depravitydolls - Tumblr blog

depravitydolls · 16 days ago

Text

SANCTIFIED.ᐟ ⎯ LOTTIE MATTHEWS

✧ summary — lottie finds it hard to keep you all to herself when you obliviously flaunt yourself around the others.ᐟ 📻

tw — (mdni) implied sex, bat shit crazy lottie (my pookie), fluff, van being an absolute menace.

author’s note — (credits to @hyuneskkami for the dividers!!) bruh i shivered writing this—first lottie post!! she is my wilderness bat shit crazy wife. if y’all see a brown eyed doe manipulating the shit out of me—LEAVE ME BE. 🙂‍↔️

The cabin had been gone for weeks now—reduced to blackened timber, its charred bones buried beneath the weight of snowmelt and silence. The sky stretched wide and colorless above what remained of them, and though the worst of winter had passed, spring came in with a kind of stubborn quiet—muddy paths, leafless trees, soft wind that stirred through the newly built huts.

It was strange how quickly the others had adapted. Or maybe they hadn’t. Maybe they were just pretending, same as always. You didn’t talk much about the fire, or about Ben—how he walked into the woods one day and never came back. Most of the girls figured he’d died, or turned into something else, or maybe nothing at all. You never really shared your thoughts on it. People stopped asking.

But you helped build the huts. All of them, one by one. With the axe you’d sharpened by hand, your shoulders straining under the sun, arms slick with sweat and sawdust. You didn’t mind the work—it gave your hands something to do, gave your mind something to fixate on besides hunger and blood and the unbearable quiet.

Now that the cold had ebbed into something gentler, you stopped wearing the layers you’d needed to survive the frost. Your thick coat, gone. Your flannel, tied at the waist. You spent most days in a cut-off tank, skin finally allowed to breathe again, hair tied back out of your face. It wasn’t a performance. You weren’t trying to be seen. But you were.

Especially by them.

The JV girls had a way of lingering lately. Always in pairs, or pretending to be busy near wherever you happened to be. Robin once claimed she lost something near the wood pile you were chopping at. Britt asked for help carrying water when she was more than capable of lifting it herself. Mari—the boldest—hovered near while you sharpened your knife, complimenting your posture like it was something people complimented.

You didn’t think much of it. Never did. You weren’t blind, but you weren’t wired to assume people were interested either. You’d always been a little slow on that front. You figured they were just being kind. Bored, maybe. People got weird when survival became routine.

But Lottie noticed. Of course she did.

She noticed how Gen’s eyes trailed too long over your back when you bent to adjust a trap line. How Mari’s voice softened when she said your name. How the air shifted—just barely—whenever one of them found an excuse to laugh at something you said. She watched it happen over and over. And each time, it hit her somewhere deep. Not with anger, not with pettiness—but with this sharp, sour twist of possessiveness she wasn’t proud of.

You were hers. Or—no. Not hers. Not in the way things used to mean ownership. But yours was the name she said when she couldn’t sleep. Yours was the face she saw in dreams—once, so vividly, she’d woken in a cold sweat, hands trembling, lips parted like she’d spoken it out loud.

She took it as a sign.

You hadn’t believed in signs. Not the way she did. Not since the plane went down.

But she told you about the dream anyway. How you stood in the clearing. How you smiled at her and didn’t speak, but she heard you all the same. How the wind pushed your hair back from your face and the trees bowed like they knew you. Like they were waiting.

She told you it wanted her to be near you. That you were the answer it gave.

You didn’t mock her for it. You never would. But you didn’t believe in it either. You didn’t believe there was something lurking in the woods, pulling strings. You believed in coincidence. In suffering. In choice. And maybe, maybe—something larger, something divine—but not something cruel. Not something hungry.

You weren’t like Laura Lee. You didn’t pray aloud. You didn’t say grace. But in the quiet moments—when your fingers dug into the earth, when the sky turned blood-orange at dusk—you whispered your thanks to whatever was listening. Not one god. Maybe not even gods. But something. Something high. Something more.

You never said it out loud. No one really asked. And even if they had, it’s not like they cared.

But Lottie cared. She noticed the way you looked up when it rained, like the drops meant something. The way you touched the trees like you were listening to them. The way your voice changed when you said her name.

She noticed, too, how you never looked at anyone else the way you looked at her.

Still, it didn’t stop the heat from curling in her chest when she caught Mari trying to sit closer to you at the fire one night. Or when Gen offered to wash your shirt in the creek. Or when Britt asked to braid your hair “just to keep it off your neck.”

The knife in your hand moved in practiced, careful strokes—slow and deliberate, like you had nowhere else to be. You sat cross-legged at the entrance of the hut you and Lottie had built together, the worn piece of wood braced against your thigh as you shaved off its rough edges. You weren’t carving anything special—just something to do with your hands while the rest of camp quieted.

The fire had burned low outside. The woods buzzed with frogsong and distant creaks from the shifting trees. The night was warmer than most. Still cool enough to keep a long breath visible, but soft in a way you didn’t take for granted anymore.

Inside, Lottie had already settled onto the bedroll, half-curled against the wall, wrapped in the thinner hide you always gave up for her comfort.

You weren’t tired yet. You rarely ever were. The sun might set, but your mind didn’t. This—shaving bark, shaping edges, smoothing grooves with your thumb—this helped. It let you relax without needing to explain yourself.

She’d been quiet for a while, only the soft shuffle of her movements echoing in the small hut. Then, after a pause that hummed longer than most silences:

“Hey,” she said, soft. “Come here.”

You looked up from the wood in your hands, surprised at the quiet edge in her voice. Not strained. Not sad. Just… reaching.

You dusted your fingers off on your pants and turned toward her, but didn’t move just yet. “I’m almost done,” you said, gently.

Lottie pushed herself up so she was sitting upright, blanket slipping down her shoulders. Her hair was half-braided, loose at the ends. Her eyes shimmered in the dark.

“It can wait,” she said. “Just… come here.”

Something in the way she said it made you put the knife down. You stood slowly and crossed the few feet between you, kneeling beside her. She reached for your hand without asking, fingers brushing over your knuckles, your palm. You let her guide you to sit beside her, legs stretched out, backs brushing the woven wall.

She didn’t speak at first. Just looked down at your joined hands. She turned your wrist over, traced the faint burn scar there from last winter—when you’d grabbed the wrong end of a heated pot to stop it from tipping. You hadn’t even flinched.

You didn’t ask what was wrong. You didn’t have to.

Lottie exhaled slowly, then looked at you—not searching for something, not seeking comfort—but like she had something she needed to say.

“You know,” she started, voice low, “before I ever said anything to you… before you even knew what I really believed… I had a dream.”

You didn’t move. Just kept listening.

“It was after the first time I heard the forest go quiet. After Jackie.” She paused. “I hadn’t been sleeping well. But that night, it was different. I woke up in the middle of it, and I could feel something. Like the whole air changed. I don’t know how else to explain it, but it felt like the trees were listening.”

You nodded slightly, not interrupting.

“And in the dream,” she said, more slowly now, “you were there. Standing just at the edge of the clearing. I couldn’t see your face exactly, not at first. Just your shape. Your posture. You looked like you belonged there. Like the woods had grown around you instead of the other way around.”

Your breath caught faintly in your throat. Not fear. Not confusion. Just… something old stirring.

“I walked toward you,” she continued, “and you didn’t speak. But I heard you anyway. You said my name like you’d been saying it your whole life.”

She turned to look at you again, like she wanted to be sure you were still with her. You were. Entirely.

“And when I woke up,” she said, “I knew it was a sign.” Her voice softened. “Back then, it was still so clear. What the wilderness wanted. What it wanted.”

You shifted, your hand still tangled in hers. “You think… it wanted us together?”

Lottie nodded. “It wasn’t just some feeling. It was sure. Like you’d always been meant to be mine. Like the bond between us was something it recognized. Something it approved of.”

You didn’t believe in it the way she did. You never had. But you believed her. Believed in the way she looked at you like you were sacred.

“I was already in love with you,” she said, voice hushed now. “Long before the dream. Probably before the crash, if I’m honest with myself.”

You felt your chest pull tight, the way it always did when she said things like that.

“So when I had that dream,” she continued, “it didn’t feel like something new. It felt like permission.” She leaned her head slightly against your shoulder. “Like it was telling me to act on what was already mine.”

You swallowed, slowly.

“Not because I needed some blessing,” she whispered. “But because I needed to believe that even here… something understood what this was.”

