my top fixations are body mods, film, anything horror, mcr, and dc comics!
main blog: spoileral3rt
for now i see myself writing a lot of frank iero x reader and maybe some ferard. expect also some other fandoms, possibly batfam or whatever my everchanging hyperfixation will become!
i am ok with writing:
various fandoms (right now mcr is back as my big fixation)
FIRST OF ALL. YEAH. NO YEEEEEAAAAAA. #needdatexpeditiously
headcanons for this. and i shall perhaps expand at a later date??
hereâs a cig for you anon đŹ
muah muah muah
-mads xx
Vampire Gerard Headcanons
warning: blood, slightly nsfw
pairing: vampire!gerard x reader
Gerard is old. Not ancient to the point of being numb, but old enough to move with slow, deliberate confidence that comes from having nothing to fear.
His voice drops when he is hungry. It goes deeper and raspier, like he is speaking straight into your bloodstream.
He can smell you. Not just your scent, but changes in your pulse, your mood, and exactly when desire starts building in you. He knows without asking.
He is quietly possessive. He stands close behind you with one hand resting at your waist, a silent reminder to anyone watching that you belong to him.
He prefers your throat for everything. Feeding, kissing, breathing you in. His mouth lingers there, teeth grazing lightly before his tongue soothes the skin.
Feeding on you is intimate for him. Slow, careful, almost worshipful. He holds your jaw gently and says your name right before his fangs touch your skin. No one else gets to feed on you. Youâre his own personal tap.
He gets drunk on you. His pupils go wide, his lips stain, and his breathing becomes unsteady even though he should not need to breathe at all.
He loves how small you feel next to him when he is starving. His grip grows stronger and his movements become more urgent, but he still waits for your permission before losing control.
He leaves marks that are not bites. Bruises on your hips, shoulders, and thighs. Signs that even a creature built for restraint can fall apart for you.
He whispers in foreign languages when he is deep in pleasure. More specifically, Latin. You cannot understand the words, but you can feel them vibrating through your ribs.
He hears your heart racing during sex. It drives him wild. Sometimes he presses his ear to your chest while he moves inside you, listening like it is the sweetest sound he has ever heard.
He is needy. He craves touch, warmth, and closeness. When he sleeps he pulls you into him, cold body wrapped around your heat as if he is afraid you might disappear
He would destroy the world for you. He would do it without hesitation, blood on his mouth, fangs still showing, smiling softly when he turns back to look at you.
summary: stage crew reader (around 19 to early 20âs) working for the tour with her and dilf!frank hooking up on the side. a lot of dirty talk. just porn no plot really!
a/n: this was so much fun to write! plz enjoy :3 btw sorry if thereâs typos im so sleep deprived
tags: nsfw, daddy kink, praise kink, degradation kink, slight masochism, age gap, dom/sub, power struggle
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You donât know how it happened. First you couldnât have cared less about him, he was like 40 after all, you just did your job, finished your shift and got out. After all, you were just a part of the crew. You had taken only this job as you were taking a gap year from a complete college burnout. The pay was sub-par at best but after all, you didnât exactly do much but sit around and look pretty. But somehow that turned into small conversation with the guitarist, tiny exchanges and glances that left you feeling hot and bothered. Those turned into flirty glances, lingering stares that got you red in the face.
You never really had a thing for older guys but something about Frank Iero made you ignore every rational thought in your head.
"I need you." Your voice came out in a whimper, grinding your hips against a man much too old for you to be doing this with, hands grabbing at his shoulders and chest frantically, desperately. You felt yourself getting wet, you couldn't take it. You needed him.
It was exciting. New? Hot? It was a thrill you didnât know existed in this way. All you knew is you needed him now and fast.
"Oh princess," Frank cooed, tucking your hair behind your ear and resting his hand there against your face. "You gonna be my good girl?"
He rocked his hips up against yours, ever so slightly. Just enough for you to feel it, not enough to relieve you.
Your hands dragged up and down his torso, tattoos adorning pale skin.
"You're so hot." You whined, leaning to kiss him, stubble rough against your skin.
"Fuck," Frank moaned against your lips.
Your mouth was hot against him, spit dripping down your chin from the wet kisses that had your teeth clashing against his, the tip of his tongue grazing your lips.
"Daddy," You couldn't stop the moan that escaped your mouth. You froze. Tense against him. You hadn't expected that to be the thing that came out of your mouth.
"Oh Princess," Frank smiled, you could see the gears turning in his head. "What was that?"
Your face was flushed, not just from the kissing. Your thighs tightened around his hips, grinding against his jeans, trying everything to not fall apart right there.
"Daddy..." It came out mumbled, uncertain.
Frank traced up your back with one rough, calloused hand, grabbing a fistful of hair at the base of your neck which earned a small whimper from you. He pulled you in closer. "You can do better than that, can't you? If you're gonna sound like a slut at least own it."
