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xocasper · 5 months ago

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Something, Somehow, Someday

Pairing: Frank Iero x Fem!Reader Summary: Mikey and Gerard let you tag along when Frank invites them to hang out at his house. After they've fallen asleep, you find yourself in Frank's bedroom, finally giving into your yearlong crush. Frank isn't used to being with younger girls, especially not ones as sweet as you. (or... "he's a lowbrow, mom's house, all his cash is borrowed / she's the good life, no strife, pills he never swallowed / he's the inked up, bad luck, never wants to marry / she's dressed in white" ... to the tune of something, somehow, someday ofc!) Warnings: NSFW content Tags: fingering, breast play, rough sex, age gap Word Count: 5879 A/N: daddy's home

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

It’s a brief, breathless break from clashing lips and needy kisses. They’re dripping with animalistic desire, all messy and feverous, tasting and memorizing his mouth through yours. Sweeping tongues, slotted lips, strangled moans, and gasps and whines, all etched into your memory and fueling a fierce lust beneath your skin.

His eyes hardly open, gazing down at you in a daze. The mess he’s created of you, swollen lips that refuse to purse and lashes that won’t lift. No, you can’t even look at him, too focused on filling your lungs, inhaling oxygen and his musky cologne until you’re breathing him too. You’re still so close, enough that he can feel the rise and fall of your chest, noses still brushing. Carefully, one of his hands leaves your waist, leaving an emptiness in its wake.

“Tell me to stop, then.”

His hand is on your chin, urging you to look at him. Through batted lashes, you stare back up, drowning in the carnality in his eyes. He’s captivating, challenging you with soft browns that flick between your lips and gaze. All he can think of are those plush lips, glistening with spit and desire. He watches the way you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, a nervous habit. Then it’s a hard swallow and bated breath, closing your eyes again and he can almost hear your thoughts.

Mikey and Gerard are downstairs. Someone could hear. He’s so much older, and expectedly, more experienced.

Your eyes flutter open again, judgment too clouded to make a sound decision. Darting from his intense gaze to his lip ring, you lose yourself in the idea of just how good this could be. All those tattoos, that silky, dark hair curling between your fingers. Not to mention his hands, proving themselves already with a strong grip on your waist and chin, holding you hostage in his lap.

Ever aware of your overthinking, he starts to loosen his grasp, traveling from your chin to your cheek. “Hey,” he murmurs again. “We can stop. We can go back down and pretend nothing ever happened.”

For a reason you can’t pinpoint, your heart anxiously lurches. It snaps you out of your funk though, spiral halting before you can reason further.

“And if we don’t?”

A smile cracks at the corners of his lips, lifting as he speaks. Maybe it’s your shy disposition when you talk, that sweet concern and naivety, that charms him. There’s something about you… he wouldn’t say adorable, not interested in infantilizing you. You’re too good with your mouth to be deemed innocent either, which piques his interest. Endearing, he supposes. Whatever it is, he’s eating it up.

“If we don’t,” he says, pausing for effect. “Then I’ll give you anything you want.”

Butterflies swarm in your stomach, flustered at his willingness. The idea of him doing anything , taking care of you and all your needs… it’s almost too good. Almost.

His lips are already grazing your jaw, sucking sensual kisses along the way. “I can go fast,” he tells you lowly. “I can go slow.”

From your waist, his hand dips beneath your shirt, leaving a trail of heat in its path. “I can give you everything.”

His other palm is beneath your shirt again, the two of them snaking around your torso and unclasping your bra. It’s slick, you’ll give him that, too distracted by his lips against your ear to notice. His tongue meets your skin next, eliciting a shaky gasp while he smiles against you.

“How’s that sound?”

The words shoot directly into your brain, with Frank smiling mischievously against your ear. Not that you can respond easily, the feeling of faint tongue and gentle sucking sending shivers through you. Man, does he make it hard to focus.

“I dunno,” you reply, hushed, letting your head fall back. “I’ve always wanted you to—”

“Always” is like a buzzword to him. Freezing, you feel embarrassment burn within you. Worse, he’s wearing that cheshire grin, giving your neck a playful bite.

“Always?”

Shit. Freudian slip.

“What do you mean ‘always’?”

