waitress!reader&linecook!frank what do we think their future is? i personally like a happy ending but idk if they end up together long term at least would he let her go to explore? would she come back?
LINECOOK FRANK HEADCANNONS
frank iero x reader
warnings: implied sexual content, sleazebag frank, age gap (reader is 19 frank is 28), unedited writing
notes: huge thanks to this request and @number1bulletsenjoyer for getting me back into the linecook groove. i love you sleazy linecook frank. best read as a continuation of SLEAZE and STAY THE NIGHT
- you give cecelia your two weeks notice on a tuesday. she tells you there's always a place for you at the diner. rico overhears and slips you a twenty and gives you a sad look for your next three shifts.
- you won't tell frank that you're leaving for another week. it slips out one night while you're staring up at his ceiling.
- somehow it sparks an argument. you tell him that there's got to be than just working at the diner your whole life. it's not meant to be a dig at him, but it comes out as one. after all he's been working at the same spot for over five years, with no plans of leaving. you sleep with your back to him that night.
- boston hits you in the face. life was moving past the diner. college acceptance letters, student loans, and dorm arrangements mean you have no time to message frank. you finally feel like you're doing something productive with yourself.
-your friends don't like frank. neither does your therapist. they say he's too old for you, that he's a deadbeat, and that he's this and that. part of you thinks they're right. but there's a tiny part of you that can't seem to get him off your mind
- you don't talk to him for almost four months. it hits you in july. you're hooking up with a guy you met on hinge, and you nearly tell him you love him, because you're imagining that he's frank while he kisses you.
- from there you make it a point to reach out. texts slip into phone calls, which becomes you moving his apartment come the next summer break. you settle. youre happy with your decision. happy with choosing frank. maybe, in a few years, you’ll grow up and realize what you've settled for. but for now ignorance is bliss.
summary: youre not slick…especially not when macklin is in your comment section. its just not in the job description.
warning: reader has a face claim, i don’t know anything about running a radio station, not proofread !
note: shameless plug for music that i like.
liked by ksufradio, user1, user3, and 776 others
youruser meet your host ! i’ll be spinning tunes every tuesday from 6-8pm, so tune into kusf radio <3 first official song of the week is ‘cemetery baby’ off of girl in a coma’s fourth album, ‘exits and all the rest’. it’s a favorite of mine and the album will eternally remind me of my momma. they’re an all girl indie rock band from texas…with word of a new album in the works :0
ksufradio welcome to the team !! cant wait to hear the bangers !
youruser can’t wait to play for you guys !
user1 she looks like she knows ball
youruser⛹️♀️
user2 excited !!!
user3 baddie radio host i WILL be tuning in
friend2 mi baby made it !
friend3 dancing in my living room !!!
youruser💃💃🎶
liked by mackcelebrini, ksufradio, user3, and 832 others
youruser song of the week is…. ‘gentle on my mind’ by glenn campbell ! this 70s country star has a claim to fame with hits like ‘southern nights’ and ‘rhinestone cowboy’, but this track is much softer and sweeter ! nothing like some good ol’ country longing to start off your tuesday !
youruser honorable mention to the roger miller version of this same song as well !
user4 living for all these recommendations
user3 do you have a playlist of all the songs you played today ? such a specific genre run and i loved it
youruser i do ! i always get so nervous playing songs that are out of the mainstream genre but soso happy people liked the broadcast today !
friend3 🤠🤠🤠
user2 macklin celebrini in the likes of an independent college radio broadcaster…
user5 i never thought id live to see the day
user12 maybe it’s a way to drive up engagement ?
user1 it’s not. i have a class with her. she’s giddy and it doesn’t seem like there was an arrangement
user7 get a load of these guys. it’s none of your business
liked by mackcelebrini, thegrinns, user3, and 845 others
youruser song of the week is ‘cynthia’ by the grinns! socal based indie pop band, with four banging albums out, they released their first album ‘golden hour’ in 2018. if you like their sound on cynthia, ride out the hype with ‘joy’ or ‘float away’ ! they’re absolutely amazing live, and i highly recommend checking them out if you ever get the chance !
thegrinns ❤️❤️
youruser !!! love you guys
user2 this is my niche….im scared. whats next…she’s gonna play rangoo ?
youruser queuing them up, i loveee ‘heart out of control’ <3
user4 is this technically three songs of the week ?
mackcelebrini 🔥🔥
youruser sending a recommendation playlist your way 👀
user5 no wayyy.
friend2 shooting her shot in the public comments smh
youruser please shut up
friend3 blessing us with your music
youruser i do what i can to make yall cool
liked by mackcelebrini, friend3, friend4, and 876 others
youruser song of the week is ‘sea of love’ by cat power ! singer chan marshall was born in georgia, and draws from influences like blues, soul, and good ol’ rock and roll. another song that reminds me of momma and sounds to me like meeting for coffee and new beginnings :)
friend1 i spy with my little eye shoes i do not recognize
youruser 😐😐
friend2 i need your location asap
youruser you already have me on life360 😾
friend2 i don’t like your attitude
friend3 who is this
friend3 where do they live
friend3 social security number
youruser jfc i might as well give you his credit card number too…
user3 her friends are so funny
mackcelebrini ☕️ thanks for the cd !
youruser anytime ;))
friend2 oh.
liked by mackcelebrini, friend2, friend3 and 899 others
youruser song of the week is ‘these days’ by dr dog !! my go to road trip song no matter where i’m going or who im going with. if you tune into kusf you won’t hear from me next tuesday as i’ll be in canada (hooray!) but i’ll be back the week after, spinning all the tunes you know and love !
friend1 miss you already 😿
youruser sitting in your dorm posting this🙄
mackcelebrini 🇨🇦🇨🇦
youruser poutine fries are calling my name…
user3 have fun and take pictures !!
user4 anyone else putting two and two together with this canada trip…?
kusfradio we’ll miss your tunes :(
youruser i’ll be back soon !
friend2 take lots of pictures !
youruser 📸📸
liked by friend1, mackcelebrini, friend3, and 954 others
youruser song of the week is…..‘easy girl’ by coconut records ! if you didn’t know, this is an “indie pop solo project” by jason schwartzman ! tap in wes anderson-heads :p moonrise kingdom was on repeat at my house…but fantastic mr fox will always be my favorite movie ever !
friend1 call it love song of the week atp
youruser should i ??? 🥸🥸
friend1 no
mackcelebrini i like this one !
youruser putting you on !! 😁
user2 soft launch on the radio account is killing me
user4 i am connecting dots no one even thought about…
friend3 banger songs banger movies
youruser always !!
liked by mackcelebrini, friend1, friend2, and 998 others
youruser it’s friday i’m in love ! today’s song of the week is ‘each and everyday’ by best coast ! if you liked girl in a coma you’ll love best coast…an indie rock duo from good ol’ los angeles. while currently on hiatus you might know them from the song ‘go away’, done in collaboration with weezer. and as you may have guessed….it’s hard launch season! this song reminds me of summer and now that the days are getting warmer i’ll share it with you all !
user4 oh that’s a macklin…
youruser it is !
friend1 babe…it’s tuesday
youruser i know that silly !
mackcelebrini love this song. and love you
youruser love you more !
youruser putting this song on your mixtape 💋
friend2 so stinking cute
youruser😼😼😽
user2 relationship or not…mama provides with the bangers !
could you go in depth on waitress!reader&linecook!frank like their first hook up
STAY THE NIGHT
frank iero x fem!reader
summary: you spend the night at your sleazy coworkers apartment.
warnings: allusion to sex, douchebag loser frank, age gap (frank is 28 reader is 19), linecookverse, unedited writing.
notes: loveeee pathetic loser douche frank. can be read as a continuation of SLEAZE, or as a standalone
frank was in a bad mood. he’d burnt three blt melts and cussed out cecilia twice and it was barely five o’clock.
it was thursday, and unusually slow for a week day. the kind of slow where you roll and then re-roll napkins just to have something to do.
everyone’s a little restless, and frank is in a mood.
you’re getting the brunt of it.