"Daddyyy," You whined, drawing out every syllable. Rocking your hips against him, aching to feel anything, your underwear soaked.
His hand moved from your hair to your hips, gripping them hard enough to leave bruises the next day.
A girl could only dream, right?
"Is that what you want?" You could hear the smirk in his voice. "You want daddy's dick in you? Wanna be fucked like a good girl?"
You nodded immediately. "Please, sir."
"Not gonna get it that easy," Franks eyes trailed down to your clothed torso. "Why the fuck is this still on?"
He thumbed at the cloth, frowning. "Be a good girl and show off for me, hm? You gotta earn being fucked."
You scrambled to take your shirt and underwear off. Completely naked, straddling his lap, your wet pussy rubbing against the rough denim of his jeans.
"Good girl," Frank praised as his hands traced up your waist to your tits. He groped them and moaned, leaning to take your nipple in his mouth, his teeth grazing it, just enough to make you wince. Though the hurt was immediately followed by his wet tongue tracing your nipple.
Your noises filled the otherwise silent room.
âAw baby,â He cooed as his hand dropped lower to touch your wet folds. âMade a mess down here.â
Moans rolled off your tongue like a prayer as he teased your hole, pressing his fingers against your cunt, not letting you relieve the desperation that crawled up your throat and came out as choked sobs.
He was unforgiving. Coercing every ounce of wet desire he could get out of you, he loved the power he had over you. How he could have you for hours, teasing you and whispering sweet nothings until you broke.
âI think youâve had enough.â Frank smiled as he stared at your body, pathetic and dripping. Silently begging him for something- anything. âYou deserve it, donât you darling?â
âPlease.â Was all you could muster out through your tears, feeling the heat in the pit of your stomach.
Finally, as if a gift from above, he stood to unbuckle his pants, the sound of the zipper made your heart skip a beat.
Standing on his knees, he flipped you over and grabbed a fistful of your hair yet again to arch your back against him as he lined himself up with your cunt. Rubbing himself against you and nudging his head in slowly.
âSuch a pretty girl,â His voice deep, coated in desire. You moaned.
âYou gonna be good?â He asked.
âGod, yes.â You were so desperate and dazed. âIâll do anything for you.â
âGood girl.â The infliction of his voice got rougher as he filled you up, sliding right into your wet pussy. âGod, so fucking tight.â
All you could do was moan and cry out as he slammed his hips into yours at a pace that made you see stars. All you could do was close your eyes and feel.
âGod, y/n,â Frank moaned. âYou take me so well.â
The only thing filling the room were sounds so filthy it made you close. Skin slapping together, your wet pussy, your own and Frankâs moans stringing together, grunts and whines, uncontrollable and desperate.
âSay my name, princess.â He demanded as he thrust into you, hard. Fast. Unforgiving.
âDaddy,â You chanted it over and over again, feeling yourself getting closer. âDaddy, please. I need you. I want you. I want you to cum in me.â
âOh yeah?â Frank grunted. âYouâre such a dirty slut.â
âFuck!â You cried out. âI-Iâm so close, daddy.â
âMy dirty slut, you gonna cum all over my dick?â
Before you could even respond you felt yourself go over the edge, gripping the sheets beneath you like they might disappear at any second. Moaning and shaking, Frank fucking you through your high.
A few seconds later his hips sputtered against yours. Slamming into you hard as he came with your name on his lips.
There was a beat of silence as you both collected yourselves, panting.
âFuck baby,â There was the presence of laughter in his voice. âYou are just- god.â
Pulling out, you both collapsed on the bed next to each other. Shoulders touching, sweaty, not bothering to clean up. Whatever.
âDaddy, huh?â Frank spoke next to you, breathless.
âYeah well, you are old enough to be my father, Iero.â You teased, chuckling softly.
Au where nobody tells 10 year old Damian who Jason is. And the way they talk about him, Damian just assumes Jason is like a raccoon or something.
Damian: Grayson, why does Pennyworth leave food on the counter every night?
Dick, on his phone, not even paying attention: Oh, that's for Jason.
Damian: For 'Jason'?
Dick: Yeah. Sometimes he sneaks into the kitchen at night, so Alfred started leaving food out for him.
Damian, confused: I've never seen anyone here.
Dick: Well he doesn't always come. And last time, Bruce caught him crawling through the window and scared him away so, who knows when he'll show up again.
Damian, definitely thinking of a raccoon: So then Pennyworth is feeding a random stray that crawled out of God knows where?
Dick, annoyed: He's not a 'random stray', Damian, he's family, and he has been living in this house for way longer than you have.
Damian, trying to remember how long do raccoons live for:
Damian: I hope he doesn't die soon.
