Ā« a win for all the sad pervy girls out there Ā» -one of my readers.
gaeilgeoir, virgo, late 20s, she/her ā¦ writing for jack o'connell (actor) and for any of his characters, as well as for gerard way (my chemical romance) ā¦ ao3
NSFW | Blackmailed into joining the ATS and shipped to Egypt, you try keeping your head down while navigating the commando and encountering a hot headed Ulster poet.
NSFW | Gerard's new boss catches him acting inappropriately while in the workplace.
TONIGHT, TONIGHT - vampire!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | You encounter an attractive stranger while navigating the sea of people at a Smashing Pumpkins gig. He takes a make out session to a whole new level.
IS IT CASUAL NOW? - 2007!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | You had a hard time actually understanding what does "no attachments" meant.
YOU DESERVE THIS - basement!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | After making Gerard's life nearly impossible as teenagers, he finally got his revenge.
CUBICLES - basement!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | A young executive assistant notices Gerard, an intern artist. He decided to expand his horizons after a life changing event.
MAYBE NEXT TIME YOU'LL LISTEN TO ME - basement!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | Just straight up porn, not one ounce of plot.
BLOOD - lltbp!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | Oh, look... more porn with no plot. Established relationship, backstage smut during MCR's most recent tour.
FRONT AND CENTRE - 2005!gerard x gn!reader
Slightly angsty, that's all. Good auld right person, wrong timing.
I JUST CAN'T DO IT - tbp!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | You came to find out that Gerard's raise to fame really was the end of it all. Years later you realised that you just could not take it anylonger.
DISAPPEARING ACTS - basement!gerard x older!gn!reader
NSFW | Your friends always teased you as you tended to just... disappear... when the outing was still young and steamy. Young and steamy, just like the man you came across that night.
NOT DONE WITH YOU YET - lltbp!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | Working as a touring social media manager with My Chemical Romance had its perks!
FUN TONIGHT - basement!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | You had grown up with the Way brothers, your parents were friends. Lost touch with them over the years. You had never enjoyed Gerard's company as much as you did that night.
ON MY WAY AROUND I HAPPENED TO FALL - 2019!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | After landing your first gig after graduation, you knew it was a wrong idea to sleep with your older married boss. But on your way around you still happened to fall.
I WANNA FEEL YOU FROM THE INSIDE - 2007!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | You were Frank's tattoo artist, and a good friend of the band. Maybe only you could convince Gerard to get over his fear of needles and get his first ink.
SPIT ON A STRANGER - basement!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | Maybe Mikey's creepy older brother Gerard was not that bad after all!
I WILL LOVE YOU TILL THE GRASS AROUND MY GRAVESTONE IS DECEASED - 2005, 2007, 2019!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | While spending a lonely summer abroad in NYC, you encountered the lead singer of My Chemical Romance by mere chance.
DO YOU STILL CRY WHEN YOU'RE TOUCHED? - basement!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | Gerard sleeps with the woman that broke his heart after a brief, cruel teenage fling. For good auld times' sake.
RUINER - 2013!gerard x vampire!gn!reader
After more than 150 years of solitude, you finally found the perfect victim to ruin.
LATE SHIFT - 2014!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | Gerard really enjoys the company of his hotel's concierge.
ACCEPTABLE IN THE 00S - revenge!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | While guest DJing for a club in London, Gerard crosses paths with a local dj whose life is spiralling around addiction and a abusive cheating boyfriend.
PUTTING MYSELF OUT THERE - 2007!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | You met an american rock singer named Gerard while navigating a muddy irish music festival.
COSMIC LOVE - hesitant alien!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | You were not taking the break up well at all. Maybe it was always in your head. All you needed was one sign.
THE MAN ON THE SCREEN - 2026!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | Gerard started to worry when his younger girlfriend started fantasising about his younger self.
I WANNA SLEEP WITH COMMON PEOPLE LIKE YOU - basement!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | You told Gerard that your dad was loaded, paid for his drink and went home with him.
THANK GOD FOR BUSINESS CLASS - 2026!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | You always wanted to join the mile high club, but you never though that you'd do so with a famous rock singer.
STAKE MY HEART - gerard x vampire!f!reader
NSFW | He almost fell for your trap, and you both had pleasure in it.
HOW LAME BEING HOME IS - 2013!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | After spending a boring summer off campus with your family, you found some entertainment with your dad's work collaborator.
