#mcr fluff

[defiledpurity]

Huge cuddle pile with all of the mice boys, just enjoying the comfort of everyone after a show and all winding down together❤️

this was too cute, thank you for requesting it<3 no warnings just fluff

The tour bus rattled down some endless European highway, the engine humming low beneath the rain tapping the roof. It was well past midnight, the only light in the narrow bunk corridor some dim orange glow from a reading lamp clipped to the curtain rail.

Gerard and Frank were squeezed into the bottom bunk like they’d been all tour. Gerard sat with his back against the wall, knees up, a beat-up copy of Doom Patrol balanced on one thigh. Frank was half-draped over him, head on Gerard’s chest, pointing at panels and whining every time Gerard tried to turn the page too fast.

The curtain fluttered. Gerard reached out without looking and yanked it open. “Mikey. Get in here.”

Mikey stood in the aisle in an oversized hoodie and socks, glasses slightly crooked from sleep. He didn’t even bother arguing, just sighed like this was an everyday inconvenience and crawled in, knees and elbows everywhere. Gerard shifted to make room that didn’t exist and Mikey ended up half on top of Frank, bony shoulder digging into his ribs.

“Ow, fuck—“

“Shh,” Gerard said, already pulling the curtain mostly shut again. “You love it.”

Ray appeared next, blanket in hand, clearly aiming for his own bunk. He took one look at the pile, shrugged like what’s one more body? and flopped in headfirst. There was a muffled oof from everyone as four grown men tried to occupy a space meant for one moderately sized person.

That’s when they noticed you hovering in the aisle, wrapped in Gerard’s stolen hoodie, trying not to laugh at the absolute chaos happening in that bunk.

Frank cracked one eye open. “Oh no,” he mumbled, voice thick with fake dread. “She’s gonna leave us for the top bunk and no spinal damage.”

Gerard reached out a hand, making grabby fingers. “Get in here or I’ll miss you and start crying.”

You didn’t need more invitation than that. You crawled in, the mattress groaning in protest. They rearranged like a puzzle solving itself—like it would clear up space, and suddenly you were in the middle, limbs draped over everyone like you belonged there. Which you did.

Gerard was under you the most, chest rising and falling slow under your cheek. He slipped a hand under the hem of your—well, his hoodie and began tracing little circles on your back, lazy and sweet. Frank was half asleep, face smushed against someone's shoulder, mumbling something that only made sense to him. Mikey, quiet as ever, wormed his ice-cold hands beneath the fabric of your hoodie and pressed them flat against your stomach.

You squeaked.

“Shh,” Mikey whispered, “I like this. You’re warm.”

Ray’s curls were everywhere, tickling Frank’s neck. Frank kept twitching, trying to blow them away without moving his arms, which were pinned. His legs were tangled under Mikey’s, slowly going numb.

“Mikey, foot’s asleep,” he grumbled, not moving.

Gerard tightened his arm around your waist. “Don’t you dare move,” he said into your hair, voice low and content. “I’m so fucking comfy right now.”

You laughed, quiet. The bus hit a pothole, and everyone swayed together like a single organism.

Ray’s voice came out soft, thoughtful. “We needed this.”

No one said anything else. There was the rain, the low rumble of tires on wet asphalt, and five heartbeats slowly syncing up in the dark.

The curtains stayed closed.

Nobody moved for the rest of the night.

[wheresnevrlnd]

Whatsername?! | Stoner!Frank X Fem!Reader

Summary: Pretty much about Stoner!Frank, whom you met at a basement party your college friend threw. He was cute, and he knew it. You were the prettiest girl at the party.

Words: 1.468.

Warnings: mischievous reader, weed mention (written by a weed lover, sorry), alcohol, stoner!Frank supremacy, excessive flirting, poor life choices, mildly suggestive content.

A/N: hiii everyone! i've been obsessed with this kind of content lately, so I ended up writing this in my free time. pls mind that english isn't my first language and i've never actually been to the us, so some details or cultural references might not be 100% accurate.

i wanted to keep this simple and easy to read because that's basically the whole vibe. anywayyyy, i have no idea if i'll end up writing more stuff like this, but pls let me know if you liked it! ♡

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A friend invited you to a shitty (yet somehow the most fun) basement party he threw every now and then at his late grandmother's old house on the outskirts of the city, in a quiet suburb that resembled the countryside more than an urban neighborhood. It always felt like a good option whenever you wanted to get away from New York.

From the outside, the house looked quiet enough. But the second you stepped through the front door, the noise hit you. Music, laughter, people talking over one another. It didn't take long after walking in for you to realize that everyone there felt pretty much the same as you and was looking for a break from real life.

You ran into a couple people from your color theory class near the bar and ended up talking with them for what felt like an hour. By the time you felt the buzz settling into your limbs, all you wanted was a cigarette, inviting one of your classmates outside for a smoke.

That's when you saw him.

He was standing against the wall, a joint hung loosely between his fingers as he passed it around to the guys next to him. When he exhaled a cloud of smoke and glanced your way, your eyes met.

And just like that, you thought he was cute.

Dangerously cute.

You lit your cigarette and kept talking to your classmate about teachers and classes, but every now and then your attention drifted back to the cute stoner with the crooked smile.

"I think you've got a fan" your friend said.

Your eyes followed hers and landed on the stoner guy. He had been watching you without even trying to hide it. 

Not looking away.

Not pretending he hadn't been caught.

Just watching.

You were curious and mischievous, so you stared back without breaking eye contact for several long seconds, until he finally looked away.

You couldn't help but smirk.