You let the silence stretch between you, both of you wrapped in it like a second kind of warmth. Outside, the wind moved through the trees, and somewhere in the distance a branch cracked, a soft rustle in the underbrush.

“I don’t know if I believe in signs,” you said finally. “But I believe in you.”

Lottie let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, and you tilted your head just enough for your temple to rest against hers.

The wooden carving lay forgotten by the door. You’d pick it back up in the morning. For now, you stayed like that—shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, breathing in sync with something ancient and quiet, and, for the moment, entirely yours.

The silence between you was the kind that pressed in—not heavy, not uncomfortable, but close. The kind of quiet you only got with someone who already knew the rhythm of your breath, the shape of your thoughts before they formed.

You could still feel Lottie’s voice against your chest, the echo of her confession humming beneath your skin. About the dream. About the sign. About how she’d already been in love with you long before the wilderness gave her something to name it with.

You weren’t sure what to say. Not because you didn’t feel the same—you did, you always had—but because everything with her had always felt a little sacred. Like even your silence had to mean something.

But Lottie shifted. Her fingers untangled from yours. She reached for your hand again—not to hold it, not this time. She brought it to her lips instead.

You blinked, but didn’t pull away.

Her mouth pressed to your knuckles, gentle at first. A warm graze, a slow kiss to the scar just under your thumb. Then the next, and the next. A trail of them, like she was memorizing the shape of you. Her lips soft but certain, traveling over the ridge of your hand, the inside of your wrist. You watched her, heart drumming low and steady in your ears.

When she looked up at you, her mouth still barely grazing your skin, her eyes were molten.

“They act like they know you,” she murmured. Her voice was quiet. Raw. “Like you’re up for grabs. Like you owe them something.”

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

“But you don’t,” she continued, kissing the inside of your forearm. “You never did.”

You swallowed, the warmth creeping slowly from your stomach outward.

“I don’t doubt you,” she added. “I don’t think you’d fall for them.”

Her lips met your shoulder, just where your collarbone began, and lingered.

“I know where you stand with me.”

And still—there was that fire behind her words. Not fear. Not desperation. But something closer to claiming. Like she wanted to etch herself into the parts of you no one else ever saw.

Her hands came to your thighs as she moved to straddle your lap—slowly, unhurried. Like it had always meant to be this way. Her knees braced on either side of you, the hide blanket pooling around her hips. Her fingers slid along your shoulders, over the ridges of your muscle, settling behind your neck.

Your breath stuttered.

Lottie leaned in again—no longer featherlight—her lips brushing over the side of your throat, then lower, down the sloped curve of your collarbone.

She kissed you there. And again. A third time, firmer than the last.

Then she bit.

Not hard. Not painful. But enough for your jaw to tense, your hands to catch at her hips instinctively. Enough to feel it.

She sucked gently, then pulled back, her lips leaving a mark that burned into your skin with a quiet, smoldering pride.

Your eyes opened slowly, your pulse picking up.

Another kiss, this time to your other shoulder. Another lovebite. And then another. Her mouth moved over your chest like she was writing scripture into your skin with her teeth. Each mark deliberate. Each one placed where only she could put them.

Her hands never stopped moving. They cupped your jaw, slid into your hair, cradled your face like you were breakable. She pulled back just enough to look at you—really look.

“Mine,” she whispered, a possessive murmur wrapped in something too tender to be cruel. “You hear me?”

You couldn’t speak. Not yet.

Her thumbs pressed gently beneath your jaw as she tilted your face up to meet her eyes. Her hair had come loose from its braid, tumbling forward, soft curls brushing your cheeks and casting shadows across her cheekbones.

With the firelight flickering behind her, Lottie didn’t look of this world. She looked like something born of the wilderness itself—ethereal, wild, chosen.

You couldn’t look away.

She studied your face, lips parted like she was searching for something unspoken—confirmation, surrender, devotion, maybe all of it at once.

And when you didn’t move, when your hands trembled slightly at her hips like you couldn’t decide whether to hold her still or pull her closer—she decided for you.

Lottie leaned in, pressing her lips just beneath your ear this time, letting her breath drag slow across your skin as she whispered, “Say it.”

Your fingers slid under the edge of her shirt, finally daring to trace the curve of her spine. Her skin was warm beneath your calloused palms—too soft, too real, too hers. You weren’t sure how long you’d been touching her like this in your daydreams. But it didn’t compare to this.

You could barely breathe as your voice came low, rough. “I’m yours.”

Lottie’s breath caught.

You felt her smile against your neck.

Then she kissed you again, deeper now. Not frantic—never frantic—but intentional. Like she had all the time in the world to undo you.

The morning air was thick with dew and quiet. A soft, blue-gray hush had settled over the camp, still caught in that half-light between dawn and sunup. Most of the others were still asleep. The fire at the center of camp had burned low during the night, leaving only a few orange embers, and the forest beyond it stirred gently—branches creaking, birds starting to call.

You’d woken up warm.

Lottie was still curled in the furs behind you, her bare shoulder peeking out beneath the hide blanket, tangled curls falling into her face. She looked impossibly peaceful, her breath soft against the side of your neck. And for a moment, you just stayed there, feeling her chest rise and fall in time with your own.

The night before came rushing back like heat under your skin.

The kisses.

The way she had whispered into your throat.

The feeling of her hands dragging down your back, her body moving with yours like it had always known how.

But the morning was here now, and there were things to do. You weren’t exactly trying to sneak away, but you were careful as you slipped out from under her arm and pulled on your pants, your boots, the soft, worn tank you’d kept folded near the foot of the bedroll.

You didn’t catch the bruising. Not yet. You didn’t look in the small shard of mirror kept propped near the wall. You didn’t need to.

But the world didn’t stop for that kind of intimacy, not out here. The camp would be waking soon. Work needed doing.

The air outside the hut was still cool, dew clinging to the tips of the grass. The fire pit at the center of camp had burned low, but there were embers still glowing, a dull red pulse beneath blackened ash. Smoke rose in thin ribbons.

You started in on your usual—gathering wood, checking the traps off the north path, returning to camp with your arms full just as the rest of them began to stir. Shauna was already up, crouched by her shelter, steady hands dragging her knife along a whetstone. She didn’t look up as you passed, but you felt the flick of her gaze all the same. Measured. Neutral.

Gen was already near the fire, arms crossed, pacing in small, impatient circles.

“Where the hell is he,” she muttered to herself, scowling as she looked into the trees for Travis.

You nodded at her in passing, dropped the firewood in the pit’s ring, crouched down to begin rebuilding it.

It wasn’t until the third or fourth piece that you caught her staring.

Not in the casual, distracted way people looked at each other out here, but staring. Focused. Mouth tight. Cheeks slowly turning red.

“What?” you asked.

She blinked, hesitated. “Nothing,” she said quickly. “Just—you, uh—burn your shoulders or something?”

You frowned. “Excuse me?”

She nodded toward your arm. You turned your head—just slightly—and that’s when you saw it. The edge of the bruise just beneath your collarbone. You reached up, fingers grazing the other side of your neck. Another one. And there, near your shoulder—definitely another.

You hadn’t noticed them earlier, too used to the roughness of the woods to think about what lasted.

But Lottie had noticed. She’d meant for you to see them. For the others to. She’d left them where she knew they’d show. Where they couldn’t be mistaken for anything else.

You straightened up slowly, adjusting your shirt, not to hide them but just to acknowledge it, to feel the sting beneath your fingers. Your skin was warm. Your chest, warmer.

You winced. “…Didn’t notice.”

Gen snorted, awkward and flushed. “Yeah, no kidding.”

Then came Van.

She emerged from the edge of the trees with a smirk that was already too sharp, too knowing. Her shirt clung to her from the morning run, her sleeves rolled, her whole demeanor brimming with the kind of mischief you’d come to recognize as trouble.

She slowed as she reached you, took one long look at the marks trailing your throat and collar. She didn’t even try to hide her grin.

“Well damn,” she grinned, clapping you on the shoulder hard enough to make you wince. “Looks like the priestess got hungry last night.”

“Van—” you warned.

“She leave a whole damn map of her affection on you,” she teased, circling you once like she was inspecting your shirt for evidence. “What’d you do to deserve that kind of service, huh?”

“Van,” Taissa called flatly from a few feet behind her, already rolling her eyes.

