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Request: a user on Tumblr: 'A mix of 17 and 18 with Gerard? Please and thank you'

Prompt 17: Sweaters

Prompt 18: Bonfire

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You hummed happily as you entered your house, a bagful of comfy sweaters dangling from your right hand. This time of year was your favourite for two reasons. One, it was Halloween. Who didn't love Halloween? And two, it was 'gigantic sweater' season. Sweaters were incredible. They were so soft, and consoling, and just overall lovely. Your sweater collection had its own special section in your closet, and it grew steadily bigger each year. If it wasn't obvious enough, you really loved sweaters.

Your boyfriend wasn't too keen on them, though.

In fact, Gerard wasn't too keen on anything that wasn't black, tight, or made of leather. So, naturally, he hated sweater season. Mainly because, every single year, you tried to convince him to wear one of those horrid things, and this year wouldn't be any different.

You placed the bag on the sofa and began taking your new babies out of the bag as Gerard made his way downstairs. As soon as he saw you, with your eyes becoming crazy like they always did at this time of year and hands clutching the ugly piece of clothing, his eyes became wide with fear and he turned around as fast as he could manage, practically running back upstairs. He wasn't fast enough, and you caught him in your peripheral vision, making your face light up even more.

"Gee!" you exclaimed elatedly, and your boyfriend shut his eyes tightly, groaning softly before he reluctantly turned around. "Look it! I got five new ones! Aren't they pretty?" You held up the pale pink one you had in your hands, showing it off to your boyfriend, who nodded grimly. "And they're so soft!" You buried your face in the material before extending it towards Gerard. "Gerard, try it on!"

"No," he said in disgust, "I don't wear sweaters. Ew."

"But it's so soft!"

"No."

"Yes." You advanced on him, lifting the sweater up and trying to put it over his head.

"(Y/N), don't you dare put that thing on m-OH MY GOD SO SOFT."

~

"Gerard?" you cautiously pushed open the door to his studio room, peeking inside.

"Yes, my love?"

"It's been a week since you tried on that sweater."

"Yes, my love."

"And you haven't taken it off since."

Gerard dramatically spun around in his swivel chair, exposing his pale pink sweater-clad body. It's true; once you put that piece of material over his cute little head, it was game over. He refused to take it off. That poor little sweater had endured so much over the past week; the various stains spotted along its front were proof of that. You'd tried everyday to convince Gerard to take it off, just for a little while, so that you could wash it. But every time you tried, he'd just say...

"But it's so soft!"

You massaged your temples in frustration and crossed over to him. "Baby," you tugged at the sweater with your index and middle finger and pulled a disgusted face, "this is filthy. It needs to be washed."

"No," he pouted, pulling away like a little toddler. "Mine."

"Mine, actually," you scoffed; he just turned his nose up and turned his head away. "Okay," you sighed, "just give me this one to clean, and we'll find you another one."

He pursed his lips as he contemplated your offer. "Fine," he nodded curtly, "but I'll only give it to you after you go get a new one."

"Deal," you beamed, ecstatic over the fact that you finally succeeded. "I'll go now."

~

You would've never, ever, ever, thought you'd see the day when Gerard 'Jacket Slut' Way chose sweaters over leather jackets, but one fall afternoon, you were shown just how wrong you were.

You jiggled the key in the door to your house, opening it and stepping inside. Shrugging out of your coat, you hung it up and tied your hair in a high pony before walking to the living room. What you saw there disturbed you in many, many ways.

Gerard was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room, wearing an enormous sweater that practically swallowed him up, with tons of other various sized and different colored sweaters sprawled literally all over the room. Seriously. There was virtually no open space.

"What the fu..." you whispered as you scanned the room with fearful and disbelieving eyes. "Gerard..."

"Ha!" he laughed a scarily maniacal laugh, throwing a bunch of sweaters in the air in celebration. "My collection is way bigger than yours, now!"

"I see that," you nodded slowly, eyes wide and hands on your hips, "But, Gee, baby, I really think-"

You were cut off when, out of the corner of your eye, you saw a particularly large pile of sweaters to the right of you begin to move. You took a scared step back, and not soon after, a sweater-wearing Frank jumped out with a loud shout.

You got so frightened that you almost wet yourself, and you let out a shriek. Frank just giggled, rushing over to you and pecking your cheek quickly before scurrying off to God knows where. (The sewers where he belongs, probably.)

"Alright," you took a deep breath to steady yourself before marching over to your boyfriend, "this has gotten far too out of hand. You need help."

"The only help I need is from someone who can build me a room for my babies," he cooed, stroking the sweaters.

"You can't build a separate room just for your sweaters. That's stupid."