You always liked making guys uncomfortable, especially the ones you liked.

By the end of your second cigarette, it felt like a shame to go back inside and lose sight of him, but when Whatsername by Green Day started playing through the speakers, you felt the urge to sing along.

You were halfway through the second verse when a voice interrupted your singing.

"You definitely look like a Green Day kind of girl," he said.

"I'll take that as a compliment," you replied, tucking your hair behind your right ear and knowing exactly what you were doing. "Are you a Green Day kind of boy?"

"In every possible way, pretty" he laughed.

It was the kind of laugh that made your stomach betray you. The kind that immediately told you it was trouble. The fun kind of trouble.

"I'm Frank."

"Cute." you said it so casually that he widened his eyes before laughing out loud.

"So you think I'm cute?"

"Sure." you smirked. "And your name somehow makes you seem even cuter."

"Are you with anyone, or...?"

His curious eyes wandered across your face as if you were some kind of artwork.

“You mean… If I’m with anyone?” you watched him nod slowly, wearing the dumbest smile. He was definitely high. "No. Not really."

"So do you like cute guys?"

"All cool girls like cute guys."

Something lit up in his eyes. You had him.

"Do you like cool girls?" you asked.

"Yeah. I also like pretty girls and for the record, I think you're the prettiest girl at this party." he gave you a smug smile that somehow still looked vulnerable.

You felt like you could eat him alive.

"Probably the prettiest girl I've ever seen."

You gave him a nasty look, letting him know how unbearable that sounded, and took his beer can from his cold, tattooed hands.

You took a long, painful sip on it before giving it back and turning your back on him as the song was about to end.

You knew he’d follow you, which is exactly what he did. Once outside again, you found a safe spot far from most people, a place in between the parked cars.

You lit a cigarette as you leaned your back on someone’s dirty Corolla and watched Frank stumble on his own feet as he walked his way to you like a lost puppy.

God, you were loving it.

You didn’t say a word and offered him your own cigar when he was close enough, giving him a hungry look as he reached it.

“At first look I thought you were too goofy,” you said. “You know? But now, looking again, you seem annoyingly adorable."

“I thought you said I was cute.”

“Isn’t it the same thing?”

“As long as you like it,” he took a step in your direction, “and as long as it guarantees I have a chance of… You know… Getting to know you better.”

“You don’t wanna know me better, I’m fucking trouble. But you already know it, right?” now you took a step in his direction.

“All New York folks are trouble,” he said.

You could now feel the warmth of his body as you slowly stepped back to lean on the car, and he followed you, gently pressing his body against yours.

You tilted your head to reach for his lips without losing sight of the stupid hot smirk he gave you. When you finally touched, Frank raised his hands to both sides of your waist and let out a long sigh in between your kiss once he finally touched you.

Smiling in between the hot kisses you shared, you felt the air thicker and hotter with each passing second, being unable to control the urge of letting a few wet moans fill Frank’s lips.

You felt him getting harder and bigger while pressing you against the cold car, and your legs started to tremble when he slid his cold hands inside your shirt.

“You’re not fucking me here outdoors, but you got 10 seconds to figure out where you can.” you said breaking the kiss for the first time.

Frank laughed loudly, and it took him just 3 seconds to recompose himself and stare at you with starry needy eyes.

He didn’t say a word but gave you a wide smile and started walking between the parked cars when, at some point, he took his car keys from the back pocket and unlocked an old Toyota, guiding you inside it on the front passenger seat.

Frank entered the car on the driver's seat but didn’t give you time to ask where you were heading to, simply throwing his body over you as he reclined your seat and started kissing you again.

This time he seemed more desperate, hungry even. His hands ran all over your body as if he wasn’t sure it was real.

Grabbing, nailing, and pinching, it was a messy way to gain more and more moans out of you in between kisses.

When you couldn’t hold it back anymore and took out the belt on his already tight pants, he moaned loudly inside your mouth, taking a few seconds to let his lazy eyes take a good look at you again.

“You’re so fucking pretty, jeez."

The small space between the car made everything feel even hotter, his devoted eyes, his whimpering and troublesome hands.

As your moans got louder and louder and bottom clothes went missing, he kept pressing his body against you as if he could come just by it.

The situation made it pretty clear that both of you were in sync and foreplay wasn’t much needed.

Frank held you tight and warm that Saturday night in his car for the first time, making you reach your most delicious peak so easily you felt ridiculous.

When you had enough of the sloppy and wet kisses and both could finally breathe again, Frank sat back in the driver's seat and opened the windows.

You shared a joint and spent hours talking about your lives, likes, and dislikes.

Frank was from New Jersey and was heading back home in 2 days. He liked dogs, worked on a tattoo shop and played on a band. He sang along to all your favorite Green Day songs and took you home.

You never told him your name. He did ask, but you'd rather not. He saved your contact as Whatsername.

Frank was adorable, which made him an absolute no.

No ever meeting again, no ever sleeping together again. No ever meeting your parents and no, absolutely no, never, giving him your sour heart.

Yet, when you got home and laid down on your bed, putting your phone off on the bedside table, you couldn't help but wonder if he’d ever call you again.

You wish he did.

