Fuckkk I need older frank so bad... Desperately need to be choked with those fat fucking biceps until I pass out... That top left picture always makes me immediately drool like a pavlov'd dog
I genuinely can't physically wait until July 10 to get my vinyl. I need my girly danger days pink vinyl. I've been listening to the remasters hours on end for like 3 days in a row. I'm going to go insane
PLEASE hear me out on this. Gerard and frank are ex boyfriends and they always tell everyone how much they DESPISE each other but when night comes they’re sosooo needy when they’re alone together
one more time
(hey anon... I might've gotten a bit too excited and written 5k words of these emotionally constipated idiots... I hope you like this though ty for sending the ask! love u. take this as my pride month celebration)
summary: literally anon's ask
cw/tags: pro rev gee & frankie, a shit ton of arguing, mikey and ray are so over their bullshit and deserve compensation, main conflict is gerard's marriage, drunk sex, infidelity and cheating, rough sex, dom gee sub frank, praise & degradation kink, petplay, biting, choking, crying during sex, overstimulation, hurt comfort if you really squint
word count: 5,0k
NSFW UNDER THE CUT
"He's just... Reckless," Gerard would whisper to Mikey, looking at Frank across the room as he took another sip of his beer. "Reckless. I don't know why he's still in the band."
"As if you don't do crazy shit on stage, too." Mikey says, deadpan. "Don't complain."
Gerard scoffs. "Not like him. He's insane. He's a threat. I swear, after this tour, we're getting rid of him. Mark my words."
"You keep saying that, but you're making no progress in getting him out."
"No. This time, it's different."
Because touring was always stressful. No matter how good the numbers, how full the stadiums, how good the concerts, it'd always bring stress. Touring was enough, but getting married with the woman you love and then breaking up with your guy-friend-that-you-kiss-who-isn't-really-a-friend could break anyone.
Every after-party would consist of shitty stares and whispers. Gerard would talk to Mikey while looking at Frank across the room, and Frank would talk to Ray while looking at Gerard across the room. The music and the cheering of the people behind the scenes could be as loud as it could possibly be, and Frank would still give Gerard a middle finger constantly.
"He's just selfish," Frank would whisper to Ray. "He thinks he's the shit just 'cause he's suddenly the vocalist of this shitty emo band. As if." He scoffs. "He would be nothing without me! Or without you, for any matter. Ray, you fucking carried the band. Gerard's a shitty singer anyway."
"Thanks for the compliment, but you don't need to insult his talent just because you're mad at him." Ray raises a finger, giving Frank a condescending stare. "Besides, we are not an emo—"
"He doesn't even have any talent in the first place!" He kicks a loose plastic bottle on the floor, crossing his arms. "We should get Mikey to kick him out of the band. It'd be three against one. And as far as I know, three is more than one—MCR is a democracy! And we'll find another frontman—I could become the new My Chem frontman! I sing way better than him anyway—and then leave Gerard alone so he can pursue his family or whatever." He looks back at Gerard, catching him staring, and gives him another middle finger, mouthing LOSER at him, making him roll his eyes and look back at Mikey.
Frank's eyes linger on Gerard's new ring for way too long, before his sight goes back to the floor. Ray notices, and nudges Frank teasingly. "What was that?"
"Whatever. He's an idiot. I hate him. I hate him."
"Yeah, sure, Frank." Ray sighs. "Think whatever you wanna think."
•••
"Oh my fucking God. Did Gerard change the setlist?"
Ray shrugs, his guitar already resting on his body. "I guess."
"Fuck off. You can't change the setlist, fuckin', ten minutes beforehand. Where the fuck is he? I'm talking to him about this."
"Frank, it's fine, dude, he only changed two songs—"
"No, it's not fine. I can play these songs fine, but what if I couldn't? This is extremely unprofessional. We need to kick him out of the band, Ray, for the love of God, I'm telling you I'm an amazing frontman—"
Ray groans, waving his hand dismissively. "Go talk to him. I've heard enough rambling from you."
"Fine! You suck too, asshole!" He gives Ray a middle finger, shouting as he walks out of the room, slamming the door. He sighs, exhausted, dreading talking to Gerard out of all people, the printed setlist crumpling up as he holds it with force. He knocks on Gerard's dorm, and hears a groan from inside.
"Be right there in a bit!"
Frank scoffs. He hated that cheery tone he uses when he talks to other people. Anyone except him. Before the marriage, that tone was for his ears only.
"Hi, what's—oh. Frank." His smile drops.
"What the fuck are you thinking changing the setlist while we're literally on our fucking way to the venue? Are you insane?" He shoves the paper on top of Gerard's hoodie, crumpling it more. "Change it back. I'm not letting you do this bullshit."
Gerard shrugs, smiling. "What? Can't play the songs I put in there?"
"Wh—No! I can, dickhead. But you can't get away with this last minute bullshit. Change it back, Way." He pushes the setlist on his chest again, walking inside his dorm as Gerard falls back.
"God. You're so mad about nothing," he raises his hands in defeat. "Calm down, Frank. I'll change it. You're overreacting."
"Overreacting? Gerard, you know what I think is overreacting? Overreacting is fucking fighting me on stage just 'cus I got close to you—that's overreacting!"
"Oh, don't start," Gerard lets out an exasperated breath, shoving Frank's arm away. "I told you, I can't do that stuff now."
"Yeah?" Frank walks closer to him, smiling as he speaks bitterly. "You get a wife, suddenly you're better than all of us, you're a family man, you're superior—you don't even fucking invite me to your wedding, man! What the fuck was that!?"
"Frank, I couldn't..."
"Couldn't, huh? Who's stopping you? Are you ashamed of me? You couldn't possibly bear having me in your wedding pictures, huh? That's overreacting!" He crumples up the sheet of paper into a ball, stepping back and throwing it at Gerard. He doesn't even flinch in response, his eyebrows only furrowing in confusion as the ball of paper falls to his feet. "Fuck you! I'm fucking killing you after this show, Gerard Way. I'm fucking ending your life. Enjoy your last fucking night on earth! Fuck you!"
He slams the door closed, harder this time, and decides to curl up on his own dorm, refusing to think about anything until the show starts.
He didn't want to look at Gerard. He only looked at his guitar as he played. He was so exhausted, so upset, and so angry, he could barely give any energy to the concert. The crowd was shitty anyway, and Gerard didn't seem too into it. Thank the Lord he wasn't the only one with low spirits.
Yet, Gerard's tiredness comes from the wedding, from a happy start, a new start, from the idea of a family. And Frank's? It comes from a lack of thereof. If only he was the first one to fall in love with a girl, to get married... Would Gerard feel this shitty?
"Hate him, fuck," he mumbled to himself as the people backstage helped him off his guitar, bringing him water and towels. "Hate him."
Frank wishes he could go back home—which would be the tour bus, he's grown too accustomed to it by now—, but instead, he has to go to another shitty after-party, like they always do, even if it was the shittest show on earth with the shittiest frontman in the world. Fuck Gerard Way.