"You're stupid."

You gasped, highly offended and Gerard stuck his tongue out at you. "Okay," you nodded, sniffing, "All I've been trying to do is help you, but if you don't wanna admit that you have a problem, then you and your sweaters can just run off into the sunset together."

"Maybe we will," he sassed, folding his arms and eyeing you from top to bottom, "They're way better company than you."

You let out an even more offended gasp and stammered; Frank's giggle could be heard coming from somewhere in the house.

"I created a fucking monster," you murmured, shaking your head as you watched your boyfriend play with the sweaters.

~

"Gerard just texted that he's around the corner," Mikey informed the group, tucking his cell back into his pocket.

Ray turned to you with a pondering tilt of his head. "Wasn't he confused as to why you came here on your own?"

"Nah," you shook your head, "I told him I was gonna stop by the store first and that I'd meet him here."

It was mid-October at this point, which meant that it was more than a month since the first time Gerard had tried on that first sweater, and over the past few weeks, his addiction had become increasingly worse and by now, everyone agreed that it had to be stopped.

Gerard's car pulled into Mikey's driveway, and Ray clapped his hands together. "Everyone get ready."

The four of you took your place in front of the fireplace, over which a huge banner that read 'INTERVENTION' was hanging.

A cheerful Gerard, who was wearing a sweater, of course, strutted gleefully into his brother's house. The four of you stood eerily silent by the fireplace, solemn looks on your faces and cue cards in your hands; Gerard's face fell when he saw you four.

"What's going on here? I thought we were having a bonfire."

"Gerard," Ray started.

"This is an intervention," Mikey explained.

"You have a sweater addiction," Frank pointed out.

"And it's time to get some help," you finished.

"This is ridiculous," Gerard scoffed, "I do not have an addiction."

"Oh really?" you chastised. "So," you started walking towards him, "if we were to go outside right now, and look inside your car, there wouldn't be two-hundred sweaters in there?"

Gerard went silent and looked down, playing with his fingers. "They get lonely when I'm not home," he whispered.

"Okay, this is just fucking ridiculous!" Mikey threw his hands up and marched towards the front door. "Frank, come help me get all of them. Ray and (Y/N), control the animal."

"What?" Gerard shrieked, "No! No, no, no, no, no! You-you can't..." he struggled against your and Ray's iron grips on his arms. "NOOOOOOOOOOO!"

After about ten minutes – during which Gerard never stopped protesting – Mikey and Frank had managed to get all of the sweaters out of the car and into the backyard, where there was a huge bonfire going.

"Sorry, Gerard," Frank shot him an apologetic look as he walked closer to the fire, arms full of sweaters, "But this is for your own good."

"Frank, Mikey, no, please don't-NO!" Gerard let out a wail of agony as the two younger guys tossed their armful of sweaters into the flames. He thrashed around in the hold you and Ray had on him, pleading and crying for them to stop, which they didn't. "MY BABIES! MY BABIES!"

After about fifteen minutes, all of the sweaters had burnt to ashes, and Gerard was sobbing quietly in your arms.

"There's still one more," Mikey voiced, and his brother's eyes went wide.

"N-no," he whimpered, clutching desperately at the pale pink sweater he was wearing, "she's my favourite. Please."

"Shh, it's okay, baby," you soothed, rubbing his head. "We'll make it quick."

Gerard continued whimpering as you and Ray lifted the sweater of off him and tossed it into the fire.

"I hate you all."

~

It was mid-December, almost exactly two months after the bonfire, and Gerard was doing exceptionally well. He'd fully recovered from his addiction, and hadn't touched a sweater in seven weeks. (The first week after the fire was a dark period of time.)

At present, the two of you, along with the rest of the band as well as Fall Out Boy, were sitting in Patrick's living room. You were cuddled into Gerard's side, holding onto his leather jacket, the both of you giggling along to one of Pete's anecdotes.

"Gift time!" Patrick announced, picking up a box and holding it out to Gerard, who accepted it with a smile. "I hope you like it," he said as Gerard started opening it, "I've heard that you already have loads of them, so I really hope this is one you don't have."

Gerard lifted the lid off of the box, and you, Mikey, Frank and Ray let out a collective gasp.

"Oh my god," you whispered.

"No," Mikey shuddered.

"Oh, man," Frank grimaced.

"Why, Patrick? Why?" Ray cried.

"Wh-what? What's wrong?" Patrick asked, completely confused.

You and the rest of MCR turned to Gerard, who was staring at the contents of the box with a blank face; his right eye was twitching, and his knuckles turned white from clutching onto the box so tightly.

Slowly, he reached down to pick up the gift.

"My baby."

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Thank you for reading x