[cyberrslutz]

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ and the very silly way you grin ! ゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ every little thing about you ♬⋆.˚

tags: @rileyisstuckinamoshpit @lizbizeeee @mewqqi @fake-ur-death89 @jetsetlifesgonnakillu @ayeshaerotica101

[partinggifts]

dating ray toro headcanons? 😛

hii sweet baby anon, yes yes my beautiful ray toro!!! i got a really nice ask last night for ray so thatll come next. love u all!! kisses ♥︎_♥︎

• he found you really cool and unknowingly he chased you down at the end of their shows, one of their first in jersey

• you thought he was cute and decided to give it a shot, it had been a while since you dated anyone ever since your last break up

• on your first date, he did everything right opening your door, laughing at all your jokes, complimenting you. although you were a bit shy at first the both of you opened up to each other after a while

• he was always at a show or practice, making time for you but it was never enough he was always too busy

• but you guys made it work, he always always invited you to band practice and took you back to his place afterwards. made sure his friends knew their place with you and had them be on their best behavior

• once the band took off, he made sure you came on tour with him. he couldnt handle being far away from you for so long so the only reasonable choice is bringing you with him! he makes sure your all taken care of while on the super! nasty! tour! bus!

• the kindest boyfriend ever, he still acts like just how he did when you guys started dating. peppering your face and neck with kisses, complimenting you every morning and night. “baby,, baby youre so cute, come lay with me sweet girl i can take such good care of you,,cmon bunny” ALL. NIGHT. LONG.

• buys you everything and anything you want. you pick up a necklace? he has the receipt in hand! you skim some skirts? he has bought you every type!

• me thinks,, acts of service & words of affirmation. he will do everything at the snap of your fingers and praise you til the world ends.

• you show him the same amount of love all the time but he always ends up one uping you ♥︎

• you guys are always together and attached at the hip, he wouldnt have it any other way!!!

[gummygore]

Omg quiet shy basement Gerard but in a mental hospital with a female readerrrrr

INSTITUTIONALIZED

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pairing: gerard way x female reader

summary: you meet him while in a mental institution, shy and silent, and start to finally enjoy a bit of your time here.

notes: THE NAME IS FROM THE SUICIDAL TENDENCIES SONG. Im sorry if i portrayed anything incorrectly. I tried my best with no previous experience and im sure they would not be allowed to get this close in an actual facility but like this is fanfiction its fake i cant be perfect idk

word count: 2106

FLUFF BELOW THE CUT!

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He shuffled in the same pattern every day, up and down the hall outside of his room, muttering to himself. You sat in your doorway, chewing your cheek, watching him pass you for the thirteenth time today without noticing you. You weren't sure why they let him do this - but as long as it made him feel better, you guessed it was okay.

On the seventeenth pass, his eyes shifted up from the floor, catching yours for a moment. You gave him a small, awkward smile, and his shoulder length black hair fell back into his eyes as he shifted away. He was right back to pacing. Your smile fell. Damn, you tried.

You retired back to your room, sighing and flopping down onto the shitty, thin mattress. As you stared up at the ceiling, your roommate came in, shoving chips into her mouth at mock speed.

"Fuck," she groans, standing in the corner and indulging on her own. It was kind of her thing - she was always first in the commissary line - she needed her sour cream and onion chips. After talking to her for a while, you learned it was her replacement for other addictions. Two snack sized bags of sour cream and onion Lays a day curbs drug cravings, apparently. When she told you, you shrugged, nodding. Whatever works.

You were forcefully admitted by your therapist last week for depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts. This hospital felt a lot like a prison. Matching outfits, everything fenced and guarded to avoid jumping, floppy stationery to avoid injury. You hadn't taken up your favorite hobby of drawing since arriving because you couldn't handle the phallic nature of the provided pen.

It was honestly terrible. Many people see these places as a mental break, an eden of calm and solace - but that is because they've never been. This place is made to make you appreciate seeing the sun. A warm meal that doesn't taste like dog surgery. The touch of another. Shoelaces. The chill of an afternoon breeze brushing through your hair.

By depriving you of all of these things, they think they're making you dream of the outside world - and while it worked to an extent at making you dream of real life and comfort - being in a concrete prison like this made you want to die more than being outside ever did. Every time you thought you were almost free, you were placed on another 72 hour hold for evaluation. It was bullshit.

The only thing that kept you entertained was the pacing boy. You could hear his slippers drag on the shitty linoleum floor past your door every two minutes. You counted the seconds. With his pace, it took him exactly two minutes. He had it down to a science.

In the rec-room, he didn't ever move from the couch, eyes trained on the TV. Today, you felt bold, and you shuffled over to the couch, plopping down next to him. His mouth thinned into a line at your closeness.

"Hi, I'm Y/N." You say softly, brushing your hair behind your ear. He doesn't look away from the TV, and you chew the inside of your cheek and grind your teeth awkwardly, fighting off an audible sigh. Once again, you tried.

You decided to just sit in silence with him, crossing your legs and tuning into Dr. Phil. You hated the guy, he was a fucking fraud, but if anything distracted you from being stuck inside of these walls, you'd take it.

You heard him chuckle a bit under his breath, a huff of air puffing through his nose and teeth, his expression never changing. You glanced over, a small smile on your lips, before looking back to the TV.

"I think she just needs to get her ass kicked a little bit," you sigh, not expecting him to respond. He cracks a small smirk on the side of his face that you can't see. "But, I think it's all the Mom's fault."

He pulls his arms to his chest, not acknowledging your opinion, but listening all the same. Eventually, you let out a light laugh, and he looks at you out of the corner of his eye, enjoying the sound of your joy. After a few more minutes, you leave him alone without a goodbye, wandering off to go play Apples to Apples (which fucking sucked.) He thought about you for the rest of the day. He couldn't help it.

