caught him like this, maybe you’d be shocked, maybe you’d blush, but maybe, just maybe, you’d crawl into his lap and ask, “Did you really draw my tits like that?” In his mind, you’d press your mouth to his, hungrily, rocking down on him until his whole body shook.

Desperation choked him. He shoved the pillow under his hips, rocking faster, stifling his moans in the cotton. He pictured you naked over him, thighs spread, slick and eager, the heat of your skin burning him alive. He jerked himself with rough, clumsy hands, the fabric hot and slick under his leaking tip, grinding into it until he nearly sobbed. In his head, you gasped his name, giggling in between, and told him, “That’s it, baby cum for me, let me see.”

He came fast, arching up, cock twitching against the pillow, cum soaking the fabric and his hand. It was messy and frantic and left him breathless, clutching the drawing so tight the paper tore at the edge. He panted in the quiet, dizzy with loss and longing, part of him still pretending it was your name on his lips. He kissed the pillow, wet and frantic, carried away by the fantasy of your lips, your laugh, your warmth.

Afterward, the basement felt emptier than ever. His thighs sticky, sketch bent, he wondered if he’d ever have the guts to tell you, if you’d ever look at him with that laugh in your mouth and want him, even a little. But your boyfriend was his best friend, and Gerard knew that if he ever found out what he was doing, he’d probably kill him or at least never speak to him again.

So he cleaned up in the pale blue glow of his laptop, redrawing the curve of your hips, sketching your smile over and over for the hundredth time. Hope is a stupid thing, he thought, but sometimes it felt almost as sweet as your giggle.

And maybe, if your boyfriend ever messed up, if your eye ever wandered, you’d giggle at one of his jokes and mean it. You could turn, brush your lips across his jaw, and whisper, “You could’ve just told me you wanted me, you idiot.”

Maybe. Until then, he made do with his pillow, his drawings, and the memory of your laugh warming up every lonely, lovesick inch of him.

[xrlegkelxx]

Vampires will never hurt you

Vampire hunter gee x vampire fem!reader

Ch.1

Warnings: religious themes, non human reader, implied violence

Summary: Gerard Way has spent years patrolling the streets, ridding them of the monsters that lurk in the dark. Nothing ever surprises him anymore until he runs into you. Carefree, taunting, too curious for your own good… and maybe hiding something far more dangerous than he realizes

A/N: ahh im soo excited to start this nd omg no smut??? Wuts wrong w me (don’t worry itll get there eventually ^.^) also srry this is so short trust the Nxt parts r gnna be way longer!!

The rain had only just ended, leaving the streets washed clean and glistening under the dim, yellow streetlights. Water trickled off rooftops in lazy drips, landing in puddles with soft plinks. Your shoes slapped against the wet pavement with every step, the sound strangely loud in the quiet night.

Walking out alone like this wasn’t the smartest idea, not anymore. Hunters had been multiplying, and they weren’t the kind who hesitated. Still, the cool night air, sharp with the smell of rain, felt too tempting to pass up. So you walked, head tipped up toward the misty glow of the lamps, pretending the world wasn’t crawling with people who’d stake you without blinking.

That illusion cracked when you caught it a second set of footsteps. Slow. Purposeful. Matching yours just enough to not be a coincidence.

“Miss?”

The voice was low, steady, serious.

You turned your head lazily, half expecting some drunk straggler, but froze for half a beat.

The man behind you didn’t look drunk. He looked like a warning. Dark hair damp from the rain clung to his pale forehead, a leather jacket draped heavy across his shoulders. But what caught your eye wasn’t the jacket it was the stark white priest’s collar beneath it.

Well. That explained the steady footsteps. A hunter.

“You shouldn’t be out this late,” he said, his voice as flat and cold as the puddles at your feet. “It isn’t safe. “

You blinked at him, then tilted your head with a small, amused smile. “Mhm, yeah, with all those big scary vampires and whatever? Blah, blah, blah. Heard it all before.”

Something in his expression twitched. He didn’t like that. You could tell he was sizing you up, his gaze sharp but lingering longer than it should have, like your carelessness was a puzzle he couldn’t quite put together.

