i have thoughts about mcr (often dirty) and put them here (respectfully)
do i take requests? i will totally fangirl over your ideas with you and if you want i can try writing stuff, i just can't guarantee it'll be out in a timely manner
i'm afab so in terms of smut i can definitely write afab or gn, but i can try amab if requested. anything non-smut will be gn unless otherwise requested.
dead dove isnt out of the question but i won't do incest or waycest
imagine finding loser basement gerard sniffing and fucking ur panties at a party ur hosting so u gag him with them while u ride him and he’s so pathetic then u make him wear the panties and u can see his hard dick so well🤤
I love you for this, putting it on the to do list RIGHT NOW🫡🫡🫡
Pairing: current!Mikey x reader
Content: Smut, AFAB reader (unspecified gender), grinding, unprotected sex, riding.
Word count: ~1100
Summary: Meeting with your partner backstage during the interlude of the first show of the Long Live The Black Parade tour.
A/N: ohhhhh my god guys i haven't been able to stop thinking about this since i was watching the lives yesterday, he looked so sexy... and as always, all due respect to kristin and his actual family (who we're gonna pretend don't exist for the sake of this)
Mikey shut the door to his dressing room quietly, pressing his back against the door and taking a few deep breaths. He could still feel the adrenaline of being on stage pumping through his veins; it had been months since he'd done a show, years since the last time he'd toured, and even longer since he'd done so wearing that oh so familiar coat and badge. The last time he'd worn his parade outfit didn't feel like that long ago, and he died a little inside every time he remembered that he hadn't performed as a member of the black parade in seventeen years.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, glancing at the time. Fifteen minutes was plenty of time to change before the second half of the show. He made quick work of unbuttoning his coat, carefully folding it and draping it over a chair. He removed the plain black t-shirt he wore underneath, followed by him kicking off his boots and starting to undo the clasp on his pants. He was just getting them over his hips when he heard the door swing open behind him, and he turned quickly, feeling his face burning as he fumbled to pull them back up. His panic only began to subside once he registered it was you who had invaded his privacy.
"You gave me a fright," he breathed as you shut the door behind yourself, and he loosened his grip on the waist of his pants.
"Hi to you too." You came over to him; his hands flew to your hips immediately, pulling you close.
He kissed you gently. "You having a good time?"
"Yeah," you rested your head on his shoulder. "You all did so well, babe. And you looked so good in your uniform."
"Did I, now?"
"You did. And being at the barrier meant I got a great view of your crotch every time you came up front."
He laughed. His heart was still racing, both from the adrenaline from the show and the intrusion. "I'm sure you loved that." He buried his face in your neck, pressing quick kisses to the skin there.
"Maybe."
He grinned. His kisses moved down your neck and across your shoulder, pulling the collar of your shirt to the side to gain access to more of the surface area of your skin. "Good," he murmured. "You look pretty good yourself, y'know."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He pulled you closer to him, hips pressed together as he whispered into your ear, breath ghosting across your skin and making your hairs stand on end. "Y'know, we have a bit of time..."
"Fifteen minutes isn't that much time, babe."
"We'll make it work."
You raised a brow, but you didn't fight him, instead bringing your hands to rest on his biceps. You didn't protest as he pulled you in for a proper kiss, didn't argue as his hand came to cup your face, didn't complain as the kiss became hungrier and more desperate.
He began to rock his hips against yours, slinging his arms around your neck so the two of you were pressed chest to chest. His tongue darted into your mouth to deepen the kiss. With the way he was pressed against you, you could feel his arousal growing---the adrenaline from performing and from you walking in on him changing meant that it didn't take much to get him hard. Only a few minutes in and he was already a moaning mess.
He stepped forwards, manoeuvring the two of you to the chair he had abandoned his uniform on. Clumsy lips on yours, trebling hands pulling down your pants, sitting down on the chair with a thud and dragging you on top of him. You straddled his hips, the air filled with moans---thank god for soundproofing---as you ground against each other, hands running across each others bodies everywhere you could possibly reach.
He paused. "Do we use protection?"
"Do we even have any on us? Besides," you pointed out, "It's not like we never don't use it."
"Fair," he said before pulling you back in for another set of heated kisses. "You good?"