Dick: ????!!
*Later that night in the Bat-cave*
Tim, typing away in the computer:
Damian: Drake. Have you ever met Jason?
Tim: Uh. Stupid, annoying and looks like a skunk? Yes, why?
Damian, picturing a mix between a racoon and a skunk:
Damian: Is he friendly?
Tim: Well, the first time I met him, he attacked me, so...
Damian: Hmm... What did you do to provoke him?
Tim: What did I do toâ Bitchâ
Tim: Nothing! He just didn't like me taking 'what was his', or something.
Damian, nodding: You invaded his territory.
*The next day*
Damian: Father, when do you think Jason will visit again? I want to meet him.
Bruce: Um. I don't know, Damian. He doesn't come here often.
Damian: Why?
Bruce: Because he lives somewhere else.
Damian: Why doesn't he just live here with us instead? He would be safer.
Bruce, wincing: I don't think he would like that, Damian. He's not confortable here.
Damian: But, maybe if I befriend him I could convince him to stay.
Bruce, sighing: I don't think so, Damian. You have to respect his space.
Frank or Gerard meeting with a young journalist in a hotel room for her to interview them about the band, but reader gets way more than they bargained for. đŠđŠ it could be as freaky as you want, I live for it.
Need that bad. Like current era Gerard and Frank they make my tummy feel warm đ¤¤đ¤¤
oh YES. yes yes yes indeed. your mind is so powerful anon!! i see this as more of a gee fic. im thinking camo jacket moment. so. LESSFUCKINGOOOOO. im thinking hes more intense than what the public sees. sweet and cute on stage, intense behind closed doors ;)
also!! side note: im going to start taking new anons!! so just lmk what cute little emoji u wanna be :P
kisses and also a smooch!
-mads xx
pairing: lltbp tour! gerard x fem!reader
warnings: slight voyeurism??, fingering, piv, light bondage, humiliation, SO MUCH TEASING
a/n: i got carried away. like REALLY carried away.
NSFW UNDER THE CUT
You knew he'd be intense. Everyone warned you. 'Don't judge a book by its cover, ' they said. But nothing prepares you for seeing him in person when he opens the hotel room door and just... looks at you.
Gerard Way, in his late forties, hair a little grown out, eyeliner smudged like he'd rubbed his eyes on the way up, wearing his usual camouflage jacket and jeans that hang low on his hips like he didn't expect company. Or maybe he did.
He smiles slowly. Like, he's amused you actually showed up for the interview.
"You must be the journalist,"Â he says, leaning on the doorframe, eyes dragging down your body and back up in a way that is less than professional.
You try to introduce yourself, you really do, but he steps into the room, ushering you into the sitting room of his suite. The room is dim, warm, smelling like coffee and his cologne. He moves behind you when you walk in, close enough that you feel the heat of him at your back.
"So," he murmurs, voice low, "you want to know more about the tour, I'm assuming?"
You sit on the couch with your recorder, flipping open your notebook with hands you really hope arenât shaking. Gerard doesnât sit across from you. He drops onto the couch beside you, thigh touching yours, spreading out like he owns the place. Like he owns the air youâre breathing.
You ask your first question, something safe, something about the new festival dates they've tacked onto their hefty list of cities they've yet to set foot in.Â
He doesn't answer right away. He watches your lips. He watches the way that you lower your eyes to your notebook.
"You're nervous," he says softly, almost pleased. "How cute."
You try to redirect the interview, or lack thereof, but he leans in closer, his shoulder brushing yours. His voice is barely above a whisper.
"You've been thinking about this, haven't you? Meeting me? Being alone with me?"
Your chest tightens. You try to say you're here to work. He laughs under his breath, like he's heard that line too many times and it means nothing to him.
He reaches over and takes your recorder from your hand, and clicks it off, followed by him setting it on the coffee table.
"Interview's not really what you came for, is it, sweet thing?"
He tests you, watching every twitch of your expression. His fingers brush your knee, casual at first, then higher. Slow and absolutely deliberate.
"I can always tell," he coaxes, voice rough now, darker, "when someone wants more than just answers about my work."
And the worst part is that he's right. He can see it. He can smell it. Your pulse jumping at your throat, your heart jack-knifing against your ribcage, and your breath getting shallower with each brush of his fingers across your upper thigh.
He leans in, lips almost touching your ear.
"Ask me something real," he whispers. "Ask me what you really want to know, sweet girl. Hm?"
Your throat closes up, and you try to breathe. You try to be professional. You try to remember every rule you told yourself before you walked through that door.
âI⌠do youâŚâ Your voice cracks, heat flooding up your neck. âDo you want to touch me?â
The way he inhales at that, slow and sharp, makes your stomach drop.
He crooks two fingers under your chin and turns your face to him. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown like he's been waiting for you to break just like this.