“There’s a curfew you know”

You let your smile widen just a little. “Aw, you’re worried about me? How sweet.” You took a step closer, playful. “What’s your name, Father?”

“Gerard.” His answer was short, flat, without even a pause.

You raised your brows, leaning back on your heels. “Gerard. Hm. Strong name. You one of those hunters?”

“Mhm.” He gave the faintest nod, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Figured.” You tilted your head, circling him a step like you were appraising him. “The jacket almost threw me off, but that collar? Dead giveaway.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t bite at your teasing.

“Don’t you ever feel bad, though?” you asked suddenly, shifting your weight with an easy air. “Y’know… killing them?”

His brows furrowed the smallest bit. “Not at all. They’re monsters. No empathy. Killers.”

You let out a laugh, not mean but genuine, shaking your head with your hand on your hip. “God, you sound like a pamphlet.”

He stiffened, but his gaze didn’t waver.

“Seriously,” you went on, tilting your chin up at him. “Have you ever actually talked to one? Like… sat down and had a real conversation? Or is it just all stakes and sermons?”

That earned you a sharper look. He stepped back a fraction, suspicion darkening his pale eyes. “You seem to know a lot about vampires.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes as you began walking past him again, slow and unbothered. “Relax. I’m not a vampire. You’d definitely know if I was.” You shot him a look over your shoulder.

“Anyway, I’ve got better things to do than debate the morality of monsters with you. See you around, Father.”

You gave him a little wave, almost a skip in your step as you walked off.

But you could still feel his eyes on you, heavy as a weight between your shoulder blades.

For a man who lived his life by conviction, Gerard found his certainty starting to crack. Something about you your laughter, your beauty, your strange mix of carelessness and sharpness left him unsettled.

And the most dangerous part was, he couldn’t decide if it was suspicion or fascination pulling at him harder.

The rain had only just ended the night before, and Gerard hadn’t stopped thinking about the girl who walked away from him with a skip in her step and a smirk that felt… wrong. Too easy. Too careless.

Now the streets were dry, the night air sharp and cool. Leaves clung damp to the sidewalk, crunching under his boots as he patrolled his route. His hand hovered near the weapon at his hip, his eyes scanning every shadow. Routine. Methodical.

Then footsteps. Behind him.

He didn’t turn. Not yet. He listened. Steady. Unhurried. Following.

“Any luck?”

The voice was familiar, teasing.

He turned sharply, and there you were again — perched on the low brick wall of someone’s lawn, kicking your feet like a bored child.

“Excuse me?” His voice was sharper than he meant.

“Any luck with your vampires?” you repeated, pushing yourself off the wall with a little bounce. You walked toward him one foot in front of the other, almost like you were balancing on an invisible line, your grin lazy and confident.

Gerard narrowed his eyes. “Maybe.”

He kept his tone flat, but his gaze lingered longer than it should’ve. You looked… unusual under the streetlight. Too striking. Too alive in a place where everything else seemed drained of color.

You clicked your tongue. “Ugh, do you ever loosen up? Quit being such a bore.” You fell into step beside him, your grin playful.

“I’m on duty to kill murderers,” he replied, voice like steel. “There is no loosening up.”

You gave a theatrical sigh, tipping your head back as if he’d ruined your night. “God, why are you so serious?”

“Because I take my job seriously.” His tone hardened, his eyes flicking over you. “Killing vampires isn’t a laughing matter.”

“Mm.” You smirked, tilting your head. “And here I thought priests were supposed to know how to have fun.”

He glanced at you sharply. “You think this is fun? You think patrolling the streets for bloodsuckers is—”

“Boring,” you interrupted with a giggle, sing-songing the word like a challenge.

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Right. Because I should treat this like a picnic instead of a hunt for monsters.”

Your voice softened, sly but quieter now. “Not all monsters are what you think, you know. Some of them… are nice.”

That stopped him cold. He turned to stare at you, suspicion flickering sharp in his eyes. “Nice? They’re parasites. Predators. They kill without remorse. There is nothing nice about them.”

You only raised your brows and shrugged, completely unfazed. “If you say so.”