"Yeah," you spoke against his lips. You stood quickly, head spinning, to remove the final layer of clothing covering your hips---neither of you were bothered to remove your shirt for the short time you had---, watching as he untucked himself from his boxers and ran a hand down his length with shaky breath. He helped position you over his dick, eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation before his grip on your hips loosened and you sank down on top of him.
He moaned your name as he felt your warmth around him. He gave you a second before his hips slowly began to move once more, and yours soon followed suit. Neither of you spoke; the room echoed with moans, wetness, the undeniable sound of skin against skin as you repeatedly lowered yourself back onto him.
His moans slowly morphed into whimpers, his movements more erratic, and you knew he was close. As you sped up, so did the frequency of the sounds coming from his lips. The fact that he had his face buried in the crook of your neck meant that the noises he made vibrated through your skin, and god, nothing was hotter. Every hurried breath of his had begun to be coupled with a whine, and it didn't take long before he came and filled you up. As you kept moving to help him ride out his high, he slipped his hand between your legs, and with a few strokes across your clit you followed with a cry, spasming around him.
The two of you sat there, panting, bodies slick with sweat. But it didn't last long. You both jumped as there was a sharp knock at the door, and Gerard's voice made its way to your ears.
"Mikes, you almost done? We have, like, one minute to be backstage."
Mikey swallowed, trying to hide the weakness in his voice. "Uh... yeah, Gee. I'll be there in a sec, I'm almost ready."
"Alright, man. Be quick."
The moment his brother's footsteps had disappeared down the hallway, he pulled out and the two of you scrambled to get dressed again. He used his previously discarded t-shirt to mop up his sweat before changing into fresh clothes.
"I'll see you out there," he said with a soft smile, leaning down to kiss your lips one last time before scurrying out of his dressing room, door slamming shut behind him.
hiii can i request a dysphoria comfort mikey x transmasc reader whose like physically the complete opposite of him?? like i’m thinking tcfsw!mikey x short n chubby!transmasc!reader…i feel like mikey would be so good at comforting his partner 😭😭…sry if this is so awkward (requesting on tumblr feels like ordering in a drive-thru…)
I've never heard a better description for what requesting feels like lmao
Every part of you
Pairing: Mikey x transmasc!reader
Warnings: Dysphoria, body image issues
Word count: ~1200
You stood in the cramped bathroom of your apartment, unable to tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror above the faucet. There was something that just felt wrong---so fucking wrong---about what you saw. You didn't know why you felt that way, you had been doing so well lately, but that little voice in the back of your head had found itself a megaphone to shout out every insecurity, every flaw, that it saw in you. That made you feel like less than the man you are.
You barely registered the sound of Mikey calling you from the bedroom, until he eventually gave up and came to the bathroom. "Babe?"
You glanced at him in the mirror, nodding slightly to acknowledge his presence, before you realised you should probably respond. "Sorry, what were you asking?"
"I just wanted to check how you're going with getting ready." He leaned against the doorway, eyeing you cautiously, observing how you stood with your eyes fixed on your reflection, not yet dressed for the dinner date he had announced he was taking you on at breakfast that morning. You can tell that he's worked it out. He knows you far too well not to. You can physically see his brain working overtime to see how he can help you out. And, opting to be more subtle, he asked, "Struggling to pick something to wear?"
You nodded, not really sure how else to reply to him.
He reached out his hand, offering it to you. You took it, and he slowly led you into the bedroom, walking you over to the closet. He pushed aside a pile of boxes blocking the door still left unpacked from his recent move-in to your apartment---though the one on the top, labelled 'beanies', was wide open and practically empty---, and pulling it open he guided you to stand in front of him. He leaned against you, resting his chin atop your head, hands on your hips. Pressing a kiss to your hair, he asked, "What do you feel good in?"
You stood there for a moment, trying to distract yourself from the thoughts of worthlessness swirling through your mind with the comfort of feeling of him pressed up against you. "I think that shirt looks good on me," you said slowly.
You could feel him shake his head. "Nope. Not what you look good in. What makes you feel good."
He waited patiently, running soft circles across your skin as you thought about his question. After a while, you picked out a few items of clothing that you tended to feel more confident, more masculine, in.
