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Dec 28, 2025

Pulse Point

Shotgunner

Prorev!Frank x YoungerMToro!Reader

Content: Toxic gay people, internalized homophobia, reader is an asshole, frank is an asshole, y/n used, smoking mentioned and done, reader is a smoker, mlm, making out, just gay shit all around.

NOT PROOFREAD!!

Parts -> 1

4.8k words & 25k characters!! (holy shit)

“He was all up on my arm, man! Fuckin’ hilarious. Look at the pics I took on the camera in his room.”

“Someone finally likes your shitty tats, Frankie.”

Loud voices came from outside your dark bedroom. Sun peered in thin slivers from the gaps in the curtains, shining light along all of the random clothes scattered about.

They kept laughing, yelling. Your parents were, once again, out on the town doing whatever they did now. It was late in the morning, you groaned at the noise.

You rummaged a hand around the bed and nightstand, looking for your phone. As your hand rubbed against the cool metal of it, you attempted to grab it. It was a failed attempt, it fell on the ground.

The warmth of the body who’d been next to you was long gone. Though, there were definitely more undone bedsheets than normal.

A small sigh fell from your lips. You’d decided to just get up and get the phone.

Swinging your legs off the side of the bed, a small shiver fell through your body at the cold hardwood beneath your feet. At some point while you slept, you’d stripped yourself of both your shirt and jeans, go figure.

You picked up your phone from the floor, flipping it open and glancing for any new texts. Stanley Alterman was the first name at the top, well, just Stan.

m3et at the coffee shop near the bowlero? bring ur camcorder if so!

-ST

He always texted like someone took his ability to use only letters. Then again, you still responded.

Eventually, after getting an address, you closed the phone, placing it back on the nightstand it belonged on.

Going and searching in a basket of cleanish clothes, you scoured for something to cover yourself with. That humiliated feeling from the night before filled up your stomach all over again as you glanced at your bare legs.

Eventually, your hands stumbled upon a pair of pajama pants. They were quickly slid on and a shirt came soon after. Your gaze fell back to that guitar, sitting in an open case. Stupid.

The same loud chatter from beforehand still rang out. You matched voices to faces in your head.

Mikey, Frank.

Both of them still just yelling about some random fucking pictures.

Your feet hit the floor tiredly as you started walking towards the door. With a quick lean, the phone on the nightstand made its way into your pocket.

That annoyingly loud door creaked and whined as you forced it open, catching the end of Frank’s obnoxious laughing.

In the kitchen, blaring voices poured out without an end in sight.

“I still can’t believe that shit is real. That’s so funny,” Mikey’s voice came from down the hallway, “Y/N doesn’t seem the type for all that. He’s shy.”

Your ears perked up at the calling of your names. You walked a touch faster, getting to the kitchen area at a decent pace. Everything in that conversation was getting caught in your head.

Frank’s hands were holding your camcorder. Your eyes met his, not a hint of guilt.

A deep sigh came through your lips, “Why do you have my camera, Iero?”

“Someone likes cuddling.”

“What? Give me that, asshole.”

“No.”

“Fuck you mean ‘no’? It’s my fucking camera.”

Mikey watched everything go down. Every insult, attempt to snatch the camcorder back, swear word, and mixed look. You were pissed and kept reaching towards Frank, only for him to turn it behind him.

If Ray was there, he would’ve stopped that. Then again, it wasn’t really his problem to deal with anyone but his brother. But also, You were 24. It was your business whenever you got angry.

“Man, I’m not kidding! Give me that shit back!”

He sounded cocky. “Just let me show you the pictures! They’re funny and not embarrassing at all.”

You and Frank basically circled each other around the table. At some point, Mikey had gotten up and retreated to a safer spot on the couch in the other room.

It was so frustrating to be toyed with.

All of your arguing lead to nothing but riled up boys and festering attitudes.

Frank’s voice rang out as he flipped the camera, showing the gallery, “Chill out, asshole! Just saying someone likes to cuddle!”

