Frank Iero Must Die {Frerard}

3

The next day, I drove down to my target's house (with a black beanie over my flaming red hair) to stake it out and gather information. It's not called stalking if it's part of your job.

He wasn't home when I got there, so I waited patiently in my rental car. His house was small and run down, in one of those neighbourhoods where it was probably better to just wear a bulletproof vest.

There was a small lawn full of dying grass, and I wondered if something could still be classified as a lawn if nothing in it was alive. Then I one of those stupid cliché childhood flashbacks.

I was in the yard with my brother Mikey and we had a can full of black paint for our new treehouse, but we'd decided to put the paint to better use. I was painting flowers black and he'd run inside to get a snack, when there was a loud explosion-like noise. He'd put a fucking fork in the toaster.

I was grinning to myself at this stupid, irrelevant, pointless, waste of a childhood memory when I saw Frank getting home.

It appeared he had walked, and I had no doubt about where he had been overnight. He positively radiated the "morning after a one night stand" vibe. And there is a vibe, trust me, I know.

He had a coffee in his hand, and he looked incredibly hungover. He also seemed to be experiencing pain in his...rear end.

I smirked to myself a bit as Frank hobbled up the steps, trying not grimace while greeting the old lady who lived next door. He must have had one wild night. I forced myself to focus before I began invisioning what a wild night with Frank would be like.

For the next few days I watched him, and he always followed the exact same routine: come home from a one night stand, get cleaned up, go out for coffee, go to the record store where he worked, go out for coffee yet again, go home to get changed, go out to a club or bar, get incredibly drunk, go home with some random guy, repeat.

It seemed he still managed to go out and get laid and be an assassin at the same time. Must be nice. I mean...what? Anyway.

He didn't seem to have any contracts, seeing as I never saw him staking out any houses or doing any research at the archives.

I planted a bug in his house, but I usually only heard the sound of his tv. He never had people over.

One night, while he was on his way to a club, I lost him. I drove around for a while, cursing myself and trying to find him, but I couldn't.

Normally I'd just go back to my hotel room and hate myself until it was time to resume following him, but looking at Frank's lifestyle had gotten me thinking. Maybe I should cut loose. Just once.

I could resume following him in the morning and it would be like nothing had happened.

After a few minutes of mentally arguing with myself, I surrendered and went to a club.

It was loud and sweaty and everyone smelled like alcohol and body odour. Why did I think this would be a good idea?

I squeezed through drunk idiots and sober pervs, making my way to the bar. A few sluts came my way, but I sent them packing.

I settled into my seat, drinking more than I would care to admit, and I don't remember the rest.

* * *

I awoke with a pounding headache, and I groaned. "Fucking hell." I raked my fingers through my red hair, taking deep breaths and squeezing my eyes shut tight.

When I opened them, I looked around. I was in a motel room, lying in the bed. I could hear someone showering in the bathroom, I was naked and the sheets were all incredibly tangled.

I rubbed my forehead, cursing under my breath. Glancing at the clock, I jumped out of bed. Shit. It was past noon!

When I hopped out of bed, I almost fell back down. Did I bottom? Fuck. I never bottomed anymore, I must have been shitfaced.

I grabbed my clothes, got dressed, and booked it. Thank god, my car was parked outside. What the hell was I thinking? Mistakes like this could get me killed.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as I drove. My ass was killing me. Why in the world would I bottom?

I shook my head, wondering why I was worrying about my sex life at a time like this. I was planning on killing Frank Iero the next day!

Alright Gerard, get your shit together, I told myself. Sighing, I drove to Frank's house as quickly as possible.

When I got to his house, I was relieved to find that I hadn't missed anything. He was just arriving at home, drinking his morning coffee.

When he entered the house, I noticed that the bug I'd planted was picking up muttering. He was talking to himself.

"I topped? What the hell, Frank! What was I thinking...ugh. And he left before I could ask him to explain all that happened! Stupid fucking hot guy with his stupid fucking red hair. Fucker." I froze.

Holy fuck.

I slept with Frank Iero.

And all I got was this t-shirt

Idk I wanted to add that

Sue me

I started a Fransykes. Yeah, I know, I have a lot of stories going on. I can handle it, I'm like Superman dw

Anyway, it's called In Your Dreams and I'd appreciate it if you'd read it c: