#dirtbagverse

[cryobabiess]

Hi! I hope your semester is going well and I know you’re probably swamped with requests and stuff but I absolutely NEED more dirtbag boyfriend Frank headcanons🥺

SHITASSBOYFRIEND!FRANK HEADCANONS

(slight nsfw, AFAB reader)

He’s obsessed with you. Openly wrote songs about you before you were officially together to try and win you over. Begged for you to give him a chance.

Broke as fuck!!! All the time!!! He spends all his money on filling up his tank to get to gigs, guitar gear, and cigs. But won’t hesitate to spend his last 10 bucks taking you out to a diner.

He’s painfully corny. Dramatic asf. Always name dropping you on stage. “This song is about my girl. This one’s for you babe.” (There’s like 5 people in the bar/venue including you)

Dates are usually spent smoking weed and vegging out in his room and watching tv. Maybe venturing out to get fast food.

His mom loves you because you “keep him out of trouble”. Sends you home with leftover lasagna and garlic bread.

Your dad can’t fucking stand him because he thinks he’s a jobless bum (only partially true)

Helping him write his psychology papers for college (he drops out anyway)

He’s rough around the edges but you like him because he’s ambitious and passionate and a sweetheart. He’s a fixer upper but the potential is THERE—even if others don’t see the vision.

Earth shattering back shots in the back of his 1998 Toyota Corolla.

MUNCH. #1 pussy eater in NJ. Loves when you wear skirts because he will not hesitate to push your panties to the mfing side in the bathroom of a shitty venue. A true eater.

Thinks your bush is punk

[xratedromancee]

do u have more thoughts about any dirtbag mcr bfs..... 👉👈

hello mootie! well yes! yes in fact i do! and they’ve been haunting me lmfao

anything for you <3

My Chem Dirtbag BF Headcanons

a/n: okay, so we gotta add to the dirtbag verse because we already have dirtbag frank and basement gerard but, barely any for mikey or ray. we also need to collectively name them. also pls check out @cryobabiess as they’re the one who created the whole dirtbagverse in the first place <3

tags: established relationships, fluff, slight nsfw

pairings: frank iero x reader, gerard way x reader, mikey way x reader, ray toro x reader

Frank

His room is a literal biological hazard. You tell him to clean, he kisses you instead and says “but I’m cute.”

He genuinely thinks spraying Febreze on his clothing counts as doing laundry.

He carries around a lighter that he never uses, because he just uses yours. He just likes flicking it open menacingly.

Calls you the most obscene pet names in the sweetest voice, “hey sweetheart” becomes “hey my little goblin"

If you say you’re cold, he hands you his jacket. If he’s cold, he takes your jacket. Doesn't matter whether it fits or not.

He's constantly bruised, scraped, or bleeding from something stupid. Tries to hide it so you don’t “lecture” him.

He tries to be suave, fails horrifically, kisses you in the middle of laughing about it.

He loves pulling you into his lap when he’s all bruised up from whatever chaos he got into that day. He smirks when you scold him, because the second your hands are on his face checking the damage, he’s murmuring, “yeah? keep touching me,” voice low, already getting worked up from the attention.

Gerard

He permanently looks like he just woke up in a broom closet.

Theres always paint under his nails, in his hair, on his clothes, on you. It’s like dating a human art project.

He attempts to keep “organizing” the basement but it just becomes new piles of things.

He drinks gas-station coffee like it’s a sacrament.

He'll call you down to the basement to “see something” and it’s 3 a.m. and he’s built a weird sculpture out of old cereal boxes.

He's extremely clingy when he’s tired. He curls around you like a cat and refuses to let you leave the couch/beanbag/floor.

He gets so dramatic if you don’t text back fast enough. “Oh, abandoned again… alas.”

But, he’ll stand behind you while you’re doing anything and kiss the back of your neck like you’re the only solid thing in his world.

When you come downstairs and stand in front of him, he immediately goes pink and won’t look up; but when you tilt his chin with one finger, he gives this tiny, shaky breath and whispers, “please… kiss me?” like he’s embarrassed to want you that badly, thighs already pressing together like he can’t help himself.

Mikey

He looks quiet and clean but is actually the biggest menace.

He seems to know every weird corner of the internet and sends you cursed memes at 2 a.m.

