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operaticsk3leton · 4 days ago

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wish i could tell you

gerard way x fem!reader

word count: 3.1k

tags: teenage love, fluff, mutual pining, prom, fem pronouns used, self-deprecation, idk honestly, song lyrics used

a/n: hello sorry i’ve been gone for like ever, writer’s block is killing me send well wishes. anyways this is based off of 7 minutes in heaven (atavan halen) by fob. fun fact this was the first story i ever wrote for this account which is why it’s so strangely written. not proofread and there’s also a surprise at the end xo romie ❦

just your luck. prom night, and you’re spending it alone like a loser; sitting out dances on the wall, trying to forget everything that isn’t him.

how long has it been, and at what point does it get weird? freshman year, maybe. only 14 years old the first time you laid eyes on him, and since then you’ve been hopelessly, pathetically in love. you don’t even think he really knows you exist besides whenever he glances at you in class on the odd occasion. being a teenage girl in love is hard; being a lousy tag-along at your prom is even worse.

you’d asked him out to prom by some miracle and sheer nerve, and it took just about everything in you to not puke all over his shoes when you spoke to him. you’re friends with him, but certainly not as close as you’d wish. not like his little ragtag group he wanders the halls with. but, he’d never been anything except perfectly polite. so, with that in my mind, you thought, hey, what’s the worst that can happen?

“we can all go together!” is the worst that can happen. of course, you’d managed to stumble over your words and forgot to clarify that you meant as his date, and with no audacity left, you meekly accepted with a weak smile and a jerky head nod.

that’s how you ended up here, leaning against a cold brick wall outside of the gym, the biggest hits of 2004 becoming a soft, drowned out melody in the background as the brisk air nips at your cheeks. it’s not like you were having a terrible time, it was just kind of… awkward.

none of the boys were dancing or anything, just talking amongst themselves at the table where the group sat as you somehow excluded yourself. you couldn’t really join in on their riveting chatter about d&d, but they were still sweet to have you tag along.

you’re in a dress much too unlike yourself to be comfortable in it; all the baby blue satin, glitter, beaded stitching, fabric flowers, and sweetheart necklines in the world don’t make you forget about how lame you feel. your heels hurt your feet, your matching blue opera gloves feel silly, and you feel much too dressed up in your fancy hair-do and makeup. isn’t this the part of the story where the love interest finally notices her?

you guess it’s your fault, really. you’re the one who wanted to make the most out of your junior year, or whatever; the final year before everything’s all about college, the final “fun” year.

and in that idealistic dream in your head, you’d arrive on gerard’s arm, his date, and not walking in awkwardly next to his group of friends. it’s a miracle you even got him to let you join his group. at least you’re not totally alone; can’t have your cake and eat it too.

does he even know how devoted you are? is that pathetic? to be so obsessed and in love with someone who doesn’t even know it, and who definitely doesn’t reciprocate it? in your wildest daydreams, sure, he’s been feeling the same way and wants you just as much.

but the bubble bursts, and you’re back to being the same sullen girl sitting out her junior prom while the object of your affections is inside, probably talking about cartoons or comics or music with his friends.

no, he doesn’t know, you decide. how could he? he’s kind of… daze-y, always in his own world, in some far off daydream. you just wanna be in his fictitious worlds, too.

just as you’re in the middle of your teen angst, nursing a cup of spiked punch, the loud clanging of a heavy metal door shutting snaps you out of your brooding, your eyes darting to a figure walking in your direction.

gerard, looking huffy and exasperated in his black tux, runs a hand through his hair as he leans against the wall a few feet away from you. he doesn’t seem to notice you, the inky night veiling you as he reaches into his coat pocket. he pulls out a cigarette and lights it, muttering to himself as the bright flame illuminates his face. it’s a little creepy to stare, but god, he’s so beautiful.

you swallow harshly, your mind already running rampant with silly fantasies of turning this night around, becoming the girl to save him and make him realize that it’s been you all along! a sweet cliché; one night won’t redeem three years of awkward stares and shy smiles. definitely not enough to make him feel the same way.

his smoke curls in grey wisps, floating on the cool wind as some tendrils frame his pretty face. he’s yet to notice you, but he looks well disgruntled. you mull over your options— you could speak up and finally do something about the dull ache, or you could let this pass like you always do.