But Van didn’t stop. She dropped her voice and leaned close to your ear, theatrical. “Wasn’t just the marks we heard, either. I mean—those sounds?” She let out a dramatic moan, sharp and loud—“Oh, Lottie,” she mimicked, too convincingly—“right there, please—”

You covered your face with one hand, heat rising in your cheeks fast.

“Van, shut up,” Taissa hissed, grabbing her by the wrist.

“Lottie, Lottie, bless me with your—”

“Van!” Taissa yanked her back with a grunt, dragging her down the path by the elbow.

“I’m just saying,” Van called over her shoulder. “If the woods weren’t already haunted, you two gave the trees something to talk about.”

You looked back toward Gen—only to find that she was gone. The girl had fled mid-tease, cheeks fully flushed, muttering something under her breath as she all but ran after Travis.

You stood still for a moment, letting the camp settle again. The low crackle of the fire. The wind moving through the trees. The hum of birdsong just beyond the perimeter.

You sighed, planting your hands on your knees, exhaling slow.

Flushed, maybe. A little embarrassed. But beneath that, under the teasing and the heat in your ears—there was something quieter. Something steadier. You felt marked not just by touch, but by choice.

You glanced once toward the path leading back to your hut.

She was probably waking by now.

And somehow, despite everything, you found yourself smiling.

149 notes · View notes

depravitydolls · 22 days ago

Text

⊹ ࣪ introducing.. bambi! reader .. ! *ೃ.

♱ bambi! reader who came from a rough but not outright abusive home. her parents were divorced and barely saw her—she often snuck off to the woods behind her rural neighborhood to read and escape.

♱ bambi! reader who had always loved animals and hiking, so when the dead started walking, her first instinct wasn’t the city or roads: it was the forest.

♱ bambi! reader who had a battered forest survival guide she carried around since she was a kid. it became her makeshift bible once the world changed.

♱ bambi! reader who spent the first few weeks alone but not terrified. sleeping in trees and surviving off berries, squirrels, and puddle water. trying to pretend this was all just one of her silly evening-long adventures in the forest instead of an apocalypse.

♱ bambi! reader who watched her neighbors turn. watched a group of adults rip each other apart for canned soup. swore off people after that.

♱ bambi! reader who the sounds of walkers never scared her as much as the sounds of people. until Daryl.

♱ bambi! reader who acts like an (adorable) animal half the time: poking her head out from behind tents, climbing trees, talking a mile a minute once she feels safe.

♱ bambi! reader who is clingy as hell with Daryl. she’s always touching him—hugging from behind, hanging off his arm, kissing his jaw or cheek.

♱ daryl dixon who from the moment he shot her and realized what she was, he’s been obsessed with keeping her safe. It haunts him. The idea of her bleeding out alone, still soft despite it all.

♱ daryl dixon who sees her as the last soft thing in a hard world. if she breaks, the world wins. so he refuses to let it happen.

♱ daryl dixon who never lets her out of his sight. she goes where he goes. period. hunting? she’s with him. supply run? she’s riding on the back of his bike.

♱ daryl dixon who gets jealous so easy it's almost pathetic.

♱ daryl dixon who hates when other men even look at her too long, especially Shane or Merle. if someone talks to her too sweet, he’ll wedge himself between them and say nothing: just stare.

♱ daryl dixon who is physically possessive. keeps an arm around her when they sit.

♱ daryl dixon who if she’s too far during huntings, whistles and points and she runs back to him.

♱ daryl dixon who goes feral if she’s ever threatened or even slightly injured.

♱ daryl dixon who once stabbed a walker twelve times more than necessary because it had cornered her.

♱ daryl dixon who trusts nobody else with her. not Rick, not even Carol. she’s his. she’s the only one who brings peace to his racing mind.

362 notes · View notes

depravitydolls · 24 days ago

Text

Mads Mikkelsen Headcanon: Dating A Younger Woman Would Include

masterlist

the age gap i'm thinking of is 20-35 years, so if it makes you uncomfortable do not read!

you would probably meet randomly at a park, both of you walking alone and bumping into each other

let’s add the cliché where one of you is holding a cup of coffee and it goes everywhere, staining the two of you

instead of glares or words of anger, you both chuckle at each other and laugh, apologising with grins on your face

he offers you some money for new clothes but you deny

you start to talk and realise similar interest and it all kind of comes naturally

both of you had intentions of frienly acquaintances but slowly evolved into friends that went out for dinner or drink every couple of months

i feel like you would be the first to fall for him

you knew that he was significantly older than you but your heart saw right past that

mads never brought up the topic because he thought it would be weird and didn’t want to destroy the newly friendship

but one day you were bold enough to ask him if he thought of you more as a friend

he stumbled over his words a few times but ultimately admitted his affection for you

you kissed him to let him know you felt the same way

secretly knowing that mads was an actor, you approached the relationship carefully, always making sure that you were alone or not as seen to avoid paparazzi

which did not work because 5 months into the relationship a famous paparazzi released the pictures because he knew the age difference would cause a scandal

and you were right

newsites, twitter, every social media app was talking about it; his fans especially where halved. some backing up the relationship, others not

the two of you pulled away even more and stayed in his home in denmark

your parents contacted you after seeing you on the internet

they were weirded out who am i kidding?

they met him and talked

realised that you are in love and couldn’t really disagree because you’re both consenting adults but it took them a while to get adjusted

you spent the next couple of months doings various things:

baking (your mother’s blueberry and raspberry chocolate muffins)

walks in the park

snuggling up on the couch watching throwback movies

dancing to songs

your favourite being i wanna be yours by arctic monkey

and your favourite activity was mads bringing you breakfast to bed…

when everything died around your dating scandal, you slowly started to go out into the world again

mads bringing you as a date to an award show where he mentioned you in his winning speech

your relationship faces ups and downs but you know that it was meant to be

2K notes · View notes

depravitydolls · 27 days ago

Text

it wasn’t pretty like the movies, it was ugly, like what they all did to me

134 notes · View notes

depravitydolls · 1 month ago

Text

HOLY SHIT IM IN LOVE

delirium 1/3

pairing - nurse!gerard x fem!reader

summary - after surviving a car accident, you hire an in-home nurse to help you along your recovery - who seems more than eager to please.

word count - 3.0K

chapter warnings - no use of y/n, dub-con, reader uses a wheelchair at some points, brief talk of family (reader was neglected), mention of body injuries, physical trauma, fem anatomy, light angst, pervy behavior, fem/neutral pronouns used for nurse!gerard, light smut: groping, mentions of nudity, breast play, use of pet names, MDNI

a/n - so uh-the idea kind of got away from me and this is what it became. there's going to be three parts to this, so enjoy! op is also not a medical professional, so if I got some shit wrong, let me know.

Pain rolled down your spine, causing you to clench onto the armrests of the wheelchair. You sharply inhaled, choking back a groan that threatened to break from behind your clenched teeth. It felt as if someone had their boot pressed against your back and was digging their heel into you. After a long, tortuous moment – where you half-believed your spine might snap in half – your body finally collapsed back against the chair in exhaustion.

You let out a shaky breath and directed your attention back to the computer. The screen glared at you in the dimly lit room, as you glossed over the short email sent to you this morning.

Hello Ms. XXXX,

I look forward to our meeting this afternoon and potentially working alongside you during your recovery process.

Sincerely,

Nurse Way

You swallowed, resisting the urge to type out a rushed excuse and cancel the appointment all together. The dull throbbing of your lower back was enough of a reminder that pride, in this case, would only lead to a longer recovery and more time spent in a firm wheelchair – that brought more pain than relief at times. You glanced down at the large, bulky cast wrapped around your right leg, scowling at it. The memory of the accident creeped through the corners of your mind, only revealing itself in flickers and bursts of images. As if it were an omen of things to come.

Despite that not being the case.

You titled your head back to look up at the ceiling, scrutinizing the bland, smooth paint as if the answer to your grim situation laid somewhere just beyond it, appearing as nothing more than a speck of dust. The longer you peered up at it, however, the clearer it became that there was no magical fix just waiting for you.

Unfortunately, time was what you needed, and a great deal of patience. Looking back at the screen, you couldn’t help but let out a heavy sigh as you reread the email. Your upbringing forced you to learn how to navigate life on your own at a young age, with hardly any guidance or encouragement from the adults that surrounded you. Soon enough, family became something you tried to avoid and constantly tiptoed around.

Now that you have a bright career, and beautiful house that held more significance than a child ever would in your life, you rarely think back to your childhood. They don’t call, and you don’t give them the time of day to occupy any part of your life. Which is perhaps why you were anxious to just cancel on Nurse Way and do this on your own.