Well, staring at the ceiling for the rest of the night is simple enough. Ray would keep refilling his drink, but Frank would rather not make any conversation anymore. He doesn't even have the energy to complain, apart from a few loose insults here and there. He'd give a few spare looks to Gerard, who seemed talkative enough with Mikey. He wonders what bullshit he's telling his brother now to make Frank look like an asshole.
Mikey eventually leaves, patting Gerard's shoulder before walking outside with Ray. Whatever that meant.
Gerard keeps looking at Frank, but Frank just wants to leave. He isn't here for the silly games they usually play. He's exhausted, wishing for death to reach him, and the image of Gerard's ring flashing in his mind so constantly isn't helping in any way, shape or form.
He groans, letting his head rest on a random table, his arms around his head, like a tired high school student sleeping in class.
It's been enough playing. He wishes he could sleep, dream, and fade into himself. He wishes he could live a life where this marriage bullshit didn't happen.
"Psst."
And he definitely wishes he lived in an universe where Gerard didn't pat his shoulder as soon as he was actually falling asleep.
He raises his head, looking at Gerard through droopy eyelids. "Mm—What?"
"You're falling short on that death threat."
Frank scoffs, looking away. "Leave me alone. I wanna rest."
"We got a sleepy killer over here." He sits down beside Frank, making him notice the strength of the alcohol on his breath. "C'mon, Frankie. I'm waiting. I was excited to die. Touring fucking sucks."
"You're already drinkin'? God, it's been, like, one week of marriage and you already relapsed? Is it that bad?"
Gerard laughs, ruffling Frank's hair. "This isn't a relapse. This is controlled drinking and fun."
"Sure. I'll just ignore you, controlled or not."
"Don't be so mean."
"Mm."
Frank lays down on the table again, closing his eyes and trying to fall asleep, but right before he can, he feels another tap on his shoulder, and he swears he could kill Gerard if it didn't have any legal consequences.
"What the fuck do you want, Way?"
"Chill. Grumpy." Gerard laughs. "Listen, don't fall asleep on this shitty table. I got us some rooms in a hotel nearby. The bus isn't leaving for two days."
Frank blinks once, twice, thrice, at the thought of a bed. An actual bed. "Holy fucking shit. Really?" He can't hold back a smile.
"Mhm. C'mere. I don't really wanna stay anyway."
"Holy shit. I love you." It comes off as a joke, an exaggeration, because beds are holy to someone in a touring band, but it loops around Gerard's neck in a thornful bow, making his brain short circuit. "Please get me to a fucking bed right fucking now, Gerard Arthur Way, and you might be alive tomorrow."
"You know, your constant empty threats don't help your reputation," Gerard replies, walking out of the establishment with Frank, both their steps sloppy thanks to the alcohol. "You're better off shutting up."
"Keep cryin'. I can do what I want."
"I'm sure if I wanted to, I could press charges."
Frank pushes Gerard in a tease. "Fuck you. You wouldn't."
"Hm? I wouldn't?"
He pauses, furrowing his eyebrows at Gerard before huffing—they're both drunk and stupid. Nothing means anything. He decides to keep walking, following behind Gerard.
Frank smiles, thinking about being able to sleep on a bed. The cold air of the late night going into early morning ambushes them both, the lonely streets comforting Frank in some way. Being here, alone with Gerard...
Fuck off, Iero, don't start, he tells himself. You and Gerard are done. Underline and highlight that, shithead.
Bringing him out of his insults to himself in his mind, Gerard taps his shoulder, pointing inside a building with his thumb. It doesn't look the fanciest, but it's much better than a tour bus.
He waits for Gerard to finish up in reception, yawning and stretching in place more than once. God, he needed to sleep so bad. A bed was just what he needed.
After a few minutes, Gerard comes back with some keys, a string looped around a small hole in them. He hands them to Frank. "So... Apparently, we're in the same room." Frank's eyebrows furrow, and Gerard tries to save himself. "Different beds though."
"Nope. You're going to the bus."
Gerard sighs, running a hand down his face. "Please, Frank. Grow up."
"Going to the bus, Gerard." He walks up to reception, holding up the keys to the woman behind the desk. "Hey, where's my room?"
"Fourth floor, to the right facing toward the elevator." She barely looks up at Frank.
"Oh my God—Frank, don't fucking do this. I don't wanna go to that bus. Please. It's separate beds!"
"I'm not sleeping in the same room as you." Frank presses the button for the elevator, and Gerard springs right next to him.
"I paid for this. You shouldn't even have a say."
"What, you think because you're the vocalist, you're more famous, have more money? I could've paid for this, asshole."
"Okay, but you didn't?" He walks in the elevator, pressing the button for the fourth floor.
"I'll pay it back."
"I am not sleeping in the bus."
"Gerard—"
"No."
Frank rolls his eyes at Gerard. "We're not doing this."
"What're you gonna do, though? It's my room, I paid for it. I could call the police on you, say you forced your way into my room."
Frank walks outside of the elevator, to his right, and Gerard follows closely. "Yeah? You're gonna fuckin' call the police like that? Just because I don't wanna sleep with you? Way to go, Gerard Way."
"You make it sound wrong, but you know I'm right, Frank. Why are you so fucking stubborn?"
Frank opens the door, and Gerard forces his way in after Frank, closing the door behind himself. "Stubborn? I'm stubborn?"
"Yes, Frank! You are! That's why we end up fighting every fucking time we talk. You can barely, you know, look at other perceptions of the situation. It's just—you, you, you! Why must everything be about you!?"
"Bold of you to say, Gerard Way, you fuckin'—selfish dickhead! You don't even realize how selfish you've been because you don't have the consciousness to see your own flaws. I bet you think you're perfect, huh? Your ego must be stroked nicely every fucking concert, right? Is your wife like that? Does she have poor self awareness too? Thinks you're the perfect family man?" He sits down on the edge of one of the beds.
"Don't bring her into this. She has nothing to do with—" he points vaguely at himself, then at Frank. "This."
"This?" He mimics Gerard's hand gesture. "What the fuck is 'this' supposed to mean?"
"You know." He does the same gesture again. "This."
Frank throws himself on the mattress in frustration, groaning as he covers his eyes with his palms, pressing into them. "Yeah, we're not talking. Good fucking night, asshole."
"What? What did I say?"
"I told you we're not talking."
Gerard sighs, sitting down the other bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. "Okay... I guess. Good night, Frank."
"Yeah. Fuck you."
"Okay."
Gerard lays down on his own bed. He quickly realizes he isn't going to be able to fall asleep.
He looks back at Frank, who's staring at the ceiling, fidgeting with his nails. He then looks at the ceiling, which seems to be the most interesting thing in the room, when comparing it to looking at Frank. He wants to look at him, to get another middle finger out of him, but he knows that isn't happening.
Did he fuck up? Really bad?