you did technically ditch him and his group to come out here, but not out of ill intent, only insecurity; you were feeling kind of left out, anyways. but before your mind stops you, you clear your throat, and his head whips in your direction at the sound.

shit.

god, he had never felt more stupid in his entire life.

were you asking him out to prom as his date? was that what this was? you had this look on your face that he couldn’t quite read, like you were almost… hopeful? or maybe it was just that he couldn’t handle looking at you for longer than a few seconds. couldn’t stand to look at you because if he did, maybe those eyes of yours— fuck, those eyes— would see right through him.

would see just how hopelessly, devastatingly in love with you he is.

“just talk to her, man. she’s nice. what’s the worst that can happen?” mikey’d groan, sick of gerard gushing about how you lent him a pencil in your 5th period, or how you did your hair different that day, how pretty you looked when you read, how you chewed your lower lip while solving a problem— it sounded almost stalker-ish, really.

and gerard’d always respond with the same old, “no, dude, i can’t. she’s so… everything, and i’m just— i’m just me,” and he’d kiss his teeth and roll over onto his stomach, sighing loudly like a petulant child.

it was pointless, or at least he thought it was. what could he give you that some other boy couldn’t? no one had ever liked him, or they never made it apparent, and it seemed unfathomable that you could by the one to finally change that. to finally see something where everybody else sees nothing.

“worst case scenario, you don’t tell her you like her and you can be friends. best case scenario, she likes you back. c’mon, man, i feel like i know her just from the way you talk about her.”

right, like it’s that simple.

“hey! gerard, can i,” he jerked subtly as you tapped him on the shoulder, looking around as if anybody else had the same name. “sorry, can i talk to you?”

he had been on his way to 4th period when you tapped him. “i don’t mean this to sound, like, weird or something, but, um… prom’s coming up soon. if you didn’t know— i mean, you probably did, sorry.” you swallowed harshly, your throat suddenly feeling raw and swollen, and the words tumbled out, “but, um, i was just wondering if you were going?”

gerard still had his eyes glued to his shoes, and you were starting to wonder if this was a horrible mistake. his lack of eye contact, how he was tugging at the frayed edges of the sleeves of his blazer, was making you queasy; had you done something wrong? you rack your brain, running through every minimal interaction with him, but you couldn’t find anything.

“i don’t— i don’t really know, honestly. what about,” he cleared his throat, his voice peaking at the end, “what about you?”

“oh, well, i dunno, i mean. i kind of wanna go? i just don’t have… anyone to go with. not that that’s like a problem, or whatever! i was just gonna ask you if, maybe, if you’re okay with it,” you steel yourself, your heart doing somersaults as you prayed for the best, “maybe we could go together?”

gerard wasn’t sure he heard you right. go together. together. he could’ve sworn that his heart sunk to his ass; what did you mean by that? a date? was that an invitation to be your prom date?

what could he have possibly done to be so fortunate? he thanks his lucky stars for the fact that you’re even talking to him, but his hands begin shaking as he remembers you’re still waiting for a response. shit, what was he supposed to say? fuck, fuck, fuck.

“we can all go together!” he blurted out, then immediately regretted it as soon as the words rolled off his tongue. “i mean, like, with my friends. i’m sure they’d wanna go, too. you know frank and mikey and ray, right? yeah, er— i wouldn’t wanna, y’know, leave them out.”

his gaze flitted across the beige walls, to posters promoting spring sports, prom, upcoming events, and the words seemed to jumble together as he struggled to form a sentence.

“…yeah! no, yeah! o-of course, that sounds good! um… yeah, we can go, like, as a group. totally!”

gerard ran home that day and begged his friends to go to prom through a rushed and intelligible phone call.

begrudgingly, they agreed, simply due to how utterly desperate gerard sounded. he pleaded and pleaded, explaining how if he went alone with you, he’d make a total ass of himself and then there was no way you’d ever like him.

“she asked you out as her date, dumbass. why would you say we could go as a group? now she probably thinks you’re not into her or something,” ray sighed, gerard’s pitchy whining muffled through the receiver.