He ditches dishes in the sink “to soak” and they live there for 48 hours minimum.

He steals your snacks with zero guilt. “I thought we were sharing.”

He will listen to you talk for hours and look so lovingly attentive, then say something odd like, “We should fake our deaths.”

He loves when you sit on his lap while he’s gaming or reading. Pretends he’s unaffected. He is not unaffected.

If you’re upset, he does something stupid just to make you laugh like full-on planking on the counter.

He looks quiet, but the second you’re alone he backs you against the nearest wall, pushes his glasses up with his thumb, and breathes a low, wrecking whisper right against your mouth, “you drive me insane, you know that?” His hands are already wandering like he’s been holding back for hours.

Ray

He actually tries to be responsible. But, fails anyway.

Tools, cables, guitar parts everywhere. He steps over them proudly like “I know where everything is.”

He eats straight from the pot. Says washing bowls is “inefficient.”

He wears the same hoodie for weeks until you physically peel it off him.

Ray gives the best hugs: huge, warm, full-body hugs that make you melt every time.

He leaves little love notes on your phone, in your bag, in your shoes. Completely earnest about how much he adores you.

If you’re mad at him, he gets those big puppy eyes and immediately tries to fix it . He says things like: “Tell me what I can do, I wanna make it right.”

Dirtbag tendencies aside, he’s the most loyal, most soft-hearted, most ride-or-die boyfriend you could ask for.

He picks you up like you weigh nothing, hands big and confident on your hips, and sets you on the nearest surface with this deep, breathy laugh. Stands between your legs and kisses you slow but intense, curls brushing your cheek as he murmurs, “missed you… c’mon, let me take care of you.”

[motorlv]

need dirtbag iero all up in my guts…

[cryobabiess]

Call Your Bluff.

(Dirtbag BF!Frank Iero X AFAB reader)

Synopsis: Frank is a munch. That's it. That's the fic. Tags: NSFW, afab reader, one shot, shortfic, oral (f recieving), fingering, light dirty talk, Frank is a little shit A/N: A present for all the dirtbag shitass bf Frank enjoyers out there. I was not expecting y'all to be so feral for him. Enjoy, freaks.

Frank was horrible at keeping his hands to himself. He made a habit of sneaking his fingers under the hems of your sweaters and grabbing a handful of your ass while you browsed scary movies at Blockbuster. It didn’t matter when or where. He just couldn’t keep his hands off you. 

Tonight was no different. Even if you were watching a movie on the Iero family’s living room couch, time and place never stopped Frank from being an absolute dog. His parents were out of town for the weekend, and your dorm roommate kindly covered for you so your own parents wouldn’t find out and disown you. They thought you were spending the weekend camping with her family. 

But of course, you were with Frank—playing GTA, fucking like rabbits, and sitting in on band practice while you sketched new flyer artwork for their next show. It was your last night together before you had to go back to the mundanity of the semester, so you both decided to rent a movie and stay in. You didn’t even make it past the first act before his lips were pressed against the sensitive patch of skin just below your ear.

“Fraaank.” You whine, half annoyed and half turned on, and unwilling to admit to either.

“Hmm?” He hums against your neck. You can feel him smile against you. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re not even paying attention, you asshole.” You pull away to look at him. His eyes are heavy-lidded and deceivingly sweet. You wouldn't be so easily swayed, though. You've gained a 6th sense for his antics since you agreed to be his girlfriend.

“You’re in your underwear and wearing my shirt and you want me to pay attention to the movie?” He says incredulously before blowing you off and continuing his assault on your neck, trailing down to the crook of your shoulder.

“Dude, c’mon. It’s our last night. Plus, I paid like 5 bucks for the rental.” You complain, though you don’t actually care. You just liked giving him a hard time, which only egged him on.

Frank sinks to his knees in front of you, tugging your hips closer to his face. You don’t resist when he wedges his shoulders under your legs and rests a hot cheek against your inner thigh. His hands rest at your waist, slightly riding up the hem of his black flag shirt, which you liked to wear to bed.

“Let me pay you back?” He asks, sleepy hazel eyes peering up through dark eyelashes. He’s so pretty. It kind of pisses you off. You roll your eyes, too stubborn to admit that his hot breath against your leg was making you fucking pulse all over.