"Yeah," he murmurs, as if it were obvious. "Yeah, I want to touch you."
His thumb drags over your lower lip, barely there, making your breath stutter.
"But you don't know what you're asking for, do you?" he says, voice dipping low. "You think you can handle me just because you worked up the nerve to call my people for an interview?"
Your pulse jumps, and he smiles like he feels it.Â
"Come here,"Â he gestures towards himself.
You don't even realize you've moved until his hand is on your waist, pulling you closer and guiding you into his lap, as he'd already pictured it.
Your knees hit the couch cushions, his thighs bracing you, his hands settling heavy on you like you're something to be claimed.
"Look at you," he breathes. "Poor thing, shaking already, aren't you?"
"Sweet girl... You want me to touch you where?"
You swallow hard, and he waits, patient in the cruelest way. Patient. Mean with it. Like he's letting your silence get dirty before you even speak.
You open your mouth to tell him exactly what you need.
But he leans forward, reaching past your hip, and you freeze, thinking he's touching you.Â
He isn't.
He picks up your recorder.
Your stomach twists and pools with heat at the same time as he turns it on, the red light blinking like it's judging you.
âGerardâŚâ your voice cracks.
He smiles, lazy and dangerous.
He lets his head tilt slightly, eyes dropping to your mouth, then lower, tracing the line of your throat.
âGo on,â he says quietly, settling back on the couch, legs spread wide beneath you. âTell the mic what you want me to do.â
âYouâre⌠recording,â you whisper.
âMhm.â His hand slides up the inside of your thigh, slow and warm. âThought you came for honesty, didnât you?â
You try to close your legs, but he nudges them apart with his knee, firm and casual.
"Don't hide now, sweet thing," he mocks. "You were brave enough to come knocking on my door for an interview."
"Consider this, it."
Your voice breaks as you try again.
"I want you..." your voice breaks, "I want you to touch me..."
He leans back, smug, eyes dark.
"Say it right, Sugar. Gotta make sure you don't miss a beat for your little write-up.", he says, voice dripping with pure sadism.
"IÂ want you to touch my pussy. P-please..."Â You say, cheeks flaming with heat.Â
The noise that escapes him is a low, filthy sound coming from the base of his throat.
âGood girl,â he mutters, thumb tracing slow circles up your inner thigh. âSo honest when you're nervous.â
You reach toward the recorder, maybe to move it, maybe to stop it, maybe because you're overwhelmed-
"There it is," he whispers, voice dropping. "Don't run from it."
He lifts your wrist higher, testing your resistance like it thrills him, like your instinct to back out is just another part of the game.
And then he reaches behind himself, and you hear the sound before you see it.Â
The hiss of leather sliding through belt loops.
He pulls the belt free in one smooth, unforgiving motion.
Your eyes widen, and he notices. Oh, he notices.
âOh, sweetheart,â he says, softer now, but somehow more dangerous.Â
âLook at that face.â
He holds your wrists together, the belt dangling from his other hand, buckle catching the light.
âGive me your hands.â
You do, trembling now, and he threads the belt around them. Not cruel, but firm, practiced. The leather is cool at first, then warms against your skin as he tightens it slowly, deliberately, watching every flicker in your expression.
âPerfect,â he whispers.
He raises your bound wrists above your head, guiding them there with his palm on the inside of your forearm, like heâspositioning you for something heâs imagined in detail.
Your body wracks with shivers. "I... I... please", you pathetically manage to get out.
He pulls you into his lap, closer and closer until your knees are on either side of his hips, your body nearly flush with his.
âYou feel that?â he asks softly, mouth barely brushing your cheek. âThat little tremble?â
His fingers trail down your spine, slow and claiming.
âThatâs what I want.â
He tilts your chin up with two fingers.
âAnd I havenât put my hands anywhere yet.â
And with that, his hands are on your hips, slowly moving up the sides of your waist and landing on your breasts. Kneading painfully slow, you let out a soft moan.
"So needy and responsive. I've barely done a thing."
He makes quick work of the buttons on your blouse, undoing them and exposing your bare breasts. "Didn't even wear a bra, hm? Knew exactly what you wanted, isn't that right sweet thing?"
He dips his head, catching your nipple between his teeth, slightly tugging, eliciting a sharp hiss from you.
Snapping his head back up, and using one hand at the base of your neck to hold you steady, his lips attach, leaving bruising kisses along the line of your throat.
He dips his free hand lower, unzipping the zipper on your pants, and with one swift motion, pushes your jeans and panties down to your mid-thigh.
He moved his head back just enough to admire his handiwork.
"You look so pretty like this."
You can't manage to say anything except letting out a small, pathetic whimper at the comment.Â
Without warning, he slides two fingers inside your pussy, slowly pumping in and out, opening you up. Soft whimpers and moans are being drawn out of you with every thrust of his fingers.
