#i need recognition

[zekunamama]

Gerard: complaining about the theories surrounding him being a vampire

Also Gerard: dressing like this in photo shoots.

[adachitrailblazer]

Would this be a flex right now?

[jamstardust]

Where is Everyone? [AskREBOOTfnaf] #2

Looks like Freddy just snapped outta the trance he was, and scaring the lil blue rabbit while at it.

Asks are still open, make sure to ask in the newly post parts if you want to have your ask to responded!

I'm only responding to asks on Wattpad, so yea :> Gotta feed my readers since they been starving @JamStardust [for Other Social Medias that I post AskREBOOTfnaf on]

[floh0e]

when u come up with the craziest ideas at 3 am

[taylorfiction]

The Trial

From Joe’s POV

So i got this request yesterday and i got really into it and i managed to finish it, which is surprising.. i hope y’all enjoy it, send me feedback and all that and requests :) 

i cried multiple times while making this...

It was around 5 in the afternoon when I heard the front door unlock and I could hear her taking her coat off but she didn’t say anything, I waited for her shout ‘hello!’ or ‘I’m back!’ but I knew she wouldn’t. She didn’t have to, I wasn’t going to think it was weird that she didn’t because today all she deserved was someone to look after her.

To care for her.

To tell her everything would be okay.

I wandered into the kitchen where I knew she would be. She sat on one of the stools, looking out, the tears streaming down her face, carving paths down her cheeks, just sitting there, watching the world go by.

I knew she wouldn’t want me to fuss over her, or make this a big deal, she didn’t want to be the center of attention. I put the kettle on to boil knowing a cup of tea couldn’t do any harm then went over to where she sat and stood next to her.

‘come here,’ I opened my arms slightly, gesturing a hug and she fell into me, leaning her head on my chest while still sitting there with her arms by her sides. I could feel her fragile body shaking as her body was racked with tears and I just held her. That’s what she needed.

She didn’t need a kiss or anything sexual, she didn’t need me to take her out to a fancy dinner or give her something to make her forget about it all, she needed to be held. So that’s what I did. I would hold her as long as she needed to be, just as long as I could be with her, because all I cared about was her. About seeing her smile again.

I rubbed her back as she leant into me, ‘Everything is going to be fine, I promise,’ I whispered into her hair. I would protect her, even if she didn’t know it, even if she didn’t want it, I wanted to protect her, shield her from any negativity. I didn’t want to take her crown or save her from the beast, I just wanted to defend the castle.

I lifted up her fragile frame and helped her to get to the sofa, I laid a blanket over the top of her and finished making two cups of tea before bringing them to where she sat.

We sat there for a while, warming our hands on our mugs and the blanket tucked around both of us, her head lay on my shoulder and my arm hung around her, keeping her close to me.

The court case was draining her, the light that was normally in her was slowly disappearing, at times she flickered with a smile or laugh but it was as though her conversation was broken, as though she would prefer to be alone. However, I knew that that was the worst thing for her. I knew that Taylor being left alone to her thoughts meant she over-thought everything, she started to panic, she stopped functioning almost.

I put episodes of Friends on the TV, she didn’t need to say anything but I knew it would comfort her, to have something familiar, something that had always been there. I heard her stomach rumble signifying that even if she didn’t say anything, she was hungry, ‘Do you want me to order some food?’ I asked quietly, it was 7pm neither of us were going to make anything for dinner so ordering was our only option.

‘I’m fine’ I heard her reply, only just. She was as quiet as a mouse, her voice squeaky and hoarse from barely talking for multiple hours.

‘When was the last time you ate?’ I leaned forward and used the remote to pause the TV, Rachel’s mouth open, in mid-sentence as if she were trying to stop me.

‘I can’t remember,’ is all she murmured.

‘mmkay,’ I moved the blanket off of my knees and left her sitting on the sofa, wandering over to the counter-top I picked up my mobile and called the Chinese place down the street and ordered our favourite.