All of his words were laced with sarcasm. It was so obvious. This was all just a funny game.

Along the small screen, the picture taken by Frank was in broad daylight. His tatted up arm visible on most of the screen.

Then it was your hands and side profile.

Clinging onto him.

Your nose tucked underneath his forearm, hands taking their hold up his wrist.

Holy shit.

“Why the fuck were you in my bed?”

Quickly, you snatched the camera from Frank’s hand. The buttons clicking under your fingers, there were about five photos of you and him. That last one had his stupid smug smile on it.

Frank’s voice was too loud against the fact you were barely 4 feet away from each other, “Ray said I could stay there, you wouldn’t mind.”

“I do fucking mind, man!” You snapped back. It was such a privacy violation.

“No need to get all pissy. I’m heading home later today.”

You huffed a sigh of relief and moved towards the fridge. The other boy left to go sit with Mikey, who’d been listening in the entire time. They began to laugh at your defensiveness.

It made you feel sick. Shame licked at the back of your throat, coating your insides with guilt. This secret you’d been hiding for so long. Worse than the smoking or the drugs.

“You guys are assholes. I can’t believe Ray puts up with your bullshit.”

Their heads both snapped towards you as your footsteps trailed off.

Frank’s obnoxious voice came out from behind, out of your sight.

“I can’t believe you’re related to someone actually not a fucking loser! My God.”

Your stomach twists. All of this resentment is such a big part of everything you are. Throat tightening, you finally make it to your bedroom.

There’s more important shit to deal with today than some annoying band geeks.

The phone tucked into your pocket buzzed twice, instinctually you grab it. One from Ray, one from Stan.

You want to hang out tonight? We can go see a movie or some shit maybe. Love you Y/N.

-Ray

He’d named himself that when your mother had him take your phone once. You’d done some stupid shit, snuck out in high school, got drunk, the whole thing.

Your thumb scrolls past the text, reading the next one.

m3et m3 in thirty! x.

-ST

You paused, figuring out what to do. Something in you wanted to just beg Ray to see you, to spend more time.

But then again, he never really did that before. Not unless your mother asked him and your other brother to take you to do something.

You ignore the message from Ray.

can do asap stan

-Y/N

Sighing, your eyes glance around the messy room. It looks worse with the lights on and windows open, more exposed.

The clean clothes strewn in a laundry basket called your name. Same thing as always, even in the heat. Jeans that looked like they were meant for someone 40 pounds heavier, and a random shirt.

Most of them were hand-me-downs.

Being the first person someone would think about wasn’t normal.

——

The coffee shop was familiar. It reminded you of being a weird teenager with your weird friend group, filled with people you’d never talk to again.

Across the table, Stanley sat, raving about the ‘golden’ footage you gave him. His face was soft, cheeks slightly rounded and freckled. There was a small tooth gap between his front two teeth.

It made him look a little younger than his age.

“Man, this shit is so cool. You’re willing to talk more about this too, correct?”

His voice was slightly scratchy, like a DJ making a wrong turn on his disc. It was slightly intriguing to you.

“Oh, yeah. I mean, I had a pretty standard life in college. Parties, sex, all that shit.”

“Would you be open to talking about being gay while in a frat?”

Your breath hitched in your throat, face heating up, heart speeding up.

“What?”

The man across the table laughed slightly, a mixture of confusion and slight amusement.

“Was it just like a joking gay thing? My bad. I know some dudes do that.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

A disbelief ridden laugh escaped your lips as your eyes dart about the coffee shop, nervous.

“You gave me everything on that camcorder, here, let me show you.”

Stan’s expression was light, it’s obvious he didn’t care. His hands reached into a backpack by his feet, pulling out a thick laptop. It hit the table with a loud thump noise.

“C’mere. Look.”

You stood up, going around to the booth side of the table, plopping down next to the slightly heavier set man, leaning in.

And sure, there it was, drunken footage and pictures of you. The videos were grainy but clear enough to see you wrapped inside another man’s arms, bodies close together as you danced around a dorm room.

