Frank Iero x Reader Oneshots

✘;Breathless | F.I. x Reader

(A/n)

Requested on Tumblr

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For the first time, I'm not in a club that stinks. Of course, the faint smell of cigarettes and alcohol persists in the background, but it's not something overwhelming that follows you around or suffocates you. The fact there aren't a lot of people does help a lot with it.

It is a private party or something of the sort going on that Jepha managed to get me in with him, which he justified with a ramble about being friends with the band who's currently playing, having gotten onstage about half an hour ago. Which he didn't mention is that it isn't any band, it's My Chemical fucking Romance.

Never before had I seen them live, nor really wanted to despite knowing my friends' history with them, but suddenly I am questioning myself why I never did it because fuck, they're amazing. Of course each one of them stands out in their own way, playing with feeling and so intensely, but I can barely tear my eyes away from the guitarist – Frank, I'm sure – at the moment I lie my eyes on him.

The dark strands of hair stick to his skin the same way his white shirt does due to the sweat, showing he's got more tattoos than the ones showing and probably even more and I can't help but to imagine what they might look like, but the thought doesn't linger on my mind for long with how he drops to his knees, throwing his head back as his mouth hangs open and I wonder if he really knows what he's doing with the guitar or just mindlessly strumming according to the song. Not even a minute later, he's back to jumping around. How in the hell does he do that?

Honestly, it's all so entrancing. Frank is always millimeters away from hitting someone or something, but he never does. Is he used to it or do the others know better than to stand close to him?

It is genuinely entrancing, I believe, because their show is coming to an end before I can notice and Frank's hugging his guitar with a wide and proud grin. The four stand there for a moment, bowing slightly at the crowd's cheering before they can leave the stage. Will they continue around, tho?

A quick goodbye escapes my lips almost helplessly and I barely stay for my friends' responses, putting my cup away to make it easier to squeeze past people. I'd say it's too late if I didn't catch a glimpse of the sweaty white shirt and mop of hair disappearing through the back door.

My Chemical Romance has a van to keep their instruments in, at least when they go to small gigs that aren't too far – it's a fairly nice one. Even in the dark, it's possible to see the amps inside the van and the tangle of cables on the ground as one of them stands inside the vehicle to put the instruments away. Whoever it is, I don't know and it doesn't really matter whilst I carefully watch Frank laugh, talking with Gerard and another man who's not part of the band before he's walking away. Well, in better words, approaching, despite his objective not seeming to be me.

"That was a good show," I say right as he's walking past me, leaning against the wall; he hesitates, but does stop on his tracks, turning around with his hand over his mouth and eyebrows raised. "Honestly, you got so much energy, that's amazing! Not gonna lie, I'm kinda envious. Like, every time I thought you'd stop jumping, you'd start doing it again with even more energy."

A breathless chuckle comes from Frank as he runs his hand up his face, brushing his hair back so it isn't falling on his face anymore. "Well, thank you," he says simply and does nothing more than glance back and leave.

I'm disappointed, but not surprised.

Going back inside the club doesn't really appeal to me. The gig was supposed to be the party's closing so I doubt there will be anything interesting rather than people downing the rest of the drinks and covering tables in lines of white powder. With a tap on my pockets, I start walking to my car after feeling the outline of my phone, wallet and keys through the fabric.