He hadn't seen Frank lacking this much energy ever. He'd always been the one to get the least tired in tours, to thrash around and give it his all every time he played. So why did he stand still in the same spot for this show? Did Gerard really hurt him this much? Is he this selfish?
If Frank is this hurt... Maybe he's at fault.
"Hey, Frank... I... I don't know if you're being mean for the sake of it, but I'm sorry if I hurt you. That wasn't my intention." He sighs, feeling a relief after letting it out. "I'm sorry if you think I'm selfish. I'm trying my best. Always."
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"You could've been a little less mean about it. I just wanted a hug."
"I'm sorry... You know how I get in shows. I-I thought you were trying to, you know, and I told you we can't do that anymore, but you kept going and I had to push you away."
"Mm."
He looks at Frank, who's still staring at the ceiling.
"Does that upset you?"
"Yeah, it does. I liked doing that kind of stuff. And suddenly, you fight me for trying to do it."
"I don't want to do that kind of stuff while I'm married. It feels weird." He pauses, thinking. "But I liked doing it too."
I'm way too drunk for this conversation, and Frank is too. Why are we even doing this? This is such a horrible idea. Horrible. I should've slept in the bus.
Frank sits up on the bed, making eye contact with Gerard now. "Hey, Gee... I was thinking, why don't we do it one more time?"
"What? No, Frank, I told you—"
"Now. Here. The fans don't have to know. And I will shut up about everything and you won't have to deal with me again. Please. We can be friends after this. Just, give me one more time."
Gerard scowls, wishing he could say no to Frank. Instead, he pats the spot next to him on the bed. "Fine. Don't beg."
Frank smiles, his energy back to full as he lays down beside Gerard, his heart jittery with excitement.
"Keep it above the belt."
He nods, already wordless just from the idea of kissing Gerard again. He climbs up on Gerard's lap, straddling him as he leans down, kissing him. Gerard responds immediately, his hand grabbing the back of his head, getting a chunk of hair and pulling, making Frank whine, still refusing to break the kiss. He feels his blood rushing downward, and tries to control himself, but Gerard pulls his hair again, making his hips twitch slightly.
"Above the belt," Gerard mumbles, breaking the kiss.
"Fuck. I'm sorry. Y-You know I like it when you pull my hair."
"Control yourself, Frank."
"Ugh—you control yourself, shithead. You're turning me on on purpose. Asshole."
Gerard shrugs, smiling before he pulls Frank in another kiss, biting more this time, making Frank's jaw fall open with desire. He feels himself drool at the pain, his hips moving involuntarily, trying to search pleasure. He shudders in relief, moaning with a curved smile as he gives quick humps to Gerard's thigh, the texture of denim against denim overwhelming.
"What, don't you understand what above the belt is?" Gerard scoffs, pushing Frank away with a strong palm, making him fall back, supporting himself on his palms beside Gerard's calves, his erection still on top of Gerard's.
His smile falls, and he gives Gerard his best puppy eyes. "Please. Please, Gee. Please. It's our last time. Please."
"Oh my God—Frank, I told you to stop begging." Gerard sits up on the bed, huffing as he grabs Frank's chin. "Can't control yourself?"
"Please, Gee. Please."
"You sound like a broken record."
He whines, biting his lip in anxiety. "I really need this. Please. Just this once. We're never doing this again. Please."
"How'd you get this hard from just kissing?" He teases Frank with his other hand, squeezing his crotch. Frank's face scrunches up, letting out an airy moan at the pain, his legs tightening around Gerard. "You can't genuinely be this pathetic." Frank lets out a groan at the insult, making Gerard chuckle. "What? You like that? Is that why you start a fight every time we talk? You're into that shit?"
"Mmh, Gerard, please, I'm sorry, I need this—"
"You want me to insult you? Let you know you're just a pathetic dog? Is that it?" A small amount of drool falls on Gerard's hand, and he scoffs, retracting his hand from Frank's chin, wiping the drool on Frank's shirt. "Disgusting mutt. Go ahead. Hump my leg like a dog in heat, if that's what you want. Disgusting."
Frank lets out a pornographic moan at Gerard's words, the humiliation and the pet names making him go dizzy, but a hand quickly runs to his mouth, trying to shut him up. "We're in a hotel, puppy. Be decent."
"S-Sorry, Gee..." He mumbles, his warm breath tickling Gerard's hand. "I'll be a good pup..."
"Yeah. Go ahead."
He feels a smile appear as he sees Frank, his head thrown back as he starts humping, rubbing himself on Gerard with desperation. The expressions he's making—the way his eyebrows twitch, his teeth grit, or his saliva spills, it's too attractive, almost addictive to look at.
"Psst, pup, here," he whistles, as if calling an animal, and Frank's eyes immediately widen. He nods, his breath heavy as he pants, looking at Gerard with anticipation.
Gerard grabs the back of Frank's neck, forcing him into a kiss. Frank wraps his hands around Gerard, in some sort of twisted hug as his hips keep moving back and forth, the movement becoming more desperate with every second.
"Ah—Gee, feels so good, thankyouthankyouthankyou—" Frank tries to speak, yet he's immediately pulled into a kiss again, their tongues clashing with passion, the room full of wet noises and groans coming from both of them. "Ngh, fuck—"
"Close, baby?" Gerard wipes away the saliva on Frank's mouth, cradling Frank's cheek with his palm. "Yeah. Keep going. Be a good pup and come for me."
"Mmgh—Yes, Gee, close, close—" his eyes close, scowling as his hips start to ache from the constant movement, the denim making it harder to push through the thrusts, yet he can't bring himself to stop, feeling the high getting closer and closer to release. "Gee, please, please bite me—please, please—"
Gerard laughs, leaning closer to Frank, sucking on Frank's neck, making his hips stutter.
"Fuck me—feels good, Gee, thank you," his moans get looser, higher pitched, and Gerard thinks about scolding him for being loud again, but he can't care enough, enjoying his opportunity to give Frank pleasure. He bites harder, right on the crook of his neck, his jaw shaking with force as he bites as hard as he can.
Frank can't hold it in anymore, the pain too arousing—with a loud shout, his hips shudder one last time, coming undone inside his pants, his chin resting on Gerard's shoulder as he comes down from the high.
"Holy shit..." He closes his eyes, trying to calm his breathing down. "Fuck, dude. That was probably the hottest shit we've done."
Gerard laughs softly, rubbing his hands up and down Frank's back. "Good job, pup. You did great."
Frank's face burns at the praise, relishing the moment.
Gerard smiles to himself, softly comforting Frank, kissing the place he bit, paying close attention to his breath. When Frank leans back, Gerard gives him a small kiss on the cheek, letting him sigh into it.
"We're not done, pup."
"Wh—Why—What? Uh—shit—"
Frank hisses in pain as his back hits the matrress, his eyes widening as Gerard starts to unbluckle his belt.
"Holy shit. We're doing this?" Frank asks, his pulse racing again. "I-I don't know if I can..."
"Yes, you can."