I then proceeded to walk out of the kitchen and back in with a big box in my hands, if there was one thing, that could make her feel herself again, it was this.

‘What are you doing?’ she mumbled, a small frown adorning her beautiful features as I sat down next to her again, pulling the coffee table towards us and laying the box on top of it.

‘We,’ I paused as I took off the lid,’ are going to play,’ I pulled the board and all the pieces out, ’scrabble.’ I looked at her and smiled, hoping for a smile back but she just stared at me, expressionless.

We played for half an hour before our food came and I managed to persuade her into eating a little but nothing was right, she didn’t burst out laughing and clapping when she won scrabble and she didn’t try and feed me some part of her meal she found especially yummy.

Once again, she sat on the sofa, empty Chinese boxes on the table, the blanket around her legs, picking at the chocolate coloured material, deep in her thoughts. ‘Do you,’ I stopped, asking myself if I should say this, ‘Do you want to talk’ I paused again hoping she would show some sign to me that she would be okay, ‘about any of it?’ I swallowed hoping for a reply.

‘I’m sorry.’ That’s all she said before I saw the tears well in her eyes again and the river began flooding the banks.

‘I don’t want to do it anymore’ she looked towards me, she looked broken, as if someone had taken her batteries out and then lost them. I took her into my arms and let her mumble whatever she wanted. Even though she didn’t know it, I knew that she needed this. She couldn’t keep everything bottled up, because the longer she stayed silent, the larger the explosion would be.

‘I’m sorry I’ve barely talked to you for days and I’m sorry you’ve had to look after me and I’m sorry I even included you in any of this, it wasn’t fair’ I squeezed her tight as I let her rant, supporting her thin frame, keeping her together.

‘This trial has messed me up’ she finished, pulling away from me and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, mascara staining her cheeks.

‘It’s okay’ I said, silence falling, she looked up at me, confusion written on her face.

‘What?’

‘It’s okay that you’re taking your time with this, even if it means barely talking to me or me having to look after you. I am glad you involved me because taking care of you is one of my greatest pleasures.’ I brushed my thumb across her cheek and tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

‘I will love you no matter what, no matter how many obstacles we have to face.’ I whispered to her, letting our foreheads touch gently.

I pulled back and cupped her cheek, leaning in and kissing her softly, her lips lingering on mine, ‘You’ll be okay, I’ll make it okay’

The light was out and we were both almost asleep when I felt her shift closer to me.

For the past few nights she had slept on ‘her side of the bed’.

For the past few days she had avoided conversations.

For the past few weeks her smile had barely seen the light of day.

‘Thank you’ I heard her whisper in the darkness, I put my arms around her as she continued ‘I love you.’

I squeezed her affectionately as I looked at her, kissing her nose and smiling, ‘not as much as i love you.’

There it was.

Her hidden smile, not so hidden anymore, but instead…

it was beaming.

[ijustwantfreeinternet-blog]

You have angered the bread puppy. The bread puppy is not happy.

[zekunamama]

lately i've been thinking of subby basement gerard having his first time 😍😍😍😍🤤🤤🤤🤤

Okay this is lowkey cringe and erotic and totally not proof read I’m sorry sugar

—

The basement smelled like mildew and cigarette smoke, the kind of stale, permanent damp that never quite left the concrete walls. You were sitting on the edge of the unmade bed—just a mattress on the floor, really—and the cold was seeping through your jeans, making your thighs tense. But underneath, you were already hot, a low throb between your legs that had started the moment you heard his footsteps on the stairs above.

When Gerard finally came down, backlit by that bare bulb, you felt it in your chest first—a sharp, physical ache. His black hair was stringy with sweat from the show earlier, eyeliner smudged into bruise-like shadows. That faded Crimson Ghost t-shirt hung off him, making him look breakable. You wanted to wreck him. You wanted to keep him safe. The contradiction made you press your thighs together.

He stood at the bottom for a moment, and you could see his hands shaking from across the room.

"Hey," he said. His voice cracked, and you felt the sound between your ribs, warm and startling.

