#THE WAY HE BURIES HIS NOSE INTO GERARDS FACE

[ierofangz]

Oh i’m ill

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

Mcr headcanon: y/n (gn) is starring in a horror movie and they’re character d!es in the movie.

Like they d!e in a HORRIBLE way, like horrifying way, how do the boys react to it?

TW: mentions of a fictional character's death, mentions of food, mentions of jealousy

Gerard

I'm literally on my way back from a Yosakoi festival after getting up at 3am (it's 9pm currently, I had 4 hours of sleep), and my feet have been in soaking wet shoes for the past 10 hours (I think they're starting to develop gills) because the rainy season decided to made a comeback and they had to cancel the fireworks because of that (at a festival that's called a "fire carnival" of all events), and you're coming with this? Not formatted properly because I'm literally sitting in a bus, that's driving through the Kyūshū night while I have glitter stones stuck to my face and two braids with Yukata-hair-accessories on my head.

WC: ???

Assuming Gerard knows what's gonna happen, he's probably looking forward to it. He's sitting in your living room, watching the screen attentively, the snacks you were sharing long forgotten as his eyes follow the action. He's leant forward, ellbows on knees, asking "oh, is this where it happens?" in an almost gleeful voice. Depending on how sudden the scene happens, he either gets jumpscared or just follows the story like the most interesting lecture. Either way he ends up laughing, and leaning back into the couch once it's over, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and kissing your forehead. "Well done," he'll tell you with his lips pressed to your forehead.

Would he watch that movie again: sure! It's a good movie! Next time he'd like to discuss the foreshadowing of the ending through the use of colours and the weather in the early scenes of the movie.

Mikey

Mikey loves horror movies, and that his s/o is staring in one is just a major plus to him. He has a lot of experience with horro movies, so he catches on pretty early that your character is going to die, even if you didn't tell him. He would low-key get excited about it. A voice in the back of his head tells him that 15 or 20 years ago the idea of watching a character that has the face of a beloved person die on screen would have terrified him, even though he was very well able to tell fiction from reality, but now he just enjoys the action, as he feels you cuddled into his side. He might even go as far as offer ideas for even more gruesome deaths, or ways to make the character's death even more painful for the audience.

Would he watch that movie again: absolutely! Has the potential to become a new favourite of his.

Side note: my seatmate just fell asleep on my shoulder. I shall not move until she wakes up.

Ray

Ray would generally be pretty chill about it. He grew up with horror movies too, and he is used to seeing you on screen, so he isn't all too bothered by it, but probably more bothered than Gerard. He doesn't show it all too openly, only pulls you in after the scene is over and praises your work. The only indication that he is more affected by it than he lets on is when he pulls you in a little tighter that night, holding you close to his warm body with his nose buried against your neck. (Seatmate just tried sitting up, and failed. Head is back on my shoulder.)

Would he watch that movie again: he wouldn't necessarily bring it up by himself. If he wants to see you act, there are other movies you're in, where you get a happy end, or at least don't die (he prefers watching those over watching your character die, even if he has to suffer through watching you kiss another actor or actress in front of the camera. It always makes him a bit more self-conscious watching you kiss those perfect people, even if it's not real, and he get a bit more clingy than usual for a few days afterwards.)

Seatmate sat up again, is leaning towards the other side now.

Frank

Frank plays is cool, but isn't. Like the others he has seen enough horror movies and has seen you enough on screen. He's even okay with your characters making out with other characters on screen, even though he does have a (well controlled) possessive side that usually tries to act up when some person is hitting on you. (Seatmate's head is back on my shoulder. She's so cute.) So he knows he shouldn't feel that pit in his stomach opening, it's just fiction after all, you're right here next to him, babbling about how hot the studio was that day while playing with his fingers. Still he closes his eyes at the last shot showing your character staring up right past the camera with lifeless eyes. He has watched your characters die on screen before, but something about the way this is portrayed hits different. "Whoa, that looked pretty real," he'd chuckle, his voice a little more shaky than he'd like to admit, "rad acting there!" Luckily you know him well enough to see through his facade. You know he's self-conscious about his feelings towards this scene, so you don't address it directly, but you scoot a little closer to him at night, and he takes the invitation, and wrappes you in his arms (which is rare, since he usually needs a little bit of space to fall asleep).

Would he watch that movie again: only if you asked and he couldn't come up with an excuse not to watch it. He'd rather not see this last shot of your face again.

And since nobody asked, you get a picture of our banner

[2therazor]

clean sheets

w/c: 2916

revenge gerard x reader

content warnings: afab, dom reader, mommy kink, slightttt masochism, established relationship, unprotected sex, degradation

you are responsible for your own media consumption

!THIS IS A REPOST FROM BEFORE I DELETED THIS BLOG!

it had been an extremely long day. extremely long. all day your boss on your ass about this and that, every thought straying further away from stability. wasn’t being an adult supposed to be fun?

as soon as you pulled into the driveway you felt your heart sink, every emotion in the world had just hit you at once as you slowly got out of the drivers seat and closed the door. the only thing on your mind was walking into the front door and being able to see gerard. days like this he would for sure be sat on the couch watching anything ranging from a superhero movie to a horror movie. (and nowhere in between) you smiled at the thought as you slowly pushed open the front door.

“hey baby,” he called from the couch as you slowly shut the door.

you kicked off your shoes and set down your bag without saying a word. gerard knew something was off right away. you were never this quiet coming home.

“hey.” you sighed, trying to hide the frustration and irritation in your voice. which you knew, wouldn’t do much. gerard always had a way of knowing if something wasn’t right, even if you tried to be as nonchalant as possible, there was no getting past him.

“what’s wrong?” he paused the movie and turned his head to look at you in the doorway. your head was down the entire time, looking at your feet.

the question alone was enough to make you crack as you quickly burst into tears, not lifting your head from your feet to look at gerard. you knew the look of concern on his face would probably only make it worse and you hated to worry him.

“oh sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he shifted from his spot on the couch and made his way over to you, slowly wrapping his arms around your body. the scent of his cheap cologne mixed with cigarettes was all too familiar to you. never once did you not feel safe in his arms, especially when you were like this.

“it’s just- my stupid fucking boss again” you choked between sobs, burying yourself deeper into his sweater.

you felt an arm come up to rub small circles on your back as he pulled away from you, looking at you with those soft, hazel eyes. you could’ve swore you’d die right there. he spoke gently, “was she on your ass again about the drafts?”

you nodded, attempting to hide in his arm again, but he stopped you, bringing a hand up to your cheek to wipe your tears.

“I’m just so frustrated and irritated, she makes me feel like i’m always doing everything wrong. i cant stand being treated like im like five years old and incapable of doing my job.” you brought your own sleeve to wipe your nose and eyes, wondering how gerard could see you like this; a sobbing mess, and still think you were the most beautiful thing he’s laid his eyes upon.

“i know baby, i know. why don’t you come sit with me for a bit, I’ll make you some tea and you can just relax for a bit.”

you smiled up at him and nodded gently. he always knew how to comfort you even if it was something so small and ridiculous in your mind.

“okay, come on,” he put his hand in yours and gently guided you over to the couch to sit. when he tried to walk away to turn the tea kettle on, he was stopped by a hand grabbing his sweater.

“stay? just for a little? just wanna hold you, please”

you croaked, lowering your hand.

he smiled gently, black hair falling into his eyes. “okay, yeah. ok i can do that.”

you smiled as he sunk into the couch. immediately, you crawled into his lap as he wrapped his arms around you.

you both stayed like this for a while, just enjoying each other’s presence when you began to feel a bit antsy. moving around every few minutes, hoping gerard wouldn’t notice.

but the truth was, it was hard not to notice what you were doing. squirming more and more as time went on. when you realized gerard was playing dumb, you looked up at him and weakly spoke.

“gee?”

he turned his head to look at you, but he had that sick sly grin on his face. he definitely knew what you were trying to do. but still, he played along, acting all innocent, pretending he didn’t have a clue.

“what’s up?”

you bit your lip, embarrassed to even bring it up, but still you tried, “can we… try something?”

there it was, that smile that he tried (but failed miserably) to hide, gently looking down at you, bringing a hand to your face. “what did you have in mind?”

you were so flustered but were getting to a point where none of that mattered anymore, so gently you said, “like… maybe i could be dominant? push you around, make you beg… just need to let off some steam..”

gerard was failing so hard to keep his composure, all he could muster out was a mere “fuck baby”

you smiled, slowly snaking up to his face and pulling him in for a heated kiss. kissing gerard was usually gentle and slow, but now he seemed desperate, practically begging you without words to push your tongue deeper into his mouth.

he pulled away for a second, hair messy, lips slick with your saliva and his combined. “lets take this to our room?”

you smiled and gently put a hand on his chest, trailing your fingers closer to his obvious bulge.

“yeah, I’d like that”

on the way to the bedroom you two could hardly keep your hands off of each other, gerard grabbing you by the hand and dragging you down the hall only for your lips to collide again as soon as he shut the door.

“gee?” you broke the kiss to say

“yeah baby?”

there was a spark in your eyes as you lowered your head to smile and speak. “go sit on the bed.”

gerard could’ve sworn he felt his dick twitch at that comment, he simply complied. making his way over to the bed and sitting on the edge, waiting patiently.

“aw, already being so good baby… but I’m gonna need you to sit all the way on the bed, can you do that for me?”

gerard felt his face turn red, god it was so hot to see you like this, him listening to every command you spoke, not questioning a damn thing. he felt so vulnerable, but god did he love it. you were intoxicating, there was no doubt about that.

and so, he slowly crawled back further onto the bed, groaning at the tight feeling in his jeans.

“sweetheart, please… i need you.”

god he was so needy, you rolled your eyes and scoffed. “did you really think it was gonna be that easy? christ gerard, i haven’t even taken my clothes off and this is how you treat me?”

his eyes widened with anticipation, not knowing what to say next he blurted out,

“mommy, please. im sorry.” he stifled a moan.

fuck. you were done for.

you tried to keep the façade up as you slowly walked over to the bed and began to strip slowly, making sure gerard was watching your every move. and he was, practically fucking you with his eyes.

he moved a hand down to attempt to touch himself but was quickly stopped by your hand attempting to pin his wrist to the bed.

“did I say you could touch yourself?” you growled climbing into his lap, still in your panties.

he turned his face to the side, attempting to avoid eye contact. you were not gonna let him off that easy.

“look at me. did I say you could touch yourself gerard?”

he whined at the pressure of you on his lap and slowly breathed out, “no.. im just. fuck i need you baby. need to be inside of you.”

a slap rang through the room, gerard gently bringing his hand up to his cheek.

“you’re not behaving gerard. good boys wait. and what are you supposed to call me?”

his glossy eyes turned to you as he spoke, “im sorry mommy. i’ve been bad. didn’t mean to-“

you cut him off with a kiss, this time more gentle.

“color?” you asked, gently stroking his cheek.

“green. fuck green” he breathed out

you smiled as you went back to kissing down his neck, slowly grinding down on his lap with each kiss.

gerard really couldn’t be in his pants much longer, and as you pulled away from his neck, he asked quietly, “mommy? can i take my pants off? please…”

you smiled, gently moving to push your leg against the tent that had been growing in his jeans.

that was enough to make gerard whine and moan all over again, attempting to cover his mouth with one of his free hands. you quickly put a stop to this.

“no, wanna hear you baby boy, you’re so pretty. gotta hear you moan while I fuck you.”

his eyes shut tight and hips bucked against your leg as he let out another high pitched moan.

you smiled, slowly unbuckling his belt and pulling his pants down but leaving his boxers on. quickly he kicked away his jeans and they were lost to the floor for the third time this week.

pre come leaked in a small patch on his boxers, barely visible underneath the black fabric. you were practically dripping wet at the sight, not once breaking eye contact as you freed his cock from his boxers.

this earned you a small whine from gerard who had his head thrown back against the pillows with labored breathing. you could see sweat glistening on his forehead, wondering how he got worked up so quickly with you.

“gee baby?” you got his attention, tugging on the hem of one of his many band tees that had seemed to be falling apart at the seams.

“mm?” he replied, soft and quiet. god how did you get so lucky.

seconds later, you were pulling the shirt off his head throwing it to the floor along with his boxers. he was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen in the world. long black locks sticking to his forehead, leftover makeup from nights before.

“c-can you touch me?” he whined, squirming around beneath you.

“i don’t know… you’ve been so so impatient all night. dont know if you deserve it…” you started to trail off.

that really made gerard move beneath you. you could tell he was biting his tongue, holding back from talking back to you again because he knew the consequences.

noticing his movement you slowly dragged your panties off your body. “think you can do something for me baby?” you enquired as he watched you with eager eyes.

“yes, i can do anything for you mommy.” his voice barely audible as he looked up.

“can’t hear you baby…” you gripped your fingers around his throat, giving him a tight squeeze. “speak up, or i’ll just leave you here for another hour.”

his voice was strained as he tried to speak through your hand gripping down on his throat. “please. god please, i’ll do anything, i’m your good boy please.”

you chuckled at his babbling, slowly removing your hand from his throat “so needy…” you said moving your pussy closer to his face. “gonna sit on your face, and if you’re good, i’ll fuck you hard and rough like you like.” you knew the power you held over him right now and you were not going to break character. not when your boyfriend was a sweaty, whiny, mess underneath you. you swore you felt it go straight to your core at the thought,

before he could respond, you lowered yourself onto his face, thighs on both sides of his head, causing him to grip onto your thighs.

“gerard.” you said in a stern tone.

he quickly realized his mistake removing his hands from your body.

“why are you so needy today? you want mommy’s pussy so bad? you have to fucking earn it whore.” you spoke above him before lowering yourself on his face again. he started out slow, small licks from the bottom of your dripping cunt to your clit, sucking hard.

“fuck baby,” you moaned attempting to grind harder down on his face. still, he continued, licking every drop from you, making filthy noises and sucking on your clit in between licks. you were so close, every breath stifling as you sunk further down on him. his tongue plunging deeper and deeper.

gerard could tell you were close, he knew the tell-tale signs of your orgasms like the back of his hand. he sped up, eating you out with so much desperation that it was almost pathetic.

“ah- gerard fuck.”

he stopped for a moment, lightly using his hands to push you off of his face so he could speak. “please cum baby… please, wanna taste you on my tongue, just fucking use me.” before bringing you back to his mouth

you broke, a moaning, overstimulated mess above him as you reached your high, legs shaking as you slowly moved off of his face breathing heavily.

you noticed gerard hadn’t gotten any softer down there, in fact, he looked bothered. the tip of his cock so red and sensitive, pre-come still leaking from the tip. you smiled gently and caressed his cheek. “you did so fucking good for me baby… want me to fuck you? fuck you so hard you can barely think?”

he nodded quickly and sighed out of relief. he needed you so badly.

“fuck me, please. be rough, do whatever you want… just need you now.”

and that's all you needed to hear before sinking down on his cock. still, even if you had been together for almost two years, it was always difficult to adjust to his size. he moaned at the sight of you, throwing his head back and exposing his bare neck. quickly, you wasted no time marking his neck. you knew he loved it when you bit him, licked him and kissed him up and down his neck. always relishing the sweet sounds that came with it. he brought his hands up to cup your breasts, rubbing small circles around your nipples.

you quickly sat up and began to move your hips at an even pace. gerard’s moans filling the room as you bounced up and down on him, not stopping.

for a moment you looked down at him, he was so fucked out it was unbelieveable. you slowly reached your hands down to his neck to choke him again. you felt him go stiff underneath you, letting out a guttural moan from his throat. his eyes grew soft, and although you were in charge, a wave of adoration flooded you as he grabbed your hand and pushed it down harder against his throat.

you picked up the pace again, hands still squeezing his neck tight.

“fuck.. so good..feels so. good.” he babbled beneath you, you could hardly keep your composure at this, that tight knot in your stomach making itself extremely noticeable again.

you moved your hands away from his throat to bring them to his thighs, slapping him as you sped up. you knew he liked it rough, and after the day you had, he told you not to hold back. and that’s exactly what you did.

“gee, m’ so close” you whined, still not slowing down.

“me too- fuck. can we cum together? please? i’ve been good.”

you had to hold yourself from cracking up because he had been anything but good. still, with the state you were both in, you didn’t have the strength to boss him around anymore. you needed release and so did he.

“yes baby, cum for me. do it hard, come for mommy like a good boy…” and it seemed those were the magic words as gerard bucked his hips up in one thrust, and you felt the familiar twitch of him inside of you. you came shortly after, barely able to sit up anymore.

both of you breathing heavily looked at each other and smiled as you slowly climbed off of your boyfriend’s lap, careful not to make too much of a mess.

gerard quickly slid out of bed and grabbed a towel from your shared closet to wipe you down before you had to clean the sheets for the fourth time this week. once he was done he pulled you into his arms, smiling and humming as he looked down at you, almost asleep.

“doing okay?” he asked with a slight hint of concern in his voice.

“yes, more than okay actually” you giggled, bringing his arm around your shoulder. “how about you baby? are you okay?”

“oh god yes,” his cheeks turned upright as he tried to laugh it off, acting like he didn’t have some of the best sex in his life with you.

you smiled into his chest, and although he couldn’t see it, he could feel the curve of your lip pressed against him.

“nap time?” he asked, pulling the covers over the both of you.

“yes, definitely.” you curled back into him and gently dozed off, forgetting about the god-awful day you had.

[distortionenby]

"You know I love you, right?" For gentle prompts :)

(full under the cut) GerryMichael and DoorKeay in the same fic? Been a while! Thank you for the prompt! You can also find it on Ao3!

“Ice-cream? Michael, it’s storming!” Gerard stated, dumbfounded in front of Michael’s desk.