“table fours been waiting” you call through the pass through window.
“i heard you the first time,” he snaps, not looking up at you.
your hands find their way to your hips and you’re biting back before you can stop yourself. “who do you think you’re talking to like that?”
he’s slamming the spatula down on the counter like it personally wronged him. “you wanna cook it yourself ?”
you raise an eyebrow. “sure. maybe it won’t be as burnt as your last one.”
he’s looking at you like he’s annoyed, but he’s got this glint in his eye that makes you squirm. you are so not into this.
“someone’s real mouthy tonight,” he barks. the rest of the kitchen falls silent.
“you’re dramatic,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes.
“you’re trying to piss me off.”
“i’m trying to do my job.”
rico passes you a tray, prepped and ready for your table fours. the kitchen air is awkward as you smile and walk out to the front of house.
☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎
you ignore him for the rest of your shift. order tickets are passed through rico, and you can hear frank banging pans in the kitchen.
he’s practically vibrating by close. you clock out without looking at him.
it’s just your luck that it’s raining. the bus doesn’t come for another twenty minutes and you’re guaranteed to be soaked through if you start walking now.
franks voice comes from behind you, quiet and softer then you’ve heard it all day.
“you taking the bus,” he asks
“yeah.”
“it’s late.”
“i’ve done it before.”
he shrugs like he’s never wounded your pride in the first place. “i’ll give you a ride.” that makes you scoff. “‘m serious. can’t have a creep takin’ advantage of my angel.”
you consider telling him no. you could always just brave the rain and start walking. but he gives you a look and you sigh. he’s a convincing son of a bitch, you’ll give him that much.
his car is loud. the windows rattle when he accelerated; and the brakes are obviously due for maintenance. you can feel him staring at you as you look out the window.
“you’re ignoring me.” he says finally.
“am not.”
“are too.”
“you’re an asshole” you huff.
“yeah.“
he pulls in front of your apartment, but you don’t get out. not yet.
“wanna come over?” he asks, all casual like. “we can watch something. i’ve got beer.”
you should probably say no. you figure he thinks you’re easy because you’re young and dumb. you should absolutely say no, but you don’t.
“you’re in a bad mood,” you counter.
“not anymore.” he shrugs and your stomach flips. now’s your chance to shut him down.
“fine,” you say instead.
☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎
his apartment is smaller than you thought it would be. it smells like cigarettes and laundry detergent, and there’s a draft somewhere. he’s got a pile of clothes on an armchair and an ashtray in desperate need of being emptied out.
he tosses you a beer and you sit in the far side of the couch, making sure to leave a thick margin of space between you.
he puts on some dumb horror flick that you’re too nervous to pay attention to, because you’re distracted by the way he’s inching closer.
his knee brushes yours and you don’t move. then his arm stretches behind you and his fingers find their way to your hair.
“you’re still mad at me.” he murmurs.
you take a sip of your beer. “you were being a dick.”
“i was stressed.”
“you’re a jerk.”
he studies you in the flicker of the tv. your heart flickers over itself.
“yeah,” he breaths. you ignore the way his eyes drip to your lips. “but you like it.”
you say nothing at all. you shouldn’t be smiling, but you are and it’s giving you away. his hand slides from the couch to the back of your neck and you freeze. this is real.
“you gonna keep pretending you don’t wanna kiss me?” the way he tilts his head is driving you crazy.
he doesn’t wait for your permission. he’s got you by the chin, kissing you hard on the mouth. it’s teeth and tongue and something that’s been simmering there for months.
you’re not sure when you end up in his lap, but your hands are tangled in his hair, and he’s kissing down your nick like he’s starving,
“you ignored me all night,” he says. lips soft against the too high hickey that you’ll have to cover in the morning.
“you deserved it.”
he smirks, you shiver, and the rest is a blur, it’s messy and impatient. teeth nipping at skin and the couch creaking under the weight of it all.
he kisses you like he argues, sharp, and mean, and like he’s trying to come out winning. you dish it right back.
☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎
you wake up tangled in sheets that smell like him. for a second you consider sneaking out through the fire escape, but you don’t.
he’s making you breakfast like it’s the most natural thing to do. like this was inevitable.
you tell yourself that this was just a hook up as you sit at the counter in one of his band tees. you swear it’ll never happen again as he slides a plate of eggs in front of you–made just the way you like them.
whatever this was, was a one time thing. a thoughtless mistake that you wouldn’t be making again.
right?
he leans over your shoulder, mouth brushing your ear. “same time tomorrow?” he says it like he already knows the answer.
summary: you may or may not have a thing for the (older) sleazy line cook at your job
warnings: sleazebag frank, age gap (frank is 28 reader is 19), implied sexual content, strong language, unedited writing.
note: i loveeee writing douchebag frank. inspired by @cryobabiess linkcookverse….
the kitchen smells like bacon grease, stale coffee, and something burnt.
frank works the stove like he was born to be behind it. all glinting tattoos in fluorescent lights and expert movements over the grill. he keeps his hair back with a greasy baseball cap and there’s a cigarette tucked behind his ear even though cecelia–your manager–told him to stop smoking in the walk in fridge. you’re not staring.
he smiles at you like he knows something you don’t as he slides a plate your way.
“order up babe. burger and zucchini fries.” it’s always babe with you. or sweetheart. never your name even though you know he knows it.
he’s a grade a douche. he pinches your ass in the walk in, and ogles your tits a little too obviously when you’re on your smoke break. you let him anyway. maybe it’s because you like him better than any of your other coworkers. or because you have a thing for sleazy guys with tattoos.
he makes blatant passes at you, and always reeks of weed, but it’s almost flattering. besides, you’re a sucker for the attention. god you needed to get a grip.
☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎
the first time you spend the night at his place is also supposed to be the last. and you definitely weren’t supposed to hook up with him.
but it’s raining that night, and he makes you sit and wait for him at one of the booths. he says it’s because he can’t have his angel taking this bus in this weather.
his car smells like pot and cheap cologne and dishwater and mistakes.
it was never supposed to be a thing between you two.
you were nineteen and new to the city. all wide eyed and stupid. he was twenty eight and knew every back alley taco spot in the city that was worth knowing.
he told you all about the bands he almost joined and the fights he definitely won (he didn’t) and it became a routine.
he’d text you a quick ‘you alive?’ after his shifts, and you’d go waltzing through his apartment door like you belonged there.
your hair would smell like coffee, and he’d press you into his mattress just to watch you squirm in one of his band tees.
truthfully you’re not into dating. one too many bad hinge dates had turned you off from that scene for a while. but being with an older guy is fun. he treats you like a princess and you treat it like a game, ignoring the idea that you’re seeing no one else but frank. you’re definitely not attached.
☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎
you tell yourself it’s casual when he doesn’t even knock at your front door anymore, even though it’s midnight and you shouldn’t have given him the key. you’re not attached, you’re just having fun.
he calls you babe in front of rico, the prep guy, and you beam. it’s not like he ever asked you to be his girlfriend, and you’re way too naïve to ask him what you are anyway. it’s natural the way you slip into something that looks an awful lot like a train wreck k of a relationship.
he lets you pick the music in his shitty sedan (you can’t hear the stereo over the sound of the engine.) he smiled at you from across the kitchen and makes you feel wanted.
you know he’s a loser. really you do. what kinda guy pushing thirty goes for girls your age?
he argues with cecelia about the schedule and still talks about some shitty punk bands that broke up before you were even born. he still wears the same three ratty band tees on rotation.
you know it won’t last forever. one day you’ll wake up and realize there’s someone out there that’s better for you. someone with a couch that doesn’t sag in the middle and a real five year plan.
but you’re nineteen and don’t know any better, and settling down with the idea that frank is enough for you.
there’s no harm in a guy who calls you his girl, and looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room. it’s all you could ever want.
summary: he only loves you like he means it when it’s after dark.