You held out a hand. He took three quick steps forward and grabbed it, fingers ice-cold and trembling against your palm. The contrast of his fear against your steady, thrumming want made you dizzy. When he sat down beside you, the mattress springs groaned, and his knee bounced hard enough to rattle the loose change in his pockets. The vibration traveled through the thin mattress and into your hip.

"You're nervous," you said. Your voice sounded lower than usual, thick with the heat coiling in your gut.

Gerard laughed, sharp and anxious. He dragged his hand through his hair, and you watched the line of his throat work as he swallowed. "I'm gonna be terrible at this," he said, staring at the floor. "I just— I want you to know, before we—I haven't. This is. I mean, obviously you can probably tell, but I just—"

He was spiraling. You turned, cupping his jaw. His skin was fever-hot, clammy against your fingers, and he leaned into the touch immediately, eyes squeezing shut. Your thumb brushed his cheekbone, and you felt the fine tremor running through his jaw muscles. It made you wet—shamefully, instantly—the way he submitted to the touch, the way he needed direction.

"Gerard," you said quietly. "Look at me."

He did. His mouth was slightly open, breath coming fast and warm against your wrist. He looked terrified and desperate, and you wanted to swallow both feelings whole.

"We don't have to," you said.

"No," he said immediately, clutching your wrist. His grip was surprisingly hard, fingernails digging into your skin. "No, I want to. I really fucking want to. I just don't want to fuck it up. I want to be good for you."

*Good for you.* The words hit low in your stomach, a pulse of heat. You leaned in, kissing him. He made a small, wounded noise against your mouth, opening up immediately, letting you guide the pace. He tasted like cigarettes and the metallic edge of adrenaline, and when his tongue touched yours, clumsy and eager, you felt it between your legs—a clench, a wetness soaking into your underwear.

When you pulled back, his lips were red and wet. He was breathing hard, staring at your mouth with such open hunger that your nipples tightened against your shirt.

"Take your shirt off," you said.

He obeyed with shaking hands, peeling the cotton up. You watched the lean stretch of his torso, the ribs visible beneath translucent skin, the sparse trail of dark hair leading from his navel down. When he reached for his jeans button, you stopped him.

"Let me," you said.

He nodded, swallowing audibly, and let his hands fall. You undid the button, the zipper. He wasn't wearing anything underneath. He was hard, flushed dark against his pale stomach, and when the air hit him, he shuddered. You felt a corresponding throb in your core, an emptiness that ached to be filled.

"Fuck," he whispered. "Sorry, I'm just— I'm really—" He gestured vaguely at himself, embarrassed.

"You're beautiful," you said, and meant it. The sight of him—stripped and vulnerable and hard for you—made your breath catch.

His face crumpled slightly, like he might cry. He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut. "Please," he said, barely audible. "Please, I need you. I need—tell me what to do. I'll do whatever you want, just tell me."

You pushed him back gently until he was lying flat. He went easily, compliant, his hair spreading across the pillow. You stripped efficiently, watching his face as your clothes came off. His eyes tracked every inch of skin you revealed, dark and glassy, hips twitching upward. When you climbed over him, naked, the cool basement air hit your breasts, your stiff nipples, but you were burning between your legs.

You reached down to guide him, and your fingers were slick with your own arousal before you even touched his cock. The realization made him gasp.

"Tell me if it's too much," you said, positioning yourself.

"Okay," he choked out. "Okay, okay—"

You sank down slowly. The stretch was intense—he was thick, hot, pulsing inside you—and you felt every inch of your walls yielding around him. He was shaking his head back and forth against the pillow, mouth open in a silent cry, and the visual of him falling apart combined with the fullness between your legs made you groan, low and guttural.

"Oh god," he choked out. "Oh fuck, oh— you're— I can't—" He arched up, burying his face in your shoulder, breathing hard and fast against your neck. His ribs were sharp beneath your palms, rising and falling rapidly. "Is it—is this okay? Am I—"

"You're perfect," you said, settling fully onto him. You were so wet he slid deep, and the base of him pressed against your clit, sending a spark up your spine. You clenched around him experimentally, and he sobbed against your collarbone.