"Keep making those sweet noises, Sugar," He whispers. "Every time you listen to that tape, you'll be reminded of the fact that no one will ever make you make these pretty noises ever again."
He pulls his fingers out quickly, leaving you feeling so empty. Both of his hands return to your hips, clamping down hard, as he drags you off his lap in one smooth, decisive pull that knocks a breathy sound out of you. He turns you, folding you over the arm of the couch like you weigh nothing. Your stomach hits the cushion before your brain catches up.
Your bound wrists slip over the edge of the armrest, hanging helplessly, the leather of his belt creaking with the shift of your weight.
Then his hand comes down, broad and heavy, curling around the back of your neck. Not choking, just pinning, holding you there, your cheek pressed to the cushion, your breath stuttering as his chest hovers over, hot against your back.
You can't move.
You can only feel him.
Behind you, you hear the slow, deliberate drag of metal. Gerard lowers his zipper with a sound that seems impossibly loud in the charged silence, each tooth giving way under his hand while his other stays firm on your neck, the shift of his body heat telling you he's baring himself one impatient inch at a time.
You feel him closer, the heat of his body crowding the backs of your thighs.Â
His hand leaves your neck only long enough to wrap around your hip, pulling you back an inch, just enough to make you arch for him.
Then you feel it.
His blunt, warm head nudges between your folds, sliding through your slickness. He drags himself slowly, deliberately, up and down the soft seam of you, letting the tip catch just barely at your entrance before he pulls away again.Â
You whine, helpless and so needy for him at this point. He laughs under his breath, low and dark.
"Sweet thing... you're still soaked from my fingers," he murmurs against your ear. "You really think I didn't touch you enough? Greedy little thing."
He rolls his hips again, letting the tip press right where youâre softest, dipping just enough to make your whole body tightenâŚÂ only to pull back again.
Your bound hands twitch over the armrest. He tightens his grip on your hip.
âListen to you,â he whispers, guiding himself over you again, slow and teasing.
âEvery time I get close, you breathe like Iâm about to save your life.â
He lets the tip nudge your entrance once more, just a brief, perfect pressure that makes your voice break.
"Mmm,"Â he hums, smiling against your shoulder.
"That's the sound I was waiting for."
Without warning, he slams his hips forward, one brutal, perfect snap that rips a sound out of you you have never made in your life. Your body jolts, vision flaring white at the edges, stars bursting behind your eyes.
Your bound wrists swing uselessly over the arm of the couch, the leather creaking, and on the table just inches from your fingertips, the recorder blinks red, capturing every single noise the two of you make.
âFuckâ Gerard groans, voice breaking into a low, thrilled laugh. âYou just take it all, don't you? Listen to that. Itâs all on tape. Every sound you make for me.â
He thrusts again, even harder, the impact slamming you against the couch arm. Your cheek drags against the cushion, your knees barely holding.
You gasp his name, and the recorder picks it up, clear and small and wrecked.
Gerardâs hand clamps down on your hip.
âDonât run,â he growls, dragging you back onto him as he drives forward again. âI want it recorded when you fall apart for me.â
The next thrust is punishing, deep, fast, and merciless. The recorder catches the slap of skin, your choked whine, the low curse he bites into your shoulder.
âThatâs it,â he pants, voice shaking with how hard heâs holding himself back. âGive me those sounds. Let them hear what I do to you.â
Your breath breaks, another cry forcing its way out, louder this time. The recorder catches every second.
âSay it,â Gerard snarls into your ear, thrusting so hard your whole body jolts. âSay you needed it rough⌠and say it loud so it gets on the tape.â
His rhythm changes in an instant.
No warning. No mercy.
He grips your hips with both hands and starts thrusting faster, each snap of his body hitting you sharp and rhythmic, the kind of speed that knocks the breath straight out of you. The couch arm creaks under you. Your bound wrists swing wildly. Your knees are shaking, sliding, trying to find something to hold onto, but he doesnât slow down.
Not even for a second.
The recorder blinks red on the table, catching every wet, desperate sound as he pounds into you.
âYeahâŚÂ thatâs it,â Gerard growls behind you, his voice rough and ragged. âYou hear that? Thatâs how fast you take me.â
Another thrust, harder
Another.
Another.
Your breath punches out of you in short, helpless cries that fill the room.
Let them hear it,â he snarls, slamming into you again. âLet that thing record how you canât even keep your voice steady.â
Your body knocks forward with every rapid snap of his hips. You can barely stay upright. It doesnât matter. He holds you exactly where he wants you, pulling you back onto him every time your legs start to give.