He had a bit of a problem with obsession. He wasn't diagnosed with anything yet since his admission last month, but things took over his mind without permission frequently, and he knew it was a problem. After seeing you smile, it was all he could think about. He wanted to make it happen again. His previous fixations were the movie scripts of Kill Bill and The Devils Rejects- he walked up and down the halls muttering them to himself by memory. Sometimes you could hear him whisper "Tutti fuckin' frutti." It made you crack a smile even on a bad day. Normally he got to that part of the script when he reached your doorway on lap fifty two.

Now all he could think of was you. There was nothing to mutter with that, but he still paced past your door, each time peeking in to get a look at you in a way that he thought was discreet. It wasn't. By lap twenty five on Thursday, you met him in the doorway, hoping he would stop. He finally did after you stood there for three more laps, and you were face to face with him, his body towering over yours, greasy hair in his eyes.

"Gerard," he says quietly, "That's my name." He stirs for a moment and walks off quickly before you can respond, leaving you brushing your hair behind your ear and blushing. Gerard. Unique. You smile.

The next day at lunch, you sit next to him at his lonely table, and not a word is said other than "Hey, Gerard." You eat in silence, clear most of the mush off of your plate, and leave him with his thoughts once again.

Today, in rec, you saw him scribbling on a small notepad with one of the phallic pens provided. You plop down next to him as you both listen to Dr. Phil again. He kept his sketchpad hidden, curled up in a ball with his knees to his chest, using them as a desk.

"Hey, Gerard." You said, becoming routine, not even looking over at him. You watch the TV as he draws, until the curiosity begins to eat you alive. "What are you drawing?"

He freezes for a second, chewing the inside of his cheek with a huff through his nose - presumably of embarrassment. "Nothing."

Hearing his voice was cathartic, a relief in this concrete hell, a breath of fresh air inside of prison-like walls.

"Okay." You say quietly, looking away again, accepting it. You'd gotten very good at just taking things how they are since arriving. Nothing really mattered. After a few minutes, Gerard's sketchpad is in the lap of your crossed legs. You glance down, and it is your own face in ballpoint pen, your heart skipping a beat.

"Wait, um... is that me?" You say, looking up at him. His face is a hilarious shade of red, and as he flushes he looks away, nodding.

"Y-Yeah."

"This is so cool, Gerard. Can I keep it, or do you want it?"

"I want it." He says, pulling it back to his lap, glancing over at you. "You'll leave soon."

"Is there any way we can get in contact with each other?" You say, scooting a bit closer, body facing him now. He swallowed thickly.

"Myspace." He says quickly. He rips out the page behind his drawing of you, scribbling intensely before handing you the paper. "I won't be able to respond."

"Yeah, they take everything, I get it. But honestly, I hope you're out before me." You shove the paper into your pocket.

He lets out a dry laugh, looking away. "Right."

"I mean it. You deserve to be free."

He pauses for a moment, looking up at the TV.

"And you don't?"

"I don't know."

"Hah," he chuckles, a real laugh escaping his lips around you for the first time. "You do too."

There's an awkward silence for a moment as you look away from him, and he swallows awkwardly. He had to make you smile again.

"You..."

"Huh?" You say, glancing over, trying to coax him into finishing his sentence. He needed time, and that was fine.

"You are beautiful." He says, quickly standing and backing away from the couch. A smile grew on your lips, and his eyes widened with excitement as he stepped away. "I have to... I, sorry. Bye."

He stalks away, making his way to the hallway, where you knew exactly what he would do.

Later that day, you heard a light knock on your doorframe, and your eyes snapped up from your book. A small smile came onto your lips when you saw it was him.

"Hey, Gerard!" You say, swinging your legs over the bedside. You hadn't kept up with his laps since you were reading.

"H-hey," he says, hand rubbing the back of his neck. He seemed uncomfortable with the sound of his own voice. "Um, yeah. Hey."

"Good to see you again." You say, standing, folding a dog ear in your book.

"What are you reading?" He says, voice soft, and you bring your book over to him.

"Some mental health shit my Grandpa got me. It's not bad." You handed him a copy of No Bad Parts by Richard C. Schwartz. "When i finish it, I'll lend it to you."

"Cool," he says breathlessly, thumbing through it. After a little silence of him reading a small excerpt of the book, he asks, "Um, do you like comics?"

"Yeah," you say, a small smile on your lips. You looked over your shoulder - your roommate was fast asleep, plush llama in her arm, a bag of chips next to her head on her pillow. You turn back to him. "I do. My favorite is Johnny the Homicidal Maniac. I like anything by Jhonen Vasquez."

His eyes widen slightly. "Um, cool. I'm more into Alan Moore, Watchmen, myself. Dave Gibbons' art is fuckin' amazing." He says, shifting in your doorway and leaning against it. "Hmm. You like Spawn?"

"Eh. A little overrated."

He scoffs. "Overrated? It's fucking iconic." A bit of personality comes out in his voice, his offense tantalizing, as if you'd never understand his stance. You smirk.

"I've read it all up to my admission. Didn't necessarily impress me, but I've liked it enough to keep up, I guess."

Gerard's mind wanders back to his walls of shelves of collected comics back home in the basement, frowning slightly. It would be a while before he read them again.

"What, so you like Bone?"

"Bone is fucking legendary."

"Sure." He laughs lightly, from the top of his belly. "Bone is for middle schoolers."

You scoff. "Well I guess I'm fucking eleven years old."

"Ew, no, take that back." He laughs, crinkles by his eyes as he smiles. You hadn't even seen his teeth yet, he'd been so silent. It was refreshing to see a genuine smile.

"What, you don't find my taste cute?"

He leans against the doorway, arms crossed as he towers over you. "I do. That's why I need to stay the fuck away from you."