NOT FAIR - basement!gerard x f!reader
NSFW | Your loser boyfriend Gerard just never learnt how to please a woman in bed.
all works are originally written by afraidoflittleauldme / gaelick.
likes, comments and reblogs are always well appreciated!
i am dyslexic, donāt have a beta reader and i am an anti-ai writer so please excuse all the typos across my work!
please do not translate without permission, and do not feed to any aiplatforms. this user is strictly anti-ai.
happy reading!
Annie: There are legends of people born with the gift of making music so true, it can pierce the veil between life and death; conjuring spirits from the past...and the future. In ancient Ireland, they were called FilĆ. In Choctaw land, they called them Fire Keepers. And in West Africa, they were called Griots. This gift can bring healing to their communities. But it also...attracts evil....
I have grieved and healed countless time in my life; my da, my grandad, school friends. Yet somehow nothing couldāve prepared me for pain of losing such an innocent being who loved so unconditionally.
I am extremely depressed and I feel like nothing can bring me solace. Iām in such emotional pain that I, a devoted atheist and traumatised born and bred former Catholic, am looking for any crumb of comfort in religion.
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
Summary: All your life, youāve had visions; the past, the future, the darkest secrets of the people around you, all crammed into your head. Not that anyone believes in your gift. As the wife of Arthur Brownlee - Captain of the whaling ship Volunteer - forced to embark with him on his final voyage north, you prepare for months of trying to conceal your psychic abilities. But the arrival of surgeon Patrick Sumner and the forbidden attraction between you provides further complications.
Word Count: 2,190
Content Warnings (for this chapter): Reference to pregnancy and birth (not graphically shown), reference to character death (not Patrick or Reader), reference to injury (mild). Tooth-rotting fluff.
Author Notes: One final trip to the Sumnerverse, this time complete with SUMNERLINGS! I hope you guys enjoy this, it was so lovely to write something soft and fluffy for these two!! Thank you so much for your kind words on this fic and the love it's received. It means the absolute world to me! š„¹š»āāļøš®
My next fic is already underway - it's a Remmick X Reader enemies to lovers fic! If you're interested in that, keep an eye out for my Heaven Is Here (If You Want It) tag, or ask to join the taglist. You won't wanna miss it! ā¤ļøāš„
This is Chapter 10 of a slow-burn multi-chapter fic. Canon divergent AU. You don't have to have seen TNW to follow this, but it might help a bit. Reader is cis!female but otherwise not described, with no refs to race or appearance. No use of Y/N. Feedback very much appreciated, no matter how old this fic gets - PLEASE leave your thoughts in the comments!! š
X - Epilogue
Summertime. Dazzling azure skies, awash with golden light, shimmering in the bright, dry heat. The breeze, soft and gentle as a warm breath on my cheek, set the emerald grass shivering in the sunbeams. All was delicate and soft, the light a warm caress. I hummed softly, soaking it in. We had nowhere to be, no demands on our time; there was just the warmth and the grass, the birdsong and the chatter of insects, the occasional pearly cloud drifting overhead, and the distant peals of laughter as our children played.
She led the way, as she always did; our wild, fearless girl, our Cathy. Named Cathleen Sybil for her fatherās mother and mine, by six years old her resemblance to the Sumners was unmistakable. Glossy red hair fanned out behind her as she sprinted ahead, screaming with euphoric joy. She was small for her age, but built strong; shoulders broad, legs stocky, her little hands solid and capable. I could see so clearly what she would become. An independent, headstrong woman. Wilful. Intelligent. Powerful. She had inherited all this from me, though I hadnāt always been able to see it in myself.
Her brother hurried along behind her on unsteady legs, desperate to catch her but always a little too slow. Someday, he will grow tall, become a solid, vibrant young man; taller than his father, with auburn hair, an easy smile, and flashing, brilliant eyes. But for now he was a darling, clumsy boy, four years old, toddling along after his sister.
Iād known they were coming, of course. For years, Iād felt the weight of our children in my belly, heard snatches of their laughter, seen glimpses of their faces in my dreams. And yet there were still so many surprises, so many beautiful, strange, unexpected gaps that life had filled in. At his birth, the boy had barely cried. Instead, heād growled. Holding him in my arms once he was clean and swaddled, staring into his red face and his gleaming eyes, listening to him grumbling and growling, weād laughed. āIs he a boy or a bear cub?ā Iād asked. And that was that. From that moment on, our Patrick, our Little Pat - the child Iād been carrying when I had a vision in the bathtub and my terrified younger self, marooned in the arctic, had entered my body - was known affectionately by his parents and sister as Cub.