You snorted and turned off the computer just before the sound of the doorbell rang throughout the house. With a deep breath, you rolled back from the desk and into the hallway, nearly scraping the paint off the doorway on your way out.

“Coming!” you called, as you hurried over to the front door where you could make out blurred outline of someone behind the glass – dressed in white.

You unlocked the door, and pulled it open to reveal the familiar face of Nurse Way. You glanced over their outfit, puzzled by the vintage design of their uniform. It was a spotless, white dress that came to their knees paired along with matching tights and shoes. Peering up, you noticed a small nurse cap pinned to the back of their head.

Nurse Way tucked a loose strand of brown away behind their ear and sweetly smiled down at you.

“Hello dear,” she greeted, “I hope I didn’t arrive too early; I try my best to be punctual – especially with future patients.”

You stiffly smiled, trying to quell the growing anxiety in your stomach. “No, you’re not too early. Please, come in.”

You rolled back from the door, doing your best to avoid bumping the wheel into the entrance table behind you. Nurse Way stepped inside – carrying a white duffle bag with a red medica symbol stitched onto the front – and gently shut the door. Her eyes swept over the dark wooden interiors of the house, before humming in appreciation.

“It’s a very beautiful house you have, miss,” they commented, glancing back down at you.

You flushed from the compliment. “Thank you, I try and make sure it’s well looked after. Its not exactly a new model, after all.”

“Oh, when was it first built?”

“Sometime in 1945,” you replied. Her eyes briefly widened, as she took another glance around the house. You cleared your throat and beckoned her over to the living room. “I appreciate you agreeing to meet with me so soon.”

You could hear Nurse Way trail after you, as she silently listened.

“As you can probably tell, I’m not really in good shape at the moment,” you said, leading her over to the couch. She moved to sit across from you, her hazel eyes watching as you maneuvered the wheelchair to properly face her.

“May I ask what…happened?” she carefully asked, eyes flickering down to the cast on your leg.

You stiffened, remembering you had been quite brief in your explanation with her over the phone. It wasn’t that you only recalled bits and pieces of what happened, in fact, you hated just how much you could remember from that day. From the way the sun glared at you behind the windshield, to the muffled sound of Tina Turner’s raw vocals belting through your speakers.

“I was involved in a car accident,” you explained, “some jackass was speeding, and rammed straight into me with his pick-up.” Tears pricked at your eyes, as the memory washed over you.

Nurse Way reached out and placed her hand on your knee in comfort. You glanced down, taking notice of her well-manicured nails.

“I’m sorry honey,” she said with remorse, gently squeezing your knee. “Hopefully I can make this a smooth, and easy recovery for you. How long did the doctor suggest?”

You cleared your throat, blinking back the tears until you felt settled. Nurse Way just softly smiled at you, patiently waiting for you to speak.

“It’ll be about six weeks of me stuck in this cast,” you answered, “for the back pain and spasms, they told me it could take up to a couple of weeks until I start to feel any improvement.”

“How have you been managing with the pain so far?

You shrugged, opening your mouth to answer when a sudden ache bloomed across your lower back, causing you to wince. “Shit,” you hissed, closing your eyes. You sharply exhaled through your nose, praying for the moment to pass but the pain was encompassing, as if it were cradling you. You tug your nails into the fabric of your pants, as it crawled up your spine.

A cold hand gently placed itself on your cheek, as their thumb traced soothing shapes against your skin. You zoned in on the feeling, of the way their cool touch brought relief to your warm face. Eventually, the pain subsided.

“Did they prescribe you for pain killers?” Nurse Way asked, her voice hushed as if she were afraid to startle you.

“Yes, they did.” You sniffled and opened your eyes to find a pair of hazel ones gazing back at you with concern.

“And why haven’t you taken them today?” Their tone was slow, and careful, as if they were speaking to a child. You flushed from embarrassment, and immediately gathered yourself, straightening your posture.

“I didn’t exactly want our first meeting to involve me being high off medication,” you explained, dryly chuckling.

Nurse Way sighed, as if disappointed. “It’s important you take them on a strict schedule, to help manage your pain throughout the day. Let me fetch them for you, where are they?”

You mentioned they were in the hallway bathroom, beside the sink. She patted your knee and hurried off to retrieve them – her footsteps echoing throughout the house. Once you were alone, you couldn’t help but slump back against the wheelchair, overcome with a flurry of thoughts.

Nurse Way was polite, so far, and already eager to assist you. Her dulcet voice felt like cool water being poured over you whenever she spoke, soothing the inner workings of your mind. Your fingertips came up to brush against your cheek, as if you could still feel the ghost of their touch against your skin.

Perhaps the recovery process would pass by like a breeze, with Nurse Way around.

Well, you could only hope.

──

Despite offering to pay for any gas or hotel fees, Nurse Way explained that it would be easier if she were to reside in the house with you, in case of any emergencies. While there was a spare bedroom only a few doors down from your own, you didn’t want her to feel overwhelmed with work. Still, they were persistent in assuring you that wouldn’t be the case.

It took a few days to adjust to living around someone else, as the only footsteps you usually ever heard were your own. You were constantly aware of her presence in the house though, to the sound of her shuffling around the kitchen to the melodic humming when she would help you into bed. While you wrestled with your own discomfort of having another busy body around throughout the day, you realized there was an…eccentric charm to Nurse Way.

They were diligent, appearing more like a church mouse as they would quietly busy themselves around the house while you were hunched over your computer working. Sometimes you would hear her whistling to herself as she handled the dishes or swept the hallway. You found yourself humming along once, strangely comforted by the sound of someone else around.

As the day was coming to an end, you were sitting beside the living room window, staring down at an unfinished cup of coffee – the mug cold in your hands. The sun was beginning to set behind the looming trees. You sighed, taking the chance to bask beneath its final warm rays until it dipped below the surrounding yard fence. As it fell, you let out a content sigh, swirling the drink in your hand.

A pair of feet approached you, “Are you finished, dear?”

You looked beside you to find Nurse Way – in her usual uniform – smiling at you, with her hands interlocked in front of her. You nodded, as she took the cup from you and sat it down at a nearby table.

“I wanted to ask…” she said, turning to face you again. “I know your apprehensive about taking a shower, but do you want to try and attempt to tonight?”

You bit your lip in thought and glanced away from her. Up until now, you had relied on wipes or washing your hair in the sink. The vision of you possibly slipping, or the shower chair falling back gnawed at you.

You sighed. “I don’t know, I keep thinking about all the things that could go wrong.”

Nurse Way nodded in understanding. “That’s fair, but the hot water might help ease your back pain.”

You craned your neck to look out the window again, watching as the orange hue of the sky slowly faded.

“How about a bath?” Nurse Way suggested, grabbing your attention.

“A bath?”

She hummed. “I notice you have a waterproof cast on. Since you’re nervous about the shower chair, I can run you a bath instead.”

You thought it over for a second and nodded. She grinned and went behind you to guide your wheelchair through the house and into the hallway bathroom. A large porcelain tub sat up against the wall, already filled with water and a layer of bubbles. You peeked at Nurse Way from behind your shoulder to find her already looking down at you with a smug expression.

“Did you know I would agree?”

They shrugged and positioned the wheelchair beside the tub. “I figured it wouldn’t hurt to at least set it up.”

You reached over the tub and let your fingertips drift over the soapy water – a soft sigh escaping your lips from the warmth. A floral lavender fragrance rose up from the steam, already soothing your nerves. You went to lift your shirt, your fingers toying with the hem when you suddenly remembered.

Nurse Way stood before you, watching expectantly.

You suddenly felt shy beneath her gaze.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, noticing your discomfort.

“I…I uh,” you stammered, avoiding her gaze. You picked at the edge of your shirt, as heat crept up your face.

Their eyes flickered as it dawned on them, before a bashful chuckle left her lips.

“There’s no need to be shy around me, honey,” she assured. “Come on, lift your arms up.”

You cleared your throat and awkwardly held them up. She bent forward and began taking your shirt off, her knuckles brushing against your skin as she did so. Your breath hitched, as the sudden chill of the bathroom became noticeable.

Nurse Way then carefully unclasped your bra, her fingers making quick work of the hooks. After, she helped you shimmy out of your pants and get them over the bulky cast. As her fingers curled beneath the waistband of your underwear, you reached out and halted her movements.

“If it’s alright, I would rather keep them on.”