The casual dismissal made his jaw clench. Something about you was too calm, too practiced. Like you weren’t afraid of the very thing everyone else spent their nights hiding from.

“Anyway…” You leaned in closer, your smile wide and wicked. “Do you think you could walk me home? Protect me from all those scary vampires?” The last words dripped with sarcasm, like you were mocking both him and the idea.

Gerard exhaled slowly, exasperation written in every line of his body. He should’ve told you no. He wanted to tell you no. And yet, after a long pause, he muttered, “Fine. But don’t expect me to play babysitter. I’m still on duty.”

“Perfect,” you chirped. “That’s exactly what I wanted.”

For a while, the two of you walked in silence. Your steps were light, carefree, almost skipping; his were steady and heavy, every muscle wound tight.

“So,” you said eventually, breaking the quiet, “are you like this all the time? Or do you ever, I dunno, have fun? Friends? Parties? Anything?”

His glare slid toward you. “Friends? Parties? Yes, those things are absolutely at the top of my priority list.” His voice dripped sarcasm. “Nothing pairs better with hunting down killers than keg stands.”

You burst out laughing, the sound ringing bright against the dark night. “Wow. You really don’t know how to turn it off, do you?”

He didn’t respond, jaw tightening as he looked away.

You nudged his arm lightly with your elbow, your grin wicked. “Relax, Father. You might actually enjoy yourself one of these nights.”

His breath caught sharp, involuntary and he hated that it did. He straightened his shoulders, masking it under his usual stone expression. “This isn’t a game.”

“I never said it was.” This time your voice dropped softer, almost sincere.

The silence that followed stretched heavy, charged with something unspoken.

At last, you stopped at the corner you claimed was yours. You turned to him with a little wave, your smile easy and bright. “Thanks for the escort. Maybe I’ll see you out here again… if the monsters don’t get me first.”

You slipped away into the shadows, your laughter lingering behind.

Gerard stood there longer than he should have, watching the spot where you disappeared.

Something about you gnawed at him. The way you talked about vampires. The way you weren’t afraid. The way you looked at him too curious, too knowing.

Suspicion coiled in his gut like a warning. But layered under it was something far more dangerous: fascination.

And for the first time in years, Gerard couldn’t tell which one was going to kill him first.

[xrlegkelxx]

bullets era gerard, wearing those tights jeans with a black tee and that mf leather jacket.

and you can see his tummy poking out when he lifts his arms (i’m going feral), and you can’t forget that bat belt he had,and him being such a pervert loser but he’s just so cute and really he’s adorable, (he’s so in love with you smh,everybody knows )

so one day after a show, he’s tired and you offer to help him relive some tension,one thing leads to another…

(love your writing im SUCH a fan )

Back stage, between us

Bullets Gerard x fem reader

Haii oh em geee, I'm so glad you like my fics <3 nd tysm for requesting!!! Ughhh I luv this idea !! It’s pretty short but I hope you like it!<3

Warnings: NSFW, porn w out plot, awkward Gerard, soft dom reader, whimpering, p in v,

Word count: 966

(Also I didnt proof read so I hope it makes sense T^T)

The dressing room feels too quiet after the chaos of the show. He’s slouched on the couch, leather jacket tossed beside him, sweaty hair sticking to his face. His black shirt clings to his chest, riding up every time he shifts, showing off pale skin and the edge of that stupid bat belt.

You drop into the seat next to him, close enough that your knees brush. He smells like sweat, smoke, and the faintest trace of his cologne.

“You alive?” you tease, nudging him.

He laughs, shaky and breathless. “Barely. Think I lost, like, five pounds out there.”

You laugh, but your eyes linger on him on the way his shirt rides up just enough when he stretches, exposing pale skin and a soft sliver of stomach. He notices your gaze and immediately fumbles, tugging it back down. His ears turn pink.

“You did good,” you say.

He snorts, staring at the floor. “Not as good as you make it sound.”

But you catch it the way his eyes flick to your chest, quick and guilty, before he forces them back to the ground. He shifts uncomfortably, leg bouncing. He’s done it before, those stolen glances, always followed by the same shame, the same awkward silence. You should call him out, but instead, you find it… cute.

“You’re staring,” you tease lightly.