Humiliation boils in your stomach, grateful to have a better view of the ceiling than Frank himself. You’d found him attractive since you’d met him, about a year ago in your living room. It was one of the first things you��d noticed upon going downstairs—lean, punky Frank, with that shiny piercing and a couple less tattoos.

Rolling your eyes, you let out an embarrassed sigh. “Doesn’t matter.”

Frank grins. “Sure it does. I gotta make this worth the wait.”

Easing your arms down by your sides, he slides your bra straps off like it’s a casual affair. Despite wanting to believe that it is, the swarm of butterflies in your stomach tells you otherwise. Especially when his hands are beneath your tee again, diagraming your anatomy beneath his fingertips–ribs to breast to pounding heart.

“Jeez,” he snickers softly, concealing the small of your back with one hand. “Am I making you nervous?”

You roll your tongue around in your mouth, contemplating the question. With all the courage you can muster, you let your head fall back down and press your forehead to his. “‘M not nervous, Frank. Just…”

The heat in your cheeks is obvious, the frazzle of your features apparent. That slightly carnal look in your eyes, begging and wanton, that only feeds him further.

“Horny?” he supplies, still smiling as if it’s funny.

You roll your eyes, shallow breaths leaving your lips when his fingers start to travel again. His thumbs graze your nipples, groping at the flesh experimentally.

With a shuddered breath, you respond. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Frank shakes his head, still eyeing you like a test subject. “Not at all. Just most chicks aren’t…”

“Horny?” you echo, suppressing a grin as you lean towards his ear.

He pinches you playfully, ears perking up as a sharp gasp escapes your lips. The way you shift in his lap doesn’t go unnoticed either, making him snicker. “Nah, that’s not what I—oh, you’re fuckin’ weird, huh?”

At first, you’re mildly offended by his offhand comment. Pulling back and wrinkling your nose at him, you notice the shit-eating grin on his face. Carefully, he does it again—fingers rolling over your nipples, then the subtle pinching and tugging. You try to stay stoic, but the clench of your abdomen gives you away.

He’s giddy, looking at you like his little lab rat. Next, it’s his mouth on your neck. Tender bites, sharp teeth, all soothed by the warmth of his tongue. The way you’re reacting is only turning him on more, if that were possible. Writhing and squirming, gasping softly and attempting to stifle it by biting your lip; it’s almost too good to be true. He wouldn’t exactly mind going slow, not really. Sex is sex—but this level of sensitivity, and how you clearly like it rough? Oh, Frank is gonna have fun with you.

“You’re so sensitive,” he comments, mouthing at the top of your jaw.

Heat rises in your cheeks, but it’s not your fault that everything he does is intoxicating. Your face must’ve given away your vague embarrassment, Frank detecting it and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“It’s not a bad thing at all,” he assures you, kissing you again. “You’re my favorite kinda girl.”

You’re not sure how he can say something like that and then continue kissing you, allowing the words to seep into your brain. Melting against him, you fist your hands in his t-shirt, letting him pull you closer by your waist. It’s so clear that he’s more experienced than you, be it the age difference or his skilled mannerisms. His kisses are rhythmic, and when his tongue darts out, it’s over for you. Gasping, you grind hard against him, eliciting a reaction from him as well.

He pulls away, letting his head roll for a moment, exhaling as if he were blowing smoke.

“C’mere.”

Obeying, you let him lay you down against his mattress. His nimble hands lift your shirt over your head and he situates himself beside you. It’s strange, lying in his bed with your brothers downstairs. Not to mention how exposed you feel, as Frank is still wearing some Affliction tee while you remain half-naked. Under his gaze, you feel a bit more like the Ways’ kid sister than whoever you thought you were. Thankfully, this hint of insecurity goes unnoticed because he’s so captivated by the sight of you.

Frank runs a hand through his hair like he doesn’t know what to do with you. That familiar feeling is spinning inside of him, muscles twitching with arousal.

“Jesus, kid,” is all he can say, tongue darting out against his lip piercing.

It seems to be a good thing, because he’s stripping off his shirt and hovering over you. Too many times, you’ve imagined this—Frank on top of you, vibrant ink adorning his skin, flush against your own. Those intense eyes, lost in your wide, pleading ones. He can see everything in them—the excitement, fear, insecurity. All of it, and he infers that this isn’t exactly a common occurrence for you. The stalling makes you nervous though, interrupting his burning stare with a question that you’d been dying to ask.

