Franco with his older step-sister…
Okay..this idea comes from @hangmeandbangme and their thought on Franco giving everyone familial roles..idk I’m horny and this almost made me nut the first time I read it
CW: step-cest, Franco’s an awkward, emotionally stunted little pervert, reader is MEAN, mentions of neglect/abuse, mild obsession, brief religious allusion, SMUT, oral (fem!receiving), heel kink, mostly sub!Franco, light petting, heavy degradation
He’d been following you around like a puppy for weeks now. Ever since the wedding and honeymoon between your parents were officially over, and you’d moved into the Barbi’s place.
“Hey, uh..” he stepped into your doorway, a bead of sweat already rolling down his stretched forehead. He was trying to make conversation, pitifully as it may be. “You got any plans later?”
After a moment of silence and an eye roll, you turned from your vanity and laid your eyes on him. He was so awkward it genuinely made you cringe.
Mother told you to be nice to him. You suspected it was so she didn’t have to actually pretend to be a mother to him, but you couldn’t entirely blame her. Don just sort of..ignored him, for the most part, despite his obvious desperation for his father’s approval. Kind and sweet to the boy, considering he didn’t get much female interaction, or attention from generally anyone.
But he made it so difficult. Being a nasty little skeez doesn’t exactly instill sympathy into the hearts of women.
You couldn’t wear low-cut shirts anymore, the inevitable always came when he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your cleavage long enough for you to snap your fingers in front of his face.
Dresses above the knee were out of the question. His eyes tracked every sway of your hips as you passed the dinner table, tongue wetting his dry lips at the sight of your exposed thighs. Seriously, your mother had your new home into a nunnery.
Hell, you didn’t even care that he stared. You wouldn’t admit to yourself that it made your face warm, made pride blossom beneath your ribs when he practically drooled over your tits, but that’s irrelevant. Sometimes, before mother banned that clothing all-together, you’d put on a show for him.
Bend over the counter while he sat on a stool across from you, twiddle playfully with the straining button of your top. You bought shirts maybe a size too little just make his head turn. Maybe you were just as perverse as he was.
You wouldn’t indulge him this time around.
“No, Franco. Absolutely not.” You sighed, and although your words betrayed nothing, it was enough to make him groan, closing your bedroom door behind him with a strangled whine.
“Why not, marone?” His steps that pulled him deeper into your room were weary, light like he was approaching a wild animal and not a woman. Franco’s voice was pathetically whiny, nasally and childish in that way that either made you annoyed, or made you wanna reach out and hold him like a baby.
The nickname was something used only in private, only in the confines of these walls. If Don caught him using that language around you, he’d be royally fucked. Not that that thought was a priority right now. Not when you sat there on that perfect ass, hair done, back arched only enough to highlight your shoulders. Not when you spoke to him like that, like he was a nuisance that you reluctantly put up with.
It made his skin crawl. How could you act that way, he’s sure your heart was pounding behind your ribs the same way his was. You never turned him down when he came to you, shameful as he felt. Like a dog pleading for any scrap of your affection. It aroused him. It shouldn’t, not when you look at him like he’s garbage, but it makes his cock twitch in his briefs when your lip curls at his presence, yet your traitorous eyes still follow him. Both? Neither? What’s it even matter?
His hands found purchase on your shoulders. Trembling, humiliated, anxious. You didn’t push him away, but you didn’t lean into his touch, either.
Just sort of..accepted it, in that nonchalant way that you know drives him crazy, if that tent in his dress pants are any indication. “Because you’re desperate. It’s pitiful to watch you each time you walk in here with your tail between your legs.”
“And you’re a whore.” You finished, almost as a side-note.
It was almost instinctual how fast he fell to his knees. He took no time to round the back of your chair, kneeling where you’d moved your vanity chair.
He knows you did with a purpose. Shifted your chair to give him just enough room to fit without the drawers of your desk disturbing him. It made his mouth water, the promise of ecstasy was so close, he only had to talk his way between your thighs.
“I wait for you,” he began, chapped lips constantly needing to be wet by his tongue. He wished he could put it to better use. “Every day, I dream for father to tell me he and your mother will be gone for the evening.”
“I know,” a small hand reached out, hurriedly sliding the expensive fabric of your skirt up and over your knees. Your legs were crossed, a taunt, if he knew you as well as he did.
Your manicured hand slid over his forehead. The side of your thumb gently traced a vein on the side of his head, curious. His hands were clammy against your smooth skin, grasping eagerly at any flesh he could reach. “You’re drooling like a mutt.”
“I’m waiting.” He admitted, tongue ghosting over the supple skin of your knee. Then again, more insistent this time.
Your foot lifted, and pressed to his crotch. The toe of your heel pressed against his (painfully) hard cock, applying only a light pressure.