His head snaps up, horrified. “W-What? No, I wasn’t—I wasn’t—”

“Relax.” You grin. “I don’t mind.”

That shuts him up fast, his face flaming red. He fumbles for words but comes up empty, chewing on his lip instead. His hands twist nervously in the hem of his shirt, tugging it higher without even realizing it.

You lean closer, lowering your voice. “You’re all tense. Want me to help you with that?”

He freezes. “H-Help how?” His voice cracks, eyes wide.

You slide your hand onto his thigh, fingers brushing slow circles. He chokes out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a gasp.

“Like this,” you murmur.

Before he can protest, you climb into his lap, straddling him. His mouth falls open, a helpless noise slipping out. His hands hover awkwardly in the air until you take them and press them to your hips.

“You don’t—fuck—you don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he whispers, voice shaky.

“Then show me,” you say, kissing him.

At first he’s stiff, nervous, but he melts fast—messy, needy, clinging to you like he’ll disappear if he lets go. You tug at the hem of his shirt, slipping it higher until your fingers brush his stomach. He shivers under your touch.

“Can I?” you whisper.

He nods frantically, lifting his arms. You peel the shirt off, tossing it aside. His chest is pale, damp from sweat, rising and falling too fast. He blushes deep red under your gaze, hands twitching like he doesn’t know where to put them.

“Mm so handsome,” you murmur, kissing down his throat.

He whimpers, head tipping back, throat exposed. His hips buck up against you, needy despite how hard he’s trying to hold back.

You kiss him, slow and deliberate. He whines into it, clutching you tighter, finally letting his hands explore. They slide up hesitantly, fingers brushing under your shirt. He pauses, trembling.

“Please…?” he asks, voice wrecked, eyes wide like he’s terrified you’ll say no.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

He peels your shirt up clumsily, knuckles grazing your skin. It takes him two tries to get it over your head, and he huffs a laugh, embarrassed. “Shit—sorry—”

“Shh. You’re fine,” you murmur, kissing him again.

His hands skim over your bare skin, shaky and reverent, like he can’t believe you’re real. He cups your chest, then immediately blushes hard, groaning. “God, I’m such a creep—I’ve thought about this so many times—”

You laugh softly, guiding his hands to squeeze a little firmer. “Not a creep if I want it too.”

That undoes him. He gasps, kissing you harder, desperate now. His fingers fumble with your bra clasp, cursing under his breath when it won’t come undone.

“Here,” you whisper, reaching back to undo it yourself. The garment falls away, and he stares, stunned, swallowing hard.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, like the words just fall out. His hands cup you again, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you arch into his touch. He whimpers at the sight, hips jerking up involuntarily beneath you.

When you reach for his belt, he trembles, letting you pull it loose. He’s already so hard when you free him that you can feel the heat pulsing against your thigh.

“Please,” he whispers, almost begging. His hands grip your hips shakily, as if he’s torn between letting you lead and taking over.

You stroke him slowly, and he cries out, clutching you tighter. “Fuck—don’t—don’t tease, I can’t—”

But then he surprises you. He pushes your jeans down, fumbling with the button, hands clumsy and shaking as he shoves them lower. “I want—god, I want you so bad,” he admits, voice cracking.

When you finally sink down onto him, his head tips back with a guttural moan. His grip on your hips tightens, thrusting up into you desperately. “So good—so fucking good—been dreaming about this forever.”

“You feel—so good—fuck, you’re perfect,” he babbles. His thrusts are deep, steady, but every time you clench around him he whines like he’s on the edge.

And even as he thrusts into you, setting the rhythm, he’s still trembling, still whining your name, every sound soaked in desperation.

When you come undone, he follows with a broken cry, spilling inside you, clinging so tight it’s like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

After, he’s still shaking, face buried against your neck. “I Love you,” he whispers, so quiet you almost don’t catch it.

[xrlegkelxx]

Ugh horrible writers block everyone send me any Gerard requests!!!