Those weren’t meant to seen and your stomach basically felt like it would eat itself. Watching every kiss, body adjustment, all of it, is so embarrassing.

“Fuck— you weren’t meant to see all that—“

You stumbled through the sentence, trying to explain yourself. Stan just laughed, knocking your shoulder playfully with his.

“Chill out. I’m not going to shoot you or anything. You don’t have to say anything about it if you don’t want, just thought it might give some more perspective or some shit like that.”

“I can’t do that, sorry, ST.”

“Don’t worry. I can always crop the footage. Just tell me if you ever decide that you can.”

Silence fell between you two as you stand, returning back to the other side of the table. Stan begun to talk again, you only half listened to his rambling, just nodding and ‘uh huh’ing.

Your mind was clouded, filled with thoughts of those earlier college days. Loud, stupid, too gay to function. Nothing in you was ashamed when you were drunk.

That had changed eventually, slight shame always lingered when everyone started getting laid with girls.

They were normal, not running off during a house party to kiss a guy. A concerning amount of frat guys would probably make out with a horse if they were drunk.

So, it was fine.

At some point Stan got quiet, his tone seeming a little more standoffish. You hadn’t heard everything he said but got the gist in case he asked questions.

You were ready for anything.

“What’s it like being gay? Like kissing dudes and not chicks and shit.”

Not that.

“Oh, well— Um— I’m not really—“

Your heart caught in your throat as you think of a way to explain yourself. Everything in your body rejected this reality.

You looked around the coffee shop, it was pretty empty but the people who are there have headphones shoved in their ears anyways.

“I’d rather not speak about that here.”

Stan cocked his head slightly but shrugs, closing his laptop and putting it away into that same beaten up backpack. His tone was quiet, sensing your nervous presence.

“I mean, whatever. I got a good spot if you wanna talk somewhere else?”

“You don’t think it’s like gross or anything, though..”

“I really could not give two shits.”

So, taking a sip of your drink on the table, you stood up. The bag with your camcorder then made its way into your hand and over your shoulder, sitting across your body.

That’s something you noticed quickly, Stan’s lack of care for ‘problematic’ communities, as you’d heard them called.

You places your hands in your pockets, ignoring all the sweat that had caked on your back while you sat. The other boy stood up soon after, his knee cracking as it locked out.

“It’s not like special or anything but it’s on the other side of the old elementary school.”

Stan’s voice strained as he stretched his back upwards, arms overhead. You replied with an awkward expression splayed across your face.

“Oh. Ray stole my car for the day, I can’t walk that far.”

“No worries. I’ll drive…as long as you don’t mind all the trash I have in my car.”

“I drive a glorified moving van, I don’t care.”

“Then my car it is.”

You hadn’t noticed the pink tinge along Stan’s ears as he spoke. And maybe being the center of attention felt nice, so you didn’t care.

—

“Thanks for paying.”

Stan’s voice was light, his seat pushed back further than normal. The car was in park.

“No big. You’re driving me places.”

You toyed with the straw of the slushee in your hand. At some point on the way back, you’d felt bad for using Stan’s gas, so you bought him some shit from a gas station.

It was quiet, the place he’d chosen. That was a surprising contrast from the normal, bustling area of New Jersey. Radiohead played from the car speaker, occasionally skipping.

The other man hummed softly, mumbling lyrics as he knew them.

“Jigsaw—“ Stanley paused. “Did you end up being able to get those cigs?”

Stan’s attention was once again on your face. Something in his manner was nervous.

You met his eyes.

“Yeah, of course I did. You wanna smoke?”

“Never tried it.”

“Okay, well, do you wanna try it?”

“Kind of.”

It wasn’t an out of the ordinary thing for you to have to teach people how to smoke. There were about a million times that someone got curious. Especially in a college town. Everyone wanted to get high or drunk or both.

The slushee in your hand was moved into the cup holder as you reached into your back pocket. You’d swiped them while Stan spoke to the worker earlier

Then again, most people didn’t care enough to get on someone’s ass for swiping cigarettes. Some small buzzing noises came from your phone, you didn’t bother to check. Your phone ended up tossed in the backseat to get it to shut up.