“i panicked! she was just— she caught me off guard! how the fuck was i supposed to know she meant as a date? it’s not like she said that, and i didn’t wanna seem creepy if she just meant as friends or something!” gerard almost shrieks, much to the dismay of frank and ray who are on the line.

“please guys, please. i’ll literally never ask you guys for anything ever again, i promise! if i go by myself, i’ll just be super weird— please. i need you guys to go.”

the weeks came and went, and before he knew it, the night of prom rolled around and he had never been so stressed in his short life. he seriously contemplated just not going at all, pacing in front of his mirror, muttering about how you’d notice this or that, how his coat fit him just a little too big, how his hair just couldn’t behave, oh, god, did he smell bad? shit, he should—

“hey, you know you’re saying all this shit aloud, right? you look fine, dude, chill. she’s gonna think you look fine. she asked you out, remember?” mikey interjected, snapping gerard out of his spiraling. he took a shaky breath and tried to tell himself it would all be okay.

nothing was okay. oh my gosh, nothing was okay.

the moment you walked in, he could’ve sworn that a meteor hit him smack dab between the eyes; he had never, ever seen anything more beautiful than he did when you walked into the otherwise dull gymnasium with your baby blue dress, the sparkles glimmering beneath the light of the disco ball as you seemed to glow. there was just no way you could be real.

you had to be something his lonely mind dreamt up; just too good to be true.

you walked up to their table as soon as you spotted the boys, already chattering away happily. gerard stood up to greet you, shaking your hand much too formally and you chuckled at his antics before sitting in the empty seat next to his. your heart could leap out of your throat you were so nervous.

it was just so painfully awkward. gerard was such a wreck and such a bad “date” that mikey, frank, and ray were all watching in second-hand embarrassment as the two of you struggled to keep a steady conversation.

“you— you look r-really pretty. your dress, i mean. your dress is really pretty,” he tried to save lamely, hoping he wouldn’t come across creepy. you only smiled shyly and nodded, a soft “thank you, you too. i’m glad we could, um, do this,” barely audible over the blaring music as the words tumbled from your lips.

he figured you were bored. you certainly seemed to be, the way you kept to yourself, eyes wandering around the gym as you people-watched, attention anywhere but with gerard or the rest of the table.

elated teens filled up the space, laughter harmonizing with whatever was playing over the speakers. you admired, sighing as you so badly wish that was you. why did they get what you wanted, seemingly without even trying?

people tend to be the most beautiful when they think they aren’t being seen.

the same was true with you.

gerard was sure he was going crazy. every time he opened his mouth to talk, tilted his head in your direction to maybe make eye contact with you, it seemed like every single one of his muscles tensed up and stopped him from doing anything. so instead he just sat there and talked to his buddies about the same old things, all the while his mind kept drifting over to you.

“they were so fucking good, dude, oh my god. it was like billy was singing to me. totally worth the lecture from my ma, i swear,” mikey gushes in reference to the smashing pumpkins show he went to last sunday. “you sound like those fangirls, mikes,” frank teases with a smug grin, ray laughing as he agrees.

gerard tunes out the voices of the other guys as he watches you stand up from your seat, the chair scraping against the floor as you push it in and walk towards the back door of the gym. he blinks, and you’re gone.

like you were always just a dream.

“gerard? you okay?”

his eyes widened as he recognized the voice coming from the darkness. he inhales once more, lungs constricting from the smoke as he holds it a little too long before breathing it back out. the tiny ache in his chest seems to remind him that tonight is real, that he’s real and you’re real and you’re both out here, joined by the night sky and he loves you and he has no idea how to tell you.

your heels clack lowly against the concrete of the basketball court as you step towards him, a tight smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

“you look… not so good, honestly,” you laugh and he joins you, shaking his head in amusement. he just felt so stupid.

after you left, he sat there, dumbstruck and disappointed and disillusioned. all the self-hatred began to bubble up, and suddenly all the laughter in the gym was towards him. how come they had it so easy? how come they just somehow knew, how come he couldn’t just be normal?

but he was never very good at sorting through his feelings. “hey, don’t worry, man. i’m sure she just needed some air or something, it’s super hot in—” frank’s consolations were only met with a scowl and a jerk of the table as gerard rushed away the same you had gone.

he thought maybe you just went home, though. his cheeks reddened as he saw you, finally illuminated by the dying led lights that lined the gym’s roof. you managed to be just as beautiful with that somber, let down expression on your face.