"Need me to leave while you change?"
You shook your head. You didn't mind him being there. Even then, he was respectful, staying quiet and not watching you in such a way that you would feel scrutinised. Once dressed, you looked down at the outfit he had helped you choose. You couldn't help but still be dissatisfied. "I don't know," you said after a moment.
"You don't know?" he scoffed. His eyebrows were raised, and he looked you up and down with a look that could only be described as conveying the word 'damn'. "Babe, you look incredible. I don't know what you're on about."
"I just don't... I don't feel good. Generally."
He frowned, deep in thought, before he let out a heavy sigh. He smiled softly. "Lets change into something comfy, yeah? Just grab some sweatpants and a hoodie." He started stripping off his own clothes, grabbing something he had previously discarded off the floor and giving it a quick once-over before changing into it.
You stared at him, surprise etched across your face. "What happened to dinner?"
"We'll order takeout. You and I," he said softly, "Are gonna sit down in front of the TV, eating whatever junk you want, and watch whatever you feel like."
You felt a pang of guilt at having ruined the plan for the evening. "Mikey, we should go out, we--."
He interrupted. "Get changed, babe." You resigned, changing into clothes that would hide your silhouette best and going out to the living area where he was already waiting on the couch for you. He patted the space next to him, arms wrapping tightly around you the moment you sat down. He pressed you against his chest, tossing a blanket lazily over your legs and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Your choice, babe. What do you wanna eat?"
"Can you choose? I really don't have the energy for this..."
"Alright," he murmured into your hair. "Does pizza sound fine?"
"Pizza's good."
The two of you work out what food you want, ordering much more than you'll actually be able to finish, and pick a movie channel playing some shitty 80s horror flick you don't recognise. As you lie there, pressed up against your boyfriend, you can practically tell his brain is working overtime to see how he can help you best.
"Y'know, babe," he said after a while, "You're the most handsome guy I know."
"Oh?"
"It's true." He pulled you tighter against him---practically into his lap---and removed his glasses so he could nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. "You're so beautiful, babe. I don't give a fuck what your brain tells you. You're the most handsome boy I know, and the best boyfriend I could ever ask for. I love you so fucking much, and there's no chance in hell I'm letting you forget it."
You pursed your lips, twisting your head to look at him. "You're too nice to me..."
"I'm as nice as you deserve," he said firmly. "I love you, (Y/N). Every part of you. What confuses you so much about that?"
"I just..." You buried your face in your hands. "You're perfect, Mikes. You're tall, and thin, and handsome as fuck, and you have all these people throwing themselves at you every day, and I just... I'm none of that. I don't understand why you would go for this."
"Because," he said almost in a whisper, "I don't want someone perfect. I want you. But you're perfect in my eyes, so I kinda don't make sense there, but you know what I mean. I love you, and I love each of those things that you think makes you unworthy. I love your voice, even on the days you feel it isn't masculine enough. I love your body, even on the days where it seems to you that it's too feminine. I love what you wear, even if you think it highlights all the wrong things about you. It's perfect, it's you, and I love it. Every part of you."
You felt nothing but overwhelm of love as he turned you around, hands cupping your face. He bent down of a quick kiss, smiling softly as he pulled away.
"There is no one in this world I would rather love."
hi! i have no clue if ive already requested this but can u do tcfsr!frank iero x f!reader n make it super super angsty? like not a relationship-type of angst (if that make sense) but like reader is mentally ill or something like that lol. thank u!! :,)
hell yeah dude :D
since "mentally ill" is a bit vague i just went with depression since that's what i have experience with
enjoy <3
That Girl's Not Right in the Brain
Pairing: revenge!Frank x reader
Warnings: Depression, sui ideation
Word count: ~800 words
Summary: Frank is on tour while (Y/N) is struggling with their mental health, and he just can't seem to answer the phone
Hey, this is Frank. Sorry, I'm not here to take your call right now. If you want, you can leave a message. Or not. I don't care.
You could feel the knots twisting in your stomach as the call reached voicemail. You knew Frank would be busy when you made the choice to call him, sure, but it didn't make it sting any less. There was this churning in your stomach and a hollowness in your chest, neither of which you could force out of yourself.
