𝑄𝑈𝐼𝐸𝑇 𝑊𝐼𝑇𝐻 𝑌𝑂𝑈
A/N: since I'm starting to also write for MCR have this guys!! Requests are open for Frank and Gerard! 🫶 this can be seen as any reader! Fem, gender fluid, non binary and male! I write for all!! I also write for trans male reader as well!
Pinned post (will probably be updated a lot!)
Warnings: none, just pure fluff!!
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Frank smells like coffee and worn leather when he pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip. You fit there easily, like this is where you’ve always belonged.
“You okay?” he murmurs, voice low and scratchy, lips brushing the top of your head.
You nod, cheek pressed against his heartbeat. It’s steady. Grounding. Frank has always been like that—chaotic energy on stage, but with you? Gentle. Attentive. Safe.
You’re sitting on the floor of his living room, backs against the couch, the soft glow of string lights casting shadows across the walls. His guitar rests nearby, abandoned halfway through a song because you’d laughed at a lyric he messed up, and he’d dramatically flopped beside you instead of fixing it.
“I swear, I had it,” he insists, grinning up at you.
“You absolutely did not,” you tease, poking his cheek.
He gasps, offended, then immediately leans in to press a dramatic kiss to your knuckles. “Wow. Betrayed in my own home.”
You laugh, real and unguarded, and Frank watches you like it’s his favorite thing in the world. Like he’s memorizing the sound, the way your eyes crinkle, the way your shoulders relax when you’re with him.
He reaches out, fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on your wrist. “I like this,” he says quietly.
“This?” you ask.
“Yeah,” he replies. “No noise. No crowds. Just you. Me. Being… normal.” He shrugs, then adds, softer, “I don’t get tired of it. I don’t think I ever could.”
Something warm settles in your chest.
You lean over and rest your head on his shoulder, and he immediately tilts his head to rest against yours, like it’s instinct. Like it’s muscle memory.
For a while, neither of you speaks. Frank hums under his breath—some half-formed melody that exists only for you—and when you lace your fingers with his, he squeezes back, thumb brushing your knuckle in that quiet way that says I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.
And for once, the world feels small in the best possible way.
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Taglist: @erik-must-die @dixontardis
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