ππ shameless caller .α
currently playing β full machineβ
in which: β gerard gibson depended on you like he depended on air in his lungs. every night you were there by his side, you made it all go away, you made it seem bearable. you however haven't always been so telling with your emotions. having fallen into the pattern of believing that your emotions didn't mean jack shit unless someone asked, keeping it bottled up was a daily routine. but at some point you can't hold it in anymore, and there's only one boy who you seem to run to. β
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pairing: β gerard gibson x fem!reader β
warnings: β comfort yes kind of i don't know, cursing. β
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you'd been quiet for days. and when you weren't quiet, you just weren't at school. now as much as you and gibsie had a shared loathing of tommen, you hadn't missed a day of school unless you were sick. he would know, he gave you the flu just after you'd taken care of him.
you didn't bother waiting outside your home a few houses up from his anymore, telling him you'd just get a ride from your older brother, which made his passengers seat look dull without you in it.
safe to say it was unlike you to act like this. and for four whole days, gibsie didn't know what to do. he'd climb into your bed at night still, and you'd hold him just the same as you always did, and you'd whisper the same reassuring sweet nothings you did every night, and yet somehow it didn't feel like you.
sitting away, locked up in your room like you usually were in times like these, you just had the itch. the itch to scream, and cry, and tell everyone to fuck off, and to have him hold you until it all felt better again.
cross-legged on your bed with your cell at your side, your thoughts began to race.
there were many people you could call.
you could call claire, hell the girl was like a sister to you. which meant you could also call hughie. or you could call patrick, that boy knew you, not as much as gibsie did though. you could always call joey, he seemed to know what to do every time you'd talked. or shannon. or maybe johnny, johnny was sure to help. he'd do anything to make you feel better, that boy was the closest thing you had to a brother besides the numbskull across the landing.
but only one person seemed right. and frankly, he was the last person you wanted to call.
you weren't sure why. maybe because you were so used to being the one caring that being cared for didn't seem right. maybe it was because you were so used to holding it in until it all snapped.
but against your better judgement, his number was dialed and you sat there on the line praying he wouldn't answer.
god were you stupid for thinking he wouldn't.
"well hi angel! how's my favorite girl doing? you weren't at school today." he points out. he's trying to make it seem like he's not concerned, but you can hear it in his voice. you know him better than you know yourself.
not good. "i'm fine." liar. "i was just wondering if you could come over for a bit...?"
"of course, i'm already leaving. see you soon."
and before you know it he's hung up the phone which gives you about two minute before he walks through your front door and up the stairs into your room. two minutes for you to pull yourself together.
just like you'd predicted, time flies by and the gibson boy is perched on the side of your bed watching you with careful eyes.
you weren't sure why he hadn't moved since he came in, but it was starting to make you overthink things.
the small little furrow between your brows crinkling further is the move that prompts him to sit next to you, pulling your closed off body into his arms without a second thought.
"don't think. just talk." he urges.
he really did know you, huh?
you hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to put the feeling into words.
because that feeling was loneliness. and how could you be lonely if you had the prettiest boy in ireland holding you in his arms?
you ramble, each word falling quickly before you have time to regret saying any of it. you tell him about each feeling that bubbles to the forefront of your mind, about all the things that have drowned you in your own silence.
your voice cuts him clean in half.
it's rushed, broken, and so quiet that it slips into a whisper after a soft crack.
the silence was loud, but it wasn't unwelcoming.
you try to brush it off. tell him the whole thing was stupid and you were being dramatic, but before you could let one "i'm sorry" slip from the sad pout on your lips, he's cut you off.
"don't even start. you've held me more times than i can count..." he presses a kiss to your hair. its gentle, much like the way the tips of his fingers run up and down your arm leaving goosebumps in their wake. "let me take care of you for once."
and for the first time in days, that silence doesn't feel like drowning. it feels like fresh air. like comfort.
his lips ghost over your skin as your eyes flutter shut. "can you say something nice?"
he clears his throat, the pause of his fingertips tracing across your skin making you open your eyes for just a split second. "i think..." you feel a kiss pressed to your hairline, "that you're the strongest girl i've ever met. and no matter how alone you feel, i'll always be with you. because you're it for me."
the words catch you a bit by surprise, your stomach doing the little flip it always does when he's around. "really?"
and as you pull away to find any hint of deception in those steel blue irises, you find your feat was useless.
gerard gibson would never lie to you. maybe that's why it was so easy for him to be the one you turned too.
you called and he came. at the end of the day that was enough to mend those tiny little cracks in your heart.
because it all got better with him around. he was like a habit you couldn't kick, no matter how far you pushed him away.
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