She smiled. “Of course.”

Getting into the bathtub was a…process. There was a moment when you thought Ms. Way’s arm would slip out from under you, and you would go tumbling into the water. That wasn’t the case though, as she gently guided you into the bathtub without any trouble.

As your tired body sunk into the water, you couldn’t help but let out an audible groan. Your eyes rolled back, as the warm water brought ease to your stiff spine. You leaned back, the back of your head resting against the lip of the tub and hummed in satisfaction.

“Is it helping with the pain?” Nurse Way asked, perching on the edge of the tub beside you.

You beamed up at her. “God, you have no fucking clue, thank you.”

She nodded and sat in silence as you closed your eyes and listened to the drip of the shower faucet. Ever since the accident, it feels as if you’ve had this tight grip on everything around you. Like you were suddenly afraid of losing it. Yet you struggled to find normalcy again in your thoughts, and dreams. Nightmares of the incident plagued you, even when you were wide awake. Not that you’ve been getting much sleep since. You were just counting down the days until you were out of this cast, and wheelchair and could make sense of things again.

Until you could make sense of you.

You could hear someone shifting beside you, as they moved to sit beside your head.

“You’re tense,” Nurse Way uttered, as her warm palms came to rest on your bare shoulders. She began working her fingers into your shoulder, gently massaging the skin. You winced from the pressure at first but exhaled as you felt your body eventually ease up.

Her hands worked like magic against your skin, as they kneaded away the days stress.

“That feels nice,” you mumbled.

Nurse Way made a noise of acknowledgement and continued to silently massage you. Their hands slowly traveled, as they worked out every pinch and nerve that had been torturing you for the past week.

You hummed and leaned your temple against the edge of their thigh, focusing on the hypnotic motion of her fingers rubbing against your neck. Her hands traveled down, gliding over your collarbones with ease as the tips of her fingers brushed over your nipple. She cupped your breasts in her palms and began massaging them.

You opened your eyes. “Ms. Way, what are you-

“You’re so stiff, dear,” she said, cutting you off. “It’s important you relax, so you can recover faster.”

“I know, but-

“Don’t worry,” she cooed, “Just lean back, and let me take care of you.”

You gulped. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, this is my job,” she said. Her hand reached down to scoop up some water and pour it over your chest. The soap suds trailing down your skin, as her palms continued kneading against your breasts.

You couldn’t help but flush from her actions, and shudder against her, despite the warmth of the water. Your heart thudded in your chest, as their thumb brushed against the bud of your nipple, before gently massing it.

“Oh, God,” you moaned, feeling arousal build up in your core. All she did was hum against you and scoop more water over your chest. Your eyes fluttered shut as her palm fit perfectly over the swell of your chest.

“That’s it, sugar,” she purred, as she tweaked at your nipples, causing you to suddenly jerk forward.

A million thoughts raced through your mind, as her touch became overwhelming. You suddenly had the urge to grab her wrist, and drag her into the water with you, eager to feel the mold of her body against yours. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth as the image of her wet against you played out in your mind.

Fuck, this was wrong. This was so, so wrong. You need to put a stop to this, and fire them-

You softly gasped, suddenly thrown back into reality of Nurse Way palming the swell your breasts.

Their hands then left your chest, taking their time as they slowly dragged their fingers over your skin. You couldn’t help but whine from the sudden loss of contact and opened your eyes to see her standing up.

“I’m going to go fetch your night clothes,” she said smiling down at you. “You finish up in the meantime, alright?”

You gawked up at her as she gathered your dirty clothes and quietly left, leaving you with your thoughts. You titled your head back, and stared up at the ceiling, half hoping it would cave in on you and spare you from your mind.

“What the fuck just happened?” you whispered.

No answer came, but the drip of the faucet.

98 notes · View notes

depravitydolls · 1 month ago

Text

𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐋𝐄

frank iero x fem!reader

summary: Somehow, it was always Frank. Just like the religion that strung you together, there was this holy thread — invisible but unbreakable — binding the two of you. tags n warnings: SMUT/MDNI, religious guilt, pet names, family issues, stoner frank iero, corruption kink + praises, oral sex, piv. word count: 6.3k AO3 link

Somehow, it was always Frank.

Just like the religion that strung you together, there was this holy thread — invisible but unbreakable — binding the two of you like a Christmas present meant to be unwrapped secretly at midnight, long before your parents could catch you out of bed.

You two were never quite best friends, but close enough to pass scribbled notes across your desks. Little things — how the professor’s perfume was too strong, how it reminded you of that movie you’d half-watched on his living room couch when you were both too young to know better. You’d slip the note to him just to hear that quiet, melodic laugh spill from his lips, a sound soft enough to make your heart squeeze.

And when you dared to turn and look at him — those hazel eyes caught you every time, wide open, too honest for your own good. Sometimes you wondered if they were proof enough that God had to exist; no way eyes like his just happened by accident.

Your parents had once lived and breathed church walls and rules. They drew moral lines so strict that every small mistake of yours felt like a mortal sin. Even though they’d softened over the years — now reserving Sundays only for the major holidays — those lines still followed you like a ghost. Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long upon the land. It was carved so deep in you that it shaped every choice, until you could no longer tell where their wishes ended and yours began.

You didn’t really remember what you wanted, not clearly. Maybe just to be good. To be perfect. To grow up and do something big enough for the world to clap for you — or at least for them to clap for you.

But Frank was never like that.

You remembered every church camp where Frank Iero was the wildfire everyone pretended not to see. His parents only asked if he showed up for Sunday service — nothing else mattered. He flunked half his classes, came home with piercings tucked under stiff collared shirts, tattoos creeping out from under his sleeves, nails sometimes chipped and stained from a half-burnt cigarette. Yet everyone knew his name. Everyone whispered it, or yelled it from cheap wooden benches when he slung a guitar over his shoulder and grinned like the rules didn’t apply to him.

And you hated how that burned in you. How it ached in your chest to watch him up there — another camp, another cheap stage, him laughing into the mic as if life had never told him no — while you killed yourself studying for a degree you never asked for, in a college chosen for you long before you were old enough to say you wanted something else. Music? Art? Just silly distractions, they’d said. Be realistic, be grateful, be quiet.

And then the worst torture: the bus ride home. Same bench seat, same cheap plastic smell, same too-long silence alone, supposed to be between you and the boy next door you’d known your entire life — the boy who would always be a little too much, and somehow never enough.

You could see, just a few meters from your window, how he always brought a different girl over to “study.” His window left wide open to let the cigarette smoke drift out into the night. The way he’d clean up cuts and bruises after some fight — it all felt like a taunt, day after day, for the six years you’d known him.

Your eyes drifted back to your notes. You were so lost in thought that you jumped a little when a tiny pebble tapped against your window. Frank was there, holding up the walkie-talkie, motioning for you to grab yours too. You picked up the old thing, still smelling faintly of childhood, back when he used to wear blue and didn’t carry the scent of fancy sandalwood and cheap cigarettes.

“Whatcha doing?” His voice, even through the static crackle, still had that soft, rough melody that lived in your head.

“Studying,” you answered, trying to hide the stupid smile tugging at your lips just because he was talking to you. “And I suppose you’re doing everything but that.”

“Of course,” he chuckled, shifting on his bed, legs crossed, head leaning against the damp window frame from the morning rain. “I never do anything academic, babe. You should try it sometime. Feels great.”

“You know I can’t chase my music dreams like you do. I have to study, get a boring job, buy a house—do all the normal people stuff...” You sighed, your disappointment too obvious to hide. “Anyway, what are you doing besides bothering me?”

“Nothing. Just sitting here. Not much to see...” he shrugged, setting the walkie-talkie down long enough to light a cigarette, pulling in the smoke like it was second nature.

You drank in every detail of him like cold water on a summer day. Frank was effortlessly beautiful: messy black hair, pale skin, lips that always looked freshly bitten, those hazel eyes that held a calm, wicked secret. Divine. There was no way you were getting back to studying now.

“So, are you gonna keep distracting me, or admit you just couldn’t wait ‘til tomorrow to see me?” you teased, taking a sip of water so fast that some dribbled down your chin, soaking into your white shirt.

Frank noticed. Smirked. Liked it.

“Can’t it be both?” he shot back, peeking up through his lashes while you wiped the drop away—right where his thumb wished it could be. “I missed you. You didn’t even come watch me play at camp.”