warnings: undefined relationships, frank is a douche lowkey, angst with a happy ending, jealousy maybe, mild language, unedited writing
note: set some time in 2011, somewhere along the world contamination tour !
texas looked beautiful in pictures. all blistering sun and the shimmering heat that made your clothes stick to your skin.
your ribs were bruised from the night before where a crowdsurfer tumbled over the barricade and straight onto you. the ache almost made you want to stretch out onto the baking asphalt that trailed between the bus and the skyline
the heat is like a weight bearing down on your shoulders as you wandered through the venue. the show started in three hours and half the crew was working on load in.
anthony green–from circa survive, the opening band– waves you over, doing his best to entice you with a cup of gas station coffee with your name on it.
anthony was doing headstands when you’d met him. he was sweet and he was good, and he made you feel like a person…like you mattered. anthony was comfortable, and sitting in silence or talking up a storm with him, he made you feel cared for.
he sat on one of the amps with you during sound check. flimsy styrofoam cup in one hand and cellphone full of pictures of his wife and kids in another, he asks you about home the way people do when they actually want an answer.
you talk about california like you’ll never see it again. all blue skies and palm trees and burning heatwaves that signal the change into summer. california doesn’t taste of dust like texas does, and you’re homesick for your moms living room. anthony tells you he misses home too, talking about how he misses his wife meridith more than anything. he shows you pictures of his boys and it makes you smile.
anthony talks like he sings. open and full of love. and he listens with understanding. like you’re the only person in the world. it feels good to be listened to in the daylight.
when you’re not melting in the texas heat, you take pictures. actually, the correct way to put it would be that you hide behind your camera lens. it’s easier that way. everything is masked in digital pixels and it’s so much more tolerable.
frank is the one who brought you on this tour as a photographer, all smiles and promises of a good time. most nights he sits beside you in the tour bus and begs to see your pictures, asking you to print him his favorite ones.
now though, standing twenty feet away he’s all motion and buzzing energy. he doesn’t look at you, and when he does it’s never the sweet way he does at night. it makes you queasy
☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎
the texas sky seems endless after dusk. you never realized how many stars could exist in one place.
frank finds you where he always does, tucked behind the bus with your camera thrown over your shoulder. his hand slips into yours like it’s nothing, and he kisses you like he’s telling you a secret.
“i love you,” he says, and you believe him. even though he makes you feel like shit all the time.
you sleep curled next to him in his bunk that night, and you know the caring way he brushes his thumb against your skin won’t last long.
☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎
come morning, frank breezes past you like you don’t exist. anthony looks at you in a worried way. almost like he knows how you feel.
“you don’t have to live inside your camera all the time you know. we could do something fun for once.” his idea of fun is going to a texas waffle house at three in the afternoon. as much as you feel like you’re going to die in that waffle house, you have to give anthony props. you did feel alive.
you realize you’re hiding from something, but you don’t have the guts to find out what.
☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎
the nights show is successful, naturally.
cheap beer and filtered cigarettes are passed around in celebration, and frank finds you behind the bus again.
he kisses you, and you sigh, because your heart is breaking behind your aching ribs. it kills you that he acts the way he does, kissing you at night like you’re the only important thing he has, only to pretend you didn’t share a bed the next morning.
“why do i only exist to you when it’s dark ?” you ask, feeling like you’re about to cry. you only ask because you feel like you can’t take it anymore.
he frowns like he doesn’t understand.
“how come you only say you love me when there’s no one else around frank?”
he sighs like he was waiting for the day you would ask. “you wouldn’t understand. it’s different when you have so much in front of you…when you have so many people invested in every little thing you do.
you pretend to understand, and he continues. “i want something that’s just for me. no one else but me.”
“it’s not fair.” you realize you’re pleading with him. “i don’t think i can do this if you’re going to pretend like i’m not there. i need someone who loves me all the time frank.”
“okay,” is all he says. he squeezes your hand and then disappears back into the texas night.
you think you’re over before you’ve even began. the cicadas are so loud .
☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎
the sun is brutal, despite it only being mid morning. anthony hands you a water bottle, his knee pressing against yours as he sits.
“you look like you didn’t sleep,” he says. not prying, just kind.
“didn’t,” you answer
he nods like that’s enough. like you don’t owe him explanation.
with anthony it’s easy. it’s siting cross legged on the pavement, and easy laughter, and everything you want with frank (everything you can’t seem to have).
he sits with you until soundcheck, and smiles at you apologetically. you’re alone again.
or only for a moment. frank’s presence scares the shit out of you for a second. the silence scares you more.
“hi,” he says. “i thought about what you said…”
and then he kisses you, and the world keeps moving on. the crew continues the load in, and your heart is full.
“i love you. all the time,” he says, kissing you sweetly. like he means it this time.
Hi could you do a frank x fem!reader fluff-angst and its set in the im not okay universe?? Thank you xx
RITUALS
frank iero x fem!reader
summary: frank iero is chaos in the hallways and softness at your lab table. when he decides you deserve better than him, he stops stealing your pencil, and starts breaking your heart instead.
warnings: fluff, angst, unedited writing
note: thank you for the request!
frank iero confused you.
on one hand, he beat up kids in the hallway, hid in lockers, and scared people shitless. he was a menace to the students and faculty of saint cecilias, and the definition of a juvenile delinquent. or at least that’s what everyone said.
frank iero, your chemistry seat partner was nothing like that. he passed you notes and helped you with your geometry homework. he smiled at you, said thank you when you took his chemistry notes for him, and waved at you in the hallways (to your delight and the horror of your friends.
frank iero, known punk and resident player of saint cecilia’s private school confused you and set your stomach alight with butterflies.
he always bumped his knee against yours when he dropped into the seat beside you. not in a rude way, because he was never mean to you, but just enough of a nudge to make you look at him.
“move over,” he’d mutter, even though there was more than enough room for the two of you.
he’d steal your pencil every single class, twirling it between his fingers like it belonged to him. you’d let him use it too, because he’d bat his eyelashes at you in a way that made your face warm. you’d hand him one you kept in your bag just for him.
he would tug lightly at the ends of your hair when you would try to angle your notebook away from him. he’d flick paper balls at you across the table during labs, and nudge your ankle with the toe of his boot when you ignored him.
sometimes he’d lean in close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath brush the shell of your ear.
“hey,” he’d whisper, voice always soft, stripped of the performative hard edge it carried when he talked to his friends. “what’d you get for number three?”
his cologne (heady and intertwined with the smell of cigarettes) would curl into your lungs and make it impossible for you to think straight. you’d pretend to focus on the periodic table while your pulse stumbled over itself.
“you’re smarter than me anyway,” he’d murmur, eyes flicking up to meet yours, all dark lashes and something unreadable beneath them.
frank iero, your lab partner, looked at you like you were something softer. like you were the only person in the world
and maybe that was why you never questioned it — the way his shoulder pressed against yours while you measured chemicals, the way his fingers brushed yours when you both reached for the same beaker, the way he lingered after the bell rang, gathering his things slowly while you packed up too fast.
it felt routine.
it felt harmless.
it felt right.
that meant you noticed when he didn’t bump his knee against yours on tuesday.
he dropped into his chair like always — backpack slung carelessly, chair scraping loud against tile — but his leg stayed firmly on his side of the lab table. you waited for the nudge. his usual careless contact. the familiar pressure against your leg you had gotten used to in the morning, but it never came. you told yourself it was nothing.
on wednesday he brought his own pencil.
it felt like a line in the sand. he didn’t reach for yours. didn’t twirl it. didn't do anything he used to.
during lab, he measured the chemicals himself. he didn’t lean over your shoulder. didn’t murmur for answers. didn’t let his breath ghost warm against your ear. when your fingers brushed reaching for the same beaker, he pulled back first.
“sorry,” he muttered. that’s how you knew something was wrong. frank iero never said sorry.
you tried to talk to him the next day, because maybe acting like everything was okay would make it so. “did you study for this?” you smiled, keeping your voice light, like you weren’t holding yourself together at the seams.
