MCR Imagines And Oneshots

♪;Needy | P.P.

(A/n)

Requested by anon

Always remember that Poison, Ghoul, Kobra and Jet ≠ MCR guys
The killjoys are rather vague characters, so I'm always working with them in different manners! It's nice exploring them!

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The desert is tough. Living here is difficult, really difficult. Despite everything, it's much better to live here than to be trapped in the city and surrender to fucking BL/Ind. Seeing the diner in the end of the day is a great relief, to be honest. We kind of forced it to be, actually, or else we wouldn't have a safe place or refuge because there's always a chance Dr. Death is going to call us in the middle of the night, but it's something we try to avoid thinking about.

The diner's welcoming atmosphere embraces us in the second we step through the doors, tiredly walking straight through it to make our way over to the motel area of it, where our rooms are. Ghoul and Kobra quickly disappear while Jet at least mutters a good night to Poison and I before going to his room.

Poison follows me to my room and it was something predictable considering how they've been clinging to me for the whole day.

"You'll take off that binder, right?" I ask as removing my jacket and turning to Poison – they tense up a bit, narrowing their eyes at me while closing the door behind us. They're always annoyed when I tell them about this, but they're exactly like this, either not wearing the binder for a week straight or not forgetting to take it off for a week straight.

"Of course," they mutter, rolling their eyes as removing their jacket.

"And stretch." I hum sternly, making them pout, something I can't help but to smile at. They nod, anyways.

Sighing, I move to the bed after getting rid of my jeans and comfortably lie down on the mess of blankets, only with my underwear and shirt on, and it doesn't take long until Poison is following me. Their sudden weight on my makes me groan a bit, but I have absolutely no objection against them straddling my hips. They've got that black t-shirt on plus nothing, asides from the boxers they've stolen from any of the guys some months ago.

A small smile decorates Poison's lips as they look down at me, hands set on my shoulders, and they speak up in that very specific tone, which's almost a needy whine. "(Y/n)!"

"Yes, love?" I am unable to hold back a smile, placing my hands on their bare thighs.

"You know, it's been a stressing day..." They start running their nose along my jaw before soft kisses are pressed against my neck, long ones, while their hands trail down my torso and stop right below my breasts.

"It has, indeed." I don't give in so easily. Nonetheless, I make it known I'm aware of what they want, humming in appreciation to their gentle touches and rubbing circles into their things – after a moment, I let my thumbs momentarily wander to the inside of it, what makes them rock their hips lightly.

When we're together like this – not about to fuck, specifically, but alone to enjoy ourselves –, there's always this feeling we're the only ones that matter in the universe, trapped in this small reality of ours which's limits are the walls of either mine or Poison's bedroom. The walls hold much more than the posters or trash we find around and hang on it, my fucked-up nightlights hanging on the space on the wall right above my bed or all the pictures we have with each other or the whole group at all. The fake sensation of peace is better than nothing.

Enough has passed when I suddenly change our positions, throwing Poison to the mattress before pressing my lips to theirs. They kiss back in the same moment, satisfied with finally getting what they wanted. I'm beautifully held against them with their arms around my neck while their legs around my hips pull me even closer.