“Frank?”

He hums, gaze flickering between your eyes and lips. “What’s up?”

Part of him worries that you’re going to ask to stop. Not that he wouldn’t be cool about it, but you’ve really got him going now and he’s actually enjoying it.

“What’d you mean earlier..?” you start slowly, unsure of how to word it. “What kind of girl am I?”

Frank finds the question cute. A soft smile flashes across his face, cradling your cheek in his palm. He fills up your senses with soft laughter and spearmint, easing the anxious ache in your bones.

“You’re sweet,” he says simply, brushing your bottom lip with his thumb. “And still new to all this. But you’re… kinda kinky, you know? At least that’s the vibe I’m getting.”

You turn your face away, giving a small groan. He laughs softly, guiding your head back to face him. “That’s a good thing. Explore that. Sex gets a whole lot better when you’re doing what you want.”

“What if I don’t know what I want?”

He kneels above you, statuesque, letting his hands run from your breasts to your waist. It feels good to see him so in awe of you.

“Do you want this? ” he asks, staring into your eyes as though he’s seeing right into your soul; his gaze is powerful .

Nervous, you nod, shutting out the “what if’s” and trying to forget who’s sleeping below you. You’ve wanted this for so long—you can’t sell it now over the fear of getting caught.

“Yeah.”

He smiles, pleased. “That’s a start.”

Seeing him smile at that, knowing you want him, makes you swell with pride. You didn’t feel like you were forcing his hand or something, but now you could convince yourself that he was equally eager. Warmth blossoms within you, starting at your collarbones where he’s begun to leave kisses. He had been careful to avoid hickeys on your neck, worried that Gerard or Mikey would spot them in the morning. But as his lips surpass your clavicles, his teeth begin to graze against you, love bites sprouting like violets upon your skin.

All your squirming, rolling hips, and gentle sighs make his blood run south, and Frank tries not to smile at the rarity of this situation. Sleeping with a girl who's dreamed of this is so much different than one-night-stands and post-date sex. He hasn’t had a girl “crush” on him in ages, which almost makes him feel old. Mostly, he’s charmed, finding it sweet that anything he does elicits a reaction. The way you look down at him, twisting your fingers in his hair, eyes swimming with adoration and disbelief… It makes him feel good. Strong. Wanted.

When he starts sinking further, hands pinning your hips in place, he lets his lips graze one of your nipples. It’s cautious, tempting. Your eyes are laser locked on him and your breath is caught in your chest, and judging by your expression, he’s found what makes you tick. His tongue darts out, slow and flat, making you arch into his touch. The simultaneous gasp and tightening grip on his hair blows your cover, mischief and lust flashing in Frank’s eyes.

Part of him wonders how long it’s been, if you’re reacting like this. He’s not used to younger girls, or even more reserved ones. It’s almost always girls his age and in his scene. Everyone’s horny where he’s from—but you grew up with the two nerdiest guys he knows, so it shouldn’t come as much of a shock that you’re like them. He tries not to think about the age thing too much. It’s different with you. More like a favor, he supposes. Frank doesn’t go after college girls—but he knows you. He cares about you, honest. If this is what you want, then he might as well give in.

You must’ve been able to hear his thoughts, running your hand through his hair and scratching at his scalp. It’s soothing, and weirdly domestic. He continues before you can clam up and get all shy on him again, because telling himself that this is for you eases the guilt of banging his friends’ little sister. Besides, you’re really beautiful, and it would be a crime against humanity to not lose himself in you, even just for the night.

It’s all tongue and sucking, hands shifting to grab at the supple flesh. His teeth scrape against you occasionally, just to make you sink deeper into his pillows and moan breathlessly into the night. Watching him comes few and far between, catching glimpses of his heavy eyelids and languid tongue, noting that you’ve never seen Frank look so relaxed. The sight is dizzying, and your mind is reeling—he looks so damn pretty when he’s using his mouth.

Frank always liked to please, really. It was his guilty pleasure, taking things slow and really savoring a girl. While it was rare that he got the opportunity—his previous hookups wanted fast and hard, finding sensuality too intimate—it always seemed to relax him. He’d never admit it, but being skin to skin, feeling and tasting and hearing… it’s otherworldly to him. It makes him feel so connected. So when he pulls away, switching sides and mouthing at you once more, he can’t help but get worked up over you.