“yeah,” he said, eyes fixed on the page. “it’s not hard.”
And he was right…sort of. it wasn't hard to miss him, even though he was sitting right there.
you had memorized the weight of his knee against yours, and learned the exact tilt of his smile when he was about to steal your pencil. he didn’t stay after the bell rang the way he used to.
you caught him once, staring at you in the hallway. not soft. not teasing the way it used to be. this time it was something tighter. something almost angry. and when your eyes met, he looked away first.
something was wrong.
you saw him after third period had let out, the hallway loud and suffocating and alive. lockers slamming. voices echoing. someone yelling about a quiz. and there he was.frank iero, shoving gerard way into a row of lockers hard enough to make them rattle like he always did. gerard shoved him back, laughing, and frank’s laugh burst out too loud, too bright, all teeth and chaos.
he looked electric. untouchable. like he hadn’t spent the last two days building a careful, invisible wall between you.
he dragged a hand through his hair, grinning at something ray said and kicked at a backpack on the floor just because he could. he was the same hallway frank that everyone expected.that was what made it worse. because he wasn’t quiet, he wasn’t distant, he wasn’t strange, not with them. only with you.
he always looked for you mid-laugh. like he knew where you stood without trying, but this time he didn’t. you stood there, stubborn, until his eyes caught yours, if only for a second. something heavy, guilty flickered there, until he looked away. he laughed again, like it was nothing shoved gerard harder. like he had something to prove.
everyone said frank was a punk. hardcore. more than a little rough around the edges, and after a few weeks you were stating to believe that that was true.
you found him behind the gym after school on thursday, sitting on the concrete steps, elbows on his knees, cigarette unlit between his fingers like he’d forgotten it was there.
“are you mad at me?” you asked. your voice was smaller than you meant it to be. he didn’t look up at first.
“no.” he answered too quick.
you swallowed. “then why are you acting like I did something?” that made him look at you. and god, that was worse. because he didn’t look angry. he looked wrecked.
“you didn’t,” he said, quieter. “that’s the problem.”
you stepped closer, slowly, like he was a stray dog getting ready to bolt. “frank—”
“i thought,” he interrupted, laughing once under his breath, but there was no humor in it. “i thought if i just… pulled back a little, you’d stop.”
“stop what?”
“looking at me like that.”
the confession didn’t come out dramatic. it came out tired.
“like what?” you whispered.
“like i’m not…” he hesitated. jaw tight. “like i’m not the guy everyone says i am.”and there it was, not jealousy, not boredom, but fear.
you moved in front of him fully now. close enough that your knees almost touched.
“ but you’re not,” you reasoned.
he shook his head. “you don’t get it. you’re—” he gestured vaguely at you, frustrated. “you’re good… youre smart. you're gonna get a scholarship and get out of here…”
“and you wont?”
his mouth twitched. “i’m one bad decision away from getting expelled on a good day.”
“frank.”
“i didn’t want you getting dragged into my mess.” his voice broke on the last word, barely noticeable. “so i figured if i just… stopped. you’d be better off.”
There was that ache. the kind that sits in your ribs and doesn’t scream, but just burns its way to your heart.
you reached for him first, cupping his jaw with both hands like he was something breakable.“you don’t get to decide that for me.” he went still under your touch. softer than he ever let himself be in the hallways.“i missed you,” you said.
his composure shattered quietly. he stood too fast, hands finding your waist, then your shoulders, then finally pulling you into him like he needed proof you were real.
the frank iero who had you pushed gently against the wall wasn’t hardcore, or reckless. he was shaking, holding on to you like you would disappear if he let go.
“i’m sorry,” he breathed against your hair. over and over. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry.”
and when he kissed you, it wasn’t wild. it was desperate in the quietest way, like he was afraid you’d change your mind, like his life depended on it —
you smiled into it.
because the hallway frank might belong to everyone else. but this one, this softer…sweeter version was yours.
gerard and the reader gets into a passive aggressive fight, which slowly escalates into a more heated argument:3 (sorry if this is vague or anything)
SHE'S IN PARTIES
gerard way x gn!reader
summary: gerard always managed to harsh your buzz. you can’t stand him…but you couldn’t seem to hate him no matter how hard you tried
warnings: enemies to lovers trope (maybe?), mature language, partying, frequent mention of drinking + drug use, mentions of sickness/illness, general emetophobia warning, unedited writing
note: thank you for the request! honestly this was a blast to write and i hope you enjoy ! veeeery loosely based off of the parties i used to go to in high school lol.
“i did not throw up on her shoes! that was a rumor…plus i don’t think i ever met her anyway…” you laughed as you told the story.
college was treating you just fine. and the party scene? hell, that was even better. your weekends were defined by three day benders, raging hangovers, and practically every kind of alcohol a person could get their hands on.
right now, the speakers were cranked up to eleven, and you were walking the line between tipsy and totally fucked over. god…this was the life.
or at least it would have been…if not for someone shoulder checking you so hard you bounced into a table. you didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was. their voice only confirmed it, with a, “watch where you’re going fuckface!”
your nose wrinkled as you turned to look at the guy in the striped jumper who had just scolded you. it made you wonder if he tried to be a buzzkill on purpose.
“don’t be an asshole,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. you weren’t sure who walked off first, but you stared at him across the room.
gerard way fucking hated your guts, you could tell that much. you, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to hate him no matter how hard you tried. the sliver of admiration that burned through you always seemed to win out. he was smug, and mean, and annoyingly beautiful, to the point where you couldn’t keep your eyes off him.
naturally, you downed a few extra shots that night, hoping to stop thinking about him.
☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎
gerard seemed to try to wreck your mood every chance he got. whenever the night would bleed into colored lights and too loud music, he’d seem to show up and ruin things. it was like he existed solely to annoy you.
of course, antagonizing him didn’t help anything. if you were thinking rationally, you would have realized that. but that would never happen, because by your third drink rationality was long gone.
he always knew how to push your buttons, and you couldn’t seem to bring yourself to hate him for it. not even when he made it a point to reach for a drink from the cooler you were standing in front of…even there were at least three others in the same room.
“why do you always show up at every party i’m already at?” your voice was sharper than you intended, but if he cared, he didn’t show it.
“it’s almost like we go to the same college, and know the same people,” he fired back. and he was right. damn him.
“get a life, and find your own fuckin’ scene.” you hissed, before you could stop yourself.
“you’re not a bouncer jackass. i can party wherever the hell i want.”
“whatever. just back the fuck off and leave me alone gerard. jesus christ…”
this time, it would end the way it always did. you’d both hurl a few more choice words at the other, before walking away. the highlight of your night would come in the form of shooting dirty looks at gerard from across the room.
of course, you would be too drunk to realize that he was already looking at you.
☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎
you pushed your way to the kitchen, wiping at the damp spot on your shirt, where someones drink stained the fabric. you weren’t sure if gerard had done it on purpose, but you wouldn’t put it past him with the way he was trailing behind you, fuming.
“could you be any more of an idiot?” he snapped
“you’re calling me an idiot? that’s rich coming from the asshole who spilled his drink on me!” people were starting to stare, and you felt sick as you realized that now you were the drunk person making a scene at the party.
“what is your problem?” he asked, feigning innocence, or ignorance. and that was it. you tipped over the edge you didn’t realize you were standing on.
“my problem?” you repeated, words tumbling out in a messy, drunken rush. “i used to like you you know? all i ever wanted was to get along with you, but you’re a miserable prick. i don’t know what i did to get you to treat me like this.”
“ever consider pulling your head out of your ass,” he retorted. “you’re the one making an ass of yourself all the time.”
he had you there. damn it all, you would be blackout drunk by the end of the night, and end up making yourself look like an idiot/. you knew you would be.
☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎
an hour later, and you’d forgotten about most of it, even though your shirt still smelled like tequila. between the shots you’d taken and the thrum of the speaker in your bones, you felt fuzzy, and numb and alive. but…
oh god you were going to hurl.
ironically, of all people, it was gerard that found you emptying your guts in the upstairs bathroom, drunk and crying and such an awful mess it was almost embarrassing.
you expected him to insult you, or to bring up the argument in the kitchen, or make the situation worse.
he didn’t do any of those things though, and he seemed genuine when he knelt beside you and asked if you were okay.
your voice was shaky when you finally answered. “i live my life in parties…isn’t that just pathetic?”he looked confused, and you continued to bear your soul from the tile floor.
“i mean i really am a miserable bitch. anything interesting that’s ever happened to me happened at a party. everyone i know is someone i met at a party. i’m horrible ”
“but that doesn’t make you a horrible person.”
“you of all people should think that i’m horrible. all i ever do is act like an asshole to you…”
he didn’t say anything after that, and neither did you. not a word when he brushed your hair back, or placed a cool water bottle in your hand. for some reason, that only made you feel worse.
☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎
that night had been a wake up call for you. you finally admitted you yourself that you were miserable with the way you were doing things. so you toned it down at parties, started focusing on your course work, and for once–actually made it a point to avoid gerard.
two weeks passed and you hadn’t seen him once. until tonight
the party seemed so fomal, a total contrast to the others you had been attending. you felt so out of place, standing in the kitchen alone, because you didn’t seem to know anyone. it made you restless.
truthfully, gerard was the last person you would have thought to have seen at the party. but he was there, wearing an oasis shirt, and smiling at you in a way that looked more like a truce than anything.
“need a ride home?” he asked, and it felt almost strange to be talking to him like this.
you would have said no, but the party was dying and there you were in his passenger seat. the streetlights caught the lines and curve of his face and you almost thought he looked pretty.
for a moment it was silent, unspoken apologies heavy between you. his voice was soft when he finally spoke up. “for what it’s worth, y’know i never hated you.”
you catch yourself before you can scoff, because you aren’t sure what to say. “you could have fooled me.”
“i know i was harsh. but it’s like you just…get under my skin. and it’s like i couldn’t ignore you if i tired.”
“gerard…i don’t know what you want me to say to that”
“you don’t have to say anything. i’m just putting it out there.”
for once he seemed sincere, and you wanted to believe him. the way he was looking at you made your face warm. he was smiling at you, soft and sweet, and like something you hadn’t seen before and everything felt so heavy.
“the light is green…” your voice felt detached from you, and you watched as he leaned in slowly, taking your face in his hands. you could smell his cologne and see the streetlight reflecting in his eyes and…
“is this okay?”
you nodded, and he met you halfway, kissing you. he was gentle, and sweet, hands sliding back to the nape of your neck. for a moment you were confused…because you were kissing gerard but after a moment it seemed like everything…the tension and the anger and whatever else had been standing between the two of you had melted away.
the car lurched forward as his foot slid off the gas and you laughed. the night was hardly over, and somehow, there was this thick feeling in you gut that many more would end just like this.
summary : everyone sees him a different way. but to you, he's just frank.
warnings: short and sweet, language, unedited writing.
note: wrote this on the way home from wwwyf ! happy october :)
it’s easy to get tunnel vision when you’re on the road all the time. it feels like you have to be “on” every waking moment. it’s exhausting.
if it wasn’t for frank you’d have left a million times over. he made it easy to take a step back from touring and looking at the little things. he reminded you what day it was when you lost track of the weeks spinning by. he was sweet and he was good and he was everything you wanted in a best friend and more.
he’d make you laugh until you were dizzy, and push you to your limit, and he’d even go easy on you when you played guitar hero. to most people he was frank iero, the guitarist from my chemical romance. to you, he’s just frank.
☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎
“hey frank, i’m fixing socks if you need anything done.” laundry was done once a week…if you were so lucky. coin laundries and dry cleaners and rest stop showers, and the smell of soap all reminded you of frank…because of course it did. who else would it be that you thought of? “they better be fucking clean. ‘m not gonna touch your dirty socks again dude.”
trading off on chores was routine on tours like this. you would mend the guys’ clothes, frank would do laundry, gerard would grab food and so on and so on and so on forever. it was natural, and it was easy, and it was right. especially with frank.
the two of you would settle on the couch on the bus, sewing kit in one lap and song book in another. he’d tell you a story you were pretty sure had never happened, and you would hem his shirts or sew on another patch somewhere.
that was just how things worked–the two of you finding your own rhythm just like you did on stage. you’d tap your foot along to the sound of pen on paper, and he’d hum along to the sound of your breathing.
☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎
you could think of more than one situation where you’d been alone with frank. he’d taken you by the hand and helped you navigate through backstage sets. you’ve stood outside takeout spots, freezing to death with your hands in jacket pockets just so he could have some company.
but it had never felt like this.
frank–your frank–had always had this grounding aura about him, some sort of constant through out it all. but now, sitting beside you, he seemed just nervous, something different hiding in his eyes alongside the flush in his cheeks and the adrenaline glimmer.
you try to convince yourself that maybe it’s because it’s late. the two of you are the only ones left awake in the bus, sitting together on the couch after all. maybe it’s the way his thigh is pressed against yours because you're seated shoulder to shoulder, or the way that neither of you have said a word since you climbed out of the cold.
maybe it’s this or maybe it’s that…you don’t know.
“can i tell you something?” his voice is soft and his eyes carry a fondness that scares you. you can’t help but nod anyway. “you have to promise you won’t get mad though.”
“okay. i swear.” his nerves are contagious, and your mind races with all the things he could possibly say. what could be so big it makes frank nervous?
“i love you. like a lot. like i’ve been in love with you since before this tour started and it makes me feel like i’m on fire. it keeps me up at night, and it’s driving me crazy that you don’t know…y’know? and i just…i just had to tell you. i had to tell you that everything i do is for you, and it always has been and it always will be.”
and oh.
you’re whispering because you don’t want to wake the others–not now, not with this moment unraveling so perfectly between you. but it suddenly all starts to fall into place, and you’re spewing an equally heartfelt–and quite honestly sappy–confession back at him. because it’s frank and you’d be stupid to say you didn’t love him too.
it makes you dizzy when he asks to kiss you, and you feel like a teenager all over again when he finally does. because it’s silly that you’ve waited this long to recognize the way that you felt, when it’s all been right there.
he kisses you like nothing else matters…because nothing really does. it’s just you and frank–who’s gone from being your friend to something more.
☠︎☠︎☠︎☠︎
the thing about frank is that he makes everything so easy. he makes loving him so easy. maybe down the road you would realize that you had something better to do then darning socks. but for now you didn’t mind.
literally anything with gerard way please im begging
FORGET ME
gerard way x gn!reader
summary: you can’t tell if you’re unwelcome in the band, or if you’re reading too much into things. maybe it would be best if you just left…
warnings: angst! , language, non edited writing. a happy ending if you read between the lines.
note: thank you for the request!!! i hope you enjoy ! i’ve seen several ideas like this and i finally thought i’d try my hand with a band scenario :)
you wished things were simpler.
you wished gerard wouldn’t toy with your feelings the way he did. you wished there was more to it all then holding hands in the darker corners of the backstage lots. you wished you could show more than shy glances and quiet whispers when you were wrapped together in hotel beds. you wished you actually knew what you had with him.
you wished he wasn’t the lead singer and that you weren’t just the drummer.
for once, you wanted to be selfish…to put your foot down and scream, and say that it wasn’t fair. you wanted to be able to have it your own way, to finally be able to breathe.
but you were never really good at sticking up for yourself.
☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎
you never particularly liked the way you looked in magazines. maybe it was the poses, or the fake blood, or…. it didn’t matter though, you promised your mother you’d send her one. you did it with every magazine you’d find in convince stores, you’d write her a note and have the guys sign it for you before you posted it off to her.
the issue you were flipping through boasted an “exclusive” interview with the members of my chemical romance on page thirteen, and you smiled thinly. at least the pictures they used were nice.
the man at the register cleared his throat, and you looked up. “you gonna pay for that?” you looked around, to find the store empty. he gestured at you again, and you quickly walked up to the counter, pulling out your wallet. your shoes squeaked against the linoleum.
you stood awkwardly as he rang you up. was he looking at you funny, or were you just imagining it? you didn’t speak much as you paid, handing over a five dollar bill. you would have bought a pack of cigarettes too, but frank had borrowed money from you, and all you had was whatever change you got from the five.
you banged your elbow on the way out of the market. it was colder outside compared to the store, perhaps because of the morning rain. hopefully they had the heater on in the bus.
if only the bus had been in the parking lot.
like the inside of the store, the parking lot was empty. they had left you behind. again.
you used the payphone behind the gas station to call gerard. when he didn’t answer, you called frank, then mikey, then ray. no one answered. you should have expected it, really.
you had no money for a taxi. it seemed as if you had no choice but to walk to the hotel, though you didn’t know where that was. you walked away from the store, guessing which direction the bus went. it was a shot in the dark, and all you could do was hope that it wouldn’t start raining as you walked.
☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎
the cuffs of your jeans were soaked by the time you made it to the hotel. it was late, and the hotel staff looked mildly worried at your arrival.
they told you that the others had arrived earlier, and already settled into the room. they had headed out to a restaurant without a care as to where you were.
you had your pick of bed, though your choice was limited to one or the other.it was a sort of roulette to see who you would be sharing with. you’d go to bed angry tonight, bitter, and fall asleep long before they came back from dinner.
☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎
you had a headache. the lights in the interview room seemed too bright, and the arm of the sofa wasn’t very comfortable. gerard woke you up earlier than you would have liked. it was fine though… you just had to finish the interview first and then you could sleep on the bus. you tried not to think about the morning, when you had woken up curled into gerard. maybe you should have slept on the couch, saved yourself the trouble of whatever inner turmoil you had going on.
you didn’t speak much, with most of the questions being directed to gerard and frank. not that you minded, because the interview would go by faster that way.
the journalist was a guy you knew from kerrang! you couldn’t remember where you met him though…maybe at a gig or…
“i hate to make you pick favorites, but for this next question you’re gonna have to.” now you remembered. he did a one-on-one a few months ago, backstage before a festival. “let’s start with gerard.”
you didn’t really want to answer the question, so you listened instead. you’d make something up when it was your turn, and hopefully you were last to answer.
“well, thats hard… i mean i love all the guys, and mikey’s my brother, and frank and ray are so talented…i dunno” gerard laughed, sliding down the couch.
frank looked like he was about vibrate out of his seat as he beamed at the camera. “well, ray is just an amazing artist and he get’s so fuckin’ into what he does.”“i mean i, guess he’s my favorite, because i’ve just learned so much from him, really.”
ray was next. “well i mean i get along with them all, but i think i’d have to say gerard, just because i’ve known him for the longest.”
you wanted to yell at the interviewer for asking the question. you felt like you were going to puke as you waited for mikey to think about it. “uh…i don’t… i mean maybe my brother gerard?”
you pretended not to care that you hadn’t been mentioned once. was it because you were a drummer? because you hadn’t been with them since the start? because you were replaceable?
“y/n? what about you?” you’d pretend their answers didn’t hurt, and so you smiled just as bright as before. you just had to get through this interview and then you could take a nap on the bus.
“i don’t really think that’s a fair question,” you just had to answer a few more questions and then you could get back on the bus. “y’know i don’t really think i have a favorite. well, i mean…can’t i say that they’re all my favorites? guess i love them all the same.” hopefully they wouldn’t ask you to elaborate, because you didn’t know if you could.
you felt like it was too quiet when you finished talking. maybe it was shame…maybe you should have kept your mouth shut and picked someone.
the interview felt like it dragged on after. you tried to stay on your best behavior, but as every minute passed by you felt the life drain out of you.
the interviewer didn’t notice the way your smile dropped every time you were ignored, or spoken over. he didn’t notice, but the fans watching the interview would.
☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎
you felt drained. interviews always made you stressed, and added onto the poor nights sleep you had last night, you felt awful.
the interview went terribly, so you smoked by the dumpster behind the building. hopefully you could forget about everything.
frank had been talking to one of the producers, but they should have wrapped everything up by now. you put out your cigarette and headed back to the bus.
you would have been worried about keeping everyone waiting, but it was clear that you hadn’t. they had left without you. again.
never in your life had you felt so small. you wanted to scream, or, cry, or do something. you didn’t. it was instinctual, the phone number you dialed was second nature.
your voice was calm as you told gerard to turn the bus around. you didn’t care to hear his explanation, if he gave one at all. you waited for them to come back and pick you up.
you didn’t understand how they forgot about you again, and again, and again. fuck, this time you had been sitting right next to them for nearly an hour. yet you were gone for less then five minutes, and they had forgotten about you.
you didn’t understand how gerard could be so sweet to you, only to act like you didn’t exist. he was gentle when he woke you up, when you found yourself wrapped in his arms. so why did he forget about you so often? why did he ignore you, and speak over you? he made everything so much harder.
the bus pulled into the parking lot before you could think about anything too deeply.
you ignored them and their pleas and apologies. you didn’t care, and you were far too tired to put up with their bullshit.
frank followed you to your bunk, but you pushed him away, pretending to read the magazine on your bed. it took time, but in the end he got the hint and left you alone.
irony was bitter on your tongue when you looked at the page you had opened to. it was the magazine you bought from the convenience store the day before, opened to your interview.
you could hear a whispered conversation coming from the front of the bus, and you grit your teeth. still, your eyes scanned over the print, intrigued, because you couldn’t remember that particular interview for the life of you.
“…oh yeah, touring with my chem is just an amazing experience! i mean i’ve only been with them for a year maybe? it’s just great. i wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
sure touring has its ups and downs, but i love it. okay…so i’ve been left behind a rest stops a few times, and it does get hard, but i have so much respect for the guys.
you can tell they love what they do, and i love being a part of not only the creative process, but just…being able to do what i do?! its awesome!! the fans are amazing, and i wouldn’t be where i am without them, seriously!
really i wouldn’t want to be doing this with any other band.”
you wished you hadn’t read it. you looked so happy in the picture they printed, smiling and crammed into the group photo. what happened?
a part of you wished you never joined the band. it was nothing but heartache, just like what you felt now. you were angry, and so tired, and above all confused.
your picture beamed up at you from the page, and you felt nothing but white-hot anger. with a scream, you hurled the magazine out from your bunk, not caring where it landed.
it wasn’t until your breathing became uneven that you realized you were crying. the conversation in the front of the bus stilled, and you heard worried footsteps.
while you couldn’t stop your crying, you still rolled over, and did your best to pretend you didn’t notice them. someone was standing outside your bunk…you could feel it. but you ignored them, and cried yourself to sleep.
☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎
you wanted to pretend yesterday had been a bad dream. the magazine sitting on the table, opened to page thirteen, let you know that it wasn’t.
the second you crawled out of your bunk and to the dining area everyone’s head snapped up. you hated it.
you didn’t know what to say or where to look. so you looked at the cup of coffee on the table. you knew it was meant for you, the mug was your favorite, and whoever had prepared it made it just the way you liked your coffee. you wanted to cry.
the “i quit,” spilled out of your lips before you could stop yourself. you were met with protests, and apologies, and pleads, but you didn’t listen. “i hope you can find a drummer, because i’m done here.”
deep down some twisted part of you enjoyed their reactions.
☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎
you had started to pack your shit and call in a few favors. your apartment seemed so empty when you thought of it, so you’d couch surf for a while.
no one had talked to you since you ‘quit’. not that you minded entirely…it made things easier. thursday’s show would be your last with the band you decided. you refused to let them treat you the way they did, refused to listen to any of their reasoning. maybe you were jumping the gun...but you didn’t care. right?
the air was crisp, and you could near see your breath when you stepped out to stretch your legs. it felt too early to be at a rest stop, the sun barely peeking above the horizon. you leaned against the bus as you smoked, a habit you’d come upon after being left behind more often than not.
it wouldn’t really matter if they had left without you this time, you were already on your way out.
it was strange, the way that you could pick gerards footsteps from the rest of the guys. you could tell it was him coming down the steps before you even caught sight of him.