“I didn’t wanna see your little show,” you lied, voice dripping with mischief. He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

“You also ditched when I disappeared with that girl, huh? Didn’t even wait for me... or call me after. Had to take that crappy bus for late guys alone.” He said it like he wanted to scold himself a bit too.

“Yeah, well.” You crossed your arms but failed to stop the smile tugging at your mouth. “You vanished and left me there. I was—” you dropped your gaze, quieter, “jealous, okay? Not gonna lie. I'm not bold enough to make out in a church camp.”

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head as if that confession made him feel something deep in his chest.

“Sorry, sorry. Her parents offered me a ride and I had to bail before they picked out wedding rings or something. You know how it is,” he grinned, all lazy sarcasm, but you knew he meant it. Frank was freedom itself; you could never imagine him stuck in something so ordinary as marriage to preserve a good name. “But... if it makes it any better—I missed you. A lot.”

I missed you. He said it again, as if it didn’t stab you sweetly right through the ribs every time. With Frank, words were always weapons, and you always let him cut you open.

You breathed out, voice a hush between confession and surrender: “Actually... I’m kinda sad today.”

Across the street, Frank paused, cigarette burning between his fingers, hating that smoke couldn’t cross the road and hold you instead.

“Wanna talk about it?” His question came gentle, so soft it made you ache. And just like that, you knew—again—no one would ever listen to you the way Frank did.

“It’s nothing, it’s just… I’ll never play music or be remembered by people the way you are, no matter how hard I try.” You confessed, not caring if it sounded too dramatic or pathetic. “I feel like I do so much, but no one really sees it. I feel like an idiot.”

Frank listened to every word as if each one cut right through him, breaking his heart piece by piece. Without even thinking it through, he turned off the walkie-talkie mid-sentence, shut his window, and disappeared from his room.

You sat there frozen, staring at the empty window frame, until you saw him appear in your backyard, climbing over the fence, his hoodie catching on the wood. Your heart skipped a beat when he started climbing up toward your window, rain drizzling lightly over his hair.

“Oh my God, Frank!” you gasped, fumbling to open the window wide enough for him to grab the ledge. He hoisted himself up, and you grabbed his wrist to pull him in, stumbling back a little when he wrapped his arms around you so tight it nearly knocked the air out of your lungs.

“You could’ve used the door, you idiot!” you scolded him between a breathless laugh and a nervous heartbeat.

“I needed to get here before you kept saying stupid shit about yourself,” he said firmly, his voice muffled against your hair. He pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tear that threatened to escape. “Out of everyone in this world, you’re the last person I ever wanna hear talk like that. Ever.”

The lump in your throat burned so much it hurt to breathe. He was being so heartbreakingly gentle that it made everything ache worse, because deep down you knew friendship shouldn’t feel this intense. And yet, it did — every word, every touch. It was too much, and not enough all at once.

Your strength cracked like glass under pressure. You buried your face in his chest and let it all out, your fists clenching the back of his hoodie while tears soaked through to his skin.

Frank didn’t know what the hell to do — he never did — but he held you like it was the only thing keeping him alive too. He pressed his lips to your hairline, breathing in the scent of your shampoo and your sadness. He’d never seen you break like this; you were always so focused, so untouchable, so perfect. Everything he wasn’t.

“I’m right here,” he whispered, voice low and steady, one hand stroking your hair, the other rubbing your back. “You don’t have to do it all alone anymore, okay?”

“I know, but…” your voice faltered as you pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, so close, so warm. The words got lost somewhere between your heartbeat and his. “Thank you.”

“Come on, let’s sit down. You look exhausted. I’ve got you.”

“Yeah… it’s probably just exhaustion. I’m sorry, I’ve been studying all day for this class that makes zero sense and I have to get a perfect grade or—” You cut yourself off with a heavy sigh as he guided you gently to sit on the edge of your bed.

“I figured. You never take a break.” He nudged your shoulder playfully, his knee brushing against yours, grounding you more than any prayer could.

“It’s my worst habit… wanting too much,” you said with a tired laugh, scratching your head as you blinked away the last of your tears.

“It’s not a good habit, trust me.” He shook his head, grinning softly as he ruffled your hair. “But seriously, baby… you gotta slow down. You don’t deserve to burn yourself out like this.”

“You could help me out. You’re so good at it,” you laughed, and for a moment, he felt strangely content with your carefree, reckless vibe — it lit a quiet spark behind his eyes.

“You’re talking to the right guy, sweetheart. I’m the best when it comes to taking it easy,” he beamed, slipping an arm around your shoulders and resting his head against yours, his grin growing wider. “And I have just the thing to melt all that stress away.”

“What is it?” Your eyes sparkled more than you wished they would, betraying how much you craved a bit of Frank’s attention, even though that nagging thread of religious guilt tugged at your chest.

“Weed,” he said so casually, savoring every flicker of disbelief and horror that crossed your face.

“What?” you half-shouted, thanking God you were home alone so your parents wouldn’t hear your voice crack. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Don’t overthink it, princess. It’s just weed. You’ve never tried it?” He rocked back with a laugh, trying to steady the restless flutter in his chest.

“Of course not! My parents would kill me if they ever found out!” you hissed, your shoulders tensing as he pulled his arm away and leaned back on your bed.

“Only if they find out. A little rebellion never hurt anyone,” he smirked, lying to himself that he wasn’t totally turned on by how you bit your lip, so worried about being caught, corrupted — ruined by a secret in the same room where no boy had ever been before.

God, you looked sinfully adorable like that.

“Okay, okay. I’ll try it. I’ve always wondered what the big deal was anyway,” you mumbled, trying to sound indifferent, but your fingers twisting the hem of your dress betrayed you completely.

He had to hold his breath for a second.

“That’s my girl,” he chuckled, straightening up and bumping his shoulder against yours again. “You’ve always been such a good girl, huh?”

Now it was your turn to forget how to breathe.

Frank shifted to pull a hand-rolled joint and a lighter from his pocket. He sparked it up, took a quick drag himself, then held it between his fingers, moving it slowly toward your lips — half-expecting you to back out at the last second.

“So I just inhale?” you asked, your voice shaking a bit, surprising him.

“Yeah… inhale, hold it for a few seconds, then let it out,” he explained, licking his lips, realizing he’d never felt this nervous in his life.

“Okay.”

You closed your lips around the filter. Frank’s hand clenched into his bedsheet, knuckles nearly white as he watched you draw in the smoke, eyes fluttering shut as you held it, then slowly exhaling a thin stream through lips he’d never seen tainted by anything before.

“ That’s it …” he murmured, lower than he meant to, gazing up at you through his lashes. “How do you feel?”

“Weird,” you confessed, coughing a little, but not as much as you’d feared. “It’s… nice, I guess. I get why you do it all the time.”

He laughed, loving how earnest you looked, and reached up — a bit too slowly — to ruffle your hair. “Told you. Sometimes it feels good to do something wrong. Helps you unwind.”

“Won’t the smell stay in my room?” you asked, worried, but leaned in again when he brought the joint back to your lips.

“Nah, the window’s open,” he shrugged, brushing it off. “And anyway… no one’s ever complained about the smell before.”

You shook your head, feeling a strange dizziness washing over you, like a sleepy haze settling behind your eyes. Laughing felt too easy — your lips couldn’t seem to stop curling into a smile. And to Frank, that was magnetic. He brought the cigarette to his lips again, his mind playing tricks, pretending it was almost like a kiss — indirect, but still a kiss. You swallowed hard.

He held it out to you once more. The air felt thicker now, but deep down you knew it wasn’t just because of the smoke you exhaled and Frank breathed in before bringing it back to his own mouth. Your gaze dropped to Frank’s lips again — they seemed different now, more tempting somehow — and the way he looked at yours made it suddenly feel nothing like winter. He locked eyes with you, then flicked his eyes down again.

Licking his lips, he leaned in, slow enough to give you every chance to push him away, back to whatever hell he’d crawled out of. But you felt so light, so soft, letting him come closer until his warm breath ghosted over your face — that woody, nicotine scent you’d grown used to now clinging to your lungs like carbon monoxide.

Like smoke in the wind, his lips hovered above yours before brushing them, light as a feather. God, it felt so good . Frank tasted so sweet, parting his mouth just enough to let you ease into him. A shiver ran down your spine as he slid a hand down to your waist, pulling you in with a careful tug that made your knees weak.