âGood girl,â he pants, speeding up, his hips hitting yours in relentless, perfect rhythm. âTake it. Take all of it. Say you wanted it like this.â
The recorder catches your broken gasp, the way you stutter out his name, the way your voice catches on every fast, punishing thrust.
He laughs, breathless and vicious.
His thrusts donât slow. Theyâre fast, punishing, perfect, each slam driving you further over the edge, every gasp and whine recorded in cold, blinking red. Your wrists swing helplessly above the armrest, bound, your chest pressed to the cushion, your body shaking under him.
âFuck, youâre mine,â he growls into your ear, voice low and ragged. âTake it. Take all of it. Thatâs it, sweet girlâŚÂ thatâsit.â
You cry out, and he doesnât stop. Every thrust digs deeper, faster, harder. You feel yourself spiraling, the stars behind your eyes burning brighter with every rapid snap of his hips. The recorder catches it all: your gasps, your broken pleas, your body giving out under him.
âYouâre so close,â he pants, hands gripping your hips like heâs never letting go. âCome for me. Let it all out. Do it for me.Do it for the tape.â
Another hard, sharp thrust drives you further over the edge. Your body trembles, your voice shattering, your mind lost in the heat of it, the speed of it, the relentless pounding of him.
âFuck yes, thatâs it,â he growls, leaning over you, chest pressing yours into the couch. âCome on, sweet girl⌠give it to me.â
And then it happens. You shatter, every nerve firing, every muscle clenching and trembling, sound spilling from your throat into the recording. Gerard doesnât let up, keeping the rhythm just long enough to feel you collapse against him, then groaning himself as he follows through, shuddering and growling into your shoulder, each movement recorded in full, raw, unrelenting.
Your chest heaves against the couch arm, wrists still bound, recorder still blinking red, every sound immortalized. He holds you against him, fingers digging lightly into your hips, keeping you steady, his own breath ragged, forehead brushing yours.
âNext time,â he murmurs against your ear, voice low, dangerous, satisfied. âNext time Iâm keeping this running from the start.â
He finally loosens your wrists, rubbing the faint marks of the belt, kissing your trembling hands, and letting you collapse fully into the heat of him, the room still ringing with every sound you made together, recorded forever.
I fucking NEED more dirtbag frank (who would've guessed, I know you're probably tired of him) I really need a sober reader and high, LIKE SO HIGH, Frank. A hard day at work, trying to make enough to pay rent, you come home, and he's fucking high. And it pisses reader off! Commence the fight sex!
Frank better get ready to "exercise them demons" cause I'm beating his ass!
Seriously tho, thank you for all ur service, you are a powerful solider đŤĄ
Lmfao this is so real. Like youâre working your ASS OFF at your big girl job, and your gorgeous fuckass boyfriend canât even hold one for more than a couple months. And like, you love him so much, heâs a sweetheart, but heâs driving you fucking insane and you kinda want to strangle him a little because heâs just so goddamn lazy. You come home one day from working late to Frank high asf on the couch, listening to records and ripping his dirty bong. He looks at you with blood shot glassy eyes and it takes him a full 5 seconds to realize youâre home despite making direct eye contact with you. Heâs been wearing the same jeans for a week, his hair is greasy, he smells like an ashtray, and the living room is a wreck still, even though you asked him to tidy up.
âHeyyyyy, baby.â
His casualness makes you crash tf out. He accuses you of constantly being in a shitty mood, and you go off on him about how covering his rent is eating into your savings. He swears his band is about to get big (heâs been saying that for a year). Things get out of control and you start getting mean, and heâs so goddamn high, he canât keep up with you. You call him a slob, a loser, a bumâbut you can see him getting hard through his pants.
âFuck you, Frank. Look at yourself. You're a fucking loser.â
âYeah, Iâm a fuckin loser?â
His eyes are getting even heavier, and he keeps looking at your mouth. The fight is weirdly starting to feel like foreplay, and youâre likeâŚ. Is this asshole getting turned on??? This enrages you.
Heâs inching closer and closer with every insult and he grabs your hands and brings them to his neck. Like this little weirdo is so unbelievably bricked up, heâs practically begging you to punish him in some way. Heâs pressing his dick against your thigh, desperate for friction. His breath is all heavy and laboured cause he's getting all worked up.
âKeep going, baby. Please? Iâm sorry, Iâll be better, okay? Iâll do better.â In this desperate, syrupy voice.
Clearly, Frank wants to be walked like a dog. You humor him because it's both hot and cathartic. You're like 'fuck it' and you angry fuck him on the couch. You always knew frank was a nasty little freak, but he keeps suprising you, asking to be slapped and choked. You have your hand around your neck while you're riding him, and he opens his mouth. At first, you're confused, and then you realize what it is he wants.
You spit in his mouth.
"You're fucking disgusting."