“hey, um… i’m really sorry if, like, you didn’t wanna come with me or something. i didn’t mean to make you feel pressured. i feel kind of lame, actually. i invited you just to ditch you.” you swallow, unsure where the words were coming from. “but yeah, i dunno. sorry for ruining your prom, i guess.”

you always manage to make him feel so speechless. you felt guilty for ruining his prom. you felt guilty for giving him an opportunity he’d been praying for in every glance, every smile, every word.

he lets the cigarette fall to the concrete, the ember nearing his finger, and squashes it with his hand-me-down shoe. he laughs bitterly— where does he even begin?

“no, no, not at all! you didn’t ruin anything. please don’t apologize, it’s not your fault at all. it’s me. i’m just… i don’t know how to be around you.”

your stomach sinks. here he goes, he’s gonna tell you to stay away from him, how weird you are, how you’re not slick and your pining is so obvious and to just—

“i just admire you so much. i sometimes watch you, in like, the least creepy way possible, and i-i wanna be friends with you, y’know? not that we’re not already friends! kind of, but, um, just closer? i wanna know you and understand you, and i think we’d make good friends, actually. but i’m just so bad at talking to people, especially pretty girls and…”

“you think i’m pretty?”

he hadn’t realized that had slipped. you had this soft look to your features, your smile warm and shy, and it was getting harder to not kiss you.

“…well, yeah. i mean, of course, but. that’s not the point, and i… fuck, you made me forget what i was on about.”

for the first time tonight your anxiety eases as you two stare at each other, nervous smiles soothing the other.

“you make it sound like i’m some sort of unapproachable jerk or something,” you joke, immediately holding your hand up once his eyes shoot open.

“can i tell you something and you promise you won’t think i’m totally weird?”

gerard nods. whatever it is, he could never think any differently of you. “anything.”

you hesitate. then you don’t, and you hear your voice before you can think it through. “i’ve always had this… massive, super embarrassing, honestly-really-pathetic-and-lame crush on you that i just can’t seem to get rid of.”

gerard swears his heart stops beating in his chest. then, “why would i want you to get rid of it?”

divider by @uzmacchiato

surprise! cliffhanger! (my laziness consumes me)

#gerard way x reader #gerard way #my chemical romance #mcr

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operaticsk3leton · 9 days ago

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i’ve been working on this gerard x reader fic where they’re at prom and they like each other but don’t know it and i genuinely don’t know wtf to do with it </3 somebody anybody tell me if they would wanna read that :( i’m working on requests rn, keep leaving them!! i love you all xo romie ❦

#gerard way x reader #frank iero x reader #my chemical romance #mcr

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operaticsk3leton · 11 days ago

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hii!! i saw that you take requests i was wondering if you could write a fluff fic about teen ryan ross x teen reader just hanging out in readers bedroom and listening to cds and just hanging out and ryan ends up sleeping over to avoid going home and dealing with his dad. /nf!!

hii okay so i actually kind of lost the plot w this one im so sorry 😭😭 hopefully you still enjoy it somewhat but thank you for the request!!

the resolute urgency of now

ryan ross x reader

word count: 1.6k

tags: teen!ryan ross, teen!reader, gn!reader, fluff, angst (if you squint it’s really just context), teenagers in love, cuddling, mentions of alcohol abuse, comfort, established relationship, i’m so bad at tagging

a/n: i listened to the tonight, tonight cover by panic while writing this. yes it’s inspired by that song i love that cover so bad oh my god. i honestly forgot what i was doing at some point oops. anyways as always not proofread enjoy xo romie ❦

ryan loves his dad. he loves his dad because he works tirelessly to be able to afford the hefty fifteen thousand dollar price tag that comes with his private school, always cheers the loudest whenever ryan scores in his hockey games, always tells him how proud he is to have ryan as his son.

but he can’t help but hate his dad, too.

he hates the way his father finds solace at the bottom of countless bottles, the way he calls him ungrateful for not wanting to go to college when he’s had far too many, the way he calls ryan a pansy for his passions. hates the way he calls his dreams of focusing on music ridiculous and useless.