Your pitter-patter breathing, unsteady pants and short, high cries that break the quiet are driving him crazy. He can tell you’re more sensitive on this side, biting gently and watching your free hand fly to your mouth. It’s clasped so tight, yet he can feel your shuddered gasps as they tremble throughout your body.

“Yeah?” he asks softly, pulling away with a proud smile. “You’re really into that, huh?”

With the wind knocked out of you, it’s hard to say anything, settling for a rapid nod. Your fingers sink deeper into his hair, eyes barely fluttering open to stare down at him.

“Wish I could hear you,” he says, tenderly kissing your skin. “I bet you get real loud.”

He feels almost guilty saying that to you, typical sexual prowess watered down with the moral battle of knowing that it’s you. Sweet little Way, topless and arching in his bed. Regardless, it leaves you flustered, apprehensively removing your hand. Everything he says makes the ache more insatiable, pulsing to a point of insanity.

“I don’t wanna get caught,” you mumble, both hands carding through his hair.

Frank nods, chin resting on your sternum. “I know, baby. I can tell you’re vocal.”

Should you be insecure about that? You never really thought much of it, unaware that it was unusual to be so reactive.

“Sorry.”

Perplexed, his brows knit together and lips quirk into a bemused smile. “Don’t be sorry. I think it’s hot.”

You shrink, clenching around nothing as he takes you into his mouth one more time. It’s a short, sucking kiss, but it’s enough to shoot sparks through you. His lips find themselves everywhere, beneath the tender curve of your breast and across your abdomen. Carefully, his thumbs brush against your hips, mapping out a spot and nipping one more time until it’s painted scarlet. Proof he was there, he guesses, as if the few blossoming on your chest weren’t enough.

When he pulls away, lips glossy and eyes heavy, he takes a moment to just look. You’re staring back at him, visually tracing the tattoos that color his body in red, black, and blue. Our Lady of Sorrows wrapping around his arm, roses, knives, guns, and stars. The swallows inked above his hip bones, happy trail in between. You follow it down, peeking at the obvious tent in his pants.

Maybe you looked too long, too entranced by the fact that he’s hard for you, but his hands come into view thereafter. They dip below his waistband, shucked off and abandoned on his bedroom floor. The way you look at him makes him feel more exposed, like you’re seeing something he isn’t.

Frank huffs, amused. “Good?”

Nodding, you glance back up at him, begging him with your eyes to do something. A small frown tugs at the corner of your lips, entertaining him further.

“What?” he coos. “I can’t do anything unless you take your pants off for me.”

The way he says it—“for me”—makes your stomach flip, turning your head away with a shy grin. He laughs again softly, unusually nervous and flattered by you. This is such a change of pace for him.

“Oh yeah,” is all you can come up with, fighting the embarrassed smile that threatens to surface.

It’s heartwarming to Frank, who tries to not to laugh out of strange endearment. You’re so sweet; it’s hard not to smile when he sees you.

“‘S alright,” he assures you, watching as you slide your pajama pants off, already soaking through your underwear.

It hugs your hips, snug to your skin, plush thighs clamped together as if the cotton isn’t covering enough. More full body scans and staring contests, taking in the sight of each other, aching and vulnerable. He watches you when he pries your legs apart, searching for hints of hesitation. Instead, you ease up slightly, moving with him as his eyes flutter shut.

Frank just needs to… compose himself.

“Can I?” he murmurs, swallowing hard as he realizes just how turned on you are.

His fingers trace up the fabric, damp and thin, causing your hips to roll against him. His pointers hook around your waistband, waiting expectantly. You nod at him, not trusting your tongue as you catch it between your teeth. For the life of him, Frank can’t figure out why his heart pounds in his chest as he undresses you. The sound of clothing hitting the floor rings in his ears and the sight of you, needy and glistening, burns into his head. Cold air prickles your skin, and your legs instinctively attempt to draw shut, stopped short by Frank’s warm grasp.

He squeezes your thighs gently, palms caressing the rising goosebumps. “I’ve got you.”