He whimpers and comes so fucking hard he tears up. <3
Hey!!! I donât really know if this is your thing so completely feel free to just ignore if not, but could i maybe request dirtbag frank (DUHH) whoâs quite good at comforting you? Can either be your boyfriend orrrr bestfriendthatssecretlyinlovebutwouldneversay type thing, possibly just really burnt out and needs that stupid smelly manâs comfort? Just annoyingly sweet really
I just got broken up with by my first boyfriend ever because I wasnât sexual enough even though weâve been together like a year so surely he wouldâve told me this beforehandđ idk, thought i was fine but actually feeling ruuuuubbish and I donât have any friends to talk to about it really so i thought let me go and blurt it out through requests on tumblr lmao.
Absolutely no worries if itâs not your thing donât worry at all, and also apologies if that seemed like a bit of a weird trauma dump type thing, you donât have to include like break up as a theme. I love your work though, hope youâre having the best week EVERRR!!!! <333
tbh the semester is literally beating my ass so bad. I, too, could use toothrotting fluff rn.
@bxtchboy69 here's that fluff you were talking about lol
Okay, so hear me out: Itâs 2003. Saturday night. You just had a screaming match with your boyfriend in the middle of a Jersey City bar, the kind of fight that makes everyone stare. Your boyfriend storms off, leaves you stranded. Youâre too embarrassed to call your parents, and your dorm roommate doesnât have a car. So you do the only thing that makes sense through the tears and drunken haze. You call Frankie, your childhood neighbor and best friend since forever. The one person whoâs never hesitated to pull you out of a mess, and the only person you knew would pick up your call at 1am.
He answers on the second ring with some dumb inside joke, but the second he hears your voice, cracked and wet with tears, his tone flips. âWoah, what the fuck, heyâare you okay? Whatâs wrong?â
Youâre sitting on the curb in your going-out outfit, makeup smudged, mascara bleeding into your cheeks. Hearing his concern just makes you cry harder. You sound pathetic, sniffly, a little drunk.
âFrankie, can you pick me up?â
Heâs already moving. You can hear the rustle of him grabbing his keys.
âUhâyeah, yeah. Of course. But are you okay? Likeâdo I need to call the cops orâ? Where the fuck are you?â
You give him the name of the bar. He says twenty minutes, but heâs there in fifteen, hauling ass down the parkway with printed MAPQUEST directions in hand. When you climb into his car, the familiar scent hits you: black ice air freshener, cigarettes, a faint trace of weed. Comforting. Familiar. Youâre still crying, though, and Frank looks wrecked. Heâs never seen you like this before and heâs tripping over his words.
âWhat the fuck happened?â
âAre you hurt?â
âAre you drunk?â
You manage to tell him what happened. He goes quiet for a beat, then tightens his grip on the steering wheel.
âWhat kind of asshole leaves a girl alone on the sidewalk in Jersey City?â
You donât answer, and he catches himself, backs off before he makes you cry again. When you tell him you donât want to go home, he offers to take you to his place instead and sneak you in.
Itâs been a year since youâve been in Frankâs room. You see still him often, but maintained an appropriate distance since getting with your boyfriend. Frank still lives with his parents and keeps promising heâs gonna move out, but everythingâs pretty much the sameâmessy as hell, posters peeling, a new bong on the dresser. He hands you a Danzig shirt and a pair of boxers, then ducks out so you can change, and he starts freaking tf out. Heâs pacing in the hallway, heart racing, trying not to think about how youâre in his room wearing his clothes. Heâs loved you for years, but heâs never seen you like this, all fragile and quiet.
When he comes back in, youâre curled up in his bed like itâs the most natural thing in the world. He almost chickens out, tells himself itâs just like all those other times you've been in his bed. The post house party crashes, the movie marathons, the time you greened out and asked him to hold you. So he turns on the TV, climbs into bed beside you, and pretends everythingâs normal.
But then you inch closer. And closer. Until your cheek is pressed against his chest, his arm draped around your shoulders like it belongs there.
He can smell your shampoo and feel the slow rise and fall of your breathing. Itâs killing him, how right it feels. How wrong it is that youâre crying over someone who isnât him. He wants to ask what happened. If youâre happy. If this means something. But when he looks down, youâre already asleepâa tiny patch of drool forming on his shirt, your hand resting over his stomach. Frank exhales and sinks deeper into the pillow. For now, he just lets himself have this moment. Maybe youâll talk in the morning.
Donât I get a kiss goodnight? - Dirtbag Bf Frank
pairing: dirtbag bf!frank x fem!reader
summary: basically your dumb boyfriend frank is a slut and can't keep it in his pants. reader is over it but #needthat
a/n: this is my first fic iâve ever posted plz be kind T-T
word count: 902
tags: nsfw, oral sex, fingering, dirty talk, minor praise, making out, slutty bf frank, munch frank, lowkey sappy asf at the end.