A soft sound slipped from your throat when he tilted his head slightly, teasing your lower lip before slipping his tongue past it. Your lack of experience was obvious, but Frank didn’t seem to mind — if anything, it made the way you shyly cupped his cheek even more intoxicating for him, his free hand tracing your jaw as if memorizing it.

You pulled back when your lungs screamed for air, mortified by the thin string of saliva that connected you two for a heartbeat before breaking — proof that you’d completely lost control the second your mouth had something to do other than academic speeches.

And that’s when the alarm bells went off in your mind. You were kissing a boy in your bedroom after smoking weed on a Saturday — the day before church. You pulled back, shame flickering in your eyes. Frank’s brows drew together as he slowly let go of your waist. You hated how much you instantly missed his hands on you.

“I… I need to study,” you stammered, running a hand through your hair like that could smooth out the suffocating tension that still crackled in the room.

“I’m sor—” The apology died in his throat when he saw your glassy eyes, heavy with guilt and confusion. “See you tomorrow.”

“Mm-hmm.” You hummed, turning your face away so he wouldn’t see the tears spilling down your cheeks, thick and hot, as you listened to him slipping out your window after everything. After those few minutes where you’d felt more than you ever had in your entire life.

You’d felt too much.

And the room still smelled like weed.

…

Sunday morning felt torturous. You sat in the second row of the wooden church pew, close enough to watch Frank playing guitar with his eyes closed — like he hadn’t just been in your room last night, smoking and kissing you like you were the only thing that mattered in his whole damn world. Your heart ached even more knowing it hadn’t been just him. You’d wanted it too. So much more than you were ever allowed to admit.

It was impossible to focus while he played. The way his fingers moved through chords and simple strums was magnetic. And to make it worse, his eyes never landed on you. Always shifting away, pretending to glance at anyone but you. Some prettier, freer girl — someone so completely unlike what you were supposed to be.

As if that wasn’t cruel enough, your family wouldn’t stop whispering about how beautifully Frank played. How each note seemed to float straight up to heaven, how his angelic voice could make you see God. Some even went up to him, praising his God-given talent — and he smiled, nodded politely, and didn’t look at you once. It was like you didn’t exist in his world anymore.

“You should take music lessons from him, sweetheart,” your mother’s voice snapped you out of your haze — just in time to see Frank looking back at you, guilt written all over his face.

“I… I’m kind of busy with finals right now…” you stammered, scratching at your scalp, feeling like your Sunday dress didn’t cover a thing anymore.

“You’ll make time. You’re smart enough to balance it all,” your father added, cornering you with no way out. “She will, Frank. She’s grateful — she just doesn’t know how to say it.”

“We still have that old guitar at home. It’d be good to dust it off,” your mother chimed in, laughing with your father. “She does so much. She’s such a good girl.”

Frank swallowed the shout that was stuck in your throat, feeling something break inside him when you forced a polite smile and thanked them for arranging a lesson that very afternoon — even though you had an exam the next day. You deserved so much better than this.

Like a lamb being led to slaughter, you were dropped off at Frank’s house by your parents. They said something about spending the day with other church members and that you wouldn’t need to come to evening service — leaving you and Frank alone for your “lesson.” Your fingers trembled when you rang the doorbell, and Frank waved politely to your parents as they drove away — as if they needed to make sure you wouldn’t run.

Stepping inside, the silence between you thickened, like an invisible wall pressing both of you back even though you were only a few steps apart. He asked if he could take your coat, and you hesitated before nodding, laying it neatly on a dresser among others you’d seen here before. Your nerves only tightened when you remembered his instruments were all in his bedroom.

“I can grab one and we can just stay out here in the living room,” he offered, as if reading your mind.

“No, um… I don’t mind,” you lied, and he didn’t push it, afraid any more words would only make this worse.

Frank held the bedroom door open for you, watching each careful step you took until you sat on the edge of his bed. The curtain was drawn, the late afternoon sun traded for a softer, warmer light than any harsh fluorescents. He scratched the back of his head and sat down beside you on the mattress.

“I’m sorry,” he broke the silence, eyes fixed anywhere but yours.

“You don’t have to apologize for yesterday.”

“It’s not about last night. It’s your parents I’m sorry for,” he said, finally meeting your gaze — those hazel eyes you could drown in, eyes you loved too much. “I’m not giving you a lesson today… I don’t want to…”

“What do you mean?” you asked, your brow furrowing. “Then why—”

“Because you’re not a toy,” he cut in, louder than he meant, his jaw tightening when he saw how it startled you. “You’re not some damn doll people wind up and push around until you break — until you drown in trying to be perfect so maybe someone will notice how hard you’re trying.”

Your mouth fell open, but nothing came out. Your mind went blank. He’d seen right through you. A knot rose in your throat, your eyes darting around the room until they landed back on his. Your lips trembled.

“I never want to see that look in your eyes again,” he breathed, voice raw, like the words scraped his throat on the way out. “And hate me if you have to for what I did last night, I—”

“I didn’t want you to say sorry for last night,” you cut him off, your voice so small and thin it nearly broke him. “Because I don’t want to feel guilty about it. I don’t want to feel guilty for wanting something.”

A tremor ran through his fingertips where they touched yours. “You shouldn’t,” he whispered, almost like he was begging, leaning in just enough for his forehead to brush yours. “Wanting something doesn’t make you bad, baby.”

“I don’t even know what I want…” you confessed, your breath shaky against his lips.

“You want this,” he rasped, chest rising and falling too fast as he forced himself not to close the tiny space between you. His eyes flicked to your mouth, then back to your eyes, burning with a warmth that made your stomach flip. “I won’t touch you unless you want it. No one ever should force you to want something. But if you do… only if you really do…” He paused, his thumb brushing the back of your hand as if to anchor himself. “I’ll love you in a way that makes you forget you ever thought you had to earn it. Because you don’t. You deserve it just for existing.”

Your lips parted but no words came out. Your eyes searched his face — the crease between his brows, the flush on his cheeks, the way he looked like he might break apart if you said no. And instead of guilt, all you felt was this gentle, reckless pull inside your chest. So you tilted your chin up and closed the gap first, pressing your mouth to his in a kiss that trembled more from relief than fear.

He let out a quiet sound, like a laugh choked by a sigh, and cupped your face with both hands, his thumbs tracing the soft skin under your eyes. When you drew back just an inch, he chased you — brushing his nose against yours before kissing you deeper, slower, letting his lips memorize yours all over again.

One of your hands slid up his arm, over the inked lines of his forearm, until your fingers threaded into his messy black hair. He shivered at your touch, leaning into it so fully you almost toppled back. His hands slid down, warm and careful at your waist, pulling you closer until your knees brushed his thigh, just the way you missed them.

You gasped softly against his mouth when his tongue brushed yours — tasting faintly of mint and smoke and something that was just Frank, something you’d crave even if it burned you alive. He pulled back just enough to breathe your name against your lips, voice hoarse, forehead pressed to yours like a silent vow he’d never break you.

“I want you,” you breathed against his mouth, the words trembling out between hungry kisses, your lips brushing his as you tried to pull him closer again — but he drew back, just enough to search your face.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice rough and low, his breath fanning over your cheek as his eyes darted desperately over yours, looking for the slightest flicker of hesitation.

“Yes… God, yes…” you whispered, the certainty blooming in your chest stronger than any doubt you’d ever known. You pressed your forehead to his, feeling him exhale a shaky laugh against your skin. “I want you, Frank. Please …”

Please . It cracked him open in a way nothing else ever could. He crushed his mouth to yours, kissing you so deeply it felt like he was trying to pour every piece of his soul into you. His hands tightened at your waist, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress as though terrified you might vanish if he let go.

But you didn’t vanish.

You clung to him instead, wrapping your arms around his neck in a motion that felt instinctive, natural — like you’d done it a thousand times in dreams you’d never dared confess. A soft, helpless sound rose from both of you as you tugged him closer still, your bodies pressing together so tightly it left no space for the past or the future — only this. Only now. He tasted like every reckless wish you’d ever bitten back and every whispered prayer you’d sworn you’d never say out loud. And you tasted like salvation to him — warm, alive, and all his.

“Can you lay down for me, baby?” he breathed between your lips, receiving a small nod from you. “Good, make yourself comfortable, ‘kay?”

You crawled on the bed, laying on your back with his downy pillows comforting your head. You felt a fiery rush in your veins when you watched him slink and hover over you, dress rolling up as you opened your legs for him to fit between them.

“You okay?” He purred, gliding his hand on your bare thigh, shivering slightly at his warmth on your skin.