Almost apprehensive, his fingers trail up your thighs, two fingers delicately spreading you open. You’re focused on him, studying the way his hair falls in his eyes, lips slightly parted in awe and arousal. His eyes flit up to you for a moment, and he pulls away to lay on his side. Usually, he didn’t get this intimate, rarely building up to the moment. But you, you’re so lovely to him. So gentle, looking at him the way you do. And maybe he’s acting like this because he’s still wrapping his head around the idea of sleeping with Gerard and Mikey’s younger sister. Maybe it’s because if he does it at all, he wants to do it right. Frank’s not treating you like any other girl—he thinks he at least owes them that much.

He’s leaning closer to you, fingers tenderly splitting your lips. “Open?”

His tone is so soft, proof that he’s melting with passing time as it becomes more real. Your lips part, still flush with color, tongue lolling out and enveloping him in warmth.

Oh, he’s so fucked.

He can almost feel your mouth on his cock, lapping at the tip and taking him until your throat threatens to constrict… those pleading eyes that you’re giving him now, begging for him to cum down your throat. The scene plays in his head like a feature film, leaving him insatiably hot as his fingers replace his lips. He kisses you with so much carnality, hot and demanding, as if it’ll satisfy the aching lust that coils hot around his insides. It’s just what you wanted, is it not? The rough passion that has you teetering on the point of breakage, so ruthless that he fears it might shatter you?

It’s all that you wanted, all that you craved. His desperate kisses, biting and intense, slick fingers working their way between your legs. Frank hikes one of them up, limbs tangling and leaving you splayed open for him. It’s a whirlwind of sensation, the way his lips slot messily with yours, broken by gasps as his fingers dip inside of you. One and then two, coated in arousal, leaving Frank hot in the face as he works you open. You’re cradling his face, so gentle in your hands, his spare hand still holding you apart.

When you start to moan against him, arching and reeling, nearly bucking into his hand in an eager search for more, he manages to pull away. Not too far, just a few inches, enough to look down at you and memorize your expression. Knitted eyebrows and blown pupils, mouth agape, escaping stuttered breaths. It’s the deeper strokes that really get you, his fingers curling far enough to touch you just right. He can tell from the way you clench around them, squirming, moaning, and sinking into his mattress.

“Damn,” he mutters, mildly fascinated. “When was the last time you did this?”

Speaking is a challenge, biting your lip to fight the sounds spilling from them. Your thumb caresses the apples of his cheeks, inhaling shakily and shrugging. “A while ago.”

The explanation satisfies him enough, pulling out his arousal-coated fingers to circle your clit. It’s instantaneous, the sound ripped from your throat, sending Frank’s hand flying from thigh to your mouth.

“Easy,” he soothes, planting kisses on your shoulder. “You’re okay.”

He nearly melts as your hands rest on his, over your mouth and his circling fingers. If only you didn’t have to be so quiet, and he could hear every little noise you’re making. The only thing he can hear is himself, talking you through your rising orgasm.

“You’re doing so good,” Frank tells you, working you closer to the edge. “Can you cum like this?”

The words are a blur of syllables and sounds, spinning around your head until you manage a rapid nod. There’s so much adrenaline in your veins, arousal coating your thighs as he speeds up. Your shaking legs try to close around him, muscles winding tight, but he doesn’t let up.

“Keep them open for me.”

He’s so determined, eyes flicking between your expression and his fingers while yours screw shut. Crashing down hard, the orgasm tears through you in waves of bliss and intensity. It’s so much , and you sob into Frank’s hand as he watches, mesmerized by the scene before him. God, he was gonna break you by the end of this.

Hands retracting, he lets you pant in the silence, licking his fingers clean of you. Everything he does is so foreign to you, so thoughtful and experienced, yet he’s so casual about it. Second-nature and rhythmic, his crooking fingers and fervorous kisses, skilled and subconscious as if they weren’t flipping your world on its side.

“You still wanna..?” Frank proposes with sincerity, voice trailing off like it’s a sin to swear in front of you.

It sure felt like it right now, after you managed to make an orgasm look pure. The delicacy you exude makes him feel more like some trashy, piece of shit stoner, with his greasy hair and inked up skin. Opposites really do attract. In fact, it’s everything you can’t do that draws you in further. Your parents would kill you if you got a tattoo, playing perfect so your brothers could get their lives in order. But Frank? He’s so careless, so free. It feels good to get a taste of that for once.