(\ ^â˘âŠâ˘^ /)
"Have a good night." You smiled at your idiot boyfriend as he leaned up against the doorframe of his front door, looking messy with his hair disheveled and eyes sleepy. Frank shivered a bit against the cold blowing against you both, only wearing a white tee and his boxer shorts. He tried to shake it off, ever present was the phased-by-nothing demeanor he tries so hard to uphold.
"What? Donât I get a kiss goodnight?" He asked, pouting. Looking down at you with a stupid lopsided grin adorning his face.
"Very funny." you remarked, leaning in and stopping just before meeting his lips, the cold metal of his lip ring brushing up against your mouth.
"Such a tease." Frank smiled, leaning into the kiss, lips meeting yours at a soft pace that picked up, turning feverish and desperate.
As you pulled away to breathe, cold hands snaked up your waist and warm lips leaned down to kiss the nape of your neck. Open-mouth wet kisses against you. His hands up your shirt, inching higher, grabbing at you like you could disappear at any second. You brought your hands to rest against the waistband of his shorts, fingertips just grazing his hips, inching lower. He drove you fucking crazy.
"If you come back inside I'll stick my dick in you." He said against your neck, you could hear the smirk in his voice. Dirty and vulgar, he brought his eyes up to meet yours, he looked wild. He looked sexy. Eyes glassy, lips pink and wet.
You looked at your car parked on the street, and then back at Frank, desperate eyes pleading with you. Resisting every rational instinct you had, you smiled. "Car would be cold anyways."
Frank looked at you like you'd have hung up the moon and the stars. "I need you, baby."
"You gonna invite me in, then? It's cold, y'know." Your voice was breathless.
"God," His whined. "I have every mind to take your pants off and fuck your pretty pussy right here."
You laughed as you stepped inside, closing the door behind you. "You wish." His body immediately against yours, pushing you up against his front door. His hands dropped lower, gripping your ass as he resumed kissing you.
"Fuck, Frank" You whined against him.
"What I got you all hot and bothered?" He smiled against your mouth.
"What you think?" You giggled as you guided his hand to the waistband of your jeans, silently begging him to touch you.
He unbuttoned your jeans slowly, achingly. Loving every bit of desperation he could get out of you.
"Don't be an asshole." Your voice came out broken, desire all over your face as you looked at him with hooded eyes and parted lips.
"God, baby," He spoke, hushed. "So sexy for me, y'know that?"
That got a whine out of you.
He pulled down your jeans and underwear in one swift movement, getting down on his knees and slowly placing wet kisses on the insides of your thighs.
"Iero," You warned. "You're gonna fucking kill me if you don't put your mouth on me right now."
"Talk dirty to me." He chuckled against your thigh before placing his mouth against your clit.
You moaned and rocked your hips against his mouth. Taking a fistfull of his stupid stringy brown-ish hair into your hands, trying to balance yourself as your legs shook.
âYou,â You gasped, your words strangled against the moans rolling out of your mouth. âFuck, baby. Youâre so good.â
The praise earned a hum from Frank that you felt ring throughout your body.
Frank slowly dragged his fingertips from where they rested on your hips down between your thighs and slowly spread you open.
He tilted his head toward you, watching your expression change as he spread you. Loving how you unraveled against him. Your mouth agape, moaning as he thrust his fingers into you slowly, feeling every ounce of wet with his fingers.
âAll this just from eating you out, huh princess?â He cooed, kissing your thigh lazily.
All you could do in response was moan and rock your hips against his fingers.
âPlease.â You begged, eyes closed, waves of pleasure making your legs shake.
âPlease, what?â Frank teased, picking up his pace. âPlease suck on your clit? Is that what you want?â
âPlease,â All you could do was repeat it over and over.
âAnything for my baby.â He said, soft and low before placing your clit between his lips and licking, wet and slow while thrusting his fingers into you.
âFrank,â You moaned. âIâm gonna- Can I- Please baby can I cum?â
Frank nodded against you and that was all you needed as you tensed against him, thighs threatening to snap shut and shaking against your dumb boyfriendâs stupid- amazing- mouth as you finished against him.
âFuck,â You gasped. âFucking hell, Iero.â
Frank looked up at you, eyes dazed as if he was the one who just came.
âYouâre so pretty. Always so good for me.â He cooed softly. Nuzzling his face against your thigh. âLetâs get you cleaned up, hm?â
You nodded weakly, legs complete jelly.
âHow bout you stay the night?â He offered; standing up and wrapping his arms around you, placing a kiss to your temple.
âThatâd be nice.â You smiled, resting your forehead against him, face flushed and still panting from your high.
Your sexy idiot boyfriend. Your dumb caring boyfriend. Whatever.