"Move," you whispered against his ear. "Please, Gerard."

He nodded frantically and rolled his hips upward, clumsy and too eager. The angle was wrong, too shallow, and he immediately lost his rhythm, gasping. "I don't—I don't know how—"

"Slow," you said, guiding his hands to your hips. His fingers dug in, holding on for dear life. "Just follow me."

You set the pace, rolling down onto him, grinding your clit against his pelvic bone with each downward stroke. The friction was perfect, building heat in tight circles. He followed, thrusting up with a desperation that was almost painful to watch, but the stuttering, unpracticed snap of his hips hit a spot inside you that made your vision blur.

He kept his face buried in the crook of your neck, whining high in his throat with every movement. He was wet with sweat, skin slick where it touched yours, and he kept saying your name, over and over, like a prayer. The sound of it, broken and reverent, wound tighter in your belly.

"Please," he gasped. "Please, I need— tell me I'm— am I—"

"You're so good," you told him, running your hands through his hair. It was damp with sweat, clinging to your fingers. "You're doing so good, Gerard. Just like that."

You were climbing now, the pressure building at the base of your spine, your thighs trembling where they bracketed his narrow hips. Every time he thrust up, trembling and uncertain, you ground down harder, chasing the friction. He was filling you so completely, the heat of him radiating through your belly, and the contrast of his fragility—those sharp hipbones, the trembling ribs—against the solid, insistent presence of him inside you was pushing you toward the edge.

"Please," he choked out, and you realized he was trying to hold back, his whole body rigid with the effort.

"Let go," you gasped, your own orgasm cresting, breaking. "Gerard, I'm— I'm coming—"

You clenched around him hard, your back arching, head falling back as the waves hit. It was intense, drawn out by the way he stilled inside you, overwhelmed by the sudden tightness, gasping your name like a question.

He shattered. His back arched off the bed, head thrown back, throat working as he came with a long, broken moan. You felt the pulse of him inside you, hot and sudden, and the knowledge that you had wrecked him, that you had taken him through his first time and made him come undone, sent aftershocks rippling through your clenching muscles. He kept thrusting through it, desperate and messy, until you guided him still, holding him as he shook apart, your own body still fluttering around him, sensitive and wet.

Afterward, he didn't pull away. He stayed inside you, softening but still present, clinging, his breathing slowly evening out against your collarbone. You could feel his heartbeat against your breast, rabbiting fast, then slower. Your hands traced the sharp ridges of his spine, feeling the last tremors work their way through his thin frame. You were slick between your thighs, sticky with him and you, and the air was cold on your sweaty back, but under your palms, he was warm, real, alive.

"Was that—" he started, voice rough. "Was it okay?"

You lifted your head. His hair was plastered to his forehead, eyeliner completely ruined, running in grey streaks down his temples. He looked wrecked. He looked beautiful. You felt a surge of tenderness so sharp it hurt, mixed with the lingering throb of satisfaction between your legs.

"Come here," you said, rolling off him and pulling him into your arms.

He curled into you immediately, tucking his long limbs against your body, burying his face in your chest. He was still shaking, but slower now, the aftershocks leaving his system. You wrapped your legs around him, keeping him close, your hand stroking the damp hair at his nape. Your body felt heavy, satisfied, the ache between your legs a sweet reminder.

"I didn't last long," he mumbled, embarrassed, his breath hot against your skin.

"You were perfect," you said again, and kissed his sweaty temple. You felt him relax fully then, going limp and heavy against you, his breathing deepening to match yours. Outside, the radiator clanked. The basement stayed cold and damp, but under the thin blanket, with Gerard's bony knees knocking against yours and his heartbeat slowing against your palm, the air felt warm, and you felt full—body and chest both.

[zekunamama]

By the way yes I write for Michael Clifford

I mean. Look at him.