“So? You wanted to try that new place in Morden, didn’t you? And I’m almost done with paperwork, so I could leave early. We might still make it!”

“Michael, go look outside. We’re going to get soaked the second we step out”

“Plenty of people eat ice-cream in the rain.”

“Not this bad, weirdo”

“Now, don’t be a wuss. It’ll be our first date, and it’ll be special!”

“It’ll be wet and cold. And we’ll have watered ice-cream”

“Exactly! It’s unlike any other first date here, don’t you think?” Michael took a pause, bottling up the excitement of his idea for a moment to switch to a look of concern. “Do you really not want to go? I figured it’d be emptier in a day like this, and I have a pretty sturdy umbrella, so I didn’t think it’d be a problem…” The puppy eyes were making an entrance, and Gerard decided to stare at the ceiling. On one hand, not to fall for them, on the other, to hide how a blush was creeping on his nose and cheeks.

“Fine, we’ll go. But we’ll take the train. I don’t want our first date turning into our first being disgustingly sick for a month.”

“You know I love you, right?” Michael had stood and was nosing Gerry’s jaw to encourage a kiss.

“I know I love you. I’m a bit on the fence about the other way, considering you want to walk me around in the rain” The goth kept staring up, not giving his boyfriend the satisfaction just yet.

“Now you’re just doing it to be mean!” Michael chuckled and put some weight on Gerry’s shoulder to unbalance him. “Come on, let’s go grab my coat and we can head out”

“After you”

--

“Do you remember our first date?”

“I don’t think we have had a date yet” the long golden hair pooled over Gerry’s shoulders, Michael’s face upside down in front of him. It was standing right behind him, bent over forward to look him in the eyes with a grin. Spines do not do that, Gerry reminded himself. The presence of his late partner coming back seemingly going back and forth from a crude interpretation of human features, to a very real portrait of the blonde he had kissed goodbye some months ago, to a very inhuman creature in a matter of seconds and with so much ease throughout the day. It hurt. When tender skin was replaced with a cutting shrill sound, and smiles that had been nervous and with uneven teeth were now a perfect grid too long from one side to he other to not be a threat. When Michael was Michael too, but acknowledging so would mean burying Michael deeper in death’s embrace and yanking it from those fleshy dark tendrils that told Gerry about last minutes of cold, disoriented, painful fear.

“Right…” his sight took no time in getting slightly glassy, not sure whether it was the Distortion’s effect or the tears. His smile diminished, and he sighed.

“I did not mean to make you sad” Michael apologized immediately, standing upright, suddenly a more normal height, and only leaned a bit forward to hug Gerard from behind, hands carefully away from him, but arms comforting.

“I know, Michael… I just… Do you remember anything from when we dated? When you were… Shelley?” Gerry squeezed out, like it hurt to speak. He gazed into his coffee, lips pursed, and watching his own tears fall on his hand, firmly tight around his mug.

“I do hold all those memories, somehow. Michael Shelley’s mind is my own and I am his…” it paused, visibly struggling to elaborate. “I know of your first date. But that was not me, and the person you went on that date with does not particularly exist anymore, I’m afraid. Michael Shelley died in-” but it was cut off.

“Stop…” Gerard mumbled what should've been a sob. He took a deep breath and steadied himself, trying to wipe his tears without smudging his makeup. The Distortion used the edge of its coat to help dry them, a frown on its lips.

“You did ask”

“I did. I thought you’d, I dunno, tell me about that day, how Michael Shelley felt…”

“Would it help to tell you it was beautiful?” Michael asked, standing now next to Gerard, offering a normal hand to him. He took it, mumbling a half-hearted, confused “what?” like he hadn’t quite processed what was being said yet, before Michael smiled, looking around the room to distract itself from Gerry's stare. “He… I… I-it’s difficult… But I do remember the feeling of that day, somehow”

“Gonna tell me?”

“You know I have a hard time with these things, give me a moment” Michael scrambled its facial features, embarrassed. They all only settled in place like they had been tugged back when it heard Gerry chuckle with sadness.

“You don’t have to. It was… It was stupid to ask,” Gerry shook his head, breathing in deep to stop the tears “it’s not like all is gone, I should be concerned with the now. With you” he heaved a sigh and tried shooting a grin at the blindingly neon pile of “whatever” that seemed to be concentrating really hard.

“I said ‘give me a moment’, didn’t I?” it scoffed with a pout. How did Gerard know it was a pout? Maybe instinct. “I want to show you I mean it. Close your eyes” the creaking of a new door beginning to form.

“That doesn't sound threatening at all”

“Arse. You'd be dead if I didn’t care. Trust me a little”

“Are the last words I would hear before stepping into your architectural mind-blender” Gerry batted a hand in the door’s direction and somehow the thing stopped halfway, like he had just erased its top half. Michael seemed white hot with offense. “Sorry, sorry. I'm just- I'm not ready yet. In my memory you're still too human and too… him. My instinct still kicks in when you show me these” Gerry sniffled, the crying having died down. “Maybe we can do something about it though”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… it's pouring outside” he gestured with the mug at the window.

“And?”

“Michael, you said you remembered!” he tried pouting, even though the lack of expected response had deeply hurt.

“I did not, did I?”

“I mean… no. No, no, you didn't. I was being stupid again”

“For someone so ‘stupid’, you're quite clever,” the Distortion made a pause that did not read too well, apparently.

“Thanks?” Confused and thinking it was the end of the sentence, Gerry decided to give up and accept the compliment properly. “Thanks, Michael…–

“Clever enough to remember why Shelley and you felt so disappointed initially” it finished.

“So, you do remember. The shop was closed because nobody was having ice-cream in the middle of a storm. And Michael was so sad about it”

“It’s such a shame that I have no way to easily take you to the Italian café that had affogato that you led him to right after” Michael's door started recuperating, this time the wood had more grain and a rich coffee-like colour.

Gerry considered it, “we wouldn't be drenched by the time we walked in... But, I could do with a walk,” he insisted, standing up to go grab his coat and an umbrella, ignoring the new door completely. “Besides, I want to see what the water does to your hair like that.”

Michael’s incessant shape seemed to recoil, and vanished itself through the door, coming out of the bathroom door of the room looking quite like Michael Shelley, maybe slightly taller and with longer hair. The teeth in its smile perfect and white. Bright, spiral-shaped buttons on its coat and a patchwork scarf hanging almost to its knees. “You can be so rude”

“Almost as rude as you” Gerry said, kissing its shoulder and grabbing his keys.

As they went down the stairs, Michael held on Gerard’s hand with an air of uncertainty in the result of said action. Gerry gave it a short squeeze and turned to it. “You know I still love you, right?”

Michael grimaced, trying to keep its features together and looked away for a second, squeezing the hand back in response.

[thewordworrier]

You Kiss Me In A Way That's Gonna Screw Me Up Forever

Shelly muses about one of her favourite forms of affection.

Word Count: 4,746 words. Warnings: mentions pregnancies, babies, children, alludes to adult activities, but it's more a fluffy, reflection piece. Notes: ~ Title from "Suburban Legends" by Taylor Swift. ~ Inspired by @aug-kissed prompt post here. I don't really think it counts as a submission so to speak, but the prompt post inspired it all. ~ This is a piece in the same vein as ‘Til You Sometimes Come And Tug My Sweater