Just over two weeks ago, everything was fine. Well, not quite fine. Nothing was ever truly fine, but in comparison to now you'd think you'd been in heaven. You were sitting on your bed, unashamedly watching Frank as he stood in front of the dresser mirror trying to perfect the red eyeshadow he'd decided to don as part of the new look the band was going with. Piles of clothes---ties, dress shirts, and one lone bulletproof vest---lay strewn around the room, waiting to be shoved into a bag for him to take on tour in a few days.
That night, as he crawled onto the bed to rest his head in your lap, he promised you that he had your back. That you could talk to him whenever and he would be there. And he made you promise him that if you ever felt too overcome with emotion, your depression too much to handle, that you would call him and let him talk you down.
Only one of you was keeping their promises.
You realised he was probably performing, or driving, or maybe even his phone had died, but you couldn't stop trying of the life of you. You couldn't stop calling.
Hey, this is Frank. Sorry, I'm not here to take your call right n--.
Frank stared at his phone screen in shock as he approached the tour bus. Who the fuck was trying to call him so mu--? Oh. Oh shit.
He checked his messages to see if you'd said anything. All you'd left were two words that sent a wave of horror through his being: 'I can't'.
He pressed your assigned speed-dial button to see why you'd been calling him so desperately.
Hi, this is (Y/N). I'm not available right now. Please leave a message after the beep.
He doesn't even register when the beep does sound. He can't help but feel this sense of dread gnawing at him, mauling at his heart and setting fire to his mind. He called again. And again. And again. And again.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, redialling your number over and over. "C'mon, babe, please... Answer the fucking phone... Please, baby..."
Hi, this is (Y/N). I'm not available right now. Please--.
Hi, this is (Y/N). I'm not av--.
Hi, this is (Y/N). I--.
"Shit," he practically whined, fear settling in his stomach. "Answer me, (Y/N)... Please..." His eyes weren't watering, the world was just blurry in order to spite him.
Hi, this is--. He almost hung up again, but he heard some sort of sound coming from the other end, and god he hoped he wasn't just going crazy.
"(Y/N)?" He spoke quietly, carefully, as if to a frightened child or an injured animal.
He heard heavy breathing, and when you finally spoke he felt like his heart might just explode.
"Frankie," you breathed, voice quaking.
"Shit, babe, I'm so fucking sorry... I was on stage, I--. Are you okay?"
You seemed so distant as you responded, as if you weren't fully there, fully human. "Not really."
Frank swallowed. He was trying his very best to calm his panic so he could be there if you needed him. He couldn't help but curse himself, wishing he wasn't so far away, that he hadn't left you alone while he toured. He felt like a monster. "Babe, are you safe?" There's a hint of panic in his tone. "Have you hurt yourself? Have you taken anything?"
There's a pause, before you answer; a timid 'no'.
"That's... that's good..." He runs a hand through his hair, pursing his lips. "But you want to...?" He begged for an answer he knew he wouldn't get.
"Yeah."
He gripped his phone just the slightest bit tighter. "I've got you, okay? Stay on the line with me. I'm gonna help you through." He finally let himself relax, realising he'd been standing that whole time. He sat on the ground, leaning back against the bus, and whispered to you words of comfort.
hey chickens im writing my ghost of you fic and i need help
would gerard have been sent home after mikey died??? im deep in a sole survivor policy rabbit hole but all of the examples are from like sets of 4+ siblings and im not sure if the same would apply if its just the two of them yk
it would lowkey work out better for the story if they didnt send him home lol but im trying to be as accurate as i can🤷♀️
IF YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT WW2 PLEASE HELP BECAUSE I DONT LMFAO
i'm not american so idk about america, but the things i do know about wwii (i'm a slight nerd about it but for europe and my country) would make me think that he'd potentially be sent home for at least a bit
BUT, the mv is based off the normandy invasion, which wasn't a super long campaign (about a month), so imo they would more likely have just kept him there, especially since mikey dies literally upon arrival
CW: Getting drunk, smut, somnophilia (assault), unprotected sex
A/N: I haven't written fanfic in in years, and I haven't published smut before, so I hope this isn't shit. Anyways, enjoy, you freaks.