It was definitely Ray being the overprotective nosy guy he was.

You pulled out one of the cigarettes, placing it between your lips and holding it still with your teeth and you searched for a lighter.

“You got a light?”

Stan stumbled through a couple words while fumbling with the glove compartment in front of you.

“Oh shit— let me help you—“

It was a little awkward having him just awkwardly reaching over your lap. Then again, a lighter did end up in your hand, so it didn’t really matter.

“Obviously light it first.”

You mumbled while flicking open the silver lighter and covering the end of the cancer with your free hand. The flame ignited as your hand flicked against the turn wheel, engulfing the tip of the cigarette with hot red ash.

A small spark hit your empty hand, making you shake it out. Swear words fell from your mouth, filling the car.

“Then you just— shit that hurt— take it in like a breath. Easier said than done, I know.”

Stan’s eyes were on your relaxed form, watching you smoke like it was completely normal. Like it was something similar to eating or drinking.

The pain in your finger tip slowly subsided to a dull heat.

Two fingers went to rest on the cigarette between your lips as you took in the familiar smoke. The sunroof was opened and you, tilting your chin upwards, letting out the hot smoke. It spiraled slowly into the dry atmosphere.

His gaze never left you.

You removed the cigarette from your mouth, offering it out as you turned to face Stan. Clearing your throat before talking.

“Your turn.”

The other boy immediately looked a little put off, panicky. His words were rash when he spoke.

“Is there a way I can just do the smoke part without putting that in my mouth? I think i’d choke or something, Y/N.”

“I mean, yeah. It’s a little invasive, though.”

You laughed breathlessly. Sure, in college shotgunning wasn’t out of the ordinary but just in the middle of New Jersey? Not the thing you’d do everyday.

“Invasive how?” Stan asked, his head cocking slightly.

A small tinge of embarrassment filled your body as you spoke. Every time you’d suggested shit like this before, you were drunk to all hell. Being sober was different.

The car seemed too warm, too small.

“I could always shotgun the smoke into your mouth.”

A pause.

One that was too quiet to be comfortable.

Thom Yorke’s voice was skipping on the player as Stan seemed to struggle to find something to say.

You hit it, causing the music to fix itself well enough.

“Okay.”

“You sure?” A small snicker left your throat. Normally it was chicks who pulled this kind of shit.

“Yeah it’s— i’m fine— it’s whatever. Unless you don’t— we don’t have to—“

“I’ll do it, man. Just not in this cramped ass car.”

Stan’s face had tinted itself a light pink, eyes wide. He seemed almost shocked by how cool you were with all this.

You were just desperate for action, even if it was embarrassing.

The cigarette found its way back into your mouth as you opened the car door, stepping out into the heat. At least the place Stan had chosen was shady. You shut the door by kicking it gently.

It was just some shitty parking lot where everything was gonna go down.

Not exactly peak romance.

Your feet walked the rest of your body around to the back of the car, resting it against the trunk door. Stan pulled out the keys and shut everything off.

He looked nervous.

Standing across from Stan, he seemed a little taller. Not than you, just about the same height.

Pulling him in, you inhaled the smoke of the cigarette. One hand on his sleeve, the other on the familiar object in your mouth.

Lost in your stupidity, the sound of a car on the other side of the parking lot didn’t register. Neither did the loud screeching of it spinning donuts.

Just the quiet sensation of forcing the smoke down the other boy’s lungs and the lingering taste of the slushee on his lips.

Not the subtle click of a phone camera.

Just a constant hit back and forth. Only until Stan was confident enough, yeah?

Not the scurrying of an old car, fighting to start up.

Actually, that one got your attention.

Your hand had snaked to the back of Stanley’s neck, his were gripping onto the back of your sweat stained shirt. You slipped your hand from the back of his throat to the side, feeling along where his heartbeat pulsed along it.

It was quick, hot.