It amused Patrick to no end; once reborn from the body of a bear, he now had a cub of his own.
My husband was splayed out beside me on the grass, basking in the golden light; glowing with it, with the carefree serenity that only years of good sleep and gentle living could give a person. He was healthy, solid; heād put on weight gradually, as slowly as the laughter lines had begun to settle around his eyes, the silver hairs at his temples began to creep through the auburn. We were changing, together, by degrees, unstoppable and welcome as the tide. No matter, he was my Patrick still, and would be, always. Those eyes would still stop me in my tracks, staring at me with the same reverence as the night we met, even after years of marriage.
He shielded his face from the beaming sun to watch as Cathy, twirling with a grace sheād inherited from neither of us, slipped out of her brotherās reach once more. Patrick laughed, a full, joyous sound that was easily drawn from him these days.
ā-Catch her, Cub!!ā he cried, āGo on!! Catch her!!!ā His laughter still curled his lips as he spoke the words. Cub squealed, shrill and exuberant, and set off after Cathy again, buoyed by his encouraging shout. Patrick sighed, leaning back on his elbows to watch the children streaming over the grassy verge. It was a moment before he spoke again,his eyes tracking the meandering path of his son, the loping arcs his daughter cut over the grass as she outpaced her brother. Her laughter rose on the air like the smell of the magnolias. āHeād follow her anywhere,ā Patrick mused softly, and I inclined my head to him. āI think heād toddle off the edge of the world, if she went there first.ā I hummed in agreement.
āYes, heās utterly devoted to her. Remind you of anyone?ā Patrickās eyes left the children and met mine, mirroring the mischief in my face.
āMrs Sumner,ā he said with mock seriousness. āI hope youāre not trying to imply that I follow you around like a four-year-old, always a bit slow to catch you.ā
āNot at all, husband,ā I replied cheerfully. āI know full well you can catch me, or how would I be in my present condition?ā I indicated my belly, the swell just visible beneath my muslin shirtwaist and blue skirt where our third child curled within me, almost five monthsā grown. I knew this would be our second son, and most likely our last pregnancy, so I was embracing what I could, letting it soak into my bones like the sunlight.
Heād been conceived shortly after the news had come from England: Jacob Baxter had died penniless, friendless and alone in a draughty and dismal prison cell. Once a titan of the industry, a millionaire, a tycoon and profiteer of incomparable suffering, Baxterās life had turned to ashes by degrees. Heād never fully shaken the suspicion of Draxās death in his home, though his involvement was never proven. The investigation that followed uncovered his corruption and fraud, and it was for that he was jailed. Weād kept track of his trial and sentencing from afar, the updates unevenly spaced and delayed by the slow voyage across the sea. Hearing of his long, uncomfortable imprisonment had invigorated us, but news of his eventual death felt like a final, blissful emancipation from the Volunteer. The chapter was finally closed. Justice was served.
Patrick never mentioned it, and neither did I, but we both thought it: the ringās curse had claimed another. Where the jewel was now, I didnāt know, and had no wish to. I hoped it was lost, covered over by ocean or soot or sand, burning cold and unseen away from grasping hands and covetous eyes. And why worry about it? Our happiness was complete; the house with the green door and a thriving medical practice on the ground floor, our happy marriage and two beautiful children. Freedom felt like breathing out. The following month, I missed my courses. Baxter was dead, Drax was dead, the waves had closed over the whole sorry affair. And inside me was new life.
The boy had only recently begun to kick, and with each fluttering shift of his body beneath my skin visions of his life would flash across my mind. We'd call him William, after Patrickās adopted father. A quiet, gentle lad he would be, shyer than his brother and less headstrong than his sister, but clever; he would devour books like summer berries, the worlds contained within ink and paper tantalising and sweet on his burgeoning mind.