"You seem to be having a very hard time doing so."

"I am." He shifts slightly. "I wish I could take you on a date, or somethin'... anything not here. Good food. Good music."

"You talk a big game for someone who has been on hold since I got here."

He laughs. "Yeah. I'm a fucking danger to society."

You grin up at him, leaning closer.

"A danger to me, for sure."

He flinches slightly away from your touch as you place your hand on his chest. He licks his lips, looking down at you.

"I want..."

"To kiss me?"

"Yeah."

You lean up, standing on your toes, giving him a soft peck to the lips.

"No touching!" The security guard in the hall shouts, and you step back with a panic as he looks at you with a dazed expression, unmoving.

"Dr. Phil tomorrow?"

"I'd like that." Gerard says, his cheeks bright red as he backs away. "Tomorrow."

He makes his way down the hall to his room, muttering, and you follow him with your eyes, smiling to yourself.

[scissorjizzer]

i got a new job. this is totally not inspired by it. not at all. mikey is totally not an insert for the cute door dash guy i met.

also shoutout that one interview where mikey said he likes pizza.

tags: mikey way x reader, fluff, sfw, drabble, gn!reader

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃

"Is that it?" you asked the man across the counter. You looked at his current order. Fucking Christ. You've worked at this place for a while now, and you've never seen a list this long. Hell, you had to actually scroll down to view everything.

Despite your poor attempts at masking your judgement, your eyes couldn't help but carry a look of concern. The man could tell you were making mental commentary about him.

"...No," he said with a sigh, as if he was disappointed with himself. You had to physically restrain yourself from having a reaction.

"Can I- Uh... Just one more pepperoni, please", he said politely, like manners could socially save him from this awkward ass situation.

You typed the extra pizza in, looking up from your register after, hoping (for the both of you) that that was the last item. When he gave no response, you read the list to him.

"Alright. So you've got," you scrolled back up to the top of the screen, then mustered up the cheeriest tone you could, "two pepperonis, three cheese, one hawaiian, one everything with stuffed crust, four breadsticks, and two garlic knots." You held your breath, praying that you didn't miss anything, and trying to stop yourself from laughing at how ridiculous his order was.

The man nodded his head, his lips pursed. You displayed the price on the register, to which he promptly paid... in cash. Wow. This really couldn't get any rougher. You had to give it to him, he was pretty good at counting coins.

You handed him his receipt. He thanked you for it and started walking away from the counter — though not before leaving a couple dollars in your tip jar. There was a whole policy your company had about tips, but with you being the closer for the night, and the absolutely insane order this guy was giving you minutes before closing, you told yourself it was ok to pocket what was left for you that night.

While baking the... you lost count, actually. Anyway, while baking the fifty billion things the guy got, you couldn't help but overhear him on the phone, presumably with his friends.

"Y-Yeah, I'll be home soon I just-" He was doing a bad job at keeping his voice down.

"Ok, well you guys wanted like thirty things! I'm not gonna be outta here until like... I dunno, the next fucking day."

There was silence as the other person on the line spoke.

"You guys are all talking at once."

Ok, other people on the line, then.

"Frank just shut the hell up! Okay? Get Gerard on the line Jesus fucking Christ..."

You couldn't help but giggle to yourself. You had to admit, it was pretty entertaining hearing this shy dude be suddenly so lively on the phone, even if he was getting a bit agitated.

"Hey, Gee. I was just tryna let you kn- ...Yes. Yes, I got your hawaiian. Now where's- Did you just fucking hang up on me? Hello? Oh my G- Oh! Hey, Ray. God, you're the only sane person in that room right now..."

The man had lowered his voice quite significantly, so you shifted work stations to hear him better. Waiting on the breadsticks to bake, you stood at the prep station to make some more dough.

"I mean, it's kinda embarrassing, y'know? Like, I feel really bad... They're closing, and I just ordered a buncha shit... Now I just look like a fatass, just buying all this stuff for myself."

He was right. You did kinda think he was getting all this just for himself. After all, he was ordering alone. And he was the last customer of the night.

"And to make things worse," he swallowed before speaking again, "w-well... they're kinda cute."

You froze at that. Surely he's not talking about you...? Okay, maybe you judged him too harshly earlier. You had to admit, he was pretty polite, and not bad-looking either. Besides, he left a tip. A shitty tip, but a tip nonetheless.

"Yeah, I tipped. It was a bad tip though..." Hey, at least he was self aware.

"Well if you guys gave me more cash then- What? I'm not desperate! Hey, even if they weren't hot, I would've tipped them anyway. It's not like I'm paying for them to give me a shot. I mean, I'd like it but-"

"You're all set!" you called out, plopping the man's boxes on the counter.

He froze, turning to you, a red hue flooding his face. "I'll see you later," he quickly said to whoever he was calling before snapping his phone shut and hanging up.

The man walked over to you, thanking you as he picked up the boxes. An idea came into your mind. "Oh- hold on!" You ran to get some napkins, leaving his sight. You pulled a shitty knock-off Sharpie out from a random drawer, scribbling your number on the bottom napkin.

You returned to the counter, placing the pile of napkins on top of the boxes. You flashed him a smile, and he gave you one back.

"Thanks, have a good night," he called out as he began to leave the pizza shop.

"You too," you replied, watching him walk out the door.

You woke up the next morning to two new texts from an unknown number.