“Whatever.” You defiantly return your attention to the movie despite the wet, open-mouthed kisses Frank was trailing along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He travels over your hip bone, slowly toward the lace waistband of your panties. 

“I like these, by the way,” He passively comments, his thumb playing with the tiny bow sewn on the waistband. “They’re cute.”  Frank plays with the elastic, watching for your reaction as he snaps it against your skin. 

You realize in that moment—it’s all a game to him. He’s just as hellbent on getting a reaction as you are on denying him the satisfaction of watching you squirm. You almost crack when his hands leave your waist to knead the doughy flesh by your hips.

“You’re so soft. Makes me so fuckin’ hard.” He murmurs against you, the cool metal of his lip ring making you shiver. The deep sigh in your chest threatens to escape, but you manage to fight it off.

You can feel him smiling. He must think he’s winning.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t take much.” You comment dryly, struggling to keep your tone even.

He pushes your knees toward your chest, hands staying at the back of your thighs and squeezing firmly. His mouth moves lower, pressing slow kisses to the embarrassingly damp cloth covering your pussy. The breath you’ve been holding in shutters free and partially ruins your bluff.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone soaking through their fucking panties.” He says lowly, thumb parting your puffy lips to circle your clit through the cotton fabric. 

Your fingertips burn with the urge to run your fingers through his shaggy black hair. 

“Shut the fuck up.” You stutter.

Frank laughs. It’s cocky, high-pitched. The same one he does when he’s fucking tickled pink by something. 

He grabs your hand and places it on top of his head.

“C’mon, baby. Say something nice to me.” He teases, hooking his fingers around the gusset of your ruined underwear to pull the drenched fabric to the side. 

The cool air hits your core and makes you whimper like a kicked puppy. Frank’s breath is hot against you as his mouth waits inches away from your cunt, refusing to give you what you so obviously want until you give in to him.

You manage to hold your bluff for a couple of painful seconds, hoping that he’ll be the first to crack. But Frank doesn’t move. He was impatient most days, but when it came to proving a point, he was fucking relentless. 

“Frankie, please.” You concede, hands sweetly carding through his hair just the way you know he likes.

Lucky for you, he’s easily won over.

He kisses your clit before gently sucking on it. A full-body shiver so strong rips through you, you think you could cry. You release a sigh of relief, eyes fluttering closed and head lolling back as Frank laps at you slowly, tongue expertly rolling your swollen clit in his mouth. The sound of the TV fades into nothingness. All you can hear is your thudding pulse, Frank’s breath, and the obscene wet noises he was making. He interrupts your ascent into bliss with a sharp smack against your ass. 

You gasp, intoxicated gaze refocusing on Frank’s flushed face between your legs. The intensity of his stare sobers you up a bit, and you wordlessly nod your head, instantly understanding his request. He rewards you by curling his fingers inside you rhythmically. Your breath hitches.

He wants to watch you watching him. 

“Fuck—ohmygod.” you grit through a clenched jaw. His fingers quicken, sending you closer to the edge. If you hadn’t been so close to coming completely undone, you might have felt embarrassed about how short you lasted.

“Frank, I’m—“

You don’t get to finish your sentence before your body starts to seize, thighs trembling and back arching off the couch as you violently crest over the peak of ecstasy. Frank’s hands move to hold your hips firmly in place while you ride out your orgasm, humming in approval.

“So fucking perfect.” He mouths against you. The vibration of his voice makes you whimper.

Your breath begins to even out while you comfortably coast down from your high, iron grip in Frank’s hair softening as you lazily play with the inky strands.

God, you think you love him.

Frank’s mouth eases up, softly lapping at you for a bit until you pull him off of you completely. 

A cocky grin immediately stretches across his damp face, and you’re reminded that you pathetically folded under light pressure. 

Knowing him, he’ll never let you live it down. 

[cryobabiess]

Errrrr Dirtbag frankkkkkkk hcs moreee as him being the fucking shitty ass dirtbag bf he is

Gets turned on when you’re angry at him. If you see him getting yelled at by his gf/bf don’t help him bc he’s exactly where he wants to be.

Your friends fucking hate him and think you can do better. They do not see the vision.

Hardcore shows in NYC and getting stuck at NY Penn station because you missed the last train back to Jersey. Crashing on a bench and he lets you use his lap as a pillow and his coat as a blanket.