“Uhm-hmm” you breathed, closing your eyes when he leaned again to kiss you. His hand cradled your jaw, lips moving in a calm, unhurried rhythm, savoring the moment. “What can I do now?”

“You don’t have to do anything.” he whispered, peppering kisses all over your face, down to your neck.

“But I don’t want to be lazy and just sit around doing nothing…” you murmured, your voice giving away that old habit of yours again. Frank lifted his head to look at you properly, his eyes soft before he pressed a calm, reassuring kiss to your lips.

“You don’t have to do anything. I told you that already…” he said patiently, his voice gentle as his thumb traced lazy circles on your side. “Just relax for me and let me take care of you, okay?”

You nodded, a quiet breath leaving your chest as you let yourself sink a little deeper into him, finally relaxing. Frank gave you a last peck before planting kisses on your neck again, running his tongue on your heating skin— humming as you ran your hand through his hair, squirming everytime he sucked and nipped your soft flesh.

“Can I…” he inquired, handing the hem of your dress.

“Yes, please,” you responded, biting your lip anxiously as he pulled back for you to sit. He calmly tugged your dress and passed over your head— fabric brushing against your face and being tossed on a forgotten spot of the duvet.

Frank licked his lips watching your figure covered only by your bra and thin cotton panties where he could see your arousal when lying down, waiting for him to come over again. He obeyed, lifting his shirt up and over his head. Your eyes shined when you saw all the tattoos hidden under long sleeves shirts and coats.

“When did you get all of these?” you asked in a soft, almost teasing voice, your fingers roaming slowly over the tattoos inked into his pale skin. You took your time, tracing each line and shading like you were memorizing the story behind it.

He let out a quiet laugh, his eyes half-lidded as he watched you so focused on him. “Started when I was eighteen… and couldn’t stop. Guess I got addicted to the feeling,” he murmured, the corners of his mouth twitching up as he watched your fingertips explore him so gently. God, your hands felt too good . “Is that bad?”

“Not at all…” you whispered back, letting your palm flatten over the tattoo on his shoulder before giving it a gentle squeeze, pulling him just a little closer. “They’re gorgeous. You’re gorgeous.”

He leaned back to claim your lips, passing his arms through the small of your back, pulling you closer, his thigh brushing on your core, swallowing the prettiest sounds from your lips. He reached your back to unclip your bra and trail open mouthed kisses on your collarbone, sternum and finally sliding the fabric from your arms for him to explore your untouched curves. Cupping one of your breasts and rolling your nipple with his thumb, he licked the other, wrapping his mouth around it, his free hand slithering your side until your clothed core, pressing his fingers. You grew impatient, lifting your hips for more friction. Frank noticed it, not holding back a smile when you looked at him with pleading eyes, meeting your lips again.

“you need something?” he teased, rounding his middle finger on your clit.

“I want you now, Frank…” you whined, holding his hand in your center.

“ You’re so needy ,” he chuckled, sending a shiver down your spine on how easy he talked that. “I like this side of you. Demanding . It’s so hot.”

Hot . You furrowed your eyebrows dizzy, not knowing how possibly you could get more aroused than this, learning that patience wasn’t exactly the trait you thought you had. This was completely different from nodding to your parents' demands—it was tantalizing.

“Then give me what I want…” you tried to convince him, palming his tent shamelessly, barely knowing yourself anymore. “I can take you, just… Please …”

“I’m making you come on my tongue til I feel you’re ready for my cock,” He purred, nipping your bottom lip before grabbing the waistband of your panties and rolling down your legs.

Frank reunited all his goodwill to not just fuck you rough on his bed seeing you fully naked.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”Frank glided his fingers on your pussy, drinking every detail of it, sticking his tongue on a flat long lick. “You taste so sweet. I should’ve done this way earlier.”

With this, he buried his head between your thighs. You choked as he started licking your clit similar to the sweet kisses he gave you, making you ask yourself how you could deny this pleasure for so long, so worried with how your image could be blurred or how sinful you would smell, creeping through the church hallway like a whore, buring the moment you stepped there.

But holy fuck, he was just so good with his tongue.

You could tell by the way he sucked it, skilled with his finger sliding and curling easily inside your pussy while he hummed and whispered the most sinful things facing it like a second nature, like you were made for it— for him to use, care, claim and take all your guilt on his body and incinerate it with over consuming, violent, passionate lust.

“ F-fuck, Frank …” you moaned, his name and curse scaping lusciously from your lips, so contorced and blissed out with electrifying pleasure, coming undone on his tongue like he promised you and it felt so different from what you tried before on your room humping on your pillow, feeling so impure that you cried out for forgiveness. You felt divine.

Frank licked himself clean, crawling back to you eagerly this time to kiss you fervently, allowing you to unbutton his jeans and taste yourself in his mouth. He helped you take off his jeans, kicking it to the floor with his boxers. Ecstasy to the bones as he felt you pumping him slow and clumsy, helping you with his hand over yours.

Withdrawing your hand from his cock, he reached for a condom on his drawer, dressing the rubber on his length. He just couldn't worry you with a child when you were so worried with your own life—little did he know that he could fuck you raw and you would thank him for that, being totally his. He guided into your soaked slit, carefully pushing in looking for any sign of pain. Your hands flew to his back and neck, hugging closer as you felt every inch stretching you.

Noticing you were more relaxed, he started to move, kissing your pain away and burying his head on your neck. The discomfort disappearing, being replaced by a soothing yet burning pleasure, having you clenching around his cock and digging your nails on his back. It was when you noticed the breath-taking mess he was. Lips parted, eyes rolling back for a second, furrowed eyebrows, so concentrated to not fuck you dumb—just being there and waiting for you to get used to him.

“you’re so fucking pretty, taking me so well and nice,” he grunted, hopelessly searching for your lips, moans mingling to yours.

“Frank, fuck, fuck— God, i’m so , i’m” you whimpered, starting to feel the knot forming on your stomach, wrapping your legs around his waist for his cock going deeper inside you, so lost that you didnt even notice the blasphemy you just said. He could sense it, feel your orgasm, speeding his pace, abdomen brushing on your clit.

“That’s it, baby. Keep going—keep fucking going and come on my fucking cock, you’re such a good girl for me,” he babbled, his thrust become sloppier as you trembled and became more sensitive.

“Frank—” his name slipped gawked as you felt the orgasm hitting you like a wave, mind going blank and the feeling of touching the sky and earth with him.

“Yeah, you—fuck, baby. I’m coming too, fuck” he cried out, spurting white ropes on the condom, fucking you until the overstimulation stopped him, glueing your chest to his.

He kissed you like he’d been dying to do it for years — slow but deep, tasting every shaky breath you gave him back. When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead on yours, both of them still catching their breath, rolling to the side and discarding the condom.

His voice came out rough, trembling on the edge of a confession he hadn’t meant to say aloud. “I love you…” he whispered, almost to himself, meaning this time, eyes wide right after like he wanted to take the words back — but it was too late. “Fuck.”

His chest rose and fell as he searched your face for fear, for regret, for anything that would mean he’d messed this up forever, trying to steady his own heartbeat while he waited for you to push him away, to laugh, to run.

But you didn’t. Instead, you laughed — that soft, breathless laugh he adored and didn’t see quite often — and cupped his jaw with both hands, pulling him closer until their noses almost touched again.

“Are you okay with this?”

“I’m more than okay,” you whispered, voice thick with something bigger than relief. “I’ve never felt better in my entire life.”

He could’ve sworn he felt his heart break and heal all at once at your words. With a low, helpless groan, he kissed you again — deeper, messier, as if he needed to prove every bit of that accidental ‘ I love you ’ a thousand times over right there.

“I guess it’s time to teach you some chords before you leave.”

“I don’t think so,” you surprised him, giggling at his widened eyes. “I just fucked my best friend and smoke weed so I’ll complete my rebel phase.”

“Holy shit, i’m going to hell for it” he chuckled, pulling you closer by your waist with a crooked grin. “Will you say that you love back or should I bury myself in shame?”

“You kinda deserve the second option for making me mad this whole time,” you rolled your eyes playfully, poking his cheek. “But no, you helped me so much. Least i can do it’s be honest and say I love you too. I’m not sure if it’s good or bad…”

“Good,” he grinned, gripping your hips. “I'll relax you anytime you want, but as my girlfriend.”

“Frank Iero with a girlfriend?” you teased.

“You just witnessed a miracle, sugar.”

165 notes · View notes