but he could never bring himself to say it aloud. although, his father can tell. can tell by the way ryan looks at him like he’s not even there— like he’s seeing past him— the way he goes quiet and has a constant scowl whenever ryan talks to him. he can’t say it aloud; how could he? how could he hate somebody who works so hard to give him a good chance? but they both knew.

so instead, ryan just spends a little too much time with you, or at band or hockey practice, avoiding his dad as much as possible. it almost always works out, too, what with the man usually being passed out on the couch or slumped over like a crumpled shell at the dining table, empty beer cans littering the space and creating a shameful halo around him.

ryan found himself depending more and more on your company, the fact that you would always be around whenever he needed it. best friends forever— it was a silly promise made on a playground as children, tiny pinkies interlocking as you both swore that you would never leave one another behind, that you would always be as close as they were that day by the swingset.

and surprisingly, you never once had any reason to believe that the promise would ever be broken. if anything, you had only become closer. so close that eventually he got this sickly feeling in his stomach whenever you were around. it started off subtle, his heart rate picking up every time you gave him that smile, your eyes bright and crinkly, the apples of your cheeks soft as they framed your grin.

then, it was in the way he wanted so badly to be whoever you needed him to be. to make you happy, to see you succeed— whether it was you acing your chemistry test or listening to your dreams about your future and knowing without a doubt that you would someday make it.

but, it became overwhelming. so much so that he’d get all stuttery and clumsy around you in a way that was confusing and frankly embarrassing. his head would run rampant with daydreams of you, what you thought of him, if you even thought of him the same way he thought of you. turns out, you did.

you were convinced you were losing your best friend. your sophomore year was as close to “distant” as the two of you ever got in the ten years you had been his best friend. ryan had always been so open with you, so honest and unapologetically himself. he had this shy exterior that seemed to melt away with the warmth of your presence, leaving behind the ostensibly cocky, impassioned artist he was.

and yet, you couldn’t get rid of that nagging feeling that he was drifting away from you. he became quiet— reserved, even. shrunk into himself.

but ryan was driving himself crazy trying to be somebody who he thought you might fall for.

you tried so hard to believe that everything was the same, that nothing had changed. that you were still those little kids who promised they’d always be best friends.

the summer before your junior year, you told him you needed to know the truth; he had never been so anxious in his life. it only took your voice getting wobbly with emotion and your lip trembling as you tried not to cry for ryan to see just how wrong he had been in approaching this. interrupting your shaky plea for him to tell you what you had done wrong, he blurted out how sorry he was, sorry because he had fallen in love with you and he was so afraid that he would lose you.

“and i know you don’t feel the same, and i know i’ve been acting weird but i just— i didn’t know what to do, and this doesn’t have to change anything, like at all. you’re still my best friend and we can just pretend like this never happened, please? i just—”

you never failed to make him breathless, never failed to make him feel like he could lift off the ground if he didn’t plant his feet hard enough. he could’ve sworn he would’ve floated into the stars had he not held onto you while you kissed him with all the fervor of your pent-up affections. neither of you needed to say anything to know that things had changed, but only in the purest, sweetest way possible.

it had been the third day in a row that ryan got home from school and found his father piss drunk, slurring and stumbling around the house. the sight made him queasy and hot with resentment, wanting to scream and cry all at once. instead, his footsteps were heavy as he rushed to his bedroom, flung his backpack on the floor, and headed back out the front door towards your house.

he knew he was always welcome in your home; your parents absolutely adored him, and knew of his situation, so they always tried their hardest to make your home a sanctuary for him.

and it always was. you greeted him with nothing but that perfect smile that he’s so infatuated with, the same one that he’s dreamed about and lost sleep over.

you led him to your room, and he stood in the corner awkwardly before stepping out of his sneakers and slinking his arms around your waist.

“missed you, pretty boy,” you murmur into his hair— although you saw him in the morning— as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of your perfume as you hum softly. you nearly stumble as he begins taking steps forwards, still clinging to you in a tight embrace, until the backs of your knees hit your bed.

you pull away from his grasp, walking over to your shelf and skimming your cd collection before picking in and out of luck, one that you and ryan both adore. you put on the cd and lie down, patting the spot next to you invitingly.

he climbs onto the mattress, his weight making the memory foam dip as he settles atop you, his arms draped lazily over your form as he nestles his face in your chest. the soft thump of your heartbeat instantly soothes him, the dull headache that had been lingering all day easing up.

your fingers card through his hair, your nails scratching his scalp just right, his eyelids fluttering shut at the sensation. he holds you tighter, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets you go.

