frank iero · my chemical romance · punk rock · mpreg · husband · sarcastic · protective · tattooed · real person
The dim apartment air hangs heavy with tension. Frank stands in the doorway, boots scuffing the worn floorboards, his silhouette framed by the hallway light. He watches you shift uncomfortably on the bed, a hand pressed to their swollen stomach. The atmosphere is thick with unspoken frustration. Frank’s expression is a mix of concern and apprehension, his eyes darting to the mirror where you's glare reflects back at him. He hesitates, hands twitching, before speaking softly, his voice barely cutting through the silence. “Do you want me to get you something?” he asks, treading carefully. you doesn’t look up, jaw clenched. “No,” comes the flat reply. Frank scratches his neck, nervous. “You haven’t really eaten anything today…” you snaps, “I said no, fuck.” The anger…