Mikey's head was pounding as he awoke, clearly regretting his mistake of drinking a bit too much the night before. He squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to ward off the dizziness. When he manages to open them, he realises just exactly where he is.
He's lying on the couch of the tour bus. Or, more accurately, on you.
He has no recollection of how he ended up there, but he feels it's safe to assume he made you stay with him last night; he's been told he's a clingy drunk, and god knows he'd get attached to the person he's head over heels for. The person who's currently asleep under him, hips between his legs.
He sits up, gazing down at your sleeping form, and he can't help but feel a pang of satisfaction at the situation drunk him had gotten current him into. He admires the shape of your body under him, the contours of your face, the shape of your lips, the way your eyes are shut so peacefully... he's never seen you more beautiful. He tries to be mad at himself for thinking of you that way, but with the alcohol not quite out of his system and the blood quickly rushing downwards, he lets that idea go rather quickly.
His jeans are growing uncomfortable as he sits on your hips, watching your chest rise and fall in your sleep. He whines softly, mind clouded with desire as he observes you, and the conflicting knowledge that it's so, so wrong.
He'd be gentle. Quick. You wouldn't even know.
Mikey slowly begins rocking his hips against yours, stifling a groan. The friction from his jeans makes the sensations all the more delicious, and he can't help but imagine what it'd be like to be inside you. He shuts his eyes, picturing his aching cock pushing in and out of your tight cunt while you shake back and forth like a ragdoll in your state of sleep. He imagines himself thrusting into you roughly, waking you up with the way he splits you open. His hips move faster as he imagines the sounds you would make if you were awake, the way you would beg for him.
He leans down as he grinds against you, pressing light kisses along your neck so as to not wake you. But none of it is enough. He needs more. He's got to have more.
He sits back up, fumbling with the fly of his jeans and shifting them down slightly along with his boxers. He takes himself in his hand and runs a hand across his length with a shudder, already leaking with precum. He tries jacking himself off to the sight of you, pretending it was your hand instead of his like he's done so many times before, but it's not enough, it's not right, it's not you. And so he reaches down to the waistband of your pants and pulls them down.
The sight of you in your underwear makes his hips jerk unconsciously. Internally, he feels disgusting, like a monster, for what he plans to do. But physically, he's never felt more pleasure.
And so he pushes your underwear to the side, lines himself up, and pushes in.
He knows it's wrong, but he doesn't care. He knows he should've looked for protection, but he doesn't care. He knows you could wake up any moment, but he doesn't care. They're all risks he's willing to take.
He bites his lip to stop himself from moaning as he bottoms out, carefully watching your face to see if you'll stir as he begins to slowly move his hips. He watches the peaceful expression on your face as you squeeze around him; the only sounds on the silent bus are his quiet pants, and the sound of slick as he gently thrusts in and out. He's careful not to hurt you or move too fast, in order to prevent you waking up and catching him in the act.
He can't believe it. He's finally fucking you. Sure, you're asleep, but it's close enough. If anything, it turns him on more.
He can feel his stomach tightening as he nears his limit. He kisses your neck softly, not stopping himself as he moans into your skin. He tenses up, hips stuttering at their own accord as he fills you with his cum.
He pulls out after a moment, crawling off you and resetting your clothes to hide what he had just done. He sets the blanket over you and heads to the bathroom to clean up. He takes one last look at you as you lie there sleeping and he can't help but think to himself that he doesn't regret it.
falling asleep being spooned by him during winter months, curled under blankets. waking up in the mornings not wanting to leave his embrace, and him certainly wanting the same.
desperately trying to get him off you during the summer months because he's adorably clingy and it's too fuckin hot for that
comic store dates where you buy the same issues of a series so that you can talk about it together, arguing over plotlines and character choices, having a little set date every few weeks for you to pick them up together
lazy dates at home or going to the park where you get coffee and just sit and enjoy each others company, him filling his sketchbook with drawings of you because you're his perfect muse
movie dates where you snuggle on the couch and binge star wars or lord of the rings or any other series he loves, with him interjecting with little quips about the film or world lore or behind the scenes facts, curled up under themed blankets and eating themed food