“my dad’s already bugging me with college applications— he just doesn’t listen, i swear. he doesn’t think i can make the band work. i mean, yeah, it’s risky, but spencer’s parents support him, mostly. i just wish he believed in me or something, y’know?” he breathes, like a great weight is being lifted off his chest. “and then i got home and he was drunk again… i hate when he does that shit. i didn’t even talk to him, just came straight here.”

his voice is solemn as he goes on his mini tangent, teetering on the edge of exasperation like he’s sick of getting worked up about the same things over and over again. your hands drift down his torso, fingers dipping beneath the hem of his shirt and pressing against the smooth expanse of his back as if to ground him. “he’s just… you’ll prove him wrong, ry. i mean, in a few years you won’t even have to worry about him, and you’ll have your band and your friends. you’ll have me.”

the way you hold him is enough to make him forget, even if just for this moment. it’s times like these that ryan’s reminded of just how lucky he is to have you, how undeserving he feels to have someone as special as you. to have someone like you love him, see him, like nobody else has before. it’s juvenile, sure, to think you’ve found your soulmate at 16, but what else is he supposed to do? it’s all-consuming, what he feels for you. it’s what keeps him sane, what keeps him afloat amidst a sea of turmoil. it’s you.

the final song comes to an end, and you get up to change out the cd, humming as you look through your selection; you settle on take this to your grave. you pop the disc out of its case and place it into the player, the first track softly playing as you crawl back into bed with ryan. the silence is comfortable, and you know he’ll stay with you, will keep you close throughout the night, hold you and forget and pretend like nothing else exists.

the sun seems to dip below the horizon at an alarming speed, as though the world outside the four walls of your bedroom were rushing past you, the two of you stuck in a different timeline, one where everything stays the same and everything changes and time is never time at all.

divider by @uzmacchiato

#ryan ross x reader #ryan ross #panic! at the disco #p!atd

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operaticsk3leton · 14 days ago

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better in the dark

prorev!frank iero x reader

word count: 1.3k

tags: smut, prorev!frank iero, blindfold kink, quickie, piv, no pronouns but afab described, light degradation (m receiving), sub!frank iero, dom!reader, unprotected sex, creampie oops, begging, pwp tbh, anything else i forgot

a/n: this is rlly just for me honestly. blindfolded frank iero consumes me on a daily!! title isn’t inspired by the song i js didn’t know what else to title it. also not proofread but enjoy xo romie ❦

you don’t think he even intended for it to get you all worked up. it was just the way he played that night, deft fingers moving across the fretboard, sweat rolling off him in droplets and mouth hung open like it is whenever he’s moaning beneath you— all while blindfolded. the excitement of his performance went straight to between your thighs, heat blooming in your stomach; you wanted that show over right then and there.

as soon as the first set had ended and frank walked towards the wings of the stage away from view of the screaming fans, you yanked him towards an empty room, any room.

you find an abandoned dressing room and tug him inside, locking the door behind you. before he can get a word out, ask you what’s wrong, your lips crash against his. the force of the searing kiss causes him to stumble backwards against a wall and you swallow his surprised gasps and sharp grunts of pleasure as you nip at his bottom lip.

frank’s hands are already all over you, fingers settling on your hips to pull you flush against him before drifting down to squeeze your ass. his lips move against yours like if he stops kissing you he might cease to exist.

just as soon as it began, though, it’s over, and he can’t help but give a pitchy whine in protest. you have no idea how much time he has before the second set, but you know it’s not enough.

he still has that blindfold tied around his neck.

you lead him to a small couch and push him onto it. you climb onto his lap immediately, straddling him as he gazes up at you like you’ve already made him wait too long. a pair of inked up hands find your waist, pushing you down onto his semi. frank groans at the stimulation, his features screwing up all pretty as your hips start rolling in small circles.

in one movement, the white cloth is back over his eyes, a breathless slew of, “fuck, yes, please,” spurring you on.

blessedly, you palm him through his jeans, frank’s cock stiffening further and straining against the denim as you torture him. he only wishes he could see you, but the thrill of not knowing where you’ll touch him next is dizzying. “god, such a whore, aren’t you? so greedy, always taking whatever i give you, huh? they can probably hear you moaning like some slut, y’know that?” you coo, grinning as he squirms beneath you.

