[discontinued,old] My Chemical Romance Imagines

Mikey - 1

AN: Trigger warning for self harm and suicide mentions/attempts, if you've ever self harmed or wanted to kill yourself, please DM me if you get the urges again. I love you all.

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Imagine... Mikey helping you calm down from an anxiety attack.

'@thisis(y/n)way mikey could do so much better than you'

'tbh @thisis(y/n)way doesnt even deserve mikey'

'mikey should just dump @thisis(y/n)way already'

'what does @mikeyway even see in @thisis(y/n)way'

Of course they were flooding your mentions.

That wasn't new.

'honestly @thisis(y/n)way should just kill herself already, i doubt mikey would miss her'

That was. Petty insults you had gotten used to, but not this. This struck a chord. It struck so hard that you threw your phone to the other end of the bed and curled up into the fetal position. Your phone bounced against the mattress and onto the carpeted floors below. Your throat closed up. Your eyes stung with unshed tears.

You knew what came next.

Shaking. Heavy breathing. The tears. The memories.

The years flew by you. Suddenly, you were staring at yourself. Ninth grade you.

Ninth grade you, with the acne and body image issues. Ninth grade you, with the awful haircut that people insisted was fine, but you thought was awful. Ninth grade you, with no confidence.

You stared, frozen in place as ninth grade you brought the razor to her skin. Frozen in place as she dragged it along her wrists. As she mumbled and glanced at the locked door.

"They won't miss me." She said, dragging the blade harshly across her tender skin. "They won't miss me." She repeated, reaching with shaky hands towards the bottle of antidepressants. "They won't miss me." She convinced herself, pouring the contents into her hand. "They won't-" She was cut off.

You remembered this. This was when your sister walked in and started telling you that Mikey was on the phone. Ninth grade you, who had forgotten to lock the door after all. She made you promise to stop.

Ninth grade you, who promised with crossed fingers. Ninth grade you, who tried again at least once a year.

Ninth grade you, who could no longer wear shorts or tank tops.

When the year came current again, you found yourself shaking violently, breathing shallowly. Footsteps approached, ones you could just barely hear over the vigorous pounding of your heart.

"Hey, (y/n), have you-" It was Mikey, you knew. You also knew he had cut himself off upon seeing your current state, that was obvious. His footsteps approached again, much quicker now as he rushed over to your side. The bed dipped as he sat next to you and wrapped his arms around you. You gasped desperately for breath, throwing your arms around him and grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. Burying your face in the crook of his neck, you shook and sobbed.

"I-I-I.." You tried to speak shakily, but only shook harder. Mikey gently rubbed small circles on your back comfortingly, whispering quiet reassuring words. As your breathing slowed, albeit only slightly, he shuffled back a little, putting a hand on your cheek.

"It's okay," He started softly, bringing his free hand up to brush hair away from your face and wipe your eyes. "What happened?" Unable to speak, you shook your head and spared a glance at your phone, now on the floor, still going off with unread notifications. Much to your dismay, that only made things worse. You clung to Mikey in desperation as he followed your gaze and quickly stood, taking your phone from the ground and scrolling through the growing list of replies bombarding your lock screen with a deep sigh. You watched through blurred vision as he tensed visibly, which was when you made the assumption that he had reached the tweet that started all this panic. He glanced between you and your phone slowly, a sad look overcoming his flawless features.

Mikey and your sister were the only people who knew about what ninth grade you tried. Mikey was the only person who knew you tried multiple times.

You kept your eyes trained on the ever moving list of tweets until Mikey shut your phone off completely and sat back down next to you. He pulled you into another warm, comforting hug, murmuring soft words of reassurance and tracing light, pointless patterns on your back as you sobbed; and there you sat, crying until there were no more tears to be shed.

"It's okay, (y/n)..." He whispered soothingly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Th-they..." You started to shake again, but Mikey was quick to react, pulling you closer and laying down, bringing you down with him.

"They don't know you. Not like I do." He insisted softly, pulling you into a gentle kiss. After pulling away, he spoke again. "I love you."

"I-I-I love you, t-too..." You managed brokenly, burying your face in his chest. "Please d-don't leave me..."

"I won't, angel..." He soothed. Then, slowly but surely, his voice filled the room again, soft and melodic. Mikey never sang - with the exception of occasional backing vocals - unless you had worked yourself into a panic; his voice was surprisingly gentle and calming, and carried melodies well. He sang to you and ran his fingers through your hair until your breathing slowed, your eyes dried, and your worries dissipated. "Better?" He asked afterwards, to which you responded with a nod and a sheepish smile.

"Thank you... For- for being able to put up with me when I get like that..." You glanced away from his gaze, warm and welcoming as it may be, as you spoke.

"That's what I'm here for, queen." Gently, he pressed his lips back to yours, pulling back only slightly, leaning his forehead against yours and smiling. "Hi.." He murmured softly, staring lovingly into your eyes and counting every fleck of colour in them.

"Hey..." You mumbled back with a small smile, cuddling up against him and resting your hands on his chest. "You don't know how much you mean to me..." You continued after a short pause, closing your eyes briefly. Mikey shifted quietly, finding his phone and loading Twitter, taking care to keep away from the notifications tab. You watched silently as he started typing.

'To those of you telling (y/n) that I could do better/to kill herself, don't - you worked her into a panic attack (1/?)'

'Over what? Some petty reason you don't like her? Panic attacks are terrifying - unfollow me right now if you think (y/n) is worthless (2/2)'

After his second tweet, he turned his phone off and set it on the bedside table, turning back to you afterwards and draping an arm over your side.

"You are worth so much." He reassured, kissing your forehead. "And I love you." You smiled shyly, sighing contently and snuggling into him again.

"I love you too, my king..." Your voice in a mumble, you gazed happily up into his eyes. There you laid for another hour until the home phone rang, forcing you both to stand and answer, and Mikey to need to drive to Gerard's. You watched as he drove down the street with a small smile and bed hair.

Maybe Twitter was wrong.