You’ve gained like 10 pounds since you guys became exclusive because his mom’s love language is food and she doesn’t take no for an answer. If you so much as step a toe into her home you ARE sitting down to have a plate of ziti and it is NOT optional. Frank insists it’s all going straight to your ass (compliment).

JEALOUS. Suspicious of everyone. ”Who’s that guy I saw you talking to on Campus? Do you know him?” “Just a friend” “…interesting.”

Mr. Punk hardcore cool guitar guy in public and your little pookiewookie booboo bear in private. Would love nothing more than to come home to you, rest his head on your bosom, and complain about how his tummy hurts. Giant fucking baby.

“You’re so hot in the morning.”—And you haven’t washed your hair in a week and theres dried drool on your chin and you have toothpaste stains on your shirt. Takes the worst and most unflattering pictures of you on his lil flip phone and thinks you are the prettiest person in the world.

Thinks your sweaty armpits smell good. Idk. He’s a weird guy okay.

Told you that he can only get off to porn if the girl/boy/person looks like you #loyalty

[cryobabiess]

okay, hear me out. dirty ass bullets era orange mohawk frank x stoner reader. frank is touring with the band, but they scrap up some cash and make a pit stop. maybe buy some snacks, really treat themselves. they're in a small town far from jersey with a huge hardcore scene, maybe in massachusetts or something (i know it's boring but they have so many bands there...). you're working night shift at a convenience store, i'm picturing like a 7/11. u drive a beat up car. ur shoes r scuffed as hell. ur parents aren't entirely happy abt how u carry urself. anyway, the band goes to the register to pay, frank asks if he can get a pack of cigarettes. he sees ur sleepy, red eyes and that tired and slow voice, and immediately he's in love. back in the van he makes an excuse of he forgot to pick something up so he can talk to u longer.

“Huh?”

This is the second time he’s asked you to repeat yourself. Frank knows you said something important—he can tell by the way your mouth keeps forming the words—but he has no idea what it was, because he can’t stop staring. You look totally fried. Not in a sloppy way. In a soft, high out of your mind, brain half off way. He can smell you from across the counter. Weed and vanilla perfume, warm and sweet and a little dizzying.

You blink slowly, thick lashes dragging down over sleepy, bloodshot eyes, like you’re trying to remember what you were saying, too.

“You want a bag?” A pause. “For your stuff?”

“Oh. Uh—yeah. Yeah, I’ll take a bag. And a pack of Newports, please.”

Frank watches as you start bagging the collection of bullshit spread across the counter: Cool Ranch Doritos for himself, Twizzlers for Gee, travel-size Advil for Mikey, and a Red Bull for Ray because it’s his turn to drive and Ray gets unbearable without caffeine. When you turn around to grab the cigarettes, Frank shamelessly stares at your ass. He tells himself it’s fine. He’ll never see you again. This is it. So he might as well take in every detail while he can.

“$13.78.”

Frank hands you a twenty. While you count out his change, he notices the small stuff. The tiny sparkly stars painted on your short, stubby nails. The way they match the little star-shaped earrings tucked into your ears. The oversized men’s jacket hanging off your shoulders over the 7/11 shirt. It's too big to be yours. Carhartt. Looks like a guy’s jacket. Maybe you have a boyfriend. Maybe it’s his. Maybe he’s built like a refrigerator and would beat Frank’s ass into the pavement if he knew Frank was standing here, dead eyed and drooling, checking out his girlfriend at three in the morning.

You slide the bag and the change across the counter.

“You like Black Flag?” you ask casually, eyes flicking down to the four black rectangles tattooed on his arm, like you’re just trying to make conversation. and this wasn't about to change the course of his life.

Frank’s brain short-circuits.

“Do you like Black Flag?”

“Yeah. They’re rad.” you say, bright and easy, a sweet, sleepy smile creeping onto your face.

Frank fucking loses it.

There are a million things he could say. They’re my favorite band. I’m in a band. What are you doing tomorrow night? Can I get your number? Can I smoke you out? Do you have a boyfriend who can beat me up, and if so, how fast can he get here?

Instead—

“Yeah,” Frank mumbles. “They’re pretty alright. Have a good night.”