[xrlegkelxx]

Drawn to you

Perv basement gee x fem reader

Warnings: Nsfw, softdom reader, sub Gerard, perv Gerard, p in v with little to no plot, begging, whining, dacryphilia if you squint, slight Exhibitionistic undertones, virgin Gerard, unprotected sex

Summary: Gerard has been in love with you since he was fifteen, filling sketchbooks with your face and shameful fantasies he never thought you’d see. One night, his secret spills out and you decide you want him just as desperate as he’s always wanted you.

Word count: 1,387

(Also this isn’t proof read so bare w me ^.^)

You and Gerard had been inseparable since you were fifteen. Geeky, awkward, always the ones who got picked on for comics and star wars. It didn't matter. You had each other.

Most of your teenage years were spent in his basement, sprawled across the lumpy couch while. iron maiden rattled the old speakers. The air always smelled like dust and sweat, but you didn't mind. Youd spend hours sketching, swapping cds youd bought with pooled allowance money, or watching the original trilogy on repeat until you could quote every line.

Even now years later nothing much had changed. College hadn't broken the bond between you if anything it just made Gerard cling tighter. He'd never told you the truth though. That when you weren't looking he'd fill entire sketch books with your face, your body, tracing every curve and angle until the paper nearly tore. That late at night, in this same basement hed lie awake with his hand shoved down his jeans, jerking himself raw to the thought of you and even to his own drawings of you

To him you weren't just a best friend. you were the most gorgeous girl in the world unreachable and untouchable, and he was starving for you in a way he couldn't admit out loud.

One saturday, the two of you spent the day out in town, record stores, the mall, Wasting quarters at the arcade before ending up at the movie theater. The film was nothing special, and you felt your eyelids getting heavy halfway through. Your head tilted until it dropped against Gerard's shoulder.

He went rigid instantly. His entire body locked, Face burning, As if he didn't know what to do with himself. Your features glowed faintly in the flickering light of the screen, And Gerard couldn't tear his eyes away.

"Jesus" He muttered under his breath, So quietly you didn't stir. He swallowed hard, Shifting in his seat as his jeans grew uncomfortably tight.

By the time your head slipped off his shoulder and landed in his lap, he thought he might actually pass out. Your cheeks pressed against the very bulge he was trying to desperately hide.

He bit down on his tongue To keep from gasping, Fingers digging into the armrest.

"F-fuck... not here... not now..." gerard whispered, frozen in place.

When the lights came up he nudged you awake with shaking hands. "H-hey... you, uh- you fell asleep," he stammered.

You blinked blearily at him. "Oh my god, Gerard, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to pass out on you like that."

"It’s fine” he said to fast, his voice cracking. “Really, it’s—it’s fine.”

All he could think about was how badly he needed to get home.

The train ride back was silent except for your yawns and his shallow breathing. You leaned against the window, half asleep again, while Gerard sat stiff beside you, mind full of every filthy fantasy he’d ever had of you.

When you asked if you could crash at his place, he nearly choked.

“Y-yeah, of course,” he mumbled. “You can always stay.”

You were out the moment your head hit the pillow. Gerard lay beside you like a statue, staring at the ceiling, pulse hammering in his throat. He waited counting the seconds until your breathing grew slow and steady.

Then, barely daring to move, he slipped his hand under the blanket.

“God… I can’t stop,” he whispered, stroking himself with desperate, shaky movements. He turned his head toward you, watching the rise and fall of your chest. “You’re right here… fuck—right here…”

Tears pricked his eyes as he fumbled under the mattress for a page from one of his sketchbooks. A drawing of you nude, legs spread, your face sketched with painstaking detail. He held it tight in one hand, jerking himself faster with the other.

“Need you so bad,” he whimpered, his voice cracking. “You don’t even… you don’t even know what you do to me.”

A broken sound tore from his throat, louder than he intended.

You stirred.

“Gerard?” Your voice was groggy, confused.

He froze, eyes wide, cock still in his fist. The paper crumpled in his hand as he turned his head toward you.

You sat up, blinking through the dark, and then your gaze dropped. His hand. The drawing. The wet sheen of precum on his stomach.

“…what the fuck are you doing?” you asked, voice sharp with disbelief.