“uh-huh, yours, your slut- fuck— c’mon, please baby…” he babbles, unable to string together an intelligent sentence. “just— please, just fuck me already.”

frank’s whines only get louder, needier; in a moment of mercy, you make quick work of his jeans. he lifts his hips to help you as you yank the denim and his boxers down until they rest at his thighs. his cock springs out, already leaking precum from his slit, his tip a flushed shade of pink. your mouth waters at the sight and he shudders as you wrap your fingers around his length, giving him a few good strokes.

you get rid of your jeans entirely, tugging your soaked-through panties to the side. he starts getting impatient as you line the head of his cock up with your entrance, but a choked moan claws its way from his throat as he feels you sink down on him harshly.

you hiss softly at the subtle sting, but it soon turns to pleasure as you take a second to get used to him. no matter how many times you have him inside you, filling you up just right, you’ll always be stunned at just how big frank is. you lift your hips, hands settling on his chest for balance, before slamming them back down against his own. your name falls from his tongue desperately, “yesyesyes, fuck, baby, you’re so—” you cut him off with another sharp movement, earning a whine as a reward.

you soon find a sloppy rhythm, your pussy gulping up his perfect cock like that’s all it was made to do. his head tilts back against the couch, unable to do much else but writhe and moan since he can’t even see you. your hands use his shoulders to keep steady, soft moans coming from your lips as your walls clench around him maddeningly— god, you’re too much for him.

frank’s lack of vision allows him to focus solely on the feeling of you fucking yourself on his dick mindlessly. the wet squelch your cunt makes each time you sink back onto him is awe-worthy, and soon enough you’re trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses on his jaw and neck. you suck purplish-pinkish spots onto the flesh, tongue laving over the bruises once you’re through with your work. each press of your lips against his throat drives him crazy, the scent of your perfume invading his senses and making it all so much more intense.

he’s so deep, so so deep that it’s almost painful as his tip kisses your cervix, each time his hips jerk forward hitting a new angle. every twitch of his cock inside you makes you see stars, your pussy clenching spasming as if sucking him back in, needing to keep him merged with you. heaving and thighs quivering, your quick movements come to a lull as you try to regain your breath.

you take the time to just watch as his brows furrow in confusion at how you’ve slowed down, a pitiful whimper from his lips making you all sorts of hot. “wanna cum, baby, please can i? i’m so close, please, need to…” you’d let him plead, make him beg just to get your approval, but a sharp knock on the door and a ten minute warning from one of the crew has you slapping a hand over his mouth. once the steps fade into silence, your pace picks back up, even faster, unforgiving, as you rush for time.

you didn’t think frank could get needier, but somehow he has, his whines getting higher in pitch while his hands start helping you with each brutal slam of your hips against his. his grasp is tight enough that you know it’ll leave pretty bruises along the smooth skin. you could deny him his orgasm, make him go back out there all worked up and frustrated as his release becomes a distant memory, but…

“baby,” he drawls, and it’s enough to rid you of your cruel intentions.

pressure builds low in your tummy, your breathing becoming erratic as your impending climax is just within reach. to your shared delight, you use his dick selfishly, sinking down on his throbbing length with reckless abandon. his tone becomes unmistakably bratty as he begs once more to cum. “please— need it so bad. you’re being mean, please just let me cum, baby, please!”

you nod, forgetting he’s still blind. “only because you asked nicely.”

at that, frank goes rigid, mouth falling open in a loud moan as his features become almost agonized. his orgasm is sweet, white-hot bliss, tears welling in his eyes as he screws them shut beneath the blind fold. warm ropes of his seed spurt inside your aching pussy, the sight of his pleasure enough to tip you over the edge, too. your muscles tense up, thighs shaking as your orgasm washes over you in waves, leaving you breathless and reeling.

a blinding light, then frank is met with the sight of you, flushed and looking well-fucked with a woozy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. he can’t help but chuckle and pull you in for a sloppy kiss, muttering thank you’s against your lips. you climb off his lap hurriedly, remembering that he needs to get on stage soon. you’re both cleaned up and dressed just as a yell of his name is heard through the door, thankfully.

exhausted, yet somehow even more worked up than he was 20 minutes ago, he gives you one final peck before running off. you laugh as you get a glance at gerard’s unamused expression. next time, you might as well fuck on stage.