Once you’ve gathered your thoughts, you nod at him, breathing beginning to stabilize. “‘Course, Frankie.”

The nickname makes him smile. You’re really the only person who calls him that other than his mother. It makes him feel good. Good like you.

“That was a good one, huh?” he asks smugly, eyebrows raised.

Playfully, you roll your eyes at him, lips quirking up in amusement. “Yeah, it really was.”

He lets your hand slide down his chest, running along his tattoos until you’re palming him over his boxers. Your touch is light, cupping him over the fabric and brushing against him in soft strokes. The look in your eyes almost has him shying away; they’re so loving over something as simple as his dick. You’re waiting for him to undress, too nervous to do it yourself, giving him that same pout again.

Frank fails to hide his amusement. “What’s the rush?”

Frown deepening, you tilt your head to the side, tracing his outline with featherlight fingertips. “I wanna feel you inside me again.”

He lets out a breath, head lolling back towards the ceiling. How can you be so casual, eyes never leaving the bulge in his boxers before hitting him with the most melodic words he’s ever heard? He runs a hand through his hair and drops his head back to you, watching your face as he tugs the waistband down. His cock springs out less than a foot from you, and it all feels like a dream. A really filthy one, but not unlike others you’ve had before.

Frank just kneels there, shuffling his boxers off while your hand wraps carefully around him as though he’s made of glass. It’s sweet to him, to be treated with so much care. He lets you have your moment of gentle pumping and memorization, Frank moaning breathily as your palm swipes over the head. No one else has ever held him like this, touched him like he‘s some mythical being. He’s Frank—weed-smoking, college dropout, gas station Frank. And you’re you. Dean’s List and John Denver, Gerard and Mikey’s straight-laced little sister. He just can’t get that last part out of his head.

But you’re bleeding affection, and for a moment he can tell himself that you’re old enough to make your own decisions. Maybe not old enough for him, but your brothers certainly can’t tell you off for this. Just Frank—and that’s only if they find out.

He tucks your hair behind your ear, a cautionary sign that he’s ready to move on. There’s a faint ache where your hand once was, missing your touch as he repositions you on the bed. You feel small as he kneels between your legs, still seeing Frank as so much older and cooler than you. It’s hard to believe that you’re here at all.

You don’t feel out of place though, not as he’s leaning over you to grab a condom from his nightstand and tearing it open with his teeth. Oddly enough, it feels kinda perfect. Both of you need something different for once.

Things don’t feel as wrong when he’s lifting your hips and aligning himself, sinking in and letting the pleasure course through him. It could be because you’ve wanted this so bad, for so long, but it’s the closest you’ve ever felt to anyone. The splitting feeling and sudden fullness muddy your brain, body overcome with the sensation of it all. You can only lay there starry-eyed, fingers wrapped around his biceps while he thrusts into you.

“Always wanted this,” you blurt out, moaning as his strokes grow deeper. “For you to do whatever you want to me.”

He groans, your words injecting straight into his bloodstream. You have no idea what you’re doing to him, speaking mindlessly and it’s driving him crazy.

“How long?” he asks again, still curious from earlier.

This wasn’t spontaneous for you, and he knew that. Yet, he couldn’t help but wonder when it all started. Had you come home from Christmas Break and spotted him on the couch, imagination coloring scenes like this? Or was it this summer, Frank smoking with your brothers in the backyard, gathered around a makeshift fire pit? Somehow, it’s wilder than he thought possible.

Blurring the lines of filter and regret, you tell him the truth. “Fourth of July, last year.”

Jesus, you were just a baby then. The confession makes him feel a bit guilty, questioning just how he got here. That was the first night he had met you, still vaguely remembering the way you nervously introduced yourself. Your little wave, his causal nod. Gerard ruffling your hair and Mikey mentioning that there were only “two more months” until you leave the nest. Frank is sure that you remember it all, though.

The part of him that doesn’t feel like a piece of shit is flattered, truly. He tries to channel that, looking down and seeing a girl that wanted him–and she’s beautiful. Your hands are running down his chest, lips perpetually parted, scratching lightly over his tattoos. Once he’s out of his head, he can fall into the feeling of warmth and depth that wraps around him. It’s all encompassing and he’s hungry for more, slowing for a moment to readjust.