Finally, and more importantly; I'm gonna dedicate this to my fantastic wife @robinruns - I might've ruined her a bit with the last piece so hopefully this makes up for a bit. Plus, today is her birthday and she's my biggest cheerleader AND MY WIFE so I can't think of anything better than dedicating a sappy fluff piece about her OTP to her <3

~~~

Their first kiss was backstage at Warped Tour. That was their first, proper, full on kiss. The first kiss that meant something. There had been kisses before that though, top of the head kisses and kisses on cheeks, but they had just been a little less meaningful, in the long run.

Shelly was very naturally affectionate. She was more openly affectionate with Frank; she kissed his cheek a lot, but she had been shy about doing the same with Gerard. Much to the vocalist’s disappointment. Still, she had kissed his cheek once or twice, normally as part of a thank you or congratulatory hug. Gerard might’ve kissed her cheek back - especially on her birthday. He’d probably kissed the top of her head once or twice before their first kiss - he liked to do that if he had been hugging her to comfort her; he would bury his nose in her hair and kiss the top of her head as she buried her face in whatever t-shirt he had been wearing. He was pretty certain she’d kissed him goodnight once - kissed his forehead that is. But he’d been so incredibly tired or unwell that day, he couldn’t remember fully.

Before the kiss at Warped Tour, Shelly blew kisses to the whole band all of the time. It was cute and she was never afraid of doing that. They were never afraid of catching the kiss and putting the caught kiss to their chest. And every member of MyChem felt that way; none of them hesitated when it came to catching and returning that affection.

To be honest, even after the Warped Tour kiss, she still kept blowing kisses to the whole band. Even Gerard, because she had to keep up appearances after all. At least while they were still keeping themselves to themselves. They just had to sneak kisses when they could, which… Wasn’t totally difficult with the amount of time Shelly spent doing paperwork in the back office of their bus. When they weren’t on the bus however, it was a little more difficult. It was easy enough for them to not be around when the others were doing sound check - Gerard wasn’t often needed all the time and Shelly could say that she was on calls. They still had to be super aware of Other People, and that’s what Shelly was nervous about. She didn’t mind if the others caught them. And neither did Gerard, really. To be honest, he didn’t mind if anyone caught them - he was proud to be with her. But, he understood that she was nervous about telling the public, and he completely understood her reasons why; they’d talked about it a few times after all. He was more than happy to go at her pace for that.

Besides, the whole ‘sneaking around thing’ could be really hot. He just had to make sure that she didn’t leave any lipstick or lipgloss marks on his face. Or his neck. Or anywhere she might’ve kissed him. That someone else could see, that is. It was okay if it was going to be hidden. Later on, when everybody knew, neither of them minded very much if there had been evidence of them kissing. Shelly didn’t mind if it was obvious she’d reapplied her lipstick, and Gerard certainly didn’t mind if he had remnants on his check, his neck or even on his own lips. He would try and look presentable, of course, but if he missed a bit, it really wasn’t the end of the world. And when they were touring during ProRev, he was less inclined to wipe it off, so there were periods of time where Gerard was walking around with an almost fully intact lipstick mark peeking out from his neckline or something. And Shelly couldn’t even find it in herself to be mad about it. If anything, it felt… Nice to not be so secretive or shy about being affectionate with her partner. It was nice to be a bit obvious about it for once. Even if it was only for this part of the tour.

When they finally confessed to the rest of the band, and actually, once they were comfortable telling the rest of the world, Gerard found himself falling into a habit of holding her hand, as often as he could. He would squeeze her hand gently if he felt she needed a little bit of a reassurance boost. That would always get a small smile from her. If he felt like she needed a bigger boost, he would kiss the back of her hand. This action would almost always, nine out of ten times, earn him a sweet little giggle. And a little blush would appear on her face. She absolutely loved it when he did that; pressing his lips against each of her knuckles in turn before then kissing the back of her hand. It made her absolutely swoon. It didn’t help that he looked like an absolute dreamboat, an actual heartthrob; he looked like he could be in a boyband. A musician who’d be on the posters that adorned the bedroom walls of teenage girls. Teenage girls who would, if they were anything like Shelly when she was younger with her posters of Jon Bon Jovi, would kiss those posters goodnight sometimes. Or blow kisses to them at least.

And he was hers. He was hers to cover in lipstick marks and lipgloss kisses and, a little later on, he was hers to cover in hickies.

He definitely didn’t complain about her doing that. If anything, he loved it when she locked the door behind them, backed him up until he was forced to sit on the edge of a bed so she could climb into his lap, straddle his legs to start marking him up. She always ended up with her fingers in his hair and god Gerard was weak for that, for her. She could do whatever she wanted to him and he did not mind in the slightest. He’d later go on to flash a hickey she’d left on his waistline during one of the Black Parade shows. Actually, he was certain it was during ProRev, as he had acted… Well, Lux had called it slutty, Frank had said that Gerard had been “in heat,” before adding with a grin, “isn’t that Shelly’s job?” He’d nearly gotten smacked for that.

Gerard had seen Shelly’s reaction, actually, when he’d been acting like that, teasingly showing off that mark. At first she’d looked incredibly embarrassed, but, after Gerard had glanced between his woman and some other reactions, that had almost spurred Shelly on a bit, and when he finally got her alone later on, he was more than willing to let her add a new mark to his current collection. That had been the plan anyway, so he had been incredibly surprised when she’d encouraged him to make his mark. It would’ve been incredibly rude for him to refuse the request of his lady though, and he’d said so, which had made Shelly giggle.

As hot as the hickies were, as wobbly as her knees went when he kissed her - when he really kissed her; his arm around her waist holding her tightly up against him, a hand either cupping her cheek or cradling the back of her head - it was like he could never get close enough… As knee wobbling wonderful as those kisses were, nothing really beat the explosions of butterflies and feelings that were created when he kissed the back of her hand.

This hand-kissing habit was not something that he ever dropped or lost. If anything, the longer they were together, the braver he was with it. He’d grab her hand as soon as possible and immediately kiss the back of it, like when he got off stage for the night when she was waiting for them. He liked to wrap an arm around her shoulders and press a kiss to the side of her face when he’d finished a show, but she didn’t always let him do that because sometimes he was a bit sweaty. So he would just stop at grabbing her hand and kissing the back of it. Instead of doing that and then pulling her to him.

He’d kiss her hand when she would rest her hand on his shoulder when she stood behind him when he was seated. If he got the chance, he would kiss her hand. Sometimes he would kiss her palm, and that definitely always got a giggle from her.

During ProRev, he would make a point of hugging her or kissing her when he knew that certain people were around. He tried to be sure that he was sometimes dramatically affectionate so that it was obvious that he was being affectionate, so that it was obvious who he was with. Not as dramatic as Frank would be, but Gerard was in his own quiet way. But he was always holding her hand and he would often lift her hand to kiss the back of it, just for the sake of it. The affectionate action could’ve been seen as absentminded, almost, by an onlooker. If it had been during any other time, it would’ve been… Gentler so to speak. But, during ProRev he was definitely more affectionately aggressive. Although, he knew that Shelly was a little shy about too many public displays of affection, so he didn’t go too hard with it. He did really like grabbing her to pull her close to kiss her though.

The older they got, and the longer they were together, the more comfortable they both got kissing a bit more in public. Especially as their relationship progressed - if the rest of the band thought they were bad once they were engaged, once they’d gotten married they were even worse. Gerard would hold out his hand for Shelly to take with a “my lady wife” - and he’d kiss the back of her hand when she took it so he could help her to her feet.

He did this a lot more when she was pregnant, and that brought along a new kind of kiss - baby bump kisses. And Shelly loved those. Over the clothing kisses were nice but the lip to skin baby bump kisses were the best. He spent her whole pregnancy (all of her pregnancies!) kissing her bump - he didn’t restrict himself to a single trimester or anything. From the moment she told him that she was expecting, even if she wasn’t showing, he would be very affectionate with her stomach.

Gerard found himself being cautious (but consistent) with how affectionate and protective he was with her and her body; not just with her first pregnancy, but with all of them. It might’ve made sense if he had just been cautious with their first, but… Nope. It turned out that he was protective and affectionate every time she got pregnant.

He was mostly affectionate with her stomach in private, especially if they hadn’t told everyone/anyone yet, but a little more protective publicly. He wouldn’t kiss her stomach in public, he’d save that for when they were alone together. In public, he would constantly position himself between her and anything or anyone else, or he’d rest his hand on her stomach. As she got bigger, he’d stand behind her and hold her bump for a bit and that would always get him many brownie points. But, he’d do it even if it didn’t - this was his wife after all.

The most “public” he got with kissing her belly (kissing over her clothes at least) was when they were on the bus with the rest of the band, or surrounded by the band after they knew. When it was just them though? He would lift her clothes to kiss her skin all the time. He’d almost always be kissing or touching on her, and she never seemed to mind too much. Especially not when the baby started moving more; if the baby kicked when Gerard was kissing her skin - it was like the baby was (gently) kicking him in the face. And Shelly found that incredibly amusing. Gerard didn’t, every time, but sometimes it was funny. It was definitely funny to Shelly, when she was pregnant with their son (though they didn’t know the gender at the time), that one of the first kicks Gerard felt was essentially to the face.

“Huh!” Gerard had murmured as he gently rubbed his face where he’d been kicked. “I don’t think this baby likes me very much!”

Shelly had just giggled and stroked where she felt the baby moving. “Mm, maybe we’re having a boy, and he’s not happy that you’re getting too close to his mama.”

Gerard pouted. “But you’re my wife! I was here first!”

“Oh psh,” she leant up to kiss away his pout. “You have Melody, we know she’s a daddy’s girl. Let me have a mama’s boy!”

“Hmn!”

“You know you’ll always have the majority of my heart,” Shelly nuzzled him. “But you have to share with the children, and then the rest of the family. But let me have a child who’s favourite is mama.”

“Oh love,” Gerard snuggled with her. “Melody would rather have you instead of me most of the time.”

“She’s such a daddy’s girl though,” Shelly hummed as he stroked her belly. “And I don’t mind, I love that for her. I love that she's getting what I didn’t.”

Gerard held Shelly tighter and buried his nose in her hair, kissing the top of her head. “You didn’t need him, love. You grew up just fine.”

Shelly hummed. “I did have my grandfather after all.”

“Mm hm! And he helped you grow up more than fine,” Gerard kissed her forehead. “You grew up perfectly.”

That was another type of kiss that Shelly loved - the forehead kiss. The forehead kiss made her absolutely melt. She was incredibly fortunate that she was as short as she was, and that her band family were all taller than her. Because it meant that they would often give her a little forehead kiss as a quick and easy way to show her some affection. Either that, or a top of the head kiss, but they tended to opt for the forehead kiss nine times out of ten. And she appreciated that, especially if she had put a bit more effort into her make-up that day. She’d rather head a forehead kiss than a cheek kiss if she had a full face of make-up. (She was always more than happy to have Gerard kiss her make-up off of her later in the evening though.)

Some of her favourite photos from their wedding day was actually a series of forehead kisses; her grandmother kissing her forehead before lowering her veil in the bridal room before the ceremony, her grandfather kissing her forehead before handing her off to her mother, her mother kissing her forehead at the end of the aisle after lifting the veil for her before she passed her off to Gerard. Finally, there was a photo of Gerard kissing her forehead as they were dancing later on that evening.

Her favourite forehead kiss though, was the one she received early one November morning, in their bedroom, on their bed, having just given birth to their first child - their daughter Melody.

As soon as the baby had been put in her arms, the midwives and her mother had left them alone. Gerard returned to her side, settling close enough to wrap and arm around her to hold them both close. He’d then pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, and Shelly was sure that she’d heard his voice catch in his throat when he next spoke to her.

Actually, he’d done something similar after the birth of each of their children. He’d been so gentle and tender with the babies, and with her especially. When it came to their second and third, she was surprised that he still seemed so… In awe. Of how small their children were, of the babies in general, of her and what she’d just gone through. Like it was their first all over again. But, much like with their oldest, each one of their children’s first kiss was a tiny little smooch to the top of their tiny little heads. Because kissing the top of their heads was the safest part of them for some time, and Shelly and Gerard were both so protective of their children. But as soon as it was safe to kiss them properly - smooches. Smooches galore. And not just from their parents.

Shelly made sure to give her children as many forehead kisses as she could as they grew; there were stages where they almost grew out of being snuggly with their mom, but then they’d fall back into it, a bit, quite quickly. Probably because they all saw how affectionate mom was with dad, and how affectionate dad was with mom - and then how freely all their aunts and uncles gave out their affection; to each other, to their (the kids’) parents, and more importantly, to the kids themselves. They quickly learnt that their closest adults were happy to exchange affection, even at their older ages, so it must be okay to be like that younger, too. They learnt that it was just mom and dad who were so relaxed and happy expressing their feelings like that, that it was their whole family, so it must be okay.

That’s why it delighted Shelly when her kids kissed her goodnight. There did come a point where they got too big to be tucked in, much to her disappointment, so when the kids went up to bed first, most of the time they’d go and kiss the top of their mother’s head, or sneak in a hug before heading upstairs. Gerard loved seeing Shelly light up when they did that as they got older. If the kids were going out without their mom, the family without one of them in general, the family would always do, at minimum, hugs goodbye. Kisses between the parents, obviously, but they didn’t force the kids to kiss, ever. They didn’t force them to hug either, really, but they were always more than willing to. Especially when it came to their mother.

Gerard was always willing to hug his wife. Hug her hello, goodbye, good morning or good night. He was definitely always more than willing to kiss his wife for any reason. He would always kiss her goodbye (or ‘see you later’) - always. Even if it took him a few extra minutes to do so. Not kissing her goodbye, not saying ‘I love you’ before leaving was not an option. He would go out of his way to do it. There wasn’t a single scenario in which he would ever, ever NOT kiss his wife goodbye. Or his children, once they had them. Mildly neglecting his wife like that was not something he wanted to do. Plus, and it was a little morbid, he sometimes worried. He wanted to make sure that, if something bad happened, a hug, a kiss and a ‘I love you’ would be his last words and actions for his family.

They never went to bed angry for similar reasons. On the other hand, Gerard and Shelly didn’t really argue too much anyway. They got annoyed with each other, sure. Of course they did. Shelly could be hormonal, Gerard could get tired, and that was before babies. When they had children, they both ended up a little frayed at the edges sometimes - that was normal. But they both made a point to not stay grumpy with each other (and definitely not the children) for long. Most certainly not overnight. They tried to keep that negativity out of bedrooms so everyone went to bed happy and feeling loved and okay. Everyone always went to bed with hugs and goodnight kisses.

Goodnight kisses were some of Gerard’s favourites, actually. Regarding his woman anyway. He loved being able to snuggle up with Shelly, or have her snuggle against him before giving her a little goodnight kiss. If she snuggled up to him, that kiss would start as a forehead kiss, or a top of the head kiss, and when she would (inevitably) tilt her face up a little bit, he’d kiss the tip of her nose and then he would always end up kissing her lips.

It was always a proper, deep kiss full of love. Sometimes it was a sleepy kiss; because sometimes she was tired, especially once they had kids. Sometimes it ended up a bit more hurried, because most of the time they just couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. And when they ended up kissing like that, the majority of the time, that would… Progress. It didn’t normally stop at just a kiss goodnight. Especially during the times before they had kids; while they were partners, then engaged, and then husband and wife. Gerard couldn’t help it; he could barely keep his hands off of her, he could never quite believe that she was his. And that feeling intensified as their relationship “levelled up.” After they got married, he would regularly just stare at her, and when she questioned him, he’d just mummer “I can’t believe you’re my wife.”

She’d never complain though - about the staring, because she was guilty of that too. She couldn’t quite believe he was hers either most of the time. And she wouldn’t complain about the kiss progression either. Especially not if they started spooning. He’d press kisses to her shoulder and her neck before shifting her onto her back so he could do that better, so he could reach more of her skin - because even in the winter she rarely wore full coverage pyjamas. Much to his utter delight. If she reacted favourably, which she did more often than not, and if he felt like being patient, he would take the time to move the shoulder straps to kiss at skin, or to lift the hem of her top to press kisses to anything that was then exposed. He wouldn’t always work on undressing her right away.

And even when he did strip her of whether she was wearing, he still normally took his time to kiss all her favourite spots, and all the spots he favoured too - much to her annoyance, because he was so slow and deliberate about it. And he lingered on his favourite locations a little more than hers, if only because when he kissed the areas he liked the most, she would normally giggle and squirm instead and wriggle and moan. He’d get there eventually, of course he would. And he would always plan on teasing her more than he did, he always planned on really taking his time, leaving trails of nips and kisses down her body. But if she was impatient, then he was worse - he was just always so eager to hear all that praise that he knew would fall out of her mouth - because she would always say that he was so good with what he did with his.

He could behave with his kisses! Of course he could - he wasn’t kissing her in a frisky fashion in public after all. He didn’t kiss her like he was going to pin her against the wall on their wedding day in front of all their friends and family.

That kiss, the one on their wedding day, had been very reminiscent of their first kiss, actually. The main exception had been that they were being watched on their wedding day, and hadn’t been when they kissed the first time. On the other hand, much like their first kiss, the kiss on their wedding day was also kinda an anticipated one.

Their first kiss had been anticipated because the whole darn band, and even Shelly’s family to an extent, knew how they felt about each other and, while her family knew not to push her too hard (she was a little bit stubborn after all), the band had been working on the pair of them to get them to talk to each other about their feelings. Their wedding day kiss - well, that’s the thing you wait for on a wedding day, isn’t it? You want to see the bride and groom tie the knot and seal it with a kiss like that.

Much like their first kiss, Gerard had tucked her hair behind her ear before cupping her cheek in his hand. Much like their first kiss, Shelly had giggled a little and looked up at him with such obvious hearts in her eyes, Gerard had been surprised that he hadn’t noticed it sooner.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” he said, only loud enough for her to hear.

She just beamed, and spoke in a similar volume. “Any time you want.”