#frank iero x reader #frank iero #my chemical romance #mcr

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operaticsk3leton · 15 days ago

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yellow!! saw your requests were open, so may I request a ryan ross or gerard way x fem!reader?? it can be what ever genre u want hehee. thank you so muchiesss!! 💕

hiii yes thank you for the request!! doing ryan bc he doesn’t get enough fics on here, but i’ll have a gerard fic up hopefully soon… anyways sorry that it’s so short!! had no direction for it at the end 😭

7:42 am

prettyodd!ryan ross x fem!reader

word count: 0.6k

tags: fluff, pretty odd era p!atd, established relationship, cuddling

a/n: baby’s first ficlet thank you anon!! listened to behind the sea while writing this, and had no idea where it was going sorry! not proofread so please excuse any mistakes. but enjoy and please leave requests!! xo romie ❦

you groan softly as early morning light seeps in through the curtains; a rude awakening to whatever sweet dream you were having. the sun insists on you getting up and seizing the day, and the incessant chirping of birds only irritates you further.

begrudgingly, you attempt to sit up so that you can start your far too early day, but an arm tugs you back down and pulls you against a warm body. “‘m tired. stay,” you hear ryan mutter against your skin, voice low and gravelly with sleepiness.

he didn’t even bother to fully change out of his clothes last night— he’d been so exhausted from a long day full of interviews and press that as soon as he got home at around 11 pm, he undid his tie, threw his button-up somewhere to be forgotten on the floor, and knocked out in his slacks.

all the interviewers were so painfully unoriginal, their questions redundant and vaguely condescending. “your new record— pretty. odd.— it’s so different from your debut! are you boys intentionally trying to rebrand yourselves?” and “from ‘emo’ heartthrobs to wannabe beatles; what’s with the harsh left turn? are you worried about how your fans will receive the new album?” were what most of the questions resembled. he couldn’t help but grow to hate interviews and the way none of the questions were about the music. that’s what he, and the other guys, cared about: the music.

he and brendon mostly got the creepier questions— overeager budding journalists who’d ask about their love lives, if they would “date a fan,” and all they could do was laugh awkwardly and subtly try to redirect the interview. it’d made ryan all too happy to flop into your shared bed at the end of the night and pull you into a tight hold, all of the tension in his body oozing out as he got comfortable against you.

but he’s especially clingy, even if not explicitly. it’s in the way his arms wrap around your waist, the way he tugs your back against his chest, his chin resting atop your shoulder as his nose nudges your cheek. soft huffs escape his parted lips and fan your jaw, your name coming out of his mouth in an almost dreamy-like sigh. “too early to get up…” he whispers, and you can’t find it in you to disagree.

he gets this week to himself in preparation for next tuesday, when the band is off to san diego for the first date of the tour. you’d been whining about how much you’d miss him and he’d tried to sate you, saying he’d email and call you as often as possible, but it still left you feeling all achy and restless when you thought about how you’d be without him for an extended period. apparently, this is him trying to make up for the time that’ll be lost.

“i can’t believe you wanna make me get up now when you know i’ll barely be getting any sleep for the next few months. you’re the worst girlfriend ever,” he teases, eliciting a huff of amusement from you.

his voice makes your heart do funny things inside your chest, his lips grazing your cheek as he speaks before he presses a lingering kiss to the plush flesh.

“i can’t believe you won’t take me with you. you’re the worst boyfriend ever.” he squeezes your hip lightly at that, and you settle against the pillows.

“i am, aren’t i? just so awful for trying to sleep in with my girl.” you roll your eyes and go lax in his arms as he gets you right where he wants you— soft and lazy and already being lulled to sleep by his slow breathing. you soak up his warmth; soon you’ll have to get used to the feeling of a cold bed.

#ryan ross x reader #ryan ross #panic! at the disco #p!atd

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