“I—I—shit,” Gerard stammered, scrambling for words. His face was crimson, eyes glassy with humiliation. “I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t think you’d—”

Your eyes locked on the drawing in his hand, and your breath caught. It was you. Or at least Gerard’s version of you, sketched raw and exposed.

“Gerard,” you whispered, shocked. “Is that—me?”

He clutched the paper to his chest like he could hide it, tears welling in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he choked. “I’m so fucking sorry. I just—fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re all I ever think about. Please don’t hate me.”

You stared at him, speechless, heart hammering in your chest. You should have been furious. You should have been disgusted. But as your eyes flicked from his flushed, desperate face to the trembling hand still wrapped around his cock, you realized against your better judgment you weren’t mad at all.

If anything… you liked it.

Your breath caught as Gerard’s confession spilled out, jagged and broken. He clutched the drawing to his chest, tears streaking down his face, cock still hard and leaking in his fist.

“I ruined it,” he sobbed. “You’ll never look at me again I’m disgusting, I can’t stop thinking about you, I—”

You cut him off by crashing your mouth against his. No hesitation, no room for doubt just your lips stealing the words out of his throat. He whimpered into you, trembling, clutching at your waist like you might vanish.

“Shh,” you whispered against his mouth.

The kiss turned messy fast his tears wet on your lips, his tongue desperate and unpracticed. You stripped him piece by piece, slow and deliberate, watching the way he flushed deeper with every inch of skin exposed. When his cock finally sprung free he meets your eyes, cheeks flushed, cock already leaking, needy and exposed. He looks broken and hopeful all at once, and it tightens something in you.

You settle over him, steady and sure, guiding him with the slow tilt of your hips.

When you sink down onto him, his breath shatters. “Oh my god—oh my god, it’s—” He clutches at you, whining, burying his face in your shoulder. “You feel so good, I can’t—I don’t know what to do—”

His hands grip your waist, nails digging into your skin that’ll definitely leave a bruise later, breath shaking out in little broken sounds.

You guide his pace, your hand firm on his chest to steady him. Each time you drop down, he moans louder, whimpers sounds spilling out of him.

“Say my name,” you moan softly.

“Y/N,” he cries, clinging tighter. “Y/N, I love you I-i love y—you I’m sorry”

His hips jerk up, desperate and messy, and you groan at the friction. His tears smear against your cheek when you kiss him again

“Please—I’m gonna—” His voice cracks into a sob. “I can’t hold it—please let me—”

“Cum for me,” you whisper hotly in his ear. “Cum inside me, Gerard.”

He breaks. His cry is raw and loud, his body bucking beneath you as he spills, clutching you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “Oh god—oh god, I love you, I love you—”

You ride him through it, kissing him until his sobs dissolve into soft, wrecked moans.

When he finally collapses, you stroke his damp hair, keeping him tucked into your chest. His voice is hoarse, still trembling: “I’m sorry… I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve this,” you tell him firmly, kissing his forehead. “You deserve to be wanted. And I want you, Gerard”

He nods against your chest, a broken little laugh escaping with his tears. “I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.”

“Good,” you whisper, holding him tighter. “Then sleep. I’ll still be here in the morning.”

He clings to you until sleep drags him under, still mumbling your name like a prayer.

[xrlegkelxx]

Masterlist ♡

.ᐟ -smut

ꨄ︎ -fluff

𖦹 -angst

Gerard way:

All this just from a kiss .ᐟ

Drawn to you .ᐟ

Back stage, between us .ᐟ

Vampires will never hurt you 1, 2

Puppy princess 1, 2.ᐟ

Sanctified sins .ᐟ

Frank iero:

Coming soon ♡

Ray toro:

Coming soon ♡

Mikey way:

Coming soon ♡

[xrlegkelxx]

All this just from a kiss

Basement gee x fem reader

Warnings: NSFW, afab reader, soft dom reader, switch Gerard, p in v, teasing!, slight mean reader!, unprotected sex!, whining

Summary: Gerard is quiet, awkward, and hopelessly obvious. You’re the only one who notices the way his cheeks burn when your knees brush, the way his hands twitch when your fingers linger too long. You like to tease him, to guide him, to see how fast you can make him come undone. And he lets you because he’d let you do anything.