His fingertips brushed against her cheek as he hooked them under her chin to carefully tilt her face up so he could lean down and kiss her. Their first kiss as husband and wife! He knew he had to behave with it; her mom, grandmother and grandfather were literally a few feet away from them after all, as were his parents. So he had to be good. Until he got her behind closed doors anyway. But that would have to wait.

Of course, there had been some ‘kiss for the camera’ chances after the ceremony when they’d stepped away to get some bride and groom photos. But those were similar to the little pecks he later got in during their first dance; on her forehead, on the tip of her nose, on her cheeks, and of course, pecks on her lips.

Once the photographer had left to give them some quiet time, just to get a chance to talk to each other for a bit, to be alone properly for the first time all day. Some time just for them; as literally just married husband and wife before they rejoined their guests for the reception.

Gerard shut the door behind him and turned to find his wife (!!!) just… Staring at him, her hands clasped in front of her. When she noticed him looking at her, she beamed at him, shining brighter than the sun had been doing that day. He grinned back at her happily before crossing the room and taking her in his arms, wrapping her in a tight hug as she wrapped her arms around him.

“Oh my god,” Shelly murmured, repeating it softly a few times until he kissed her forehead.

He smiled when she sighed happily. “Better?”

“Mm hm,” she hummed, tilting her face up to nuzzle against him a bit.

“That stop all the noise and commotion?” He asked, keeping one arm around her waist, using his other hand to brush some hair away from the face.

“You know it did.”

“Good,” he pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose.

Shelly giggled and leant up a bit to kiss him properly.

“Mm,” Gerard held her tightly for a moment. “Your make-up.”

“I’ll fix it after,” she slid her hands up his chest. “Can you please just kiss me properly?”

He hummed a little bit and nuzzled her. “Hmn. Well, I don’t know if you’re going to want to do that as much. You’re stuck with the same kisses or the rest of your life. You don’t wanna wear them out. You’ll get bored.”

“Gerard,” she moved back enough to be able to look at him. “I’ve been ruined for other people since we kissed backstage for the first time that summer. I want to only kiss you for the rest of my life.”

“Are you sure?” He nibbled his bottom lip for a moment. “It’s not too late to change your mind, really.”

“Gerard Arthur Way!”

He swallowed and chuckled nervously. “I’ll take that as a -”

“I’m very sure, thank you very much!” She put her hands on her hips, almost glaring at him for a moment before her expression softened and her arms dropped to her sides. “Unless -”

“Don’t even think about saying it,” he interrupted, knowing exactly what she was going to say. “I am not changing my mind.”

“Well! Neither am I!” Shelly smiled at him before grabbing his tie. “Now, Mr. Way…”

Gerard grinned as she tugged him towards her a bit. 

“Your wife demands a kiss.”

[reanbowful]

This is a request from a person who THRIVE on Gerard. So I shall give you. Gerard in caps.

*also I’m back yayy sorry for being absent ehehe

“accidents or fate?”

if you accidentally kiss / compromising position

*sliiiightly suggestive on Ben’s part

(gray, ben, GERARD, jake, wolf)

gray yeon / yeon sieun

The two of you sat side by side in an empty classroom reviewing for a quiz.

It’s been like at least an hour and you could feel your back aching already.

You rest your head on the table, looking at Gray who’s nose is buried in your notebook, correcting any mistakes that you make.

Which made you pout, because what the hell is that? How did you get so many wrongs, and you were confident about it too :(

Sighing, you turn your head towards the glass window.

The sun is setting now. A warm orange glow filled the classroom. It was .. beautiful.

You were about to tap Gray’s arm to show him the sight. But when you turn-

“Gray, look-“

Gray was also trying to get your attention, seemingly leaning in while you turn your head at the same time.

At the brush of his lips, you got startled and jumped back. Hands covering your lips.

When you see Gray frozen in his place, you chuckled speechlessly. Recovering quickly and promptly apologised.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s fine. It was an accident.”

He could pretend to be stoic all he wants but the red across his cheeks says otherwise.

ben park / park humin

I feel like out of everyone, he would be the most like. Shocked. Flabbergasted.

Parties weren’t Ben’s thing, but this was a special occasion. Gerard had just begin to play music again. That’s something to celebrate about.

The owner of the venue held an after party. Well, not so much for Gerard, but for their 5 year anniversary.

But still. It’s quite a crowded place, so to say.

“I’m going to get some drinks!”

With the blasting music and people screaming at the top of their lungs at every corner, no one could really blame Ben for not noticing the disaster coming his way.

See, you were having a bit of a ‘disagreement’ with a group of girls from your old school. And well, it was quite a mess.

You just wanted to have a nice time away from all the stress and when you came in, your eyes were met with the embodiment of pettiness.

Damn. Which God did you piss off for them to do this?

Letting out an exasperated groan, you rolled your eyes and turn to leave.

“Ok, ok. You know what, enjoy the fucking party. I’ll leave you to it.”

Somehow, the girls seems to be even more annoyed when you left them just like that.

So, guess what they did?

Ben was just collecting his drinks that right when he turned around, he was met with a body shoved harshly onto him. Causing him to lose balance and toppled off right onto the floor.

“Ugh..”

He winced at the sudden weight dropping on top of him, cracking open his eyes only to find your face right in front of his.. yea.

Ben’s whole face burned. Mixed with the alcohol in his system, his brain literally stop working.

But yours clearly didn’t. Nor were you affected at all by the embarrassing situation.

Because that very second, Ben watch you push yourself back up. Angrily stomping towards the three girls.

The rest of it is a blur. He didn’t know how long he sat there on the floor, the blood rushing to his head making him feel a bit dizzy.

What the fuck just happened?

GERARD JIN / JIN GAYOOL

I imagine you guys to be the type of people who would go thrifting or go to these flea market type of events. (you’re not a couple yet)

So, basically Gerard was out on his monthly thrifting day at this particular event.

While searching for decent second hand guitars on the internet he stumbled upon this one shop.

Coincidentally, they were currently a tenant in a famous thrifting event. So, Gerard thought might as well go and see the product for itself.

Now, you play guitar in a band, not big or anything serious. But you guys would occasionally busk and accept gigs for extra cash.

Of course, being high school students, you don’t really have all the money in the world. So, things like clothes, and other trinkets, you try to curate them by thrifting.

Anyways, you were just looking around for the next hidden treasure when you saw it.

A black, vintage, X model guitar.

Oh you gotta have that.

Practically running to get it when you feel yourself pulled forward, stumbling on your feet towards a man with green hair.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!”

You stared at him, slightly in shock. Your faces are so close together. The man has a soft blush forming, while you gulped when you notice him releasing his hold on the guitar, moving them to your waist to steady you instead.

“I-I didn’t see you, but, it seems that you’re also going to purchase it.”

Also? Wait, but this dude is gorgeous now that you see it.

Gerard stood awkwardly, rubbing his neck.

“It’s a nice model, you have a good eye. Ah, well. I’ll just check out the other models, sorry.”

“NO! No, I mean, no, take this. I insist. Matter-of-fact, I’ll even pay for you.”

You handed over the guitar to Gerard (who looked confused out of his mind), handing in crumpled cash towards the tenant.

“Wha- Why?”

“Since I paid for your guitar, clear out your schedule on Saturday. Come watch me at X bar.”

Y/N investing, I see.

jake ji / ji hakho

This was the situation that got the two of you together in the first place.

When he first met you, Jake thought the two of you have quite similar personalities. You were cheerful, and bright, and live like you have not a single care in the world.

You guys matched with each other right away.

Jake likes you, Dean likes you, everybody likes you. You have an easygoing and friendly personality that people find it easy to find comfort in you.

For Jake, that comfort slowly blossomed into something more.

It started small, the urge to protect. The thought of anyone possibly harming you leaving a bad taste in his tongue.

But then, he started seeing you EVERYWHERE. It’s like you have a magnet on his eyes, even the slight figure or your voice could have him snapping his gaze.

“Excuse me, we are conducting a survey for our university. Would you mind to answer a few questions? It will just be for a bit.”

Jake stared at the bulletin board beside the man. ‘The Science of Love’

Pursing his lips, Jake sighed.

“Okay.”

“Okay! We’re also gonna be recording this, if you don’t mind?”

“Yeah, sure. Let’s just-“

“Hey, is that you, Jake?”

Jake turned his head, taken aback at how close your face already is across his shoulder. Causing your lips to briefly touch before the two of you pulled away in shock.

You let out a laugh, backing away from the recording camera. Jake felt something in his stomach turn when he saw how nonchalant you acted after accidentally kissing him.

“Oh God! AHAHA I’m so sorry! Please, carry on.”

As he collects himself, you were already strolling away from the scene. Mindlessly walking away like nothing had happened.

“I- sorry. I gotta go.”

“Eh? Wait!”

Catching up to you, Jake pulled you by the sleeve of your puffer jacket. To which, you responded with a neutral look on your face.

“I! Want to kiss you! Again. Properly.”

Face flushed, Jake clenched his fist. Heart pounding as he waited for your reaction.

“Huh? Why? You like me or something?”

“Wha- Y/N, I wouldn’t- Ok. You know what, yes. I do like you.”

Jake waited as your expression lay unchanging, bracing himself for a rejection. Only to feel a pair of lips meeting the corner of his mouth.

“Sure, then. I’ll kiss you until you get bored of it.”

Jake can feel his eyes watering as he lifted you up from the ground.

“I won’t ever get bored!”

wolf keum / keum seongje

I’m actually curious how Wolf would react in this scenario really.

There are 3 scenarios.

If you guys know each other closely / are romantically together, he would be completely smug about it.

But if you don’t, then he’ll simply brush over it.

An interesting thing will happen if YOU don’t know him, but HE has a crush on you.

Wolf was having quite an irritating day.

The leftover summer heat, the homeroom teacher’s lecturing him about his absence record, and all of the union bullshit just have to pile up one after the other on the exact same day.

So, this guy is in a pretty foul mood.

Wolf was smoking by the second floor corridor, watching from above as a baseball game commenced in the field.

For such an expensive school, Ganghak’s facilities are.. questionable.

Wolf watched as you walked out of the student council meeting room, your arms filled with a huge pile of books.

He contemplated on offering to carry them. But, no, that would be awkward. He was just about to turn back when he saw a flash of white through the corner of his eye.

Fucking fuck.

Rushing to your side, Wolf pulled you away from the glass window. The glass window which, not a second later, shattered with a hole and a flying baseball bouncing harshly off of the wall.

You panted in shock, not fully comprehending the situation. Due to the urgency, and the sheer force of Wolf’s pull, you lost your balance and ended up knocking the two of you down.

Thankfully, Wolf was able to break your fall by covering your head.

“Noona, are you ok-“

He frowned at the red cut on your left cheek. Brushing his thumb over the edge of the cut.

“Does it hurt?”

You reached your hand up to examine the cut, accidentally brushing your finger over Wolf’s.

“Uh.. no. It doesn’t.”

Wolf tries to calm his rapid heartbeat, reaching behind him for a bandaid and handing them to you.

When your friends started scurrying over, he moved away from you. Feigning ignorance, Wolf cleared his throat and took the baseball into his hand.

Those athletes are going to have a field day.

[keepsdeathhiscourt]

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature (18+ Only)

Story Summary: It's been ten years since Lucie LeMarche last set foot in New Orleans. But when she's forced to return to bury the woman who raised her, she finds herself pulled into the midst of rising supernatural tensions in the city. Entangled in a web of intrigue and seeking answers, Lucie must learn to navigate a powder keg of warring factions, family secrets, and old wounds if she hopes to survive.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Language, Death, Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Family Drama

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

Chapter 3: Mirror Images

Lucie lies low for the next couple of days, only leaving the sanctuary of her downtown hotel for necessities.

She’s not hiding. It’s what she tells herself, repeating it like a mantra until she believes it. Still, it’s all too easy to find an excuse to order takeout, to settle into the floral wallpapered confines of her second-floor room.

It’s been three nights since the encounter with Marcel and his posse -three nights since she found Jane-Anne dead- and she’s passed the time alternating between watching mindless television on the ancient, staticky set and staring out the window.

This morning, she’s engaged in the latter, watching people and cars buzz by with rapt interest. A woman weaves through sidewalk foot traffic, her heels high and her hair pulled back into a tight bun. She has two coffees stacked on top of the other and her cell phone is pressed between her shoulder and her ear. It’s a bold choice, but her stride is smooth and confident as she chatters to someone on the other line. She does not know that the city is crawling with vampires.

On the other side of the street, a man crouches down with a plastic baggy while he zips his windbreaker to his chin. The leashed Labrador flits between him and the nearest passerby, seeking pets, as his owner scoops his leavings off the sidewalk with a wrinkled nose. He could never imagine a coven of witches ruling the neighborhood.

She finds she’s jealous of him, of the woman, of every person who passes by on the way to complete mundane tasks in average lives and loved ones waiting at home. Right now, she’d give anything to trade places with any of them, if only for a day. Twenty-four hours in which the supernatural exists only in stories. 

A pickup rolls up to a stoplight, honking its horn at the sedan in front of it the second the light turns green, and Lucie imagines another life. One where she kicks off her shoes after another day in an office. In this universe, she’s greeted at the door by a dog and maybe even a partner. They smile at her and ask about her day over dinner and fall into bed together at night. And when she closes her eyes to rest before another average day, she feels safe. In this place, no one murders women to prove points and no one pushes children to embrace powers they don’t understand.

She presses her eyes closed, resting her forehead against the cool glass, and allows herself a few moments of indulgence. But before long, her thoughts stray back to the situation at hand. She runs it over in her mind, trying to make sense of it.

How could Marcel Gerard possibly know any time a witch practiced magic in the Quarter?

And, knowing the consequences, why would Jane-Anne risk her life?

No matter what angle she looks at it, she can’t seem to find any satisfying answers. All she can do is wonder what had happened here in her absence. She shakes her head, like her brain is an etch-a-sketch and the motion might wipe the slate clean. She moves to turn away from the window when she catches something out of the corner of her eye. Down on the closest street corner, a man stands with hands in the pockets of his suit jacket. His face is too shadowed to know for sure, but his head seems to tip up towards her, like he knows she sees him. 

The phone rings, vibration loud as a gunshot against the lacquered end table. She jolts as the device continues to ring, cutting over the sounds of traffic and the low garbled conversion of a TV infomercial. Stepping over a takeout box, she grabs the phone and glances at the screen.

Incoming Call: Arabella

Her finger hovers over the green button as the ringtone starts from the beginning again. A few seconds tick by as she stares at it, then a few more until finally it stops.

It had been only a week ago that Lucie had received Arabella’s late-night phone call. Seven days since she’d listened to her cousin tell her in a tearful, halting voice that the only mother she’d ever known was dead.

Truthfully, she isn’t sure why she’d been dodging her cousin’s phone calls, only that she’d spent all the time since that night in a state of emotional free fall. 

Phone still in hand, she glances over her shoulder and towards the window. Whoever she’d thought she’d seen, he’s gone now. It strikes her as odd. Despite being at the opposite end of the street when she’d first seen him, there’s no sign of him and she knows none of the nearby shops are open yet. It’s like he stepped off the curb and vanished. She concludes he was never there at all, just the light playing tricks on her exhausted mind. Then she drags a hand over her face and through her hair, which is far, far too greasy, even for her own company. Still, skin prickling with the sensation of unseen eyes on her, she jerks the curtains closed before she turns her back to the window. 

She pads the length of the room towards the adjoining bathroom. There isn’t much in the way of square footage and it doesn’t take her long to navigate the minefield of discarded styrofoam boxes, coffee cups, and stray clothes strewn haphazardly across the place; the impressive accomplishment of only a few days. In actuality, it’s not all that different from her norm. Replace the floral wallpaper with tacky stucco and scatter a few more bottles across the room with some past-due notices, and it could almost be a dead ringer for her apartment back in Albuquerque.

Lucie winces as her feet hit the cold linoleum and flicks the light switch, bathing the room in a sterile, white light that flickers overhead every couple of minutes. She blinks against the intrusion, adjusting to the brightness. Her reflection blinks back at her behind streaks in the mirror, eyes red and punctuated with deep smudges. 

Yeah, she looks like shit. 

It’s no real surprise, given the sluggish lifestyle of the last couple of days. But knowing is different from seeing it -or feeling it. She pulls at a lank strand of hair and winces before turning to start the shower. The sound of rushing droplets bounces off the tiles in a way that promises decent water pressure. Only after waving a hand under the flow to check the temperature, she undresses and slips in. The water is warm, beating a steady rhythm against the knotted muscles in her neck and back. It’s enough to make Lucie groan.

She reaches for the tiny bottle of hotel shampoo, lathering a generous amount between her palms and massaging it into her scalp. It’s like magic for her mood. The feeling lingers even as she turns the tap and wraps the towel around herself, still glowing with remnants of warmth. 

She steps out into the thick cloud of steam that permeates the confined space and drinks in the humidity with greedy breaths. She’s careful not to slip as she approaches the mirror, squeezing the excess water from her hair. A sheen of fog coats the glass, veiling everything but the sharper lines of her silhouette.

She reaches for her hairbrush, running the bristles through her hair, methodically untangling the more stubborn knots. The plastic handle clatters when she returns it to its home on the counter. When her eyes drift up to the still-steamy mirror, she goes still. 

But the reflection does not.

Instead, its blurred form seems to move on its own accord. Its arms extend, beckoning to her, and it squares the broad lines of its shoulder: the posture that is too long and too perfect to ever belong to her. 

The side of her hand catches the hairbrush, knocking it from the counter and onto the tiles with a clatter.

Against the speckled beige counter, her phone buzzes. She jumps, tearing her eyes away from the mirror and towards the source of the noise. Arabella’s name flashes across the screen again. This time, she only lets it ring twice before she answers, swiping up with clumsy fingers.

“Hello?” she says, breathless and uncertain, as if she didn’t already know who was on the other line.

“Lucie!” Her cousin’s warm voice sounds in her eye, contrasting with the impersonal neutrals of the bathroom. “You answered. I’ve been trying to catch you all week.” |

Arabella’s voice sounds shaky. It’s enough to make her feel guilty for dodging her calls. 

Lucie leans against the sink, the porcelain cool against her skin, and tries to soothe her thumping heart. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Is everything okay? You sound…off.” She doesn’t miss the edge of concern. “You’re not having nightmares again, are you?”

She barely catches the question, eyes trained on the foggy mirror. Absently, she raises a hand. The reflection follows suit.

“No, no.” She waves it off. ‘I’m just…it’s been a long week” “

The line goes quiet, but she knows her cousin is still there. She can feel her presence on the other end.

She nudges the damp towel she’d employed in lieu of a bath mat with her foot, encouraging it flat, and debates whether to tell her about the man in the suit or the mirror. She decides against it, chalking it all up to stress and lack of sleep. Instead, she asks what’s been on the back of her mind since she got the news of Violette’s death. 

“What happened, Bella? You never told me.”

“You never asked,” she replies softly. It’s not a rebuke, just a statement of fact. “Pneumonia. That’s what the doctor said.”

“Pneumonia,” she repeats. She doesn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that. It’s underwhelming in a way, to imagine her formidable great-aunt put to rest by something so common. But she’d been an old woman for most of Lucie’s life and larger than life though she may have been, she was only mortal in the end. 