He hissed, hand scrambling to catch your foot, though he didn’t stop you. Electricity shot up through his veins at the pain, and a whimper punched was from his lungs at the friction, but he only caressed the skin on the back of your ankle. Gently, hand shaking while his tongue prodded your legs apart while his head nudged up your skirt further.
Goosebumps slithered up your spine up to your nape, and your cautiously pressed further into his bulge. Earning a whimper, you allowed your legs to fall apart.
That was his permission. That was what he wanted—you’d never tell him how bad you wanted him, that you needed to feel his skin against yours, but you didn’t stop him. When it was all done, typically cum staining his underwear, he’d have to go back to his room, and there he’d harden again, cumming too fast at just the memory of your words. Just the thought of you pushing his nape further between those plush thighs, foul words melting into shaky, nonsensical insults. That was his favorite way to see you—clinging so tightly to your cruel facade that after he wrecked you, it was hard for you to even call him a whore.
“Mmh—you smell like heaven.” His crooked nose dragged up your thighs, sniffing them individually, like one wasn’t enough. Then he nosed your mound through your panties.
You gasped, the sudden contact making your hand fling to his head. Your fingers busied themselves in his scalp, weakly pulling at the tuft of hair that fell over his forehead, just enough to make him groan into you.
His free hand reached up, shakily pulling the sticky fabric to the side and baring your cunt to him. Drool dribbled down his chin and onto your dress, but even you were too gone to notice. His other hand cupped your ankle, bringing your white heel down harder against his groin. He’s grinding against it now, hips shamelessly bucking up into the new sole, earning only a scoff from you.
“Oh my god, you are genuinely the most pathetic man I know!—“ your words were cut off with a gasp, when his mouth immediately latched onto your clit.
There were a couple words to express the way Franco ate you, but one would suffice—starving.
Needy and clumsy come next, his tongue ravaging your folds messily to the point that you wondered if you were still as wet, or if his saliva made up for lubrication.
You yelped when his teeth knocked your clit accidentally, making you angrily grind your shoe against his cock. A patch of dirt stained the crotch of his pants, alongside a wet patch that made you let out a breathy snicker. You gasped, his fat tongue prodding your hole now. He paused only for a second, exhaling deeply against your slick cunt before speaking.
“God, I could die down here. Smothered between these fucking thighs, I’d die a happy man.” He pressed a slobbery kiss to the crease where your thigh and mound met.
“You’re going to fucking die if you don’t put your mouth back on me, Barbi.”
“Don’t forget, you’re a Barbi now too, marone.” He licked a stripe up your slit, fat fingers squeezing the fat of your calf.
You giggled, choked and broken, before yanking him out beneath your skirt. “Not by any courage of yours, you wait like a coward until your father is gone before you come in here and nuzzle your mouth against me like you’re in heat.”
He moaned at your words, hips giving a particularly strong thrust up into your shoe. Your ankle was sore now, but the rest of your body was both over-sensitive, and numb from pleasure. Franco could only push back onto you, lips finding purchase on your swollen bud.
The vanity chair creaked when you began to ride his face. Provocative and shameless, you gripped his hair, threw your legs over his shoulders, and ground your cunt against his face until he gasped for breath. But he wasn’t complaining, if the precum stain on his pants was any indicator. It continued that way for a minute, finally productive and effective at building the two of you up.
You rocked messily against his face, and sung so pretty for him, how was he supposed to stop? Stop humping your foot like a caged animal while he ravaged you. Feasted on you like you were all that was left for him. You were his last supper, all he needed to reach heaven. He moaned into your folds, feeling your eager cunt clench sporadically around his tongue when he teased.
It reached a head when he stilled. Thighs clenching, loins tightening to an unbearable amount until he spilled into his briefs. Which only made you moan so beautifully, so perfect that if he hadn’t just spent himself, the sound itself would’ve made him cum. Your thighs trembled on either side of his head, and it took only a delicate suckle on your clit to send you over the edge. Not softly, but not harsh, either. It was a world-shattering, voice-breaking orgasm that made your eyes all hazy, the kind that made the world soften for a moment.
“You…you been practicing on whores without telling me, baby brother?”
Why would you ask him that? He hadn’t been able to fuck anyone else since you. He couldn’t get it up for whores, or sweet girls, just his older sister. The one who couldn’t give a shit less is he keeled over and died, but that let him between her legs every chance they got. “No, guess I was just excited to see you is all.” He pressed a shaky kiss to your knee.
The sound of keys rattling the front door made you sigh, run a hand over your sweaty hair.
A/n: okay I’ve never written an outlast fanfiction before yall I’m SCARED HOLD MY HAND..but I fell for the Franco propaganda :( I hate this loser but I CANNOT stop myself, he’s so horny and fun and idk I just had to write this yk?? Whatever, love you!!