“hey.” he sounded shy…and it all felt so unnatural. you almost felt bad. “i just wanted to say that we- i’m sorry.”
“okay.” couldn’t he see that the apology had come too late? you wouldn’t lie…wouldn’t say it was okay and then act like you were one big happy family again.
“you have every right to leave. we’ve treated you like shit.” it was all starting to sink in. it all seemed so final…so foreign. you were leaving and that was it. this whole time you hadn’t even stopped to think…jumping at chances before you even weighed your options.
“why?”
“i don’t know. and i know i can’t speak for the others. it’s just weird…being on tour. it takes its toll y’know? and i just get in my head. some days i feel like i’m still asleep. but that doesn’t make it okay.”
“i know.” listening to him bear his soul like that was hard, but he still left you feeling like you were buried in questions. “leaving me behind and all that wouldn’t have hurt so much. but i never knew where we stood. what we were…” he took a sharp breath, and you flicked the ash of your cigarette away. “keeping it a secret–hiding in dark corners and trying not to get caught–that’s what hurt the most.”
“i really do care about you. i know i didn’t do the best job at showing it and… fuck i was keeping you at arms length.” his shoulder brushed against yours and for a moment the both of you fell into tired silence. “you can hate me, but i’m putting it all out on the table. i really really like you. and i want to fix this. i don’t want to lose you.” maybe you were stupid for loving him, even though he left you behind at rest stops and hurt your feelings so often. but your chest squeezed, and for once you stopped to think for a moment.
is this really what you wanted? cutting it all short so abruptly like this? a part of you mourned what you knew would never come to be. but somewhere inside you…this little coil of something you couldn’t understand slithered around. you were moving so fast, and you didn’t want to let go.
you knew what you were going to do.
“we can start over. make it real…if you want.” you couldn’t seem to help but squeeze back when his hand found yours. “we’ll keep in touch okay? i’ll sit the rest of this tour out…take a breather. and then we’ll see how it goes from there.”
you talked well until the sun came up…about the new drummer replacing you—tucker—,about plans for the future, about stupid mistakes, and whatever else you could think about. they would go on with the tour and do good and play music. you knew that.
he wished you luck, and you kissed him. it felt like a goodbye and new beginnings all in one.
you wouldn’t take back your resignation…you wouldn’t forgive, at least not for now. but you would look at things a little differently now.
you’d climb back into the bus, the guilt that had been bubbling in your stomach dying down a little. you would play your last show, and then climb into a taxi and head back the way you came. this time…with four less people.
any jet star or fun ghoul content 🙏 i adore your writing
A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME
fun ghoul x gn!reader
summary: you didn’t know loving someone could hurt this much. but god, you love him so much, you’re dying
warnings: angst, hanahaki, body horror, illness, blood, gore, mentions and graphic depictions of death/dying, no use of y/n, not proofread
note: thank you so much anon ! that made my day <3 i combined two prompts here! i had sososo much fun figuring out a way to work hanahaki into the killjoy universe. hope you all enjoy :))
there was no room for love in the cruel world you lived in. if your heart hadn’t been hardened by the drugs bli pumped into you, or the fear alone, the desert sun would wither it for you.
partnerships–if they were formed at all–were purely beneficial. you’d seen it countless times. shell-shocked, desert hardened duos, with nothing left to cling onto but each other.
you were part of the unlucky bunch. by some cruel joke the phoenix witch played, you found yourself tumbling head over heels for one of the fabulously famous killjoys. you’d met fun ghoul during a supply run which had gone costa rica. he’d saved your life, taken you under his wing, and somehow managed to run laps around your heart.
you weren’t entirely sure when you’d fallen in love with him. maybe it was when he patched you up after a run-in with a drac, scolding you for not being careful, his fingers leaving trails of goosebumps on your bare skin. it could have been one of the times you sat together on the roof of the diner, where you both mapped out made up constellations. if you had to guess, it would have been the time he’d shown you how to fix up a part of the trans am, his chest pressed up against your back as he whispered instructions to you.
you would have been perfectly content running with your adopted crew of killjoys, denying the extent of your feelings for a certain black haired renegade.
but fate was cruel, and reserved no mercy for you.
☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎
you had heard of it in rumors, whispers floating around in the sand until the origin was as lost as you were. they called them desert roses, blooming after unrequited love. no one knew where it came from. some suspected it was the work of bli. others pointed to otherworldly forces, or even some twisted form of survival of the fittest. there was only one thing about it that was certain. it was fatal.
no one really talks about how painful it is.
it starts with shortness of breath, deathly rattling coming from deep inside your chest as roses sprout in your lungs. it’s supposed to progress rapidly. one day you start coughing up rose petals, and within a week your throat is torn to shreds. when you die, roses sprout from your throat. whether you suffocate before or after is unknown.
after all, no one has lived to tell.
☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎
you hadn’t thought much of it at first. shortness of breath and rattling wheezes go hand in hand with the coarse sand of the desert. everyone gets static-throat at least once, but it goes away after a few days.
after the third day you began to worry. the pain working its way up your chest paired with an unfamiliar tightness was concerning. and then came the coughing. it sounded like death, shaking you violently, to the point where fun ghoul would shoot you worried looks.
“hey, you alright?” he’d asked you after one particularly bad coughing fit, arm draped around your shoulders.
“‘m fine.” the hacking noise you made said otherwise. you coughed into your palm, surprised when you felt something wet. blood.
it trickled down your arm, but what scared you most was the blood spattered rose petal lying in your palm.
“what’s that?” you were quick to hide your hand, assuring him that it was nothing. “honey…you’re coughin’ blood.”
you couldn’t say anything more after that, the sound of the pet name leaving his lips made your chest constrict so tight you could hardly breathe.
☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎
you’d never told anyone before, but you’d seen a body once. it was in one of the villages in the outskirts of zone four. it was just…lying there, the roses spouting from the poor soul’s mouth beginning to wilt under the scorching desert sun. someone was digging a grave.
that was you, in your nightmare. your decaying body replaced the one you had seen, bloody roses sprouting from your mouth. someone…fun ghoul, was digging your grave. he turned, locking eyes with you and…
you woke up screaming. your stomach flipped, and you ran out into the sand, spitting up a mix of stems and thorns. fun had followed you out, waking at the sound of your screams. you kicked sand over the blood before he could see anything.
“sweetheart…” at the sound of his voice you turned around again, watching in horror as rosebuds fell from your mouth. “hey. hey you’re not okay.” he was worried. you could hear it in his voice, but you couldn’t look at him.
“i told you, i’m fine.” wiping the blood from your chin, you turned to face him. “i promise. ’s just sand in my throat…promise.” you could feel the stems creeping up your throat.
☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎
you were dying. you knew you were. you couldn’t eat or drink because of the roses in your throat. you were withering away, and no matter how hard you tried to hide it from everyone, they still noticed.
fun ghoul was ever so worried about you. by the time you realized his connection to the roses growing in your chest, you feared it would be too late.
the sound of someone saying your name woke you up. “hi.”
“hi,” you whispered back. you couldn’t do much more than whisper at this point, your throat slowly being shredded by the thorns you would spit up.
“i’m worried about you.” he pet your forehead, wiping away the sweat from your face.