Frank lifts your legs up, your ankles on his shoulders, his hands on your waist. “Let me know if this hurts.”

You just nod, sucking in a breath as he slams into you, hard and deep. This is different from before, a desperate search for release in a way you’d never seen. His pace after that is ruthless, face beautifully contorted as he tries to stay quiet. You’re failing at that, and his hand is over your mouth again, almost sympathetically. Not that you didn’t like it though, even more turned on by the power he holds. Naturally, he can tell, and it propels him faster and harder. How much could you really take?

He knows he’s rougher than you’re used to, that every snap adds a twist of pain, but you’re addicted to it. The overachiever in you is satisfied, thriving, knowing that you’re being perfect for him. That’s all you ever wanted, really. Frank can’t understand it though, mind boggled that you’re so placid when you sob into his hand, rewetting his cock every time he pulls out. And you never tell him to stop, even when he starts to worry that he’s actually fried your brain and fucked you catatonic.

“Keep going?” he asks, almost concerned.

His hand barely lifts from your mouth, just long enough for you to answer. “Please don’t stop.”

God, this felt so wrong, but who was Frank to deny you? You’re so polite, and the whine in your voice is making him go insane. It’s the same, brutal tempo until the tightness forms again, muscles clamping down. Frank is crazy for this, throwing caution to the wind as he dips his thumb past your lips and pulls his hand away. Then it’s thumb to clit, with no warning other than, “Need you to be quiet for me, baby.”

Fat chance, you think, but try nonetheless to suppress the mewls caught in your throat. The world is constricting, skin too hot and muscles too tight, twitching as your legs quiver above you. It’s peak stimulation and bliss, washing over you as you constrict around him, Frank nearly falling apart at the feeling. He doesn’t dare stop though, still working you through it, thumb teasing and voice filling the air.

“Atta girl,” he muses, letting your legs down and leaning in, chest to chest.

Disheveled, you blink up at him bleary-eyed. “Don’t stop yet,” you whine, pouty-lipped. “I want you to cum.”

He breathes a laugh, nestling himself inside you for a moment to let you cool down. “I will, don’t worry.”

Frank just… needs a moment. To take it all in, to let you breathe.

Before he starts, he kisses you again and your hands find their way back into his hair. It’s soothing, after how rough he had been, and Frank needs a second to collect himself anyway. This is too intimate to be less than treacherous, and you know that. You’d let him break your heart a million times over if it meant having him tonight.

“Ready?” he whispers, pulling away.

Your hands fall to his shoulders, still delirious as you gaze up at him. Softly, you smooth your hands over his skin, nodding. “Yeah.”

The sweet, tight-lipped smile that you give him burns into his memory as he starts to move. You smile with your eyes, all excited and squinty, and it’s so angelic to him. You’re angelic, lashes fluttering shut as he thrusts, deep and steady. Those soft, swollen lips that had kissed him so tenderly, loose with hushed moans. Frank’s not used to anything this sensual, so it surprises him when words drip from his mouth like honey.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Maybe it’s because they come from the heart, eyes swimming with conviction. They meet yours, heavy lids lifting, so full of emotion. There’s that smile again, flashing across your face for a brief moment. Girls aren’t usually flustered when he sweet-talks them, but you’re different. He means it with you, and you can tell.

Your legs wrap around his waist when he’s about to cum, and he’s locked down as he nestles himself inside of you for the last time. Every sound he makes has your stomach doing somersaults, running your fingers through his hair when his forehead meets yours. He’s panting, eyes closed and forehead perspiring. The room is so quiet now, filled only with faint kisses and quiet whispers, the air thick with the smell of sex.

Frank’s not sure what to do after he’s pulled out, condom tied up in the trash. He’s not sure if you two should go back downstairs, if he can pretend like this never happened. Too many questions beg to be answered—what this means for you, what it means for him. He’s reckless and noncommittal, and you’re a glimpse of the good life. He’s the doobie codependent, and you’re all the pills he never took.

Frank forces down the fear of dragging you down with him. Instead, he embraces the possibility that you’re what he needs, because for the first time in forever, it didn’t take a joint to feel this good.

#frank iero x reader #frank iero smut #mcr x reader #mcr smut

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