[madonnaswirl]

oh em gee. your works are so hot i CANNOT. may i suggest… ahem. frank iero stumbling across shy, crybaby reader in an apocalypse setting? and at first hes like sorta rough but shes just sooo overwhelmed and anxious and he babys her etc…

an: you are the sweetest!! oh my god this was so fun to write as a walking dead enthusiast. walkers = zombies. my apologies i couldnt resist. hope this is okay!!

warnings: apocalypse, ddlg undertones, dom/sub dynamic, hurt/comfort, trauma, babying, praise, fluff.

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the ruined city street was quiet except for the distant groan of the dead and the crunch of your worn sneakers on broken glass. you’d been alone for weeks, maybe months. time blurred when every day was just surviving the hollow ache in your chest, in a constant state of all-consuming fear. you’d ended up alone, completely shattered, too depressed to do more than shuffle forward with big, watery eyes and hands that wouldn’t stop shaking.

you rounded the corner of a collapsed storefront and collided with a solid chest.

“fuck—watch it,” a rough voice growled.

you stumbled back, eyes wide, lips trembling, words wouldn’t come. they never did lately. you just stood there shaking, tears already spilling over because even this small surprise felt like too much after so long without anyone.

frank lowered the bat he’d instinctively raised. his face was scarred, dirty with blood, leather jacket torn and stained with god knows what. he looked every bit the dangerous survivor: sharp eyes, clenched jaw, someone who’d bash in skulls without hesitation. but something in your expression cracked through that armor, those huge, sad eyes. the way your shoulders curled in like you were trying to disappear. the soft, broken sound that escaped you instead of words.

“shit… hey.” his voice dropped, still gruff but gentler, almost like trying not to scare off a frightened deer. “you alone, baby?”

you managed a tiny nod, arms wrapping around yourself as fresh tears slipped down your cheeks. overwhelmed, beyond starving. terrified of everything, including him at first.

frank exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. he wasn’t soft, never had been. but looking at you, defeated and shaking, who looked like the world had already killed you inside, he felt something twist in his chest. a soft spot he didn’t fucking want but couldn’t ignore.

“c’mere,” he muttered, stepping closer. when you flinched, he slowed, one calloused hand gently catching your jaw so you’d look at him. “easy. i’m not gonna hurt you. name’s frank. you got one?”

you whispered it so quietly he almost missed it. he repeated it like it mattered, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “alright. you’re coming with me. can’t leave you out here like this.”

that night in the boarded-up apartment he’d claimed on the upper floor of an old building, frank sat you on the edge of the mattress he’d dragged in. he’d cleared the place of threats earlier. safe enough.

you were still shaking. barely spoke, just big sad eyes following his every move.

he knelt in front of you, surprisingly patient for someone with dried blood on his knuckles. “gotta eat something, baby. you’re skin and bones.” he opened a can of peaches he’d scavenged, spooning small bites and holding them to your lips. “open up.. that’s it… good girl.” his voice was low, rough around the edges but warm for you. one hand stayed on your jaw, steadying you, thumb stroking soothingly as you took the food he offered. when you started crying again midway through, overwhelmed by kindness after so much nothing. he pulled you into his lap without hesitation.

“shh.. i got you,” he murmured against your hair, arms wrapping tight around your frame, trying his best to put you at ease. “cry it out. frank’s got you now.”

days blurred. frank stayed rough with the world, efficient, brutal when he had to be, cursing at walkers and scavengers alike. but with you? he softened in ways that surprised even him.

he’d find you curled up in a ball again, depression pulling you under, and he’d scoop you up like you weighed nothing. “c’mere, crybaby.” he’d settle you against his chest on the old couch, letting you bury your face in his neck while he ran fingers through your hair. big, protective hand rubbing your back in slow circles.

when you couldn’t bring yourself to move, he’d handle everything. brushing your teeth became his ritual: sitting you on the battered counter, one arm around your waist to keep you steady, the other carefully holding your jaw open while he brushed gently. “there you go, sweet girl. let me take care of it.” he’d rinse your mouth, wipe your chin, then press a kiss to your forehead like it was the most natural thing.

feeding you turned into something quiet and intimate. he’d hold you in his lap, spoon or fork to your lips, murmuring praises every time you ate a little more. “good girl. taking what I give you so well.” his free hand would rest on your thigh or cradle the back of your neck, grounding you when the sadness got too loud.

at night he always let you sleep on him. no matter how wired or exhausted he was from clearing the perimeter, he’d pull you close on the mattress. you’d curl up small against his chest or tuck yourself under his arm, legs tangled with his. frank would wrap around you like a shield, rough hands surprisingly gentle as they stroked your back, his low voice rumbling, “you’re safe. not letting shit touch you. mine to look after now.”

when the shaking got bad or the tears wouldn’t stop, he’d hold your jaw again, tilting your face up so those big sad eyes met his. “breathe for me, baby. m’right here. not going anywhere.”

he was still the same savage, foul-mouthed survivor to the outside world. but for his shy, sweet crybaby? frank was soft where it counted, patient, protective, and fiercely devoted. slowly feeding you, caring for you, letting you cling and cry and sleep on him until the weight of being alone for so long started to lift, even just a little.

in his arms, the apocalypse felt a fraction less terrifying.