"Wh—Okay." Frank laughs, his eyes following Gerard's pants and underwear as he throws them away on the floor. "Didn't you say to keep it above the belt?"
"Shut up, Iero. Take off your clothes."
"...Y-Yes."
Frank finishes undressing just a few seconds after Gerard, and as soon as he's naked, Gerard's lips are on his again, not letting him speak or complain. Gerard leans back, and before Frank can say something stupid, he shoves two fingers into his mouth, making him suck on them immediately.
"Yeah, that's a good boy. C'mon. Keep going. Get 'em nice and wet for me."
Frank moans on Gerard's fingers, seeing Gerard's smirk as his dick twitches in arousal. He sighs as Gerard pulls back, looking at him with dozy eyes. "Gee..."
"Calm down, Frankie. Don't beg."
He whines as Gerard pulls closer to him, kneeling on the mattress, guiding the back of Frank's knees to his shoulders, letting him have a better view of his entrance. Slowly, he inserts one of his fingers, making Frank twitch on them.
"No... Gee, need you. I don't need prep..."
"Shh, yes, you do. You do." Gerard thrusts in and out slowly, smiling softly as Frank lets out his annoyance in small grumbles. He tightens around Gerard in protest; one finger isn't even close to enough.
"Please. Don't be so fucking mean to me."
Gerard lets out an exaggerated sigh, inserting another finger, making Frank whine again as he starts scissoring him open, feeling for the spot Frank loves. He starts moving his hips in sync with Gerard's fingers, trying to reach the overwhelming pleasure.
Almost—Almost—Almost...
"Fuck off, Gerard, this is horrible, you suck at fingering," Frank moans, throwing his head back. "Please just fuck me. I can't do this."
"You're so fucking shameless, Iero."
Frank's eyebrows twist in pleasure, his hands over his face, trying to cover up the effect Gerard's words had on him. "Please, Gee."
"Tsk. No can do."
Frank gets his arms out of his face, unable to hold a laugh of relief as he sees Gerard hold the base of his cock, guiding it to Frank's entrance, his eyes widening every second. "Yes, Gerard, fuck, yes, please—"
Frank throws his head back with a yell as Gerard thrusts inside almost immediately, giving him no time to adjust as he holds Frank's thighs at each of his shoulders, getting him into a mating press as he adjusts. He leans in, giving Frank a quick kiss before leaning back up, trying to gather his breath. Frank tightens around him as he looks at Gerard's expression, fully undone inside the pleasure.
"Fuck, Frankie, that's good. That's really good."
"Mm, please, Gerard—"
"Y-Yeah. Yeah." Gerard lets out a breath, trying to think straight (and failing to) as he starts moving inside Frank, immediately hitting Frank's favorite spot. He groans as Frank squeezes him, trying his best to protect his pride by not coming right there. "Fuck, Frank..."
He lets himself rest for a few seconds, deep inside Frank, feeling every twitch and movement wrapped around his member. He slowly starts thrusting, leaning closer, almost forcing Frank to touch his shoulders with his knees as he presses deeper. He lets out a growl, his head falling down as he thrusts faster down.
His mind quietly reminds him about being quiet—Mikey and Ray are sleeping in the room right beside them, and even so, if neither of them shut the fuck up, they're getting a noise complaint.
Gerard can't care enough, his brain abandoning the train of thought as he hears Frank shout again, his eyes rolling to the back of his skull as he comes again, spurting on his own stomach. Gerard thinks about stopping—Frank's come twice tonight—and yet, he keeps going, guiding himself to his own release.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck—Gee, stop, please, hurts, it hurts—" Frank starts whining in synchrony with Gerard's thrust, feeling his eyes start to tear up from the overstimulation. "Stop, please, Gerard—"
"Quit crying. You were fucking begging—" he groans, panting as he moves faster inside Frank. "—begging for this, don't complain I'm giving you what you wanted."
"N-No, stop, please..." He sniffs, his arms over his eyes as he tries to cover up the tears, his body moving back and forth with Gerard's, the mattress creaking under the movement. "Too much, too much..."
"Ah—Fuck, no, wanna see you," he shoves Frank's arms away, the hair on his arms sticking to his skin from the tears falling out of his eyes. "God, fuck, you're hot—"
Gerard lets go of one of Frank's legs, letting it fall to the side as he forces pressure on Frank's neck, his thumb and forefinger wrapping around it, making him unable to speak or breathe. He mumbles in discomfort, grabbing Gerard's wrist, trying to pull him away.
Gerard moans at the sight, the feeling of Frank struggling below him, the quiet sniffs and sobs as skin claps against skin, being able to feel every twitch inside Frank's body as he gets closer—everything brings him to the edge, falling on top of Frank's chest as he comes inside him, giving him a few last thrusts until it starts to hurt from the overstimulation. He feels Frank shout alongside him, coming for the third time of the night, letting out a few weak spurts, his dick sore from the overstimulation.
"Fuck," Gerard groans, pulling out, seeing his release flow out of Frank, into the mattress. "I'm sorry, Frank, was that too much?"
Frank shakes his head, wiping his tears away. "No. That was fucking—fucking amazing, dude, I'm so glad you didn't stop. Shit." He laughs, looking at Gerard with disbelief. "My everything hurts. Dude, you fucking bit me like an animal."
Gerard gives Frank a small smirk. "You asked for it. Can you get up?"
Frank groans, sitting up, his hand flying behind his back in pain. "Ow—fuck... Yeah, I'll be fine."
"Come here. The room has a shower. Get cleaned up. I'll bring some clothes from the bus."
Frank nods, giving Gerard a small smile as he stands up from the bed, walking uncomfortably to the bathroom, stumbling due to the lack of lighting. On his way out, Gerard flicks the lights on, giving Frank a small smile before he leaves.
•••
"So..."
"That was it." Gerard says, firmly, slipping a cleaner shirt on. "I'm married now, Frank. I can't keep doing this."
Frank sighs. "Well... Thank you for the opportunity anyway. I... I'm not gonna be annoying anymore." He ruffles his hair with the towel again, his hair still dripping from the shower. "Can we be friends, then?"
"Yeah. That works out for me." Gerard sits down on his own bed, the dirty sheets discarded with Frank's stained pants and underwear.
"You aren't gonna shower?"
Gerard shrugs. "Eh."
Frank laughs, rolling his eyes. "Yeah. Of course."
As his laughing fades, a smile stays, and he lets himself fall on the mattress, the towel below his hair. He looks at the ceiling fan, spinning fast, then back at Gerard, who also has a small smile.
"Good night, Frank."
"Mm. Night, Gee."
Gerard flicks the lights back off, letting out a shaky breath as he lays down, trying not to think too hard about what happened tonight.