Word count: 1,833

(This is posted on ao3 under the same name <3)

Gerard way really wasn't the kind of boy that had girls lining up to talk to him by any means. He kept to himself, quiet and awkward always slouched face in his sketch book. He smelled of sweat and cigarettes and his room was even worse cluttered with cans and old sketch books and a sour smell that stayed in the air

But you didn't mind. Honestly you were the only person who even bothered with him. And maybe thats why he looked at you the way he did. he thought he was subtle hiding polaroids of you in his bag and constantly stealing glances at you when you weren't supposed to see but you always did. You saw the way his face went red when you sat a little to close, the way his hands twitched when your fingers brushed his, the way he swallowed hard every time you teased him

And boy did you tease him because watching Gerard squirm under your smile was addictive. he was yours in a way he didn't even realize and you liked pulling at those strings just to see how tightly wound he could get.

Gerard's room always smelt the same like old socks and stale pizza. The tv flickered in the corner, casting the shadows across piles of dirty laundry and soda cans. He sat curled into himself on the other end of the couch hands buried in his sleeves pretending to watch the screen.

You stretched out beside him, deliberately close enough that your thigh brushed his. His whole body went stiff like the tiniest bit of contact short circuited him "Relax gee" you teased leaning in so your voice brushed his ears "its just a movie"

His throat bobbed eyes glued to the screen "i-i am relaxed"

Sure he was, the way his knuckles whitened around the blanket said otherwise you bit back a smile enjoying the power you had over him, the way he couldn't seem to function when you got to close.

By the time the credits rolled it was past midnight, the basement felt heavy and quiet the only sounds the hum of the tv and Gerard's uneven breathing

"Shit" you muttered glancing at the clock "its late think i could crash here tonight" His head whipped towards you wide eyed "uh- i mean-y-yeah of course if you want to" You grinned stretching your arms over your head to watch his gaze flicker down your body before he snapped back to reality "thanks gee your a lifesaver".

When you stood and started digging through your bag for something to wear for the night you could feel his eyes burning into your back, you tugged your shirt over your head slowly knowing he was watching and you smiled to yourself at the way silence stretched between you. You slip a loose top over your bare skin, the fabric brushing against your chest as you turn back towards the bed. Gerard’s sitting there stiffly his hands gripping the blanket like hes holding on for dear life, his cheeks are pink, his knees are drawn up and he wont meet your eyes "Hey you ok you look nervous" you say in a murmur.

His voice cracks "i-im fine" you giggle sliding under the covers besides him "sure you are" the mattress dips with your weight pressing your body flush against his. you settle on your side, back facing him and the moment you do, you feel it his length straining against his jeans, brushing your ass. Gerard goes rigid, a shaky breath catching in his throat. You shift deliberately just enough to grind against him. his whole body jerks like youve shocked him

“Gee” you whisper playfully “are you… hard right now” he whimpers the sound muffled by his pillow “I can’t—i didn’t—“ you roll over facing him your noses almost touching, his pupils are blown, chest heaving like hes about to fall apart just from the closeness. “Relax” you coo brushing your fingers across his jaw. the silence hangs heavy and then finally you close space pressing your lips to his he gasps like he wasn’t expecting you to actually do it, then he melts into the kiss, sloppy, desperate, already whimpering into your mouth his hand trembles as it finds your waist holding on like hes afraid you’ll disappear his hips buck and twitch helplessly into your thigh rutting for any friction he can get you break the kiss “god gee your such a mess already” his face flames red eyes darting everywhere but yours “I—I can’t help it I need you—“

Your hand drifts down from his jaw, brushing across his chest until you feel his heartbeat hammering under your palm. He’s trembling, breath coming in short, sharp bursts. “Gee” you murmur lips ghosting over his “have you thought about this before” his eyes widen with panic and desire warring on his face “n-no I—“ you press your knee between his thighs he helplessly bucks against it a broken moan spilling from his mouth “your such a bad liar” he squeezes his eyes shut ashamed but you won’t let him hide your hand on his jaw guiding his to look at you “it’s okay I want you to think about this” the words seem to break him a whimper catches in his throat his hips rocking up against your hand as you slide it down over the bludgeoned in his jeans the damps spot spreading across the denim gives him away you rub your palm over it slowly