“Listen, Lucie. I know your default is to carry this alone, but don’t. We can do this together.” Arabella offers gently. Then adds, before she can protest, “Let’s grab coffee tomorrow. I’d love to see your face before the funeral.” 

She wants to argue, to turn her down on instinct. But she can feel the wide smile on the other line and, to be honest, she’s had more than enough being alone to last her a lifetime.

So she agrees and after settling on time and place, she hangs up the phone with trembling hands and glances at the mirror, now free of fog. Her reflection blinks back at her, pale and apprehensive.

____

Under a canopy of ageless trees, wedged between a tax office and a brewery, sits The Lazy Bean. Once a double-family shotgun, the pale orange coffee house now serves as a haunt for bleary-eyed commuters and hipsters looking to finish their screenplays. 

The shop is half full, energy winding down after the lunchtime rush, but she only spends a minute in line before the barista takes her order. 

She posts up against the far wall to wait. The interior is painted a sunny, chipped yellow, but it’s nearly impossible to tell; each wall is covered floor to ceiling in painted canvases and flyers advertising local events. And any spare corner or window sill has been repurposed into a home for a mishmosh of potted plants. In a strange way, it reminds her of the cluttered quiet of the Jardin Gris. 

The barista calls out her order. Sidestepping a young man in a fringed coat, she retrieves the steaming ceramic mug. It’s purple and, by the imprints along the handle, likely homemade. She murmurs her thanks and slips through clusters of tables and mismatched chairs.

Arabella is there, waiting, when she steps out onto the back patio. But she doesn’t see her right away. Lucie takes the opportunity to drink her in, unobserved. 

Seated at a corner table, she taps at her mug with pale, anxious fingers. She’d never been able to sit still. Even as a child, she’d always been twiddling her fingers or pulling a lock of copper hair. It’s darkened with age, she notes, eyeing the deep, rich auburn that spills over her shoulders. She worries at her lip with her teeth. There’s a pronunciation to her cheekbones and a wariness around her eyes that wasn’t there before, but otherwise little has changed. A smattering of freckles stretches across her nose and her round cheeks are flushed in the sun, the same as the girl she remembers. 

A surge of insecurity washes over her. after all, ten years is a very long time, especially spanning over that critical junction between adolescence and maturity. Lucie knows that for all she might look like her cousin, Arabella and her sixteen-year-old self might have little in common. She wonders what the woman tapping her foot under an oak might think of her wayward cousin. Will she like who she sees?

It’s enough to make her reconsider. She hasn’t been seen yet. There’s still time to leave before she-

“Lucie!” Arabella’s cheerful voice rings out, waving to catch her attention. Her pink lips curl in a smile that reveals the charming gap between her white teeth and makes her eyes crinkle at the corners. Despite her uncertainties, Lucie’s smile widens at the sight of her.

The wooden planks groan beneath her boots as she makes her way to the table.

“Hey,” Lucie greets softly, sinking into the chair opposite her.

“Hey,” Arabella responds in kind, matching Lucie’s shy demeanor. “I was worried you wouldn’t show.”

Lucie hesitates before admitting, “I wasn’t going to.”

“But you did, and that’s what matters,” Arabella says, a hint of relief in her voice, as she sets down her tea and reaches across the table to squeeze Lucie’s hand. “It’s so good to see you, Luce. I can’t believe you’re here.”

If she had been worried about ill-will or uncomfortable reunions, there’s none to be had. Not from Arabella.

“It’s been good to see you too, Bella. You look great.”

“Thanks. And you look rough,” Arabella says, then quickly amends, “I mean, you look good, just tired.”

Taking a sip of her coffee, Lucie nods. “It's been tough, to say the least.”

Arabella offers a sympathetic hum, and the conversation lapses into a shared moment of grief. Lucie admires the way the dappled shade of an oak paints patterns across her freckled skin, and how the sun picks out strands of her hair in gilded orange.��

Eventually, Arabella breaks the silence. “She asked for you, you know - right at the end.”

Lucie doesn’t need to ask who she’s referring to. Violette’s presence is as corporeal as if she were occupying a chair beside them. Unsure of what to say, she takes a long sip of her drink, feeling the warm bitterness spread through her.

“Honestly,” Arabella continues, “I don’t think you were ever far from her thoughts. Sometimes, she’d get this faraway look in her eyes, and I just knew she was thinking about you.”

Lucie snorts softly. “You mean thinking about what a catastrophic failure I turned out to be?”

Her tone may be flippant, but the sentiment chafes. The second she had left the city limits, she might as well have been dead to Violette. She was sure every trace of her had been struck from the record with a methodical precision. If she had been so desolate in Lucie's absence, why hadn’t she ever called? 

“Oh, Lucie,” Arabella says, dismayed. “It’s not like that at all. You know that, right?”

“I don’t really know what to think anymore, Bella,” Lucie says, feeling the weight of her uncertainty.

“I know things are different,” Arabella reassures her, “but that doesn’t necessarily have to mean bad. It just means ‘different.’”

Lucie cants her head, acknowledging the truth in her cousin’s words. “I wouldn’t exactly call being shunned a positive.”

The constricting feeling in her chest belies her nonchalance. Even at a distance of ten years, the memory still stings. The absence of the connection throbs like a phantom limb.

“So you can’t tap into ancestral power, so what?” Arabella shrugs. “You still have your magic, and more importantly, you still have family.”

“Do I?” It’s a question she’d asked herself many times in those early days of exile. And as months stretched into years of near radio silence from all except the woman across from her, it was a foregone conclusion that the answer was a resounding: No.

Arabella insists, “Of course you do.”

Her optimism is unyielding, like looking into the sun. It clashes with the tender angst in Lucie's stomach. Feeling a flicker of irritation, she shifts in her seat. “I don’t think the coven is going to roll out the welcome mat.”

“They only just found out you’re here. Just give them time,” Arabella offers by way of explanation. “The Elders have been a little preoccupied lately. There’s a lot going on-”

“Like getting Jane-Anne’s body back from Marcel?” Lucie interjects.

Her cousin is taken aback. “I… How did you know?”

“I found her in the middle of Royal with her throat cut, Arabella,” Lucie says, something sharp seeping into her tone at the confirmation that she'd known too. “Something like that is hard to miss.”

“Shit,” Arabella curses softly. “I’m so sorry you had to find out like that. I was getting around to telling you, honest. But I wasn’t sure how to bring it up and I thought it would be kinder to drop the news gently.”

Lucie’s patience wears thin. “You know what would’ve been better? If you told me what was happening so I didn’t have to hear it from Marcel-fucking-Gerard.”

This time it’s her cousin’s turn to fidget in her seat. She passes the cup back and forth between her hands, chewing at her lip as she seems to be mustering up the right words. “It’s been hard around here for a while now. I need you to understand that before I tell you what I’m about to tell you.” |

She can’t help the involuntary flutter in her stomach. “Arabella, what are you-?”

“You have to promise me. Promise that you’ll keep an open mind,” she says in a shaky rush, “or I’m not going to say another word.”

“Okay, okay. I promise.”

She hesitates, taking a moment to gather her thoughts before she begins. 

“Since you’ve been away, things in the city have taken a turn. It started with small incidents - a shop in the Cauldron vandalized, a few witches harassed. But then it escalated rapidly. Nightwalkers began patrolling the streets, monitoring our every move and word. The safe areas for practicing magic shrank until all nine covens could only operate within five city blocks.”

“One night, the Elders convened at Greataunt Violette’s. They had a heated discussion behind locked doors. Violette stormed out, pretty upset. When she came back, she told Viv and I that the Elders had reached a decision.”

Arabella pauses, her cup nearly empty, prompting Lucie to inquire further. “What decision?”

“To proceed with the Harvest Ritual.”

Lucie’s world spins at the revelation. “The Harvest Ritual,” she repeats, her voice flat.

“Our powers were diminishing, and it had been centuries since the last Harvest. We needed to renew our bond with the Ancestors,” Arabella explains.

“I know how it works,” Lucie snaps, immediately regretting her tone.

Arabella continues, undeterred. “Four girls were chosen: Abby, Cassie, Davina, and… Monique.”

Lucie feels sick. “Monique Deveraux?”

Arabella nods solemnly. “Yes.”

“What happened?” Lucie demands, gears turning. “Tell me everything you know.”

And she tells her. She tells her about how the Elders showered the chosen girls in honors and praises; she tells her about how they were marched like lambs to the slaughter, expecting a prick on the thumb up until the moment Bastiana slit Abigail’s throat. And finally, she tells her about Marcel Gerard’s intervention and his swift, furious retribution upon the witches of New Orleans for what they’d done. 

Lucie doesn’t speak for the duration of her story, only listens as Arabella tells it in faltering pieces. 

By the time she finishes, hands shaking and eyes weary, the sun is beginning its descent into the west. The diminishing rays cast the patio in streaks of gold and orange that fall across Arabella’s face as Lucie watches her.

“Lucie, say something. Please,” she says when the weight of the silence becomes unbearable. 

Lucie’s arms instinctively wrap around her chest. “What do you want me to say, Bella?”

Arabella’s voice trembles, thick with emotion. “I don’t know. Something. Anything.”

Lucie’s hand cards through her hair in a futile attempt to find the right words. “I...,” she struggles, the words slipping through her grasp. Finally, she manages, “I need to go.”

The chair protests against the patio as she stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Where?” Arabella says with a note of desperation.

“I don’t know,” Lucie admits, her head shaking in numb disbelief. “I just... I need some time to think.”

Arabella’s expression wavers between concern and resignation as she nods in reluctant acceptance and Lucie disappears down the street.

[partypoisonzz]

have you ever considered writing a microfic with gee and breeding (i completely understand if that’s something that you’re not comfy with, it’s, um, not for everyone 😅)

-📼🔪

(Not for everyone but IT SURE AS HELL IS FOR ME. Also not sure if this really counts as a microfic???? It's 791 words oops.)

The mattress springs squeak with nearly every movement, digging hard into your back. Right now, though, you can't bring yourself to care.

A quiet whimper breaks up from Gerard's throat as you look up at him, offering him a sly smile. He leans into your palm as you press your hand against the side of his face, — a sweet, tender gesture, despite the fact that he's currently buried deep inside of you, no barrier between bare skin.

"Say it," you manage to command him, even as each stroke brushes against the spot that makes you want to lose control. "Tell me what you're gonna do to me, baby."

He gives another soft whimper, his hips slamming harder into you. "I'm gonna knock you up," he says quietly.

You frown. "What was that?" In truth, you heard him perfectly fine. You just want to hear it again, in any way he could possibly say it.

He lets out a groan of frustration, flooding your veins with heat. "I said," he says from between gritted teeth, "that I'm gonna knock you up."

You laugh as though you doubt him. "Gonna knock me up, huh?" you ask. "Gonna do it for real this time, rather than pulling out last minute and coming on my stomach? Gonna come inside of me?"

"Mmm-hmm." His thumbs dig into your sides, holding you still as he slams into you even harder with a choked groan. "Fuck, sugar. Gonna get you pregnant."

Another vindictive laugh from you, though it's getting increasingly difficult to hide your arousal at his words. You want him to keep going. Want to hear more.

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" you ask him. "Filling me up with your come. Getting me pregnant with your kid." You pause, meeting his eyes as you wait for a response. He simply lets out a low 'mm-hmm' before you can spur him on.

A wicked grin spreads across your face before you let the hammer drop. "Bet you'd love it, seeing me with a baby bump," you say. "That would make it so obvious that I'm yours."

He freezes for a moment, his head falling against your shoulder as he lets out a deep groan. "Oh, fuck."

You chuckle, pressing a lazy kiss against his shoulder before rolling your hips up against his. "Come on," you encourage him. "Don't stop now. Fill me up, Gee."

That's all the encouragement that he needs to begin setting a punishing pace with his thrusts once again, fucking into you harder and harder as a series of unintelligible sounds spill out from his lips.

As those sounds increase in volume, his movements become sloppier. "Fuck, baby," he whimpers, his dominant facade beginning to slip away. "I'm getting close."

You lean in to press a gentle kiss to his nose before resting your forehead against his. His eyes lock with your own as he keeps thrusting, each movement threatening to send him over the edge. God, you want that to happen.

"Do it," you tell him. "Come inside me, baby. Make me yours." Your legs tighten around his waist as your lips trail down his jaw, only to come back to rest against his ear again. "Fuck a baby in me."

"Oh, shit." With that, his movements become increasingly erratic, until, finally, finally, he's spilling inside of you with a loud cry, pushing you over the edge along with him.

You milk him through it, tightening around him again and again. "That's it," you say, even when you're sure that he can't possibly have much else to give. "Fuck, I want all of it..."

Finally, his head falls against your shoulder again. He lets out a shuddering breath as your hand slowly crawls up his back and into his hair, stroking gently.

Your heart jumps as his own hand travels down between the two of you, landing on your belly. "Think it'll work?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah. Maybe." You can't help but laugh at the absurdity of this, — that you're at a point in your life where the thought of getting pregnant doesn't terrify you, but excites you.

Your lips brush against his forehead before you finish your thought. "If not, there's always next time."

"Yeah. Next time." Gerard practically beams as he looks up at you.

You can't help but laugh, lightly shoving at him. "What're you smiling at, weirdo?" you ask.

"You," he answers earnestly, before pressing a kiss against your bare shoulder. "I love you. Wouldn't do this with anybody else."

Once again, your heart skips a beat. Somehow, you manage to formulate a response, wrapping your arms tighter around his waist.

"I love you, too, Gee," you tell him honestly.  "Can't wait to see where we go from here."

[the-rarest-sexiest-coinkydink]

Punk gerard with a preppy gf?

She’s Cheer Captain and I’m Questioning My Gender (High school! Gerard Way x reader) 

Summary: Gerard’s cheerleader girlfriend spent the weekend at his place, and she made sure to bring everything she’d need for school on Monday. Some of the stuff in her bag makes some interesting thoughts pop up... 

Word count: 981

Warnings: none 

A/N: ok I won’t lie, this was heavily inspired by all the cheerard photos that came out of the Nashville show. Fight me. (Also this was the first thing that came to mind when I read ‘preppy’, so I’m sorry if that isn’t quite the vibe you were going for... I think it’s more of a USA thing than a UK thing lmao) 

“Babe. Babe. Hey, your alarm went off fifteen minutes ago, I don’t want you to be late. (Y/n). Babe. Are you dead? Come on.” 

Groaning, (y/n) buried her head into the faded band shirt that Gerard had worn instead of pyjamas. “But I’m so cozy here.” 

He giggled. “Yeah I know, but you kinda have to move. Don’t you have practice before school today?” 

Finally, she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “I bet it’s gonna be freezing outside, and I’m tired. I don’t wanna go.” 

“It’s your own fault for signing up for it then.” 

She dragged herself out of his bed and tossed a pillow at his face, smirking as it hit the top of his head before reaching the wall, making a soft crinkling sound as it ruffled the collage of posters he had curated there. “No, it’s your fault for making me watch you and Mikey screw about with guitars until one thirty in the morning.” 

He pulled what could only be described as a puppy-dog face, last night’s eyeliner smudging into deep raccoon circles against his pale cheeks. “I thought you liked dating a rockstar.” 

She shot a look over her shoulder as she tied her hair back. “I thought rockstars were meant to be cool.” 

Gasping in mock offence, Gerard got to his feet, ignoring the cold that clung to his bare legs, and wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Hey, that’s rude!” 

“But true.” She giggled, leaning back to kiss the tip of his nose. “Can you check my cheer bag while I get changed? I can’t remember if I picked my shoes up or not.” 

He nodded, and she ducked out of his room and headed for the bathroom, careful to tread quietly so she didn’t disturb the rest of his family. The sun was just rising, it’s soft golden light making her reflection glow as she washed her face and put on a little makeup. It was nothing special - just some concealer under her eyes and a touch of lip gloss - but she knew that Gerard would rain her with compliments nonetheless. He always said that he loved everything about her, from each strand of her hair to the chipped varnish on her toenails. (Y/n) tucked her blouse into her skirt and threw one of Gerard’s plainer zip up hoodies on before heading back down to his bedroom. 

But when she returned, she found him sitting on the edge of his bed, her cheer dress spread across his lap and a slight frown on his face. 

“Hey, you okay in there? Earth to Gerard.” 

He jumped slightly, like he hadn’t even noticed her come in. “Yeah, I-I’m fine. Just...” He trailed off, and she sat down next to him, smiling reassuringly. They’d had a few conversations before about his feelings around clothes and gender, and how stupid it was that pieces of fabric being shaped a certain way somehow meant that only a certain type of person could wear them. But while he’d felt pretty comfortable with wearing a little makeup every now and then - very much inspired by the fact that half the people in his favourite punk bands and everyone in the crowds took great care in dolling themselves up for gigs - crossing the line into exploring ‘women’s clothing’ had been a step too far, for now. So even though he hadn’t said anything, she knew where his mind had wandered to. 

“I don’t know if it would fit you - it’d probably be short enough to get you written up for indecent exposure.” 

That made him laugh, and he nuzzled against her shoulder. “It’s pretty short on you, so you’re probably right. Not that I’m complaining about that.” 

She punched him playfully in the arm. “Perv. I think the green would look pretty cute on you though.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. It would really make your eyes pop.” 

Gerard shifted a little, toying with the edge of the skirt. “The material feels so... swishy. Like, it would make me wanna dance if I was wearing it.” 

(Y/n) shrugged. “Maybe that’s why they use it. I just wish the top part wasn’t white, it’s a pain in the ass to clean. And Alice and Chloe keep screwing up our stunts and dropping me, so it’s always covered in dirt.” 

“Nah, I like the white. It’s cute. I don’t think any other colour would look quite so good. Although,” and he paused to kiss her on the cheek. “Maybe it’s just so cute when you’re the one wearing it.” 

She rolled her eyes and kissed him back before holding a hand out for the dress. “You’re so dumb. Were my shoes in the bag?” 

“Oh, yeah. Right at the bottom.” 

“Thanks. I’d better get going soon.” And she stuffed the silky dress back into her bag - but not before catching the look in her boyfriend’s eyes. The look of reluctance, tinged with wonder. She looked up at him as she zipped everything up. “Hey, you know what would definitely make you cool? Maybe you can wear something like this at a show one day.” 

“Yeah... maybe.” His tone made it clear that he wasn’t remotely convinced, but at least his frown had disappeared. As they got into the car and he turned the radio up, singing along to the Bowie song that was playing, the last of his tension seemed to melt away, and (y/n) grinned. 

“You know, Bowie didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought. He dressed however he wanted, and people still adored him for it.” 

Gerard snorted. “Yeah, but I’m not David Bowie.” 

She pulled a face, pretending to think carefully about something, before reaching over and patting his knee. “Maybe not, but I think you’re cooler.” 

The smile she was met with in response was brighter than the sun could ever be. 

[anystalker707]

For me, baby

Pairing: Gerard x Reader Word count: ~ 1 400 Genre: Fluff / Smut Summary: (Y/n) finds out Gerard's chest is a sensible spot and is up to exploring it. Kind of content: Humping / Oral / Praising

Requested by @angie-migel

It’s raining softly outside, creating a comfortable and cozy atmosphere that we decided to enjoy by sitting on the couch and watching some movie which a random channel is rerunning for the thousandth time this week. The sound of the movie is actually barely audible under the sound of the rain against the windows and it’s not really important, honestly.

I hug Gerard close, feeling the vibrations of his back against my chest with a comfortable hum coming from him; he leans back against me and I press a kiss to his cheek, nuzzling him. He melts more against me with the gentle motions of my hands against his tummy as I rub it, massaging his belly, and sometimes I wonder how he feels insecure about such a cute detail about him.