“fun…” you could feel the tightness of your chest grow. you held in your cough. he couldn’t know. if he knew…
“you haven’t eaten, or drank, or…” his voice was shaking. or maybe you were just hallucinating. “you’re running a fever, and i know you’ve been coughin’ blood…just….talk to me. let me help you…please.”
he was pleading now, and it made you feel sick. you loved him, god you loved him so much, and he didn’t love you back, and now you were dying. that was it then. you would die, and he would never know how you felt. at least, not until it was too late.
you coughed so hard you saw spots. fun ghoul must have left the room at some point, but you didn’t notice.
you knew you were going to die tonight.
you didn’t know dying hurt so bad. you would feel yourself slip closer to death with each rattling gasp you took. you were dizzy and you couldn’t breathe, stuck in some sick limbo between alive and dead.
they say the phoenix witch grants you peace with happy memories before you die. maybe they were right, because in your not quite dead state, you saw it all. the bad jokes, and the nor so subtle flirting, and hell even the longing glances shared between you and fun ghoul. you saw the time he saved you all those years ago, and the time you scared him while he was working on the trans am. you saw yourself sparring with him, and the other killjoys laughing in the sunlight. you saw the time the both of you had got caught in the garage during an acid storm, all the times he had kissed you forehead, and the way you slept wrapped up in his arms.
you were going to die, but he had to know how you felt.
your legs felt like jelly and you almost didn’t make it to the door. the walls spun and your body slammed into the doorframe of fun’s room. the handle wouldn’t twist bo matter how hard you tried, you were going to die outside his room and he would never know.
you couldn’t even call his name, your voice gurgling behind blood and roses. vision going dark, you heaved one last time, your chest caving alongside the door.
it was dark, but you could still see him sitting up. he looked so…comforting, and you all but collapsed into him gasping as he stroked your face.
“hey, what’s goin’ on? wh-“
“i love you.” you were choking on the words as the tumbled out of your mouth, flowers blooming in the back of your throat. you couldn’t breathe but you had to tell him. “i love you and i’m going to die”
he didn’t say anything and you gasped, fighting to stay alive for just a little longer.
“please. i just…the flowers….say something…” your words died in your throat as a rose bloomed in your mouth, silencing you. it was over.
his panicked face would be the last thing you would see, and it would all be over…..except….“you love me…?” his voice was warm, and sweet, and tired, and it sounded like heaven. you couldn’t do anything but nod, choking on your last breath. “you love me…”
***
the sun was always warm in the desert. but it felt different today, kissing your skin as you curled up against fun ghoul, who had been whispering love letters to you all night. he had told you he loved you with everything he had, he had held you close as you both thought that you were going to die. but death never came.
he had been oblivious to the way you felt…just as oblivious as you had been to him. it all meant something, the touches, and the jokes…it was all there. it didn’t matter much, you had each other now…and while your throat still burned from the rose that had bloomed over the week, the way he kissed you made you forget about it all…
he took you out to the roof that night, careful and slow and you coughed, watching as a great red rose fell from your lips, before it shriveled and turned into star dust, joining the rest of the sand that you called home.
“i love you…” his voice was soft, his fingers trailing over your skin and you couldn’t help but smile.
you were tired, worn to the bone but you were alive. alive and perfectly in love.
summary: he's your roommate...but maybe he's more than that.
warnings: unedited writing, fluff, no use of [y/n]
note: so sorry i haven't posted in forever! i have a few requests and a few more half-complete drafts, so hopefully those should be up soon <3
you supposed there were worse roommates out there. actually, thinking about it, you realized how lucky you were.
you got along really well with your roommate, gerard. he’d been sharing an apartment for nearly two years now, and you were sure you knew him better than you knew yourself.
you know he forgets to take the coffee pods out of the keurig, and sometimes he leaves the heater running for too long.
you don’t think you’ve ever seen him sleep. sometimes you wonder if he’s a vampire or something, what with the scribbling coming from his room at all hours of the night.
to be fair… you’re hardly any better. you sleep little more than he does, when you do fall asleep it’s usually on the couch, and you leave the television on all the time.
you’re incredibly lucky, you realize. lucky that he’s as sweet as he is, bringing you coffee in the mornings, and stopping by your job on his commute. he’s even slipped a few drawings your way. some are drawings of you, others are silly little doodles he gives you when you’re having a bad day. sometimes, he’ll show you characters for the comics he’s working on, asking for your input.
you realize that you’re lucky that he’s so helpful, that he’s not a creep, that you both get along so well. you’re lucky that you’ve found a friend who will sit and watch television reruns with you when neither of you can fall asleep.
that’s why you slip a record under his door one night. you don’t know if he even likes sinatra, but you give it to him anyway. there’s no special occasion really, you just thought of him when you found in the wee small hours in the record store you visited. you don’t sign your name on the post it you stuck to it. all you write is “from one insomniac to another”. you feel embarrassed for some reason you can’t place, and something slithers in your stomach. maybe you shouldn’t have given it to him…maybe he doesn’t like sinatra. it’s too late now though, it’s already done.
☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎
it’s late one night…or early, depending on how you look at it. you’re tired, whatever movie you were watching forgotten and on mute. you can hear gerard milling around in the kitchen, you can smell the coffee he’s brewing. you’re tired, but you can’t fall asleep.
“thanks for the record” gerard called from the kitchen. “i really liked it”
you smile, one of those hazy tired smiles, the kind you do when you’re between being awake and asleep. “i didn’t know if you liked sinatra, i hope it’s ok”
you miss the way he grins at you, too busy yawning.
“it’s great i actually…” he walked off in the middle of his sentence, a habit you’d noticed he had, only to come back with the disk in his hands. “do you mind?”
it didn’t matter if you said no, he already turned to put it on, smiling back at you as he dropped the needle to the record.
“what are we watching?” he asked, sitting next to you on the couch. close enough to be touching you, but still far enough to give you space. it’s like a paradox, you think, but then you tell yourself to shut up. you’re too tired to know what you’re talking about.
“i dunno, i stopped paying attention.” your eyes flit to the movie playing on the television, watching the car chase for a moment before turning your attention back to him. “you’re going to keep yourself up all night drinking coffee this late.” you might have frowned at him if you weren’t too busy beaming.
he knew you were teasing, you could tell by the glint in his eye. “i just need a few finishing touches on my project and then i’m done.”
you didn’t say anything more for a while, taking a moment to take everything in. the record playing softly in the background as you curled closer to gerard. his head resting on yours as you listened to his breathing, memorizing the pace of his heart.
it’s quiet…intimate, and you’re tired. tired and happy.
“you tired?” he questions softly.
“a little,” you don’t know why you’re whispering.
“do you work tomorrow?”
“yeah, i open,” you groan, rubbing your eyes. you think you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head, but you don’t want to get your hopes up.
it’s quiet again, though this time it’s too quiet. you’re left with thoughts of gerard running through your head, and you wish that one of you would say something. you should be ashamed, you scold yourself, thinking of him the way you do when he’s sitting right next to you.
“what are you thinking about?” he prods gently. he’s soft with you, the way he always is, careful not to overstep with his questions.
“nothing really,” you lie, because you’d rather not risk what comfort you have now. “what are you thinking about?”
it seems like he didn’t expect the question to be turned back on him. he hesitates, and the silence is thick…too thick. his face is illuminated by the light from the tv, and he looks nervous. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look quite as terrified as he does now. the lighting shifts, and he’s blanketed in darkness again, but you notice something change in his eyes.
“i think i love you” he whispers against your ear.
you feel like you can’t breathe. you think you heard him wrong. you’re worried this is all a dream, a good dream, the kind that would leave you reeling when you wake up.
you want to hear him say it again.
you lean your head back against his shoulder, and he breathes out with a shudder. you watch the explosions on tv as your hand finds his. “i love you too.”
that’s it then, everything is out in the open. maybe you’re tired, but you sigh gently as he cups your face in his hands. thinking back, you can’t exactly pinpoint when your feelings for him changed, but you suppose it doesn’t matter now. he loves you and you love him. it’s surprisingly simple.
“can i…?” he doesn’t need to finish his question as you lean in closer to him. his breath is warm, and he smells like coffee and sleepless nights, and you’re waiting for him. your eyes are closed as you breathe him in, and they stay that way as he kisses you softly.
he’s…soft, softer than you imagine, and you can’t help but smile.
in the wee small hours of the morning, he is yours, and you are his.