[m0th0er]

river, moon

young teacher frank x single mom reader ! sfw right now nsfw eventually. this is fluff motherfucker pure fluff. or world building idk. afab reader, you have a daughter that is your own. semi-slow burn. long form. this is part one

elsie may, shoes on young lady c'mon now.

blonde curls run in circles by your feet. her hair pillowing down by the sides of her face. the outfit you guys had perfectly picked out for her first day at her new school-semi ruined with streaks of Nutella and jam from breakfast. her cheeks are nearly neon red as she runs and giggles in circles- chasing bratney, your dog. your shoes are on but not even buckled as you run up behind her to kick her into your legs with an affectionate ooomph

turning around to face you, Elise smiles up at you with the picture of innocence. what mischief. she laughs as she is caught in your grasp, "mama-mama brat need," brat don't need nothing goose, now c'mon, lifting her up-you sit her on your lap at the shoe-bench by the door.

the house is still full with boxes, the new move not really completed yet. but with the new place comes new beginnings. you just have to believe that. it's been a complicated- to say the least, few months. but Elsie is a trooper- finding the move exciting. she keeps talking about building a castle from the 50 boxes stacked in your walk-way. something about that makes your chest hurt.

tugging on her scuffed Mary Janes, she smiles up at you as you focus "ill be good, mama I prom-promise-" and you smile as you finish up I know honey, im not worried bout' that. tumbling you and her up onto your feet- you slot yourself behind her in front of the mirror by the door. we are brave "mhm" we are smart "mhm" we are kind "mhm" we are wonderful "mhm! we- we are we!". silly girl. out of the door, and into the fray.

the drive is easy, elsie sings along to the terrible collection of 80's dad rock you keep in the car. bratney is cradled in the back seat- used to sleeping in the car. the drives is only 20 minutes, but with your own ramping anxiety of dropping her off- it feels like 15.

3 and three quaters's is a difficult age for a little one. new things are constantly happening- so home life should be steady, supportive. a move at this time- not to mention the separation of it all, would off kilter any young person. but Elise is your daughter. adaptable and curious. obsessed with learning. when you were little, the idea of going to a new school alone would be like doing the polka on a sky-wire. elsie dances that line with pride.

moving into the parking lot, the school looks sweet. small and almost rural- it has the best reviews in the city, with a pre-school room too boot. low ceilings and a bright red door, a group of kids mud around the front play area. you can see a few adults scattered around, those kids were probably a breakfast-club of some sort. maybe you could ask the teachers advice on getting out jam stains. you fix your hair in the mirror- and take a second to buckle your shoes. it isn't perfect, but it is something- maybe more casual that business casual but its done so it is fine. we all good ms.may? "sure am ms.-ms mama!"

you both laugh as you un-buckle her from her car-seat. she grips onto you like a monkey would a tree. you give her a kiss to her mess of curls and carry her to the door. you feel a little like crying. separation anxiety is a bitch. she's your little girl, your baby. watching her shift and grow is almost too much to bare. when you reach the gate, a young woman comes and opens it for you as elsie grips tighter. yeah, she's still your daughter. she's as spooked as you are.

"who do we have here-" "I DONT TALK TO STRANGERS!" you laugh as you tuck elsie closer to you, hushing sorry-a little nervous to the poor nursery worker. she nods dutifully and points you to the red door, mouthing 'first door on your right' you nod and hold the shaking girl to you.

walking into the building, its just like a big house. kids drawings plastered all over the walls, each classroom has a hand-drawn sign marking the name of each teacher. its very sweet, warm. you feel a sigh of relief when you hear kids laughter and pockets of silence through out the building. walking past another uniformed teacher you ask for the principles office. she points you to the door in the top left.

the principle is nice. doesn't try and bother elsie-may with conversation. she only prods slightly about the move, asking why you moved the this small town of all places.you explain how working in an archivist's position at the local library, specifically with zine history- is a position few and far between, so you took it no matter the distance. "your elsie is in Frank's class-first names instead of last, keeps the kids personal" you nod along at the older woman, as she shifts you out of his office and toward a room at the front of the building. the door is coated in drawings.

different sketches of a man in a blue polo, helping kids out. playing. one of them has his dressed up like a wizard- huge star covered hat and cape. you trace your finger over a picture, a small flower at the centre of the door, a child like thank you written out under the single daisy. you smile as the principle opens the door. elsie gripping ever tighter to your arms.

"we've got a new-comer frank-"

he's surprisingly cute. kind of terribly cute. soft dark hair, round cheeks and a quizzical look on is face. he's biting his knuckle at his desk. looking over a large stack of papers marked transfer- you would guess its Elise's info. "frank-this is Elsie" speaks the principle.

he looks up immediately. the eye contact is semi sudden. you watch his face flush kindly as you panic that you aren't wearing enough mascara- or that you cried half of it off when you think about leaving her here. elsie chirps up "who-who the fuck is that mama-"

frank laughs so hard he almost doubles over, walking close to you guys, holding out a hand for elsie to shake. "well good to meet you too young lady-" you try and rush out an apology- but frank beats you to it as elsie gingerly reaches out to shake pathetically at his hand from your hold of her. "im frank, hi by the way, im gonna teach you some junk" she holds his hand and looks at it curiously. "you don't look like a teacher" he laughs again as you whisper into the crown of her head be nice young lady and he smiles at you. soft and warm.

his eyes are so expressive you're kind of intimidated by it. you can see into him, his kindness seeps into his face and spreads it out like a sun. you gulp as elsie speaks up again "frank-frank moms freakin' " and then laugh at her forth comings. "yeah I can tell, but its gonna be fine. right kid? you'll make the first day easy for me? so you can go home and tell your mama how great your new school is?" she looks to you, then to frank. kisses you sloppily on the cheek and mumbles "hmmm I dunno" you laugh again and look over her shoulder, placing her dutifully on the ground so you can speak to frank grown up to grown up.