My hands slowly come up to Gerard’s chest and I just rest them there for a moment, observing how his chest rises and falls slowly, and feeling his warmth through the thin fabric of his shirt. I let my hands wander around for a moment, enough to suddenly feel something different and I look down to see his nipples perked up under the black fabric. Oh, alright, then. I can’t help but bring my fingers to trace them – Gerard immediately jumps lightly, startled.

“W-What are you doing?” He looks at me with bright red cheeks.

“Just caressing you, baby, don’t worry!” I do my best to hold back a grin and show him the most natural smile I’m able to.

“Okay…” Gerard mumbles, shifting to adjust his position, though he does glance at me a couple of times with not so convinced eyes.

Sometimes when we’re fucking, Gerard does whine more when I’m either touching his torso or pressing kisses all over it, though I’ve never paid proper attention to his nipples, specifically. I run my fingers across them a few times and also circle them – his breath hitches every single time I do it, even if the slightest bit. Interesting.

I rest my hands under Gerard’s pecs and let my thumbs graze over his nipples properly this time, watching how Gerard starts moving around each time more, growing really fidgety.

“(Y/n),” he breathes, voice tight in his chest, “please…”

“What’s it, hun?”

“Can you please touch me?” He presses himself closer to me, pressing his face to my neck.

“No.” I hum, shrugging my free shoulder; Gerard furrows his eyebrows, sounding like he’s about to question it when I pinch his nipple a few times, feeling the fabric running against the sensible skin underneath and whatever he wanted to say is lost with a sudden loud, pleased sound. “Because we are doing something else!” I grin and struggle a bit as I reach for a nearby pillow that was by Gerard’s legs. “Sit up, facing me.”

Gerard is hesitant, but eventually does so – he looks at me with a mix of frustration and excitement, sitting in a w position.

The pillow is neatly placed in front of him before I take his face in my hands, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. “Now,” I mumble against his lips, brushing our noses together, “hump the pillow for me, baby.”

Despite the silence, Gerard’s face becomes bright red again in a matter of seconds. “What?”

“You heard me.” I grin, pecking his lips a last time, and pull away.

A quiet and shy hum comes from Gerard, but he slowly nods and moves to settle himself down on the pillow, Addam’s apple bobbing up and down with an audible swallow. He exhales shakily, not looking at me at first and I let him, watching him start to clumsily move his hips against the pillow until his breath starts to hitch in his throat.

“Yeah, just like that,” I say softly, taking his face in hands again. “Such a good boy for me, aren’t you?” I lock our lips together in another kiss, which has more urgency this time.

My hands trail down Gerard’s chest again so I can touch his nipples again, pinching and pulling at them lightly and he’s soon gasping against my lips. He whines softly and damn, I just love finding another sensitive spot of his. Sometimes I think I could spend hours just touching him.

Gerard’s mouth falls open with the moans, hence he ends up pulling away from the kiss, so I continue to press soft kisses to his bottom lip and down to his jaw, trailing along it and pulling on the skin with my teeth a couple of times. I try to keep doing it as I let my hands fall and pull his shirt up to touch his nipples properly and not with anything between them and my fingers.

“Oh, (y/n),” Gerard breathes, letting his head fall to my shoulder, knuckles white around the pillow.

“Does it feel good, baby?” I ask against his neck, letting my thumbs work around his nipples.

“Yeah!” He pauses for a moment to move his hands and find more support just to start moving again and in a faster pace – I observe his hips moving frantically and can’t help but to groan light at the sight, having him doing the same with another pinch on his nipples and a light twist. A throaty sound comes from him. He brings his hips down for a long and heavy thrust into the pillow. “Please,” he mumbles.

Okay, watching him has been entertaining, but I do want to touch him more.

“C’mon, sit up properly.” I let go of him and pull the pillow away, compelling Gerard to look at me questioningly. “Here,” I tell him with a tap on my thigh.

Gerard shyly moves closer, hesitantly shifting around after placing his hands on my shoulders, but the shyness and hesitancy leaves him at the same time a squeal escapes his lips once I take a hold of his hips and lower him on my thigh. Much better for both of us, I believe.

He doesn’t move at first, but I don’t mind and start pressing kisses to his neck and pull his shirt up again as it rode down after I let go of it. I squeeze his chest with both of my hands, which has him whining and consequently starting to move his hips, humping against my thigh with slow movements that quickly gain speed.

Gerard is full on moaning again when I start to press kisses to his chest and eventually take one of his nipples between my lips and suck lightly on it – a moan comes from him almost immediately, the loudest so far, at the same time I can feel his grip tightening around my shoulders. I let my hand work on his other nipple, twisting it lightly between my fingers and playing with the skin around it, that seems to be just as sensitive.

I can feel Gerard’s hands on the back of my head as soon as I start nibbling down on his nipple, measuring the pressure perfectly to balance the pain and the pleasure. It seems to work well. His fingers tangle with my hair and he’s pushing me closer to his chest, hence I start to nibble and suck on the skin around his nipple whilst massaging the opposite peck and, another especially hard twist makes Gerard’s hips stutter.

“(Y/n),” he says in a desperate whiny voice, “I’m coming, fuck– I’m–”

“Do it, baby,” I mumble against his chest and pull myself up to look at him properly again, with my hands still on him. “Cum for me.”

The words seem to trigger it immediately and Gerard’s letting out a loud moan, arms now wrapped around me and face buried in my chest. He squirms around for a long moment, holding tightly onto me, then starts breathing heavily, hips coming to a stop.

“Wow, baby,” I say, hugging him back. “Look at you. I didn’t know you liked to be touched that way, but oh damn. You did so well, you were so pretty moving your hips frantically against the pillow, oh my.” I run my fingers through his hair and helplessly smile at the soft groan I receive in response. “I love watching you pleasing yourself like this, all just for me to watch.”

He sighs and moves softly just to stop immediately and whine. “(Y/–(Y/n), I’ve– Damn,” he tries to move again.

“Yeah,” I hum with a nod. “Let’s go clean up, then, shall we?” I press a kiss to his head, nudging him to move lightly, but he doesn’t. “You don’t want me to carry you to the bathroom, do you?” I joke, rubbing his side affectionately; he tries to say something, which only ends up coming out as a frustrated groan in response.

[subcorax]

various hugs as rated by jonathan sims, head archivist of the magnus institute, london

OG Archives Crew:

tim stoker pros: very large and buff, but also soft. will squeeze jon as tight and as long as he wants. is six foot whatever and jacked so he's way bigger than jon and can entirely envelop him, which is the closest thing jon's getting to a weighted blanket these days. cons: tim is an oldest and favourite cousin, which means that when he hugs people smaller than him, they're usually children. as a result, there is a roughly 30% chance that if jon goes in for a hug he'll get a hair ruffle and lifted slightly off the ground to go with it. overall rating: 9/10. tim gives truly excellent hugs.

martin blackwood pros: will literally give jon a hug whenever he asks for one without making it feel awkward, which is nice because jon almost always feels awkward talking to people. will also sometimes ask jon if he wants a hug if he's looking a bit pathetic lately. is made of 60% soft wooly jumpers and 30% stuffing, the most warm and comfortable hug. also usually strokes jon's back while he's at it, which is extremely nice. cons: sometimes if jon's leaning into the hug a bit too much martin will physically make him stop working and take a nap, which is not doing great things for jon's work ethic overall rating: 9.5/10. i may be in love with you, martin, but i do actually need to do work sometimes?

sasha james pros: casual hugger, doesn't make jon feel weird about it, just goes in for a quick hug and a peck on the cheek when she's heading out for the day, or if she feels like it. she smells very nice. he kind of wonders what shampoo she uses. cons: despite being sturdier than she looks, she is not quite large enough to apply the force that jon perhaps wants in a hug. overall rating: 8.5/10. delightful, but without the capacity for a proper bear hug a la martin or tim.

not!sasha pros: no. cons: you know when you're at a family gathering and a relative that you only distantly recognize the face and name of comes up and hugs you like, way too familiarly, and it's kinda cloyingly creepy? it's exactly like that overall rating: stranger/10. please never do that again.

Latter Days Crew

melanie king pros: has never in her life half-assed a hug. seems to be trying to break jon's ribcage, which he appreciates. cons: she is often very angry at him, and so does not hug him very often. overall rating: 6/10. good when he got it but he does not often get it.

basira hussain pros: she doesn't really do Full Hugs with jon, she's more likely to toss an arm around his shoulder and pull him against her side, kind of a Bro Side Hug situation, which actually goes a long ways towards making him feel Human and Included and Not Hated. good friend bro hug. cons: kinda lacking in creature comforts. basira is not very soft or demonstrative. not exactly a shoulder he would be comfortable crying on. overall rating: 7/10. he appreciates the sentiment.

daisy tonner pros: daisy WILL go in for a Full Hug with jon, especially after the buried. she is also Strong and will squeeze him, and often seems to need a hug as much as he does. sometimes smells like basira's perfume and sometimes like her own deoderant, both of which are nice. cons: she will make fun of him for leaving tear stains on her shirt. jon has never had a big sister but he thinks that this is what cain and abel were on about. overall rating: 9/10. fantastic except for the schoolyard bullying

Miscellaneous Archives Staff

elias bouchard pros: gives a surprisingly firm, steady hug. like, there's something almost paternal about it, jon just feels proud that elias is proud of him. also he's in a fancy suit and wears very expensive cologne, it just feels like hugging something kind of luxurious and expensive. cons: literally everything else about elias overall rating: latent parental issues/10. it was weird. he tries not to think about it.

gertrude robinson pros: jon never actually met gertrude, but all of the photos he's seen and her voice on the tapes reminds him of his grandmother, so he kind of imagines it'd be like hugging her. a balance between firm and frail, smelling vaguely like all old ladies start to smell like. cons: outside of the nostalgia factor for him, grandma hugs aren't actually that great overall rating: hypothetically, 3/10. he feels like he's got perfume stuck up his nose.

gerard kaey pros: seemed like a cool dude. taller than jon, and exceedingly kind. seemed like he would be really open to a hug. cons: he was a ghost when they met, so they could not hug. overall rating: hypothetically 9/10. jon's adding extra points out of guilt.

michael shelley pros: seemed pretty nice from what he's heard? cons: seemed pretty boring from what he's heard? overall rating: hypothetically 5/10. he seemed fine.

Various Other Avatars

peter lukas pros: very broad. soft belly. big coat. beard. definitely is capable of giving a Good Bear Hug. cons: literally everything else about peter lukas. also he'd probably be cold overall rating: MORE latent parental issues/10. this will never happen. jon's just kind of touch-starved at this point.

michael pros: very friendly about it. exceedingly friendly about it. seems truly delighted by the concept of hugging jon. cons: is equally truly delighted by the concept of stabbing jon. overall rating: ooo ow ouch pointy/10. mistakes were made.

helen pros: actually seems to like jon every now and again. smells like real estate agent perfume. no, he doesn't know how to explain it. it's like a professional scent. cons: stabbed jon again, but accidentally this time overall rating: ooooo ouch pointy but in a pantsuit/10. god he's getting desperate

jared hopworth pros: many arms to hug with cons: none of those arms are his. several of them are bulging with meat and bones the way arms are not supposed to. smells like raw steak. overall rating: 2/10. jon does not have standards anymore.

jude perry pros: very butch, which jon has learned to trust, in a hug partner cons: Literally Made Of Boiling Wax overall rating: hot/10. considerably more mistakes have been made.

georgina barker pros: it's georgie. jon knows georgie. jon fucking adores georgie. she is very smart and comfortable and soft and knows how much he likes having his hair scratched like that. cons: she has absolutely no compunctions about telling jon that he's a fucking idiot, and like sure, he deserves it, but can it wait until after the hug? overall rating: 8.5/10. can i have a cup of tea please georgie. no i will not be releasing you from the hug to let you go and make the tea.

the admiral pros: admiral cons: none overall rating: 10/10. the perfect hug.

[raksh-writes]

As you wish

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Nogitsune/Stiles Stilinski

Words: ~2,5k

This one I wanted to post for Stiles' Rarepair Week 2021, but since I had a lot going on (still do, since I got a job and I'm slowly getting used to it, but it's calming down), I didn't manage it then - and so here it is now ^^ A small, fluffy one-shot I wrote mooonths ago, like - somewhere in the beginning stages of LitA, but it's meant as post-LitA ‘s storyline. I wouldn't consider this a big spoiler, since there's like 1-1,5 chapters left there and we all know how it's gonna end, but if that bothers you, feel free to come back when LitA is finished ^^ And enjoy! All the love 💗

Warnings/Tags: pure Fluff here, no warnings!

Also on AO3 here!

--

Sometimes, when Stiles felt this bone-deep tired, his mind would whirr instead of going blank, finding a way to bring him down, down the memory lane — it never quieted, was the problem. And with no will to fight it, Stiles went along, wondered through exhaustion about what-ifs and reasons long in the past, not touched on a normal day. This wasn’t an ordinary day, though, after months of peace and quiet shit hit the fan and Stiles had to take care of it — it wasn’t too bad, but he’s used up too much of his magic not to feel the effect. Hence now he's sprawled over the couch, head tipped back on the cushions and looking up at the ceiling while his mind wanders — and, as many times before, follows a familiar pattern.

It starts with Scott being bitten, goes through the mess with Gerard and with the Alpha pack, with the Darach and Derek, to finally reach what his mind was always running towards — Void. And Stiles lets himself revisit those thoughts — how on one hand he’s been so terrified, and on the other couldn’t keep his intrigue at bay as the demon revealed glimpses of his mind — so similar, in a way, to Stiles’ own; a beautiful maze, a strategist like himself, a trickster in its full glory, always fighting with his mind first and winning in a play no one sees coming, but also so different, so unbound by anything remotely human — morals, ethics or other — a free spirit through and through, uncaring about anything but his freedom, his own sense of honor and now — Stiles. His mate.

Stiles has tightened the thread of their bond before his mind went on these wanderings, closed it up on his end, but something must have bled through. Or maybe it was exactly that damper of their connection that tipped Void off, because no sooner than Stiles is getting too tired with his own mind, a thrill rushes through his chest, heating up the rune above his heart, and hands slide down his chest.

„Thinking about that time again, darling?” the demon muses, voice light, just on the edge of teasing, as he leans into Stiles; noses at his neck with a deep inhale. It’s still, without a fault, even after months together, sending a small shiver down Stiles’ spine.

„I can’t help it,” he counters, arching his back just a little, head turned so Void can bury his face in his throat, drown Stiles’ senses in the feel of his cool skin, of his hot breath and spicy-sweet scent, heavy and intoxicating in the best ways, filling Stiles’ mind with comfort, with passion, with warm, steady, mine. It traps a small whine in his throat, makes Stiles tug on Void’s arms. „C’mere, I want to cuddle.”

„Really out of it, aren’t you?” Void chuckles but then complies easily, withdrawing his arms just to climb over the backrest and slide in place beside Stiles in one smooth motion, all cat-like grace and ease, before pulling Stiles into his side immediately after.

And he latches onto Void almost desperately, the absolute exhaustion weighing his limbs not enough to stop Stiles from shoving his face into Void’s neck in a much similar manner to what the demon just did a second ago, inhaling the scent with his whole being. Rich and layered, sweet and heavy like hot chocolate, like lilac — bez growing in his babcia’s garden — fresh and light like cherries, smoky and spicy like chili biting on his tongue and warm like the glow of a bonfire; all-encompassing in a way that finally quiets Stiles’ brain, fogs it up in reassurance, in heat and warmth and mate.

„Better?” Void asks in a low murmur, nose buried in Stiles’ hair and hands lazily petting over his back.

Something like an agreeing hum leaves Stiles’ throat, but he’s still occupied with enveloping himself in Void’s scent, with covering the demon in his, all of Stiles’ affectionate scenting mirrored by Void’s own easy petting. It’s only several moments later, as he finally feels they’re suitably smelling of each other, that Stiles can relax into a more comfortable position on Void’s lap and get his mind back online; somewhat, at least.

„It’d be easier if I could care less,” he mumbles after a while, a long-drawn breath slipping past his lips. It’s not really what Stiles would want, of course; he cares, a lot, and that’s why musings like these torture him on occasion — no point in any of them — coming back to invade his thoughts again and again.

Void hums into Stiles’ hair, low and lazy, while his fingers card through the wild strands in a perfect pattern of brushing, massaging, and nails scraping over Stiles’ scalp that just about melts his very bones.

„Maybe, but that’s who you are, little fox, nothing wrong in that.”

And Stiles sighs, nuzzling ever further into the demon; letting himself fully enjoy the way Void seems to be so attuned to how needy and clingy and purely affection-starved he always gets when this exhausted and knows exactly what to do to make Stiles total putty in his hands, plaint and mushy and soaking up all that attentive care. It’s not even as if Stiles isn’t all that on a normal basis too — he’s just mostly able to manage his cravings on a usual day, but on ones like this? Well... Stiles won’t deprive himself of what’s given so freely.

„How training went?” he asks instead, remembering just where Void was before he got back.

„With the thunder kit?” the demon muses, like it could be about anyone else.

And the way the moniker almost, almost seems like a nickname now, like how little fox will always be Stiles’, how Void sometimes slips and addresses Kira with little one that’s still mostly Stiles’ but slowly edging on the young kitsune — always blushing when Void uses it for her. If Stiles didn’t know better, he’d think Void started to see Kira as his own; the seeds are there, but it’s still too early.

„She’s getting better,” he adds, after a while, seemingly disinterested, „lasted almost whole five minutes this time.”

Stiles can’t help the snicker. It had been so abundantly clear that they were so very wrong in thinking that Kira just mastered her katana right away — not that she didn’t, but that it was enough.

The first thing Void did was prove how blindsided they were — knocked Kira off her feet in just a few seconds, without any weapon, just his mind and his body. Took her katana in the next as she tried to attack again. The same day — few very, very quick sparring sessions in, as her fox went out of control — the pack got a first glimpse at Void’s true form; the room plunged in darkness as shadows curled and writhed around the demon, all power and too many tails, bringing Kira’s fox to foot with just a look. It wasn’t even the first time Stiles saw it and it still chilled him to the bone — all the while his rune flared and flooded his gut with unbearable heat. It was hot, okay, sue him.

„She’s making progress, at least,” Stiles remarks, smiling into Void’s chest as it lifts in a small sigh.

„The kit’s still struggling with control — will be struggling for a long time, maybe forever even, but... the fox didn’t lash out today.”

And that — that makes Stiles blink, few times, before shifting to look up at the demon. It’s almost, almost like he’s proud.

„That’s... huge. That’s great! Actually, scrap that, it’s fantastic!”

It means she’s getting it, she’s getting a hold on her spirit, and Stiles couldn’t be happier for Kira, she’s such a sweetheart, but that also means... Well, she wouldn’t get there on her own. And Stiles knows Void’s pleased even if he hides it well — which Stiles won’t have. Nope, he’s not only taking in this relationship.

So Stiles pushes himself further into Void’s embrace, slotting his arms around the demon’s waist as he bumps their noses together, a wide smile on his lips.

„I knew you’d be a great teacher,” he coos, trying but failing to imitate the specific, smooth drawl that always makes him run a bit too hot. Still, his grin must have some effect, because the way Void looks at him, hooded, sparkling dark eyes, works just as well.

„I did teach you first, didn’t I?” His tone dips low, raspy and dark, trailing down Stiles’ spine with little shivers as the fingers in his hair tighten. „I’d say I did great, wouldn’t you, darling?”