Guys hear me out... Frerard Vampire!Nurse Gee who has been able to control his urges every time he has to take a blood test from a patient or something along those lines. He's built up a reputation as this professional, kind nurse for so many years. That's until Frank walks in. And his blood smells so fucking good. He can't control himself. And every time he takes a blood test, the tubes get lost, or broken, or stolen, or the laboratory asks for new ones, or they need more tests (though in reality, every time he takes a test from Frank, he immediately goes into the bathroom and drinks it all, licking the tube clean). And Frank just INSTANTLY knows what's going on. And he's extremely turned on by it. He keeps teasing Gee, asking him questions about the smell or color of his blood, and Gerard can barely even think straight whenever Frank walks into the cubicle. Especially because Frank gets sick constantly, so he constantly needs blood tests. And that's horrible news for Gerard and his weak self control
Oh my God please someone write this (or maybe I will because I'm not sane). I swear I'm cooking
summary: After meeting LeATHERMOUTH's frontman, Illi has spent weeks learning about Frank through polaroids, sketches, glances that linger for way too long, and following behind him without his knowledge. She never even expected him to learn about her existence or her name. She definitely never expected him to offer her a ride home.
cw/tags: dddne (kinda), age gap (illi is 18 & frank is 29), obsessed & parasocial illi, kind of awkward but it's ok, frank is lowk weirded out but hes too into her to care, mtf illi, smut, praise kink, dom frank sub illi, rough sex, spanking, crying during sex, dirty talk, daddy kink, illis a virgin, gets kind of fluff ish, VERY self indulgent
(i will maybe make a pt.2 cus i love this pairing so much, thx sm to @fr6nknbeans for the idea (this post) i loved writing this sm i hope u like it <3)
word count: 4,8k
NSFW UNDER THE CUT
Being in high school was hard enough. The assignments, the senseless fights, the immature boys—it was exhausting.
Which means when her brother invites her to a random bar concert, she is going, no matter what. The scene in Jersey had always been a zone of comfort for the siblings, a space to breathe after the bothersome teenage life.
It's only after being invited to a special band's show that that zone of comfort changed.
It was supposed to only be one show. One normal Friday, in the usual bar her brother would bring her to, with the usual good bands. Not amazing. Good.
LeATHERMOUTH'S Frank Iero was different. His lyrics carried so much pain, so much growth, so much anger, and yet he swayed through them almost majestically—like he was born for it. He didn't try too hard, unlike the younger frontmen Illi would constantly see. He didn't try to look tough, his voice was sad, whiny, screamy, unlike the others, who performed some kind of twisted concept of masculinity. For Illi, his vulnerability was way more attractive than a deep voice or a tall form.
"Dude, are you okay?" Mikey whispered to her the day after the show. A Saturday, where her brother and her best friend would meet up and play croquet, the usual. "You're doing so bad right now."
"Bad sleep," Illi replied, swinging the mallet, the ball failing to pass through the wicket. "That's all."
She could hear Frank's voice, again, again, and again. She couldn't stop seeing Frank on the floor, squirming, wrapping the microphone cord around his neck, having both hands on the microphone with a death grip. The way his shirt slowly turned into a darker shade of white as the sweat accumulated on his body, the way his faded tattoos glistened with it, the way he constantly ran his hands through his beard and his hair in between lyrics...
"Why?" Ray asks, stepping in, swinging his own mallet. "Come on, come on—Almost!"
"You're gonna get through someday, Ray." Mikey pauses. "He asked you something, Illi."
"Ah, uh..." She hums. "I don't know. Hey, Mikey—Uh, remember the band from yesterday?"
"Mm," Mikey nods as he moves on to the next wicket. "What?"
"Y'know when they're gonna play again?"
•••
Illi isn't sure how many LeATHERMOUTH shows she's been to already. Even if it's not a Friday, even if she has work pending, she'll abandon everything if she hears the band is playing in a bar nearby.
She knows the band must recognize her. She knows, because Frank's been making eye contact whenever her camera flicks, or whenever she's staring too hard. But it's so hard not to love Frank. She assures herself she's another fan, another obsessed girl Frank has to deal with, but the way his eyes look to the camera's way in her pictures tell her something else.
Every day, after getting back from school, she digs under her mattress and looks at the polaroids she's taken. Most of them are already late into the show, when Frank is sweaty, when his voice starts to crack, when his eyes get slightly teary—she wonders if anyone else has noticed that, though she'll better keep it to herself, it's too cute for anyone else to know—, when he's the most desperate, the microphone chord wrapping around him in ways she couldn't imagine in a million years. She'll look through them again and again, putting one behind the other in a cycle, looking at his eyes, his beard, his eyebrows, his hands, his tattoos, his shirt, his body... It creates a feeling she'd rather not acknowledge.
She wishes she could drag Frank away from the stage, get him all for herself, tear the performance and the frontman away from him, letting him be discovered as himself, by her, and her only.
That's just a silly fantasy, anyway.
She sighs, wishing she could look at her pictures now. The show just ended, and she's leaning against a nearby wall, grasping her camera under her pockets as she takes a drag of her cigarette. She'll have to wait until she gets home.
Mikey is God knows where with God knows who, and she's been waiting for way too long. She thinks about getting a cab home, but she spent all her money on cigarettes earlier in the afternoon. Fuck, why must cigarettes be so expensive nowadays, anyway?
She's definitely not walking home. It's freezing cold, and her only source of heat is her warm sweater and her cigarette.
She flicks the ash onto the floor, trying to muster up a solution that won't end up with her getting mugged or dying of hypothermia.
She doesn't notice the footsteps approaching, and she jumps in fear as she feels a strong hand settle on her shoulder. She clears her throat, almost dropping her cigarette as she looks at the man beside her.
"It's bitchin' cold and yer out here, smokin'. What's bother ya, sweetie?"
She feels herself blush as her hand settles away from her camera under her pocket, looking at Frank. His voice was surprisingly sweet up close, though his throat had a special hoarseness from the screaming in his songs.
"Nothin'." She looks away, trying to sound as calm as possible. She thinks back to her hours spent looking at pictures of Frank, the shame pooling in her as she talks with the same man now.
"Nothin'? Don't lie to me like that. What's your name? I see'cha a shit ton at our shows lately."
"Illi." She laughs, mostly to herself, as she takes another drag. "I guess. I like your music."
"Frank. I'd hope you already know that." He offers his palm, and Illi takes it with hesitation—she's met with a strong grip, and she feels the contact of skin against skin linger slightly. Frank seems to pause for a second before clearing his throat, digging through his pockets and getting his own cigarette from the pack. "Gimme a light, sweetheart."
"Sure." The nickname lingers in Illi's mind, and she can barely think straight as she lights up the cigarette resting on Frank's lips. "There."
"Thanks."
They stay quiet, and Illi wishes she could say something, anything, but unlike with boys her age, she can't come up with a remark or an insult that'll protect her. She can only keep smoking silently, trying her best not to stare.
"So, yer a photographer?"
"Huh?"
"You take a lot of pictures at our show."
She takes another drag before replying, trying to buy time to think. "I do that with every show. I like experimenting with lighting and...whatever. yeah." She's sure Frank notices she's lying; he has way more years of experience, and he seems perceptive enough already.