“I think we had company.” Stan mumbled, his voice low.

“What? Shit.”

Both of you let go at the same time, the realization settling in. It was different from a party at 12:30am. There wasn’t plausible deniability in any sort.

Who cared enough to get pictures?

——

The car ride home dragged on, everything felt too close. Shame settled somewhere deep in your stomach but a cigarette was still held between your lips.

“I’ll be at yours for that— um— audio session, yeah?”

You questioned Stan, his hand on the wheel was tight, the other rested on the console. His eyes glazed over you for a section before darting back to the road. A couple of stray veins showed through his driving hand.

“Yeah. Unless you don’t want to or something.”

“No, no, i’ll be there at 4:15 on Sunday.”

“Cool.”

You had the same feeling.

Sinking.

Crushing.

Who got that stupid photo?

A buzz came from the backseat, you reached and grabbed your phone. It was Ray, again.

Where you at, Y/N? Haven’t seen you all day. Love you.

-Ray

Silence rung out for a moment while you thought of a believable answer. Your fingers hovered over the keypad as another text buzzed loudly against your palm.

Also, Gee, Mikey, and I are going out for dinner. Frank might come and bum around the house, I told him he could borrow my guitars.

-Ray

Then one more.

We’re going to that pizza place you liked as a kid. I’ll pick you up some garlic bread. Mom and dad are visiting their friend, they’ll be home late, again.

-Ray

Quiet.

Love you, little man. Text me back.

-Ray

You audibly sighed, tapping the ash of the cigarette in your hand out the window. Of course the only one not going away was Frank and his stupid fucking face.

It was frustrating but inevitable.

Stan sensed your frustration but pushed it off, letting you cool down. His hand not on the wheel hesitantly moved to your wrist, holding it gently.

He would’ve held your hand, but it was too preoccupied holding the phone as you typed a rushed response. It was just a mixture of abbreviations and quick texts.

At the end of your single-handed typing, you dropped the phone in an empty cup holder. Your hand slid to hold onto Stan’s. Not interlacing fingers or anything, just holding loosely on it.

Not like lovers, not like friends. Just boys.

What a confusing moment.

———

The house was empty when you entered, a good sign. Your footsteps were the only the making any noise.

As you reached for the fridge handle, a small stir came from the couch. It was a mix of limbs rubbing against leather and a quiet groan. The TV flicked on, you sighed softly.

He wasn’t supposed to be here already. Something about Ray’s text made it seem like you’d have a few hours to yourself before all hell broke loose.

Shit.

“Hi, Frank.”

You called out to him, knowing he’d say something soon enough anyways. Your eyes scoured through the fridge in front of you, trying to figure out something to eat.

It was all basically barebones.

“What were you doing earlier today, Y/N?”

Your name rolled off Frank’s tongue like the venom running off a snake’s fang. There was no way that was him. You reached for something small, taking it out and closing the fridge.

“Why does it matter,” You questioned, “And why do you care?”

Frank’s voice was anything but just curious, it was malicious in some way, just a hint.

“Just because i’m not so sure how Ray would feel about his kid brother with another boy.”

You froze, entire body tensing up at the thought. It was Frank, of course it was Frank. God, the son of a bitch couldn’t just leave you alone.

“Why were you there?”

“Oh, just driving donuts in the empty lot. Got curious when I saw Altman’s car in the back.”

“You better not tell Ray, you god awful piece of shit!”

Everything in you seethed. Why couldn’t Frank just let you handle your own business? He sat up, moving his palms to face you like an inmate.

“Don’t get your damn panties in a twist, my god. You’re so insecure. I should tell Frank about the smoking and that kid. Stanley, yeah?”

“Stop talking about him. He was just a one time thing, you stalker. Plus, i’m not gay, he just wanted a smoke.”

“Am I next? Cause you seemed really eager to get up close and personal last night. Plus, you get really nervous when Ray gets near your precious camcorder.”

Shitshitshitshit.

Frank just didn’t stop talking. He kept going on and on and on. Barking and yelling and laughing at your stupidity. It was humiliating just being ridiculed by this obnoxious 25 year old.