And Stiles hums in full agreement. The many runes covering his skin, the steady buzz of magic in his veins, trickling lowly along their connection; both keeping Stiles sane and sating some of Void’s insatiable hunger — all of it a testament to just how well he did. The pleased pulse along the bond only fuels Stiles’ want to drown himself in it.

Void'shot breath fans over Stiles’ mouth, making him lick his lips, wanting to taste.

„Which reminds me — we haven’t sparred in a long time, little fox, would you like that?”

It’s almost tempting. He’s not doing any better than Kira, but Void’s been more than content to teach Stiles how to wield the Bo staff and it felt almost natural in the way the katana didn’t. Void never went easy on him, but was also patient and accommodating, always ready to adjust to what Stiles felt comfortable with. So Stiles enjoyed learning, even with deep bruises, aching knuckles and the frustration of how often he messed up; enjoyed, even more, when the spars ended up in the bedroom. More often than not.

Still, as he thinks about it now, the exhaustion brings his limbs down, heavy and sluggish, and the way he’s tucked into Void makes him too blissfully fuzzy in the brain; foggy and warm, the feel of it just plain too nice to move and ruin it.

„Nah, too tired,” he sighs, sneaking his arms from around Void’s waist to up to circle his neck; the tease of their lips almost brushing is possibly maddening, „jus’ want some cuddles now.”

Void bumps their noses together and Stiles can’t help himself anymore, stretching up, up, up, ever closer to tip his head just enough and—

Finally, finally, Void meets him in the middle, sealing the kiss Stiles craves so much it borders on obsession. But oh, how Void kisses him. Like there’s nothing else he wants to do, like he’s made to kiss Stiles, only Stiles, knowing so perfectly well what he needs. Slotting their mouths together, a smooth glide of lips, warm and wet, controlled in a way that makes Stiles’ head spin, slow and steady and deliberate with how Void licks into his mouth, over his tongue, nips and sucks at his lips until they feel raw and red and bruised and Stiles still wants more. It’s almost a problem, how much he craves, wants, needs Void’s kisses, any time, all the time; loves how breathless and hot and coiled with delicious tension it makes him, how the world —just— disappears for those few blissful moments. And Stiles melts into it even when he gives as much as he has, as Void takes everything he can and returns more, growling lowly in his throat in a sound that rattles in Stiles’ chest, draws a small whine out of his own lungs.

All too soon he has to take a breath; lets Void break the kiss when there’s nothing more Stiles wants than for it to last forever. But Void brushes his warm, wet lips all over Stiles’ jaw, his cheeks, his chin, in lazy, slow pecks that feel almost as good, melting the heated tension into something softer, fluffier. Just the way he needs, now, with the edge of exhaustion still lurking too close for comfort.

„Still want those cuddles, kitten?” Void rasps against Stiles’ jaw, a thrill down his body that gets caught at the base of his spine, and—

„Yeah, yeah, just cuddles,” Stiles nods, trying to calm his erratic breath, and licks away the leftover bitter-sweet taste that’s all Void, liquid hot, dark chocolate and spice, „for now.”

The chuckle Void paints against his flushed skin is warm, amused, and so overwhelmingly fond.

„As you wish.” Leaving one last nip just under Stiles’ jaw, Void straightens and looks down to meet his gaze. „Want to stay here?”

Few moments later they’re laying down on the couch, stretched over it lazily; Void all but draped over the whole length of it on his back, shoulders and head propped on some pillows, with Stiles sprawled basically on top of him, head shoved into his chest and tucked under Void’s chin. Some CSI’s or other similar pseudo-crime-solving show plays on the TV, enough to keep Stiles’ mushy brain occupied with ridiculing every bit they’ve got wrong and Void properly amused, half-paying attention, half-playing with Stiles’ hair tickling his jaw.

It’s peaceful and quiet and absolutely perfect, a blanket of comfort and bliss soon fogging up Stiles’ mind, cuddled up into Void as he is, one hand tucked into his side, the other intertwined with Void’s against his chest as the demon runs his fingers all over his back and neck, brushing out his hair — nonsensical patterns and bone-melting caress. It’s enough to lull Stiles into a light sleep, even while the TV drones on in the background, white noise to the brush of Void’s steady breath. And for as long as his mate rests, Void stays still, content to wait and keep watch.

⁂

It’s in that way the Sheriff finds them a few hours later, as the sun is slowly dipping under the horizon, long shadows stretched through the whole house. The sight is, as always, bitter-sweet. On one hand, Noah can’t really forget the past, the mess that it was and that still nags him at times, but on the other — he hasn’t seen his son so... at peace, so blissfully calm and asleep, in years.

Stiles seems happy, despite everything.

That’s why, when he catches the demon’s eyes, black and fathomless, so different from his son’s, Noah just nods, short and decisive. And the demon’s mouth quirks up, just a little, before his head tips back into the pillows, hand carding lazily through Stiles’ hair, and — just like that — Noah’s ignored again.

He looks over the pair once more and wonders, very briefly, how the Nogitsune looks so much like his son and yet so completely different that it’s hard to even consider them similar, then dismisses it altogether. Ultimately, it’s Stiles’ decision — his choice to make. And his son doesn’t seem to care, or it just doesn’t bother him, or some other reason Noah won’t even think about. One way or another, as he climbs the steps up to his own bedroom, Noah thinks that as long as Stiles is happy and content, protected by a being as powerful as the Nogitsune, he can leave it to rest. Everything else that might be happening — well, it’s not his damn business.

[ilooklikeaburntchickenugget]

Phases

A/N: A nice little fluffy story for y’all. Pairing: Gerard x F!Reader Word count: 2,256 Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff

You were literally shattered glass on the floor, and it was the only way to describe your emotional state.

It still made no sense to you, none. Even after your yelling, screaming, crying, pleading over the phone, he still left. And he knew all he took with him, your happiness, your trust, your virginity.

The timing couldn’t have been worse either. Hell you were recording an already depressing record, and here you were in your small room on the bed sobbing for the sixth day in a row. Tissues loosely thrown across the room, the black duvet now crinkled, pillows soaking wet. You let the blinds open only a fraction of the way, solely because it was raining for once in California and seemed to fit the mood a little too well not to acknowledge.

You laid on your side, facing away from the doors and towards the slight crack of the window where a cool breeze seeped in to the already cold room. You hadn’t bothered to try and start the heat in here, there was no point anymore. It was hard to see, your eyes still swollen and puffy, small sniffles and sobs still escaping your nose and mouth as you buried your face into your poor pillow again.

You didn’t even want to think about the band. Not participating and leaving them to do a lot of the work on their own would only add guilt and continue to elevate your ridiculously awful mood. They were there giving you food and space, making sure you were alive every couple hours, and most importantly, giving you space.

But it was day six of complete and utter self-destruction, and questioning both the legitimacy of you as a good lover, and a good person. His excuse for leaving was somewhat valid, you were spending all of your time on the band. Of course you had, it was your passion and family. But when he went on and on, explaining things that didn’t make much sense, like your “constant” complaining or inability to get along with his friends who happened to be too obsessed in their mid-30s crisis, and attempting to heal so by reading stupid self-help books, you had heard enough to understand this wasn’t just a break-up call, it was full bashing.

A soft knock took you out of your trance. You sat up, only slightly and placing most of the weight on your hands which held you, facing the door. Gerard slowly came in, the door opening displaying his tight smile. He was the one you didn’t wanna see, of course you had a slight crush on him like most girls did that was only growing with the despair of your heart.

“Hey,” He softly said, closing the door behind him.

“Hey,” You responded in a hoarse voice. To that he gave you a frown, as plopped himself next to you on the bed.

“C’mhere.” He said, taking your body and moving it so your head was in his lap. Maybe it was his familiar smell, or the soft touch of his fingers on your scalp as he brushed your hair with them, or the warmth his body gave, but you broke down like never before. It didn’t take but three seconds to be sobbing in his thigh as he rubbed your back, shushing you. “I know,” he softly cooed, “Let it all out for me.”

“He was such a dick.” You murmured, before breaking another sob, “And I loved him!”

“I know,” Gerard responded.

“And I gave him everything,” You finally got up, wiping your nose and looking right at the man who leaned against the headboard of your bed. “Literally everything, Gee, and he leaves me like it’s no big deal. I was literally screaming at him, and he just had no emotion in his voice.” Gerard nodded along. “And maybe I was part of the problem, maybe there were things I did, but it’s hard when the other person doesn’t admit their wrongdoings either.” “I don’t think you were the problem.” Gerard commented, as you grabbed one of the pillows nearby to hug, sitting crossed legged horizontal to him.

“You also have bias.” You argued.

“If you wanna consider my ‘being-a-dick’ detector bias then so be it,” He sighed, “But I have a dick. Literally, and I can tell when someone is being one too.” You lightly giggled and she smiled, “There she is.” You rolled your eyes.

“Let me have my sad breakup story,” You whined, “Let me drown in my emotions for a few more days.”

You happily laughed as Gerard laid on you, another mindless joke passed, his head peeking up to where you laid down, hand brushing through his hair. He was grabbing onto your waist, using your chest as a temporary pillow.

“Why do you always put your face in my boobs?” You lightly laughed, still stocking through his hair as his face was doing just that.

“They’re warm.” He looked up, giving you puppy dog eyes, “And squishy.” You laughed again, lightly hitting his arm.

“Gerard!” You scolded as he began laughing too. His long and thick black hair had actually begun it’s reunion with a nightly scrub of shampoo and conditioner again, now being in the comfort of home.

His face was so striking against the dim light of the living room mixed with the dull back light of the Christmas tree. His eyes had never been prominent, the light managing to highlight all of his strong features from his jawline to his cheek bones. And those oh-so-perfect eyebrows you were jealous of.

“What’re you thinking about, sweetheart?” He asked, his eyes gazing over your face and searching for the answer.

“You’re very pretty.” You responded, “And handsome.” He was never too good at taking compliments, which is why his face became a visibly darker shade of red and he could only respond with a mere, ‘thanks’ muttered.

“You’re very gorgeous too.” He responded, taking your hand in his and playing with your fingers.

This is what real love is.

Or maybe, real love was him picking up your hand to kiss it every-time you got anxious picking at your painted nails. Maybe it was the smell of candles burning out always getting up to replace it with a new one. Maybe it was him taking a dish from you with no hesitation to put in a cabinet while emptying the dish washer, even if he had done more. It could’ve even been the petty fights you had about take out places that always ended in civil conversation and mutual agreement to do the other’s choice next time.

You remembered the first time you met Gerard’s friends as a couple. He was 30, you were 24. Even though the band was together for a bit, you hadn’t really met each other’s closest friends outside of the band. It was scary, for sure, being fresh into your mid-20s amongst a group of young 30-somethings.

You had remained silent for most of it, only commenting when asked specific questions. Sure, you understood lots of what they were talking about, you were quite mature for your age, always had been. But it almost didn’t feel like your place, you didn’t want to one-up anyone and seem like a bitch right off the bat.

As the night grew darker, the more you began to feel alone. Everyone was laughing, smiling, enjoying the company of others around the dining room table in Gerard’s apartment. You were keeping a subtle smiled, and the muscles began to hurt more by the second, and you mustered out tiny laughs that seemed to be enough to cover your case for now. Of course, his friends were far too lost in their glasses of wine turning clearer and whatever new self-help book they had discovered to notice your growing nerves that seemed to suddenly correspond into your body language.

When you felt the anxiety begin to kick in, you immediately grabbed Gerard’s hand from under the table, and he grabbed it back, looking over to you with a smile and eyes that turned to worry. You gave him a reassuring, genuine smile that you were good for now.

You took another good swig of your wine, his comforting thumb circling support on the back of your hand seemed to have given you some element of confidence, at least enough to engage in more conversation and even feel more comfortable.

So here you stood, in the singular kitchen light surrounded by the darkness of the city, placing the dishes in the dishwasher as Gerard retrieved them from around the apartment. “Was everything okay?” He finally asked, genuine sympathy in his voice as he stood next to you, his pupils rushing over your face for any suggestion towards a response. You nodded with a small smile.

“I was just nervous at first, ya know.” You responded, swallowing a bit, “Kinda scary meeting people quite a bit older than you with a whole new perspective on life.” He nodded in an understanding way, hugging you from behind and rocking you back and forth as you lightly laughed.

“I get it,” He responded, giving a peck on your cheek. “You did amazing. As always.”

“Can you imagine it?” You asked him, looking at this old victorian house in absolute shambles. Siding coming off, an ugly gray color taking over, empty windows with a depressing black seeping through them. It truly was the black sheep on this neighborhood filled with young families of growing professionals, and old ones with grand kids.

“Nope.” Gerard responded with a smile, “Not at all.” “Neither can I.” You sighed happily, “Better trust the process.”

Gerard had agreed to move back to one of the suburbs of the city you grew up in, a nice little neighborhood only 10 minutes outside of the downtown area. And here you stood outside of this complete fixer upper you had bought together, having an architect and contractor already draw up and begin the process of revamping this home. In the meantime, you would happily be in an Airbnb you had rented for a few months, spending lots of time with your dad and step-mom who lived less than 15 minutes away.

“I don’t even want to imagine kids here now.” He cringed.

“Ah, yes.” You responded with a smile, “Our children running through an old, abandoned house that hasn’t been up to code in at least a few decades.” He nodded.

“Seems safe enough,” He replied, “Might as well let ‘em play in traffic too.” And to that you laughed. He draped his arm around your shoulder, giving you the opportunity to take his hand in both of yours and hold his arm in place.

As you looked up at him and he down at you, your eyes met in an instant. You had never been more thankful for them, the gorgeous color drowning all the heartbreak you ever faced disappear from view. You knew it sounded generic and cliche but he was your happiness.

“We’re so generic,” You lightly laughed, the two of you walking through your new neighborhood hand in hand, “Two super young people, moving to a new hip neighborhood. Probably gonna rescue a pit bull next, put it in a sweater, and spend an absurd amount of money on coffee.” “We only haven’t done one of those things,” He commented, confirming, “The pit bull in the sweater, although I think it’s an easy fix.”

“We should totally name it like, Marshmallow or something totally stupid.” “Either a stupid food, or the name of someone’s retiring boss.” He continued, “Eugene, or something.”

“I like Eugene.” You responded, “Jared, too.” He lightly chuckled.

“Naming a pit bull in a sweater Jared would be the most stupid thing we’ve ever done.”

“Or Hank, I like Hank too.”

“Hank’s solid.”

The two of you walked in peace, it was a gorgeous fall day that managed to not be too cool yet. This area would have all four seasons distinctively. From your childhood you remembered relevant snow days in the winter and scorching hot summer of pool days. And while Gerard was used to all four seasons where you grew up, Jersey was relatively mild compared to what was here.

“It’s so pretty.” He commented and you nodded, agreeing.

“It is,” You responded, “Until you have to rake leaves.” You lightly laughed, “Pretty sure that’s why my dad invited us over this weekend. Not to actually see us, but so we’ll rake his leaves.” Gerard rolled his eyes. “It’ll be fun, we can jump in them and act like kids and all that stuff. Unless it rains and they get sticky, those are nasty.”

“Is it supposed to rain?” He asked.

“No,” You responded, “But never trust the forecast here, it’s always wrong. You just kinda wake up and assume.”

You continued walking, finding a few parks around with playground and designated dog areas, a small tiny business area with one of those independent coffee shops, a little hip restaurant, and a bakery too. Then back to the car you went. “I get why you wanted to move back here.” He spoke as he started the ignition. “It’s really great.” You nodded.

“Yeah it is,” You replied, “Thank you.” “Hm?” He questioned.

“Ya know, for packing up all of your thing and moving halfway across the country with me.” You sighed, “Leaving a lot behind.” “I wouldn’t want to do that with anyone else,” He responded, “Only you.”

[robinrunsfiction]

It’s A Love Story - Part 2

Part 1

When Saturday arrived, (YN) had been so excited for her and Mikey’s birthday party, but the noise had been going on for what felt like ages and she needed a break. It wasn't like many people were talking to her, apparently Gerard's threats were even more intimidating with him in the corner keeping an eye on everything as their mom left him to chaperone while she stayed up in her bedroom, away from the teenagers. 

(YN) slipped away to her room, flopping back onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling when she heard a knock on the door frame. She sat up with a start and found Frank looking amused in the doorway.

"Avoiding your own party?" He asked.

"And I'll cry if I want to, or however the song goes. I dunno how Mikey got all of the outgoing genes in like the entire family. It's not really fair."

Frank laughed and nodded. "You and Gee do have that in common."

(YN) nodded. "You can come in ya know."

"I dunno what rules your mom has about boys in your bedroom," he said, padding across the floor to sit next to her.

"Oh you know you only got Gee and Mikey to be scared of," she replied, shaking her head. "What brings you up here anyway?"

"I got you a present," he said.

"Really?" (YN)'s eyes lit up and a grin formed on her face.

"Yea, umm, here," he said, pulling a small box out of his jacket pocket.

(YN) stared at it for a moment before carefully unwrapping it. Inside was a necklace with a blue sapphire charm. "Oh wow," she whispered.

"The lady at the store said it was your birthstone, but I didn't know if you'd like it," he trailed off with a shrug.

"I love it, it's so pretty!" She said, throwing her arms around him in a hug. "Thanks Frank."

"Of course, happy birthday (YN)," he replied, returning the hug.

"I'm gonna guess you didn't get Mikey the same thing?" (YN) laughed as she put the necklace on. 

Frank laughed. "Nah, I got him a CD," Frank replied before pausing, seemingly lost in thought. "It's kinda shitty how him and Gee scared off all the guys from you."

(YN) sighed. "I just wish they would have asked me how I felt about it first. But," she paused, drawing up every ounce of courage she could find, "as long as the guy I like keeps talking to me, it's fine."

Frank nodded before his eyes went wide and (YN) couldn’t help but laugh a little at the realization that had clearly just hit him. 

"And I seem to be the only guy that's ever talking to you."

"So that would mean," she trailed off, her cheeks burning.

"For real?"

"Yea, sorry," she replied, wrinkling her nose.

"No, no that's not what I meant. I mean, I like you too, (YN)."

She was surprised, but couldn’t help but grin. "It's dangerous to have a crush on me, ya know."

"I like to live dangerously," he smirked, and (YN) had to keep from melting on the spot as the air hung thick between them. 

"So what do we do now?" She asked softly.

“Well, I really wanna kiss you," he said, sliding closer to her, his hand on top of hers.

“Gee and Mikey will kill you,” she whispered as they started to lean in together.

“Then I’ll die happy," he whispered back.

“See you at your funeral,” she replied as Frank reached up and touched her cheek gently before closing the distance between them. Their lips met and (YN) had to try not to sigh, it was everything she had hoped it would be. 

When they pulled back, Frank was smiling like she'd never seen before. "Was that good?" She asked.

Frank furrowed his brow in confusion. "Yea, it was really good. Wait, was that your first kiss?"

(YN) nodded and bit her lip, her cheeks going pink again. "Yea."

A smile spread across Frank's face. "You wanted me to be your first kiss?"

"Duh," she laughed lightly. "Is that weird?"

"No, it's," Frank looked like he was trying to find the words to describe what he was feeling. "Fucking awesome," he finally replied.

(YN) smiled and shook her head, before looking down at the necklace she was now wearing. "Thanks for making this a really memorable birthday."

"You deserve it," he nodded. 

"We should probably go back downstairs before someone comes looking for us, or starts to suspect something."