"What? Nah, that's not whatever. Ya need to show me your photos now. I bet they're rad."
She shrugs. "Yeah, I guess."
She thinks about going home, and groans internally as she remembers her situation. She mumbles a curse, flicking the butt of the cigarette away into the pavement. "Fuck, I don't know how I'm gonna get home... My brother left me alone and I can't get a cab..."
"Seriously?" Frank's eyes perk up. "Your brother's an asshole for leaving ya stranded. Gimme his name, I'll ban him from all our shows. Trust."
Illi laughs, covering her mouth with her hand. "No, he's a good guy. I guess he found a pretty girl or something."
"Nah, nah, he's crazy. You oughtta respect the women in yer family, y'know? No care about some pretty girl or whatever if your sister's in trouble."
"Mm, yeah, you're right. I'll scold him when I see him." She smiles at Frank.
"Aye, listen—Illi, was it?"
"Mm?"
"I can drive you home if it's not too far. Feel bad leavin' ya here." He lets the cigarette fall to the floor, stomping over it. "Besides, yer a big fan. Consider it payback."
"Oh, no, I couldn't—"
"C'mon. We're not doing that. C'mere."
Illi sighs, a small smile slipping on her face. "Thanks, Frank. Really."
The car was only a few meters away from the bar, and as they get there, Frank opens the passenger door, then walks around the car and gets in the driver's seat.
Immediately, Illi is ambushed by a sudden warmth, and she can feel her shoulders dropping as she finally feels relief from the cold outside. Frank nudges her, making her flinch slightly.
"Put on whatever you want. Got 'em in the glove box."
She hums thoughtfully, digging through the CDs as Frank starts the car engine. "What's this?"
"Oh, that? Just a band I was in, like, what? God, ten years already. Time flies by so fast."
"Wow. That's a long time ago. I was eight back then..." Illi decides to not thread the thought longer, looking back at the unlabeled CD. "Can I?"
"Sure. I told ya to put on whatever."
"Uh—" Illi starts as she slips the CD into the player. "My place's a bit far away, like thirty minutes-ish. You don't mind...?"
"Nah, it's good, sweetheart."
Illi nods. She stays quiet as the first notes of the CD play, and after a while, she increases the volume, making Frank smile to himself. "Good?"
"Mm. I like it. Your voice's really good, Frank."
"I've improved, though, right?" He teases with a smirk. "'Cus I was nineteen back then. Guess I've got the same style, but better."
"Yeah..." She pauses, hearing the music for a minute before speaking again. "What's it feel like? Being on stage?"
"Er..." He shrugs, both his hands still on the wheel. "It's a shit ton of adrenaline. Everyone's lookin'. But ya stop gettin' nervous. You get excited. That's the fun part. I jus' like givin' it my all."
"It's just... You're unlike any other frontman I've ever seen," her voice shakes lightly, looking away. "It's really fun to see your performances."
"Ha, so you're in it for me, eh?"
Illi sinks deeper into herself, making herself look smaller from embarrassment. She laughs, looking downward. "I guess, yeah."
"Yer not really a photographer," he states, as if saying a fact.
Illi doesn't respond, and Frank's eyes flick to her before going back to the road. He smiles to himself. Cute.
"I'm a bit too old f'ya, sweetheart. The compliments are taken, though."
"Uh, take a right here," Illi points, trying to step away from the conversation.
Great. He definitely thinks I'm a weirdo now. Good job, McMillin.
"You should show me those pictures you've taken. Might put some on my blog. Could be useful. Don't'cha think?"
"Uh..." She hesitates, trying to think back about how appropriate the pictures she's taken really are. They're obsessive, and if she shows them to Frank, he'll definitely call the police. "They're not really the best..."
"Aw, c'mon! Even so. I don't got any photographers. Would be fun."
She sighs, sinking deeper into herself. God, how she wishes she would've walked home instead. "Yeah..."
•••
"Here, here, pull over," Illi interrupts the silence. "Uh—thank you, again, um, you're really kind. If you ever need anything..."
"'Course. I couldn't leave you stranded, sweetheart. Make sure you scold your brother." Frank pulls over slowly, before looking at his watch, thinking. "You think ya can show me your pictures? I can burn a bit of time."
He knows he really shouldn't pursue this. She's an obsessed girl, and it's not good to try to stay with those kinds of fans. But she seems so kind and cute, he can't really pull away. He unbuckles his seatbelt before Illi can say anything, and she sighs in response.
"Okay..."
He walks out of the car, opening the passenger door for her. Illi fidgets with the hem of her shirt as she walks out of the car. She seems so nervous, avoiding eye contact, fumbling with the keys.
Clearing her throat, she lets Frank enter the house first. It's quiet, and Illi shushes him softly. "My parents are sleeping. Follow me."
Frank nods wordlessly, following her down the stairs, toward the basement. He laughs to himself—he really shouldn't be doing this.
She opens the door, and stands in the doorway for a bit before Frank whispers, "what's wrong?"
"Uh..." She steps in. "Sorry, uh, for the mess." She springs to her bed, immediately trying to gather all the photos spread around the mattress before Frank can see it. He hums at the sight. Cute.
"It's fine. My place's probably worse." He looks around the room, noticing the various comics and action figures spread around. He leans closer toward the desk, full of loose pages and doodles. He smirks as he looks at the drawings. "Who's this young handsome man?"
Illi stops gathering the polaroids, and looks at where Frank's standing. "Shit—You weren't supposed to—I-I..."
"Wow, you got the tattoos just right. Impressive." He picks up the drawing. "Just how long were ya staring at those pictures, sugar?"
"I'm sorry..." She looks down at her own palms again, ashamed as she sits down on the mattress. "I'm sorry... You can leave. I know I'm..."
"Hmm, should I?" He turns in place, walking toward Illi. "Just kiddin'. Gimme those."
Illi sighs, handing the stack of polaroids to Frank. "Please don't tell anyone... I-I can't get in trouble for this..."
"Are these all?"
She thinks about lying, but renders it worthless. "...No."
He mumbles to himself in amusement, looking through the polaroids. They're really good pictures, and he smiles at Illi. "You're a natural. These are rad."
She looks up at Frank, who gives her a silly smile. "You aren't mad?"
"No, sweetheart. 'M not." He pauses before sitting beside Illi, the mattress creaking under his weight. "It's kinda cute."
"... You're not funny," she looks away, toward her couch. "Don't make fun of me. I told you you could leave—"
"Who's making fun of ya, sweetheart?" He laughs, looking at the pictures again.
Him smoking backstage. Him laughing at something stupid off frame. Him sweating mid-scream in the show. Him kneeling on the floor, his head thrown back as he spits.
"I never had a fan make me look this good." He taps the pictures on her knee, teasing.
Her face burns, retracting her knees to her chest as she still refuses to look back at Frank. "I'm sorry..."