“Fuck” he grasps clutching the sheets like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded “y—you—oh god—“ “your so worked up gee” you whisper stroking him though the fabric “all this just from a kiss huh” he nods frantically unable to form words his body jerking into your touch like hes starved for it you amused and turned on by how easy it is to unravel him “do you want more” you ask softy in a slight teasing tone his voice cracks as he nods again “please please—I need—“ you gently shush him slipping your finger under the waist band og his jeans his breath hitches his hips lifting to help you tug them down followed by his boxers his cock springs free flushed and leaking and he whimpers the second cool air hits him

“God your so hard it looks painful” you murmur wrapping your hand around his length his entire body arches at the touch thighs trembling

Noises spilling from him are shameless gasps whines and breathless moans that make you clench with heat He’s rutting into your fist like he can’t help himself already getting close to finishing you stroke him a little faster feeling his cock twitch in your hand his voice climbing higher and higher just as hes about to fall apart you stop pulling your hand away completely “w—wait” he cries hips chasing after your touch tears shining in the corner of his eyes you lean down and give him a gentle kiss “not yet gee be patient” he shudders undone and desperate but he complied anyway because he’d let you do anything to him if it meant to keep touching him Gerard is trembling under your touch, his cock flushed and leaking, his breath coming in broken gasps. You stroke him just enough to keep him on edge, loving the way his hips buck helplessly into your fist. “Do you wanna fuck me gee” you whisper against his ear slow and deliberate his eyes snap open pupils blown wide lips parting like he can’t believe what you just said “y-yes—fuck yes please—I need—“ you slip your shorts off baring yourself to him and guide his shanking hand to your chest he stares frozen before grasping your breast like hes terrified of doing it wrong you arch into his touch moaning just for him “see your doing good” you breathe stroking his cock again making him whimper It’s enough to push him over the edge of hesitation. He fumbles with the blankets, climbing over you clumsily, his weight pressing you into the mattress. He lines himself up, his forehead pressed to yours, and when he pushes in, the both of you moan at the same time. Hes already losing it with shallow thrusts erratic hips stuttering like hes overwhelmed by the of you his face buried in your neck whining almost crying with how good it feels “gee” you murmur nails digging into his back “mm slow down your gonns cun to fast” but instead of slowing down something in him snaps his fingers digging into your hips his pace roughening messy but insistent he pulls out almost all the way before slamming back in the sound of skin meeting skin loud in the quiet basement. Your eyes widen this isn’t the timid fumbling boy anymore hes moving with a kind of frantic hunger, like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment and now he refuses to let go “fuck—“ he groans voice breaking “you feel-so fucking good—can’t-cant s-stop” He grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head with surprising strength, rutting into you harder and faster, the headboard knocking against the wall. Your body arches beneath him moans spilling from your lips and you realize you’ve lost control completely gerad messy and trembling has taken the lead driven by pure need his hips slamming into you sweat dripping down his temple “you’re mine—fuck—I can’t-stop” and the truth is you don’t want him to His thrusts grow frantic, rhythm falling apart as his nails dig into your hips. He’s whining into your neck, every sound raw and desperate, his cock twitching inside you. “Gee” you moan your cunt tightening around him and thats all it takes he slams into you once, twice then spills with whines and moans burying himself deep in you as he cums the sensation drags you over the edge with him your body clenching as you moan his name into the heavy basement air for a moment all you can hear is his ragged breathing the sound of his heart pounding against your chest he collapsed against you sweaty trembling his cock still buried inside you as his weight presses you into the mattress you brush a hand through his damp hair he freezes like he’s suddenly realized what just happened. His face burns red, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, panic flickering in his eyes. “I-im sorry” he stuttered his voice hoarse “I didn’t mean—I just—“ you shut him up with a soft kiss smiling against his lips “you did perfect gee” He blinks at you, wide eyed His body curls into yours again, smaller now, all that messy dominance gone as fast as it came. He hides his face in your shoulder, breathing quick and uneven. And finally, slowly,

Gerard lets himself relax, his grip loosening as he drifts against your chest.