"Yea," Frank agreed. "We'll talk soon about… us?"

"Sounds like a plan," (YN) nodded.

Frank leaned in, giving her another quick kiss before getting up and leaving her room.

(YN) sighed and flopped back on her bed again before letting out a squeal of utter glee.

~

The following week of school felt like the longest of (YN)'s life, all she wanted was for it to be Friday night. She and Frank had decided they were going to skip the weekly movie night with her brothers and Ray, and instead have their first date. When Friday evening finally arrived, (YN) couldn't get out of the house quick enough. 

"(YN) are you still in for movie night?" She heard Mikey ask behind her. She froze, wincing, hand inches from the doorknob.

"Oh, no sorry," she replied, turning to face her brother. "I'm going to Marie's, she's having some boy problems and wanted someone to talk to."

"Oh," Mikey shrugged.

"What's going on?" Gerard asked, walking into the living room.

"Guess it's just us and Ray tonight," Mikey explained.

"Where are you going?" Gerard asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Marie's. No Frank?" She asked, trying to remain inconspicuous.

"He said he's not feeling good, stomach thing," Gerard explained.

(YN) nodded. "That sucks... Well, I'll see ya later," she said before hurrying out the door, afraid they'd somehow see through her lies.

The walk to Frank's house was quick, she'd made it countless times before, but never before in this context, which added an extra spring to her step. By the time she arrived at the door, her heart was pounding.

"Hey," he said, immediately pulling her into a hug when she walked in. "I ordered a pizza a little bit ago, is that cool?"

"Yea, of course," she nodded before kicking off her shoes and dropping her purse by the door. "Umm, so did you tell your mom that we're," she trailed off.

"She's not home yet, but yea, just so she knows not to bring it up around the guys for some reason,” he said, leading the way into the kitchen. 

“That’s good,” she nodded, taking the soda that he offered to her.

An awkward silence hung between them as they stood in the kitchen. They normally would have been bantering easily, but there was now so much to talk about that neither seemed to know where to begin.

“So, umm-” Frank started, but before he could get any more words out, the doorbell rang. “Oh, hang on.”

(YN) nodded and made her way to the living room, plopping down on the couch.

"Thanks man, see ya Monday," she heard Frank say before walking into the living room with the pizza.

"Who was that?"

"Tucker. I didn't know he got a job delivering pizzas."

"Me neither, but no one tells me anything anymore," she laughed.

Frank laughed as he sat the pizza down on the coffee table in front of them. “What do you wanna watch?”

“Whatever you want,” (YN) shrugged as she picked up a slice of pizza.

Frank hummed as he perused his movie collection. “Got it,” he nodded, pulling one off the shelf, and putting it on. He settled onto the couch next to (YN) as he started the movie. After they both had their fill of pizza, Frank put his arm over her shoulder. "Is this ok?"

"Yea," she smiled, sliding over so she was resting against his side.

They sat in silence as the movie continued to play, but (YN) was only halfway paying attention. She was too busy thinking about Frank's hand on her shoulder, thumb rubbing small circles into the material of her shirt. She had just turned her attention back to the movie when a jump scare made her yelp and bury her face against Frank’s shoulder.

She heard the sound of the movie stop and Frank wrapped both his arms around her. "Shit, sorry," he murmured, rubbing her back soothingly.

"It's ok," she replied, pulling back from him enough to look up at his face. He was definitely concerned, and it warmed her heart.

"Do you wanna watch something else?"

"No, no, it's ok, we can keep watching this," she insisted. “I was just startled.”

"Ok, he replied, pressing play again, but she stayed curled up against him and he kept both his arms wrapped around her, holding her tighter than before.

"There's another jump scare coming up," Frank said a few minutes later.

(YN) whined a little and turned to hide her face against Frank's shoulder again when he caught her chin and she looked up at him. He leaned in and kissed her while the suspenseful music blared from the TV. (YN) smiled into the kiss as she wrapped her arms over his shoulders and he pulled her closer. Tentatively he deepened the kiss, and she tried not to get too excited that she was finally, truly, getting to make out with Frank.

It wasn't until the end credits were playing that they came up for air.

"I really liked the movie," (YN) laughed.

"Me too," Frank grinned. "And I really like you."

"You'd mentioned something about that before," (YN) smiled coyly, but couldn't help but blush a little. “Umm, so can I ask something?” Frank nodded so she continued. “When did you realize that you liked me?”

Frank scrunched up his face for a moment as he thought. “I think it was kinda gradual. When we started the band and you started doing your own thing with your clothing designs, I thought that was so cool.”

“Really?”

Frank nodded. "I don't always know who or what you're talking about, but it's cool seeing you be so excited about it. But," and then winced a bit. “If I’m gonna be totally honest, umm,” he trailed off.

“What?” 

“Please don’t think I’m a scumbag like Adam, but umm, at the pool party, I mean,” he rubbed his hands over his face. “You’re hot!” He finally blurted out and (YN) began to laugh.

“I don’t think you’re a scumbag, because I know you’re not gonna try to take advantage of me or anything,” she replied.

“I never would, you mean too much to me to do anything that would make you feel bad," he replied sincerely.

(YN) smiled. “That’s why I like you, ya know.”

“Hmm?”

“You always make me feel better about myself, even when I'm struggling through math class or whatever. And because when Gee or Mikey are being obnoxious and picking on me, you would always take my side," she smiled. “Plus you’re really cute and I really like watching you play guitar because it’s so cool.”

It was Frank’s turn to grin. "So are you gonna start coming to watch our practices?"

"I dunno, I don't wanna just seem like a groupie,” she laughed. “Or worse, raise my brothers' suspicions. I don't want them to freak out and kick you out of the band or something," she said, starting to pick at her nails.

"Hey," he started, taking her hands as she looked up at him. "I know you do that when you’re nervous, but whenever you're ready to talk to them, I'll be there. Until then, we'll keep things between just you and me."

"The secrecy is kinda fun, forbidden romance and all that," she smiled.

"And when it's not secret, it will be even better, because then I'll be able to do this whenever I want," he said leaning in and kissing her.

(YN) got completely lost in the amazing sensation of kissing Frank until the front door opened. They jumped apart as Frank’s mom walked into the house. She peeked in the doorway to the living room with a smile. “Hi Frank, hi (YN), don’t mind me!”

They both greeted her, and (YN) checked the time. “Ugh, it’s getting late, I should probably get home,” she said, getting up.

“Do you want me to walk you back?" Frank asked, following her to the door.

"Probably shouldn't risk it. You're supposed to be sick, remember?"

"Oh yea," he replied, sounding a bit forlorn.

"I promise I’ll try to figure out how to tell them soon."

Frank nodded. "Like I said before, whenever you're ready, I'll be right there with you. You're my girl."

(YN) felt her heart flip and her knees go a little weak as she threw her arms around Frank and buried her face against his neck. He held her close until she pulled back, and gave him a quick kiss.

"Let me know when you get home safe," he said as she headed out the door.

She waved over her shoulder, feeling like she was practically floating

Part 3

[celosiaa]

you cut through all the noise

Alright, here’s a ficlet I’ve got for day three of TMA hurt/comfort week from @themagnuswriters​!

Prompts used: Sickfic + Overwhelmed

Other tags: Jonmartin, season 3, statement withdrawal, asthma, fever

“I’m confused, I’m-I’m dizzy, I—”

Jon breaks off with a sigh, feeling so endlessly out of breath that the next words come out in a rush.

“I think I saw the police officer from Chicago again—in the station where I was talking to Rebecks.  I—”

God, I can’t breathe.

“I’m not—feeling well.”

The tape clicks off on its own right as Jon starts up coughing again, harsh and painful, into his elbow.  He’s been at it all day—the gasping, heaving breaths, the constantly dripping nose, throat on fire—all serving to make him properly miserable.  Even the paracetamol he’d managed to find after a long struggle at the chemist hasn’t worked, and Jon is fairly certain his fever has only been climbing.

And, as is often the case, it makes him…upset.

It’s just that it’s so miserable here, roaming about a hospital looking for news of Gerard’s horrendous death, trying to find a decent cup of tea only to come up empty, endlessly searching through the aisles of the American “pharmacy” to find some damn fever reducers, only to learn it’s called by a different name—

And there’s no one here with him.  He is well and truly alone.

His chest aches.  His very soul aches.

Damn it, I can’t breathe.

Stars begin to spatter across his vision as he reaches down to his bag, hands shaking so badly he can barely grab hold of his inhaler, dropping it several times before managing to set it on the hotel bed. 

Spinning spinning spinning

Squeezing his eyes shut against the endless whorl of colors around him, he pants into the stillness for a moment, until the wheezing of his own chest begins to scare him. Shaking the medicine weakly, he exhales as much as possible before drawing a deep breath—praying that it will work this time.

It doesn’t.  Of course it doesn’t.  It may have stopped his chest from wheezing for now, but—there’s still no room, no air, no one to—

Martin.

Jon curses himself for the thought at once.

No, he doesn’t…he doesn’t need…

Running a hand through his overgrown hair draws up a memory, gentle and light, of warm hands pulling his hair up while he’d been ill, warm hands brushing against his own in the hall, warm hands checking his forehead for fever, supporting him when he’d fallen, even after everything—

His own hands still shaking, he picks up the phone and calls.

“J’n?”

Martin picks up after a few rings, voice low and slurred with sleep.

Oh, shit—

Jon stares wide-eyed at the clock, makes the time conversion in his head, and…it’s four in the morning in London.

“M-Martin I…I’m so sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t realize the time, I—”

“No no, it’s—” he breaks off to yawn for a moment. “It’s alright, what’s going on?”

I shouldn’t have called.

“Really Martin, just—go back to sleep, I apologize—”

“Are you alright?”

The concern evident in his voice sends a ripple of guilt through Jon’s empty stomach.

“I’m—”

“Don’t say you’re fine, you don’t sound fine at all,” Martin says, and Jon can hear the rustle of fabric as he sits up in bed.  “Are you ill?”

How do you know these things?  Jon wants to ask, but refrains—instead swiping a hand across his brow.

“Jon?”

Oh, right.

“Err—I don’t know, exactly.  I’m um—heh—”

Can’t breathe

Another coughing fit bursts from him, and he holds the phone far away from his face to spare Martin’s ears.  Even with the medicine, it’s somehow more ragged than before, every bit of his lungs on fire has he struggles to contain it.  When he at last manages to settle it, he picks the phone back up, voice whittled down to nothing more than a haggard whisper.

“Sorry—” he sniffs, swiping a tissue to stem the renewed flow of his nose.  “Sorry, I suppose I might be ill.”

“No kidding.  You sound awful, Jon.  Have you got your inhaler?”

He remembers.

…of course he does.

“I-I do, it’s just—” he sighs heavily, letting his forehead drop onto the palm of his hand.  “It’s not really working.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean—it helps a little, but…not for long.”

“So it’s not asthma then?”

“I suppose not.”

They let the silence hang for a while, and Jon lets his eyes fall closed, not wanting to hang up the call, wanting to keep Martin’s presence with him somehow.

“What’s really wrong, Jon?”

And there it is again, Martin’s ability to read him even without seeing his face.  Tears begin to sting, hot and relentless, behind his eyes, and he tells himself it’s from the fever, wants to tell Martin that’s all it is, but—

I’ve got to be honest.

He trusts me and I’ve got to be honest.

“I don’t know, Martin,” he whispers, sniffing back the congestion that’s rounded out the consonants of his name.  “I don’t know, I just—I just wanted to talk to you.”

I miss you, he wants to say more than anything.

He knows he cannot, or he’ll actually start to cry, and that wouldn’t do to put him through that.

“Okay,” Martin says, keeping his tone light—but Jon can hear the concern behind it all the same.  “Okay, that’s alright, Jon—I’m glad you called.  What can I do to help you feel better?”

Jon can’t help but let out a quick laugh at this, a bit damp and gasping, as he swipes quickly at the tears now spilling from his eyes.

“Nothing, Martin,” he says, still smiling a bit.  “Just…good of you to answer.”

“Jon, I—” he cuts himself off, sighing a bit shakily.  “Jon, I’m worried, I—can I stay on the line with you a bit?  I can—here, I can read you something, or-or we can talk, or—or we could just sit, it’s alright, just…just don’t hang up, alright?”

Jon can’t help but bury his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with choked-back sobs.

“Jon?  Are you there?”

Sniffing quickly, Jon replies.

“I-I’m here, sorry, I—”

He sniffles again, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. 

“Thank you.  I would—”

His pride nearly stops him from saying it, anything but to admit he needs help—

“I’d love it if you read to me.”

Though he cannot see his face, Jon is absolutely certain of the wide smile broadcasted all the way from London.

“Of course, Jon.  Whatever you need.”

He allows the gentleness of Martin’s voice to carry him away with the tide, pulling his small boat away from the shore, and into the oceans of sleep.

[starrypawz]

For the ns*w asks! Gerry/Nemo and... 22? 🥺🙏

22. after a near death experience

ALSO ON AO3

It doesn’t happen the night of.

Both of them are still too shaken up, final dregs of adrenaline wearing off to leave bone gnawing fatigue. Too wound tight to do nothing than get behind closed doors, spend far too long in the shower, and then cling to each other throughout the night and hope for dreamless sleep.

The next morning is normal.

It’s almost insulting witnessing the day begin as if everything is fine and that Nemo Ainsley and Gerard Keay hadn’t had a brush yet again with a particularly intense manifestation of primal horror and this particular brush had been too close for both of their tastes.

Nemo stirs first, to the sound of birdsong and the rattle of a bin lorry (shit, forgot it was bin day). Early morning sunlight filters through a few pin hole pricks in the blind and they blearily stare at the clock on the bedside table.

Early, too early. Too fucking early.

They almost died the night before, but no today it’s as if nothing happened, it’s too fucking early, there’s sunlight trying to get into the room, there’s birdsong and rattling bin lorries. And Nemo does have to wonder briefly if anyone out there really has any clue how close they are to meeting a grisly fate on a regular basis.

Gerry shifts in his sleep, lets out a little concerned sleepy sound and an arm reaches out, seeking Nemo out. Nemo settles back down, tucks into his side and tries to sleep through this insulting normal morning.

It’s not long until they feel Gerry stir, pull them in closer and Nemo clings to his shirt a little more and buries their face into his chest. Feels the gentle rumble as he mumbles, “It’s morning-” “Mhmm-”

“It’s morning,” Gerry repeats, a little louder.

“I know,” Nemo nuzzles the soft fabric of his shirt, breathing in the familiar scent of his Nemo feels the rumble of a chuckle, “Bloody hell it’s morning,” and pulls Nemo close to him before he gently moves, rolls, long body pressed against Nemo’s.

Nemo can feel the warmth of his body pressed against him, always warm, sometimes too warm but right now that is just what they need. Needs the warmth and the weight slightly pressing Nemo into the mattress.

“I know,” Nemo grins back. Let’s their fingers slide up to cup his face, Gerry takes a moment to press his forehead to theirs before Nemo’s fingers disappear into soft, dark hair, Gerry leans into the touch, lets Nemo’s nails run gently over his scalp.

Gerry’s lips meet the tip of their nose, corner of their mouth and then on the lips. And then again, and then there’s the flick of his tongue against Nemo’s bottom lip, and again a little harder. Today it’s gentle, a question. Which Nemo answers by opening their mouth and letting their tongue slip into his.

Gerry pushes them into the mattress a little more as he kisses. Little kisses at first, slow, gentle. Less the usual teasing Nemo tends to expect from him even as the kisses deepen. Nemo’s content to let him take his time, and let their fingers wind through his hair. His kisses shift, going from lips to wherever he can reach on Nemo’s neck. Those kisses start sending little flutters that make Nemo tense up their thighs.

He pulls back eventually, smile soft and that gives Nemo another little flutter, but this time it’s the pesky fluttering of their heart which at times is a lot harder to deal with than other places.

“You seem happy,” Nemo teases

“I mean, the fact we didn’t die last night helps-” “Helps?” He grins, this one a little more impish, “Waking up to you really helps-”

Nemo groans playfully and Gerry rubs his nose against theirs, Nemo’s hands leave his hair and settle around his shoulders.

“So are we just cuddling this morning or?”

Gerry kisses Nemo again, catches their lip this time and Nemo grins into it, “I mean ‘we didn’t die last night cuddles sound good,’” He catches their lip again, harder.

“But?”

“If you want I can at least go down on you,”

“At least?” Nemo grins

“Mhmm,” Gerry’s grin is slow and playful as he nibbles at their lip. Rolls his hips against Nemo’s and Nemo can feel him half hard against them as he ruts a little harder.

“Use your words,” Nemo tuts and pokes his nose

“Ok fine…” He pouts for a moment, “I can go down on you and then if you want.” he pauses and reaches out to run his thumb over Nemo’s lip. “Fuck you into the mattress?” A kiss, “Let you ride me?” A kiss with a bite that makes Nemo squirm, “Could bend you over, let you grip the headboard and-” “Gerry!” Nemo squirms their mind running wild.

“I’m doing what you told me,” He smirks.

“Brat,” Nemo huffs, reaches up and grabs a lock of dark hair and tugs, hard. And chuckles as he moans and Nemo’s pulled into a painfully soft kiss.

“So?” He sighs and playfully flicks his tongue against the tip of Nemo’s nose.

“Hurry up and fuck me already,” Gerry chuckles, gives a slow roll of his hips against Nemo again and then rolls to the side. Grabs the waistband of Nemo’s shorts and edges them down and they’re discarded somewhere around the foot of the bed. Moves again to kneel in front of Nemo, let’s his hands slowly trace up to their thighs and pulls a little, Nemo eagerly parts their legs in a way that makes him twitch, he lingers on the soft, warm skin of their thighs for a little before a finger runs along from entrance to clit, fingers lightly

“I thought you were eating me out,” Nemo squirms, one hand grabbing the bedsheets.

“I’m getting to that, be patient,” Gerry tuts and then looks up with a smirk, “Little ghost,”

Nemo feels their cheeks redden even in their aroused state at the endearment and resists the urge to shove their face under a pillow.

Gerry’s fingers as always slide in slow, two fingers easily slipping into warm flesh and he lets out a pleased little noise as he starts to work, leaning forward to plant the occasional kiss on Nemo’s lips. Settles into a slow, deep rhythm that he knows could bring Nemo over the edge very quickly if he wanted that.

Not really, not this morning he wants to linger a little and bask in the middle finger they both threw up to The Slaughter last night and likely The End in general. He sets his pace slow, grins as Nemo squirms just from running his fingers just next to their clit and occasionally teasing their entrance with the promise of a finger or two. Nemo swears at him once and it’s music to his ears.

Gerry catches the bedside clock then grins.

“Wow, it’s early enough we could go out for breakfast afterwards and it would still be… normal people breakfast time-”

“You know what I want, a double sausage and egg McMuffin-” Nemo’s brain switches to the fact a lot of the time food is a much more enticing pursuit than sex. Or at least has been for the most part before they got mixed up with Gerry.

Gerry laughs “McDonald’s really?”

“What? We nearly died, I want a fucking McMuffin.”

“A mcfuckin,” Gerry wheezes. His rhythm thrown off for the moment.

Nemo snorts and swats the top of his head.

“I mean unless you have another idea,” Gerry pauses for a moment, runs through a few options, in his head of other places they could go and then,“Actually,McDonald’s doesn’t sound that bad,” And grins, “We’ll make the most of ‘we didn’t die last night sex’ and then on my honour we’ll find you the best double sausage and egg McMuffin in at least this borough,”

Nemo snorts, shudders a little as he curves his fingers to make them squirm. “Mmm, also I think us not dying means I get to bend you over later,” “Oh?”

Nemo bites their lip as his thumb rubs at their clit. Their hands sliding under their shirt to tease their nipples.

“I mean we do have that new dildo to try out,” Nemo grins, and their brain wanders to all sorts of fun thoughts about just how they’ll give their fellow Goth some much needed payback. That and the work of Gerry’s fingers making them squirm. “We do,” Gerry grins, fingers curving again and the way that Nemo easily takes a third finger makes him rock his hips against the bed. “So?”

Gerry grins, letting his fingers slowly play over warm, wet flesh,“We’ll make the most of ‘We didn’t die last night sex’ then on my honour we’ll find you the best double sausage and egg McMuffin at least in this borough and then tonight you can bend me over and do your worst with that new dildo-”

“Promise?” “I’m a Goth of my word,” “I’m holding you to it, especially about breakfast,”

“I swear,” He pulls out his slick fingers, and lies on his back, “Now please come sit on my face?”