"Quit it." He gets back up, standing in front of her as he pushes her knees down, straddling her calves with his own, his knees resting on the edge of the mattress. He grabs her jaw with his thumb and index finger. "Look at me."
He expects her to tense up or apologize again, but instead, he's met with her leaning into his touch, her shoulders dropping.
"There. That's better."
The words get stuck in her throat, and he only gets her labored breathing in response.
"C'mere, hun."
She pauses as Frank's face leans closer to hers. "This... This isn't a joke?"
His smile softens. "Does it look like I'm joking?"
He presses his lips against Illi's tentatively, trying to spot any kind of denial from Illi. She pushes deeper, her hand lingering on Frank's shoulder as she tries to bite his lower lip.
Frank lets out a quiet laugh, pushing her on her elbows as he deepens the kiss, taking the lead. The polaroids lay forgotten on the mattress as Frank straddles her lap, taking her face with both of his hands. "Easy, baby—"
She pushes him into another kiss, interrupting him as she falls onto the bed completely, her hair spread on the mattress as she kisses Frank. Frank has to pull back to breathe, and he lets out a small scoff, looking at Illi's eyes.
"S-Sorry—" she mumbles, staring like a deer caught in headlights. "Sorry, I'm so sorry, I... I don't know what happened..."
"Y'need to stop talking for a bit, girl." He teases, his thumb brushing her lip. "Want me to shut you up, hm?"
Her eyes flick to Frank's crotch, then back at his face, and she looks away in embarrassment as she notices Frank's smile growing. "Dirty minded."
"...Sorry."
Frank tsks at her, pushing his thumb deeper into her mouth. "I told ya to stop talking." He chuckles to himself as Illi starts sucking on his thumb, looking at him through her eyelashes. "God, you're pretty. What'd ya see in me? I'm way past my prime." He pulls his hand away, wiping the saliva away on his shirt.
"Maybe I like it that way," she says, a sudden confidence hitting her—though it immediately fades away, and she feels the shame flow back.
"I told ya to stop speakin'," he repeats. "You don't like boys your age, huh? Y'think they're too dumb for ya? Is that it?"
She can't hold back a whine, and she tries to shake her head, but Frank interrupts her denial as he grabs her wrists, guiding her hands to the hem of his shirt.
"Up," he commands, leaning closer to Illi, raising his arms as Illi slides his dirty shirt off. "Atta girl."
Frank raises his eyebrows, looking at Illi's dozed pupils. "Psst," he clicks his fingers near his face. "Up here. Don't be shameless."
She tries to look back at Frank, but she feels as if she physically can't, her eyes glued to his chest, his tattoos, his body hair. She feels herself salivating, and swallows, ashamed of herself.
For a second, she makes eye contact, and her breath hitches—she can't believe this is really happening. She's with The Frank Iero. The Frank Iero.
"Gettin' cocky, hm?" He hums, seeing the small smile appearing on her face. "C'mere."
He climbs off of her, sitting on the edge of the bed as he taps his lap with his palm, signaling for Illi to come. She nods, mind hazy as she crawls on top of his lap, a small noise of excitement leaving her lips.
He grabs a chunk of her hair, guiding her closer to him. "You've done this before?" He asks, his tone low.
"N-No," she manages to reply, closing her eyes.
"No?" He scoffs. "Impressive. Boys your age don't appreciate what they have."
Illi squirms on his lap at the compliment, wrapping her legs around Frank, burying her head on his shoulder in embarrassment.
"Ah-ah," he scolds, pulling her head back by her hair, making a small tear slip out of her eye as she hisses in pain. "Look at me. Pay attention, darlin'."
She nods, sniffing as she tries her best to look at Frank.
"You've been very bad, you understand?" She nods. "Takin' pictures of me like an obsessed stalker. Drawin' me. I shoulda ran away the moment I saw ya. But I'm feelin' nice, 'kay? So what I'm gonna do is give you a little punishment, hm?"
She nods again, and Frank pulls her hair, lightly this time. "You'd like that, sweetheart? Being punished?"
A third nod. "Good girl. On your knees."
She gets down almost immediately, her head resting on his knee, giving him puppy eyes as she looks at his body.
"God, fuck..." He sucks air in through his gritting teeth, his hand jumping to his zipper, the noise of it being pulled down making Illi's heart jump. He has to stop himself from thrusting on the air, his body desperate for stimulation.
He looks back at Illi, letting out a small chuckle as he sees her desperation. He raises his hips, sliding his jeans and his underwear off in just one movement, the cold air of the basement hitting him immediately.
Illi leans closer, making Frank feel her breath on his dick, her palms on his thighs as she settles. "I... I don't know how to do this..."
"Don't worry, baby, it's—it's 'ight," he grabs her hair again.
Illi furrows her eyebrows, trying to think back to the videos she's seen before. Hesitant, she gives Frank a small lick from the base to the head, expecting him to cringe, to put on his clothes and run away.
He groans, his eyebrows curving as he tries to hold back the noise. "Y-Yeah, that's good, sugar, c'mere," he pulls her hair with one hand, grabbing the base of his cock with the other, guiding it inside Illi's mouth. "Easy, girl, tell me if you need to pull back—"
She tries her best not to gag as she reaches the base with one quick thrust from Frank, keeping her teeth as far away from Frank's shaft as possible. She shuts her eyes, trying to breathe slowly.
"Ugh, shit, that's good, Illi, that's good," Frank responds to her bobbing her head, his mouth slightly agape as he lets out quiet moans. "You're such a good girl for me, shit—you're a natural—Fuck, try to not bite me, baby—"
She lets her jaw relax, trying to get it to open more. Her eyes start tearing up, and she tries to pull away, but Frank's grasp on her hair is too strong. She taps his thigh multiple times, trying to get him to let go.
"Shit—it's okay, doll," he pulls her back with her hair, and she immediately gasps.
"Sorry," she mumbles, her voice hoarse. "I... I'm not good..."
"No, you're amazin', you're amazin'..." He sighs, trying to gather his thoughts and keep his dominance. "Try again. I won't guide you. I know you can do it."
Illi nods, trying to stabilize her breathing before she starts sucking him again, not reaching the base this time, giving her more space to breathe. Frank lets out a small moan of relief, his hands grasping on the sheets, unable to control the noises leaving him.
Illi looks up at his reactions, and seeing Illi's expectant eyes, he gives her a lazy nod. "Good, that's a good girl, you're doing great. Fuck me, I'm—..."
He starts thrusting inside Illi's mouth again, making her eyes widen as Frank goes deeper into her mouth. She moans in surprise, the vibrations of her voice reaching Frank's dick. His noises were a higher pitch, more desperate, as his thrusting gets sloppy. He groans, pulling Illi off him again.
"Shit, no, you keep going and I'll come—" he lets out a breath. "Stop."
"...Wh... But that's good, right?"
"Not yet. Can't." He wipes away a bit of saliva on Illi's lips with his thumb, softly, before guiding her jaw toward him. "Get on the bed, face down."