At seven, he will follow his fearless big sister up a tree, and he will fall. His arm will break in two places when he hits the ground, and Cathy - boisterous, unflappable Cathy - will run to the house with a bloodless face and tears streaming down her cheeks, begging for us to go to him. Patrick will sprint, find our boy in the grass and carry him home to me. We will lay him on the examination table in the surgery. Patrick will get to work setting his sonās broken arm while I hold the boy down and whisper soothing words into his ear. William, to his credit, will be stoic throughout, with only a few stray tears and whimpers betraying his pain. His eyes will be fixed on his father, on the practiced, gentle way he attends the wound, his manner of touching and treating and dressing. By the time the plaster cast hardens, he will have made up his mind to follow his father into this strange, fascinating world of bones and tissue and organs. He will study hard and graduate early from the best medical school in the country. Patrick will be overjoyed, will beam with pride when the sign on the door of his practice is amended to read SUMNER & SON.
I sighed with pleasure at the thought of the future, once so cold and dark and hopeless; now warm and gold and gentle. The baby turned within me, and I reached for Patrickās hand, guiding it to my belly so he could feel his son kick. He was as delighted by it as he had been the first time Cathy had kicked hard enough for him to feel it against his palm, and pulled me into his arms to rest my back against his chest, his hands encircling my bump. Maybe onlookers would have stared, would have tutted, would have shook their heads, but weād left our concerns for other peopleās judgement on the doorstep of Mrs Boothroydās boarding house. Our friends and neighbours here already thought we were pleasantly strange, gently eccentric: the doctor and his wife, who were warm and friendly but kept largely to themselves.
It was funny to imagine ourselves through the eyes of others, those who didnāt know us before we came here, and were ignorant of the Volunteer and our time in the north. To them, Patrick was merely a reserved and pragmatic man, rich enough to purchase our house in cash; their trusted doctor who preferred the company of his wife to the gentleman of the town. And me? I was well liked, with plenty of friends, though considered more than a little odd. Understandably, I suppose: I said strange things and would occasionally vanish into myself, coming to with a start and a murmur into my husbandās ear. Even stranger, Patrick would heed my words no matter how unfounded they seemed. If, on a gloriously sunny afternoon, I told him it would rain, he would pick up his umbrella without question before going on his rounds. The townsfolk, Patrickās patients, our neighbours and friends, all must have wondered at my independence, at his compliance to my will, at the intensity of our devotion to each other. We were, it was obvious to anyone, wildly in love. That was all we cared for anyone to know. The rest of it was as inconsequential as the fluttering of the leaves on the tree above us.
Weād sit here in the grass with our basket of fruit and bread and cheeses and watch our children play until sunset. This was the shape of our days now, when Patrick could be spared from the surgery, and would be until summer turned to autumn. Until my confinement began and we would await the birth of our son. Until the winter, which would be harsh and wet, and which we would spend cuddled round the fire with the children, the older ones marvelling at the new baby.
But all this was still so far away. William was barely a quickening; his bones inside me were still unmarred and whole as I cast them from my own flesh. His brain and heart and lungs were barely formed. My knowledge of what they would be, what his life would hold, was as strange and overwhelming as my visions had always been. But there was a gentleness to my visions now. I was no longer alone with my strange and terrible gift. I was loved, trusted, understood. Patrick heard my visions with tenderness and patience, consoling and comforting as needed, though this was rare now. My visions no longer inspired the confusion and terror they once had. Perhaps it was that our lives now were happy and gentle. Perhaps it was as Patrick thought and I had grown stronger, better at interpreting my dreams and the flashes of the future that came to me. In truth, the explanation was far simpler.
If my journey to the arctic and back had taught me anything, it was that while sorrow was inescapable, it was not allconsuming, and was worth enduring. There would be hard times, of course, but theyād be vastly outnumbered by good ones.
Our lives, like anyone elseās, would contain periods of sadness, of turmoil, of grief and sorrow. This was inevitable, intrinsic as these pains were to being alive at all. I could see them, but it no longer frightened me. It was as I had said to Patrick once, several years before on the Volunteer, back when I was another manās wife, before we had even kissed: āEven if what will happen will happen anyway, all the more reason to keep you alive today - it will happen later. Let it happen laterā. Good times and bad may wait over the horizon for us all, but let them stay there. What was important, what has always been important, was today; sitting beneath a tree in the arms of the man I loved, watching our children play in the sunshine.
CLCI-'s epilogue (and the entire story) changed my brain chemistry. I have pushed everyone I know into reading it, because... JUST READ IT. You will find out!
This feels like a warm hug under a summer sunlit glen.
And there is something about me and gathering life lessons from every bit of media I consume. I said it on my little review in the comment section and I will say it again over here: It is so hopeful without being naive! Repeat after me... The horrors persist but so do we!