Your stomach twisted, stretching and squeezing with anger.

His voice never fucking stopped, did it?

You finally really bit back at him.

“Would you just shut your stupid fucking face for once, god damnit! You just seem to think the world revolved around you?”

“Never said—“

“I’m not fucking done with you! You’ve done nothing but bum around here for the last three days! Go home, Frank, go home!”

Silence.

“God, you’re a backup guitarist! And I needed you to shut up about your stupid ‘Pency Prep’ shit about four years ago!”

You’d started pacing around the kitchen, making your way to living room, and in front of Frank, whom was still sitting on the couch.

“Nobody cares about that stupid band anymore except you, you dumb fucking tattletale!”

By the look on Frank’s face, you’d definitely struck a nerve. Just a little too far, maybe? Everything in your head told you to keep yelling, get on him for every time he’d pissed you off.

But you stopped, taking a step back and biting your tongue. Frank looked angry and a little embarrassed. Served the asshole right.

It was so quiet in that living room then. Just eyes locked on each other.

Frank stood up, walking towards what seemed like the front door. Frustration and humility flushed his face, his shaggy hair curling above his ear.

You turned away, heading to the kitchen to grab the food you’d abandoned earlier to yell at the other man.

A hand grabbed onto your shirt, bunching it up between your shoulder blades, pulling you backwards. Its fingertips were callused, roughened from years of musical abuse.

From the shock of being yanked, Frank turned you around, despite being a touch smaller, lighter. His hand snaked from the back of your shirt to the front, the other coming to match it.

They both balled up along your collar, right above whatever stupid graphic was splayed along it.

“You’re just a faggot. You know that, right? Stupid fucking gay dude who can’t even accept himself!”

“Frank, what the hell are you—“

Your words were cut off by Frank pulling you downwards into him, pressing his face against yours. Like instinct, you immediately wanted to reach for his face.

Then you remembered it was fucking Frank Iero.

It was a couple seconds before what had happened really settled in your brain. You pulled away as soon as the shock faded, pushing Frank away.

There was a second, a broken tension, you two just stared at each other.

Something inside of your body snapped, whether it was the moment or just the disparity from your lack of action, you stepped back to Frank, grabbing at the back of his throat, kissing him.

It was messy, a shit show of a kiss. Nothing like the clean, locked lips you’d been giving Stan. No, this was nasty.

The taste of his spit tainted with whatever shit he’d eaten right before, something sweetish.

Whatever it was, that sweet spit was now smeared along your lips. Frank grabbed at your arms, gripping them tightly before sliding up to hold your face. It made your stomach twist, just not like before.

A different movement.

The kiss turned make out was about as angry as it could be. You tugged occasionally at the overgrown hair along the nape of his neck with one hand. The other rested on the pulse vein along his throat.

It beat with a stable, quick, rhythm. It was like you felt every bit of blood flow up to face, flushing his obnoxious cheeks.

The sound of a car, your car, pulling into the driveway made Frank push you off of him. His lips were kiss bruised and slightly swollen and his eyes were wide.

The man looked like an abused dog. Hilarious.

“What the fuck was that?” You questioned to yourself mostly.

“I don’t know, man! I didn’t expect you to kiss back!”

“Why did you kiss me in the first—“

Talking and footsteps came from outside, heading to the front door.

“We’re talking about this later. I don’t need Ray seeing us like this.”

You pushed your hair back and out of your eyes before placing both hands on your head. It was a little bit of shock. Quickly, your feet carried you back to your bedroom, leaving Frank in the living room.

Holy fucking shit.

——-

lowkirkenuinely hit the flow state writing this 🥹

also almost 5k words is crazy for me

#percymusttdie #mcr #my chemical romance #yip yap #i hope nobody from school finds this account #gerard way #frank iero x male reader #frank iero x reader #ray toro #ray toro sib reader #fanfic #mlm thoughts #percy is speaking!#yes babe #x yn #x reader

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