She obliges, her bulge visible through her pants now. She lays down, looking towards the headboard as Frank climbs on top of her. He removes her shirt, slowly, asking if she's okay halfway through. She nods a bit too hard, and it's enough confirmation for him.
He unbuttons her jeans, dragging them down, licking his lips at the sight before him. "Babe, you're beautiful. Fuck..."
He squeezes one of her ass cheeks, making her thighs tighten as she tries to find contact for her arousal. "You're enjoyin' this, right?"
"Y-Yeah, Frank, I am... I am..."
"Oh," he sighs dramatically, teasing her. "We can't have that. This is supposed to be a punishment, kid. You know what happens to bad girls?"
She shakes her head.
"Bad girls get spanked. So, sweetheart, tell me this," he leans closer, his naked crotch only being held back by Illi's panties. He whispers into Illi's ear, petting the back of her hair. "How many do you think you deserve, huh? For misbehaving, being a creep, stalking me? Mm?"
She shudders at the pressure of Frank's cock on her underwear, stuttering. "I-I, uh, I don't—..."
Frank waits for an answer, and Illi groans in frustration, trying to get her brain, hazy with lust, to start working.
"F-Five...?"
"Five?" Frank scoffs. "You think you deserve five? Oh, sweetheart..."
He squeezes her ass again, before raising his palm, slapping Illi with force, the noise making Illi's thighs clench. "That's one. Nine to go. Count with me, darlin'."
Illi moans in disbelief, burying her head on the mattress. "O-One..."
"Couldn't hear ya, princess," he grabs her hair, pulling her head up. "Don't be shy."
"Fuck—One," she manages, the pain from the spank starting to sting.
"Good girl." He alternates sides, squeezing on the left one now. His spank comes unannounced, and she whines in response, humping on the mattress, trying to ease the pain in her boner. "Be careful, Illi. Don't wanna wake your parents. Quiet down."
"Mmm," she nods, the worry of waking up her parents the least important. She thrusts on the mattress again, quiet whimpers filling the air. "T-Two..."
"Tsk," Frank shakes his head, disappointed, grabbing Illi's hips with a death grip, one that would surely bruise tomorrow. She tries to keep humping, but slowly gives up as Frank overpowers her, forcing her to stay still. "Dirty fuckin' girl. You're like a mutt in heat. You proud of that, huh? I told you to be quiet. Listen to me."
"Sorry, sorry..."
"Who told you you could feel good, huh?" He spanks her again, and she grits her teeth, trying to hold back her noises, saliva flowing out of her mouth as she drools.
"Three—" The next spank comes almost immediately, and she bites her arm, trying to quiet herself down. Her eyes are starting to get teary, the mix of the pain from her hair being pulled, the spanking, and the lack of stimulation being too much. She sobs, trying to hold it back, to be a good girl for Frank. "Four..."
"You cryin'?" Frank leans closer to her, making her look at him. "Illi, do y'need me to stop?" His tone softens as he wipes away a tear from her face. "You okay?"
She shakes her head, letting out a small noise. "No, Frankie, please, don't stop, it feels good..."
"Promise? You're cryin'."
"Promise. Please, daddy?"
Frank stares at her for a few seconds, trying to process the petname, all of the blood needed for his brain to work flowing to his hard-on. He blinks, looking at Illi's pleading eyes, and that's enough for him. He pulls back, forcing Illi's underwear off of her, his head resting on her entrance. "Sweetheart, you can't call me that," he moans as he feels her twitching. "Fuck. Do it again."
"Mmh—Daddy, please, need you, I need you inside me, please, please, daddy—"
"Fuck, Illi, you're insane, you're fuckin'— batshit insane," he rambles, pushing the head in. Illi moans at the lack of preparation, feeling needles inside her as Frank starts to slowly push himself in. "Bad mutts don't deserve prep," he mumbles as he presses his chest against her back, forcing his weight on her, making her moan with overstimulation. Frank stays still for a few seconds, trying to adjust to the pressure, letting Illi breathe for a bit.
"Good?" He asks, checking in.
Illi nods, her forehead against the mattress as Frank starts to move, his body pressed tightly against hers. She's biting her arm harder, trying her best to not disappoint Frank, but she can't hold back her noises, the feeling too overwhelming. "P-Please, daddy, can you touch me? Please, please?"
Frank groans, throwing his head back, letting go of the pressure on Illi as he pulls back, his hand traveling to her erection. "You're so hot like this, doll," he mumbles, trying his best to hold himself together as long as possible. He doesn't want this to end, doesn't want to come too fast, but the way Illi's squeezing him dry is enough to get another loud growl out of him. His mouth is curved in a perfect O, his head thrown back as he grunts with every thrust.
"Close, baby?" He speaks through his panting, looking at Illi again. She gives him a small nod, humping on Frank's hand, following his own thrusts. "Y-Yeah? You want—You want daddy's cum inside, hm?"
Her hips twist in arousal, feeling the knot in her stomach finally undone, spurting on Frank's hand as she comes. Frank follows through, giving her one last deep thrust as he comes, falling on top of her. He grinds down the pleasure, pushing his release deeper inside her.
"Ngh—Too much, Frank, I can't—"
He pulls out, running a hand down his beard, wiping the sweat away as he looks at his release slowly trickling down Illi's entrance.
He falls beside Illi on the mattress, both their breaths still heavy.
Frank pauses, looking at Illi's face. She looks beautiful like this, wrecked and satisfied.
"Yer not under eighteen, right?" He asks, breathlessly.
Illi laughs at him, smiling as she sees his panting form. "Bit late to ask that." Frank doesn't respond to that, only waiting for an answer. "I'm nineteen this April."
"Good," he lets out a breath in relief. "Good."
He pulls her closer, kissing her forehead as their shoulders touch.
"We only got to four..." She mumbles.
"Mm, right. Guess I owe 'em to ya. Next time." He gives her a cocky grin.
if frank iero wears that slutty little fun ghoul outfit again i promise i will never ever think anything bad against myself or anyone else for the rest of my life
do you guys think better living industries talks about killjoys the way trump talks about the woke left. THEY HAVE COLOURED HAIR AND PRONOUNS. THEY WANT TO DEMOLISH A PERFECT SOCIETY BECAUSE THEY’RE SICK AND MENTALLY ILL. THEY DO DRUGS IN THE DESERT AND THEY’RE GOING TO GANG STALK YOUR CHILDREN AND FORCE TRANSITION THEM. THEY MUTILATE THEMSELVES OUT THERE. THE RADIATION MAKES THEM WANT TO CHANGE SEXES. THEY WANT TO DESTROY THE GOVERNMENT. YOUR KIDS AREN’T SAFE. THEY LISTEN TO EVIL PUNK ROCK MUSIC THAT CHEMICALLY ALTERS THEIR BRAINWAVES. WE THINK THEY’VE MADE CONTACT WITH ALIENS AND THEY’RE GOING TO BOMB BATTERY CITY
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