hi sorry,im just. its messy. anyway- she doesn't eat milk products- that might not, not be on her file. and I packed her lunch- she'll eat half at morning-morning break. she gets scared, she-she used to bite but im teaching-teaching her not too-

frank looks at you in that same soft way he looked at elsie. but patronising doesn't really work on you. look im not fucking overbearing you whisper over, closing in closer ive just "lady, hey ive read your file. it's cool. don't worry" he leans back on his desk as he rolls his shoulders back. he looks strong. or strong enough-to work with kids. you continue just, just let her be-be nice.

its overwhelming. in more ways than one. not like jumping off a cliff or running on a train line. its like. deep water. this whole thing is deep, uncharted water. you haven't done this alone before. its been adrenaline up until this point. just pure charge from one spot to the other. figuring out where is the softest spot to land is. for her, all for her. but frank seems fine, he seems nice if anything. but its impossible to trust a stranger cause of a kind face. a good nature. you don't know the fucker- and sure, attractiveness be damned this is your daughter. its about giving her space, letting her be herself. letting her be kind. you try and convey this with a hand movement. your brain moving 50 miles a minute.

but instead he just looks at you, over your face and hair, over you body and scuffed business wear. he smiles and whispers over "if it helps, she seems pretty cool already-" and yeah. it kind of does. you watch her kick up around the mud room, hunting for something to play with. you feel yourself start up when you look at her.

frank looks at your tears and slightly worries himself, fumbles for a tissue and then rubs the back of his neck as nonchalantly as possible. it comes off pretty sweet when he mumbles over "shit-sorry, uhm. yeah she''ll be great ma'am. but maybe-comfier shoes tomorrow?"

elsie is sitting bow legged on the floor, fumbling with the buckle on her leather pumps. you nod once. looking at her again. let me just say goodbye. and he nods and stands back.

you move to kneel in front of her on the floor, un-buckling her shoes for her. be good, okay? ill be back to come get you? "mama-" and just- tell the man if you need me to come get you- "mama?" and remember eat, okay? and play nice- and no-no swearing in front of the other- "mama!" yea-yes little lamb "mama-mama they have-have a little kitchen!"

you kiss her head once, and take her into a hug so tight you feel a button on your skirt pop.

leaving is hard. you watch the other kids file into the room, elsie smiling at the new faces that walk by her. a young girl with contrasting her sits by her and asks about her dress. you look at frank and whisper over a semblance of please. he nods dutifully and then claps his hand together "morning guys!"

you leave before the other teachers can see your face fog up.

Nora at the front desk hands you a tissue when you walk into the library- nodding you toward you office. her kind face is semi-needed, so you let her softened look wash over you. you move bratney into his in office kennel. he sloshes down by your feet when you move to sit at the desk. you move to tidy up the-half installed office. organising papers into piles of to-do and not to do. the day moves swiftly- a digital call in meeting with the head office across the U.S. an inventory stock has been asked to be filed in, and a visit is scheduled for high-school students in three weeks time. it moves to 2;30 before you can even notice I need to go pick up elsie- Nora. see you tomorrow? she nods, half asleep at the libraries front desk. you rattle Bratney awake and get in the car.

when you arrive at the school- just 5 minutes early, you look anxiously for that pool of blonde curls. she probably just isn't outside yet. when the bell rings you move out of the car and wait by the front gate.

as classes file out, you look over for your daughter. you watch as she tumbles out of the red door, gripping tight to a girls hand as she laughs heartily. frank moves out slow behind her, looking over the groups of parents and baby sitters. elsie sees you and then drops her friends hand and bounds over to you.

"mama-mama look!" she crashes into your legs as you hear bratney bark from the car. her hands are covered in glitter, she's got a chunk of felt stuck in her hair, and a bandage, a bandage on her knee. elsie-elsie what happened? she looks at her knee and then you and gulps. "tripped. mama-i made a name sign for-for my desk" when did you trip elsie? "lunch- mama frankie is so nice, he-he chopped up my apple-at lunch! and he, he draws pictures!" you hold elsie's hand and storm up to frank, anger flushing your chest, frustration bubbling in your stomach.

frank? "hi ma'am, elsie is wonder-" she fell? he pulls a pretty similar face to your daughter- "she was playing with the other-other kids, she's fine. took it like a trooper-" she fell? "ma'am kids are robust" you should've called me, I- frank you- is she alright? how big is the? god on her first day- he moves to place a palm over your shoulder. grounding you.

he look at you curiously. again mirroring your daughter. maybe he's so good with kids cause he is like them. but its charming, and good to say the least. "ma'am. she's just fine. its funny- she said you would worry. anyway- she's good. she's so. she's very bright miss- really. better at spelling than half the class- i've given her a work book? if you could look over it. hey. hey she's good-she had a good day. you did-" he looks deep in your eyes, and softens his gaze. he smells good. like sweet coffee and eucalyptus. "you did good. she's an amazing girl. bit shy though, spent half the morning on my lap-"

you laugh and move a hand over his on your shoulder. his cheeks flush at the contact and then you take a step back. unprofessional. "mama-mama my new friend has-has guitar lessons can I get lessons?"

elsie smiles up at you from the ground and you force yourself to snap out of it. you nod mumbling sure-sure. turning away from frank with a nod. see you tomorrow- "bye frankie!! thank you!!! bye ! bye!"

as you step away and move to the car- you hear him speak over soft.

"bye girls!"

you try not to blush as you buckle Elsie into her car seat. tomorrow.

a/n: I hope you like this ! I know its a lot softer than what I usually do. but I like it. this will probably be like. 5 parts? I might right the next one later tonight if I get the Inspo. anyway ! I love you!