Frank Iero x Reader Oneshots

Home | F.I. x Reader

(A/n)

Requested on Tumblr

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Despite the long months that dragged by, the house still feels awfully empty and way too silent. It's right, though—getting used to this isn't an option. The days feel awfully longer, and not even hours spent working or on facetime seem to make time decide to go any faster.

Something about seeing Frank's pictures on tour doesn't have only this anguish and longing twisting in my chest, but also pride and happiness, which diminishes the desire for him to come back so soon; he enjoys it far too much, even more after so long. Nonetheless, I still want him here, to hug and kiss and cuddle, to prepare my favorite dish when I'm too lazy to cook anything.

Everything has been feeling worse during these last days, though, given how Frank was supposed to have arrived earlier in a flight that ended up not happening and had the band stuck in another continent for a few of days so far without the— Well, I wouldn't say they have no foreknowledge regarding when they're coming back, I'd say that just I have no idea of when they're returning because they didn't inform me on anything. Typical of them, in a way, but still doesn't fail in making me worry.

Fuck it, next time I'm packing it up and going with him, it doesn't matter what my boss says.

A sigh escapes my nose—maybe a little heavier than it should because even Soup is whining as she nuzzles my leg lightly. She is looking at me when I turn to look at her, and I don't know which of us feel worse about this, but I still try to have her lighten up a little, petting her head before I slide open the door to the backyard; the sound is enough to even have Lois show up from God knows where to go outside, so Soup ends up following her.

"Right," I mumble, tapping the pen repeatedly against the paper in a hope it'll help me ground myself easier so I can actually make a list of what I'll need the next time I go to the grocery store instead of staring at the paper sitting on the marble counter all night long.

This shouldn't be so hard. Things aren't like that just because Frank isn't here, right? I hate how it feels like my fingers just don't grip the pen right, my toes just can't sit together comfortably against the ground, and my clothes sometimes feel too rough against my back, and—

"Fuck!"

Did I hear it right or am I hallucinating things? I hold my breath, frozen still, making sure I'm making no noise.

"Fucking shit!" The sound of rattling follows, finished by a thud.

Alright, I'm fucking sane. I think. I put the pen aside to go to the living room to check, and there stands Frank with his back turned to me and his bag by his feet while he struggles to set his guitar case and another bag down. He continues cursing under his breath, probably undoing some of the straps and soon his other bag meets the ground.

"You're back already!" I move to close the door, enough to have him look at me with wide eyes, and help him put the guitar case down. "Couldn't even let me know you were on the way back?"

"Sorry!" Frank purses his lips, groaning as he nudges his bag with his foot so it won't fall over, and maybe he nudges it for more times than needed with a stress that takes over shamefully fast. "I got too caught up on things, I just couldn't wait to see you!" His voice grows whiny the way it always does when he arrives home after a long day, overwhelmed, and something shifts and warms up in my chest with it, finally having all the feelings inside it settle down once his arms are around me for a hug, his face buried in my shoulder. "It was so good! The tour, I mean! These last days have been so stressful, though, I—" Frank interrupts himself with a sigh, which is followed by his stomach's grumbling.