If his nervousness wasn’t obvious in his butchered response, it’s obvious in the way he grabs his bag and change and practically sprints for the parking lot. He doesn’t look back. He can’t. The cold night air slaps him in the face as he spots the van parked crookedly in front of a gas pump. He yanks open the passenger door and climbs in.

Ray barely looks up. Gee is slumped against the window behind him, mouth open. Mikey’s hoodie is pulled over his face. The van smells like acrid post show air and fast food wrappers. Everyone’s dead.

Frank, on the other hand, is vibrating with frantic energy, like something devastating just happened and he hasn’t caught up to it yet.

“You good?” Ray asks, exhausted, not really caring.

“I think I just met my wife.”

A pause hangs in the air. Ray exhales through his nose and rubs his face, thumb digging into his eye socket.

“I think I just met my wife, and I fucked it up.” Frank repeats, mostly to himself.

“Cool,” Ray says. “Did you get my Red Bull or not?”

Frank freezes, the bag still clenched in his hand. The weight of it is suddenly very real. He's never going to see you again. The cold aluminum can shifts inside, unmistakable.

“They were out,” he says, pausing a second too long. “No—wait. I grabbed the wrong one.”

Even as the words leave his mouth, he knows how bad the lie sounds. He glances down at the bag. The Red Bull is right there, the corner of the can pressing against the plastic.

Ray looks at the bag. Then at Frank, expression unchanging.

“Dude.”

Frank panics.

“I’ll be two seconds,” he says, already backing out of the van. “I’ll fix it.”

Ray squints, exhausted and suspicious, but mostly just annoyed.

He shuts the door before Ray can respond and turns back toward the store, heart hammering, the lie flimsy and obvious, but good enough to get him back inside.

[cryobabiess]

we need more shit ass bf frank content… please diva I beg of you

Dirtbag bf! Frank x afab reader PART II (mostly sfw)

You’ve been BEGGING him to clean out his car. It’s a biohazard at this point, filled with old fast food bags, soda cans, and cigarette cartons. However, he always keeps the passenger side clean for you.

He can’t fucking stand when you’re mad at him. He’ll argue a bit, but he’s always the first to wave the white flag. When you’re really pissed off and he can’t sweet talk you out of it he’ll try to make you laugh, which usually works for petty arguments.

He keeps getting random tattoos for you without telling you. He got your name tattooed on his ass cheek in cursive for Valentine’s Day, the day you were born (number) behind his ear, and a nude American traditional pinup in your likeness. You’re less concerned with what he’ll do if you guys ever break up and more concerned with where the fuck he’s getting the money to afford tattoos????

Really good at shoplifting. Stole a portable CD player for you from Radio Shack just because you mentioned needing a new one in passing. Steals CDs and tapes from the record store for you too.

Neighborhood weed guy. You love tagging along on drop offs because you know he’s gonna buy you something to eat after with the cash he made.

Trying to teach you how to play guitar. You’re horrible at it, but he’ll let you sit in between his legs and strum for him while he handles the fretboard. He realizes he’s in love with you when he’s helping you play a Smiths song.

Horrible at timing pulling out. You’ve popped more plan b’s and had more pregnancy scares than you’d prefer. You get an IUD because you don’t want to spend the 50 bucks every time Frank can’t find the willpower. After that, he’s blowing load after load in you. He loves to watch it drip out and stuff it back in with his fingers.

Doesn’t mind being handled roughly during sex. Scratching, hair pulling, slapping, choking, and SPITTINNNGGGG. He wants to be slapped around. He’s a switch that likes a good power struggle. Lets you take your frustration out on him after a fight when you guys have makeup sex. He calls it “exorcising your demons” lol.

[cryobabiess]

you can't just hide all the good stuff in the tags sav!!! GIVE US DIRTBAG FRANKIE X DRUMMER READER PLEASSEEE

"Stop breaking my shit." Dirtbag!Frankie x AFAB Drummer!Reader

Synopsis: Your friend's band needs a drummer for their grimy DIY van tour. Their rhythm guitarist is fucking annoying. You might love him. AN: Good morning, dirtbag-nation! This started off as headcanons and then turned into an entire ass fic?? I made it long and juicy because I've been MIA recently. Inspired by this gif of Frank being a menace. Hugs and kisses <3 NSFW UNDER CUT

You were a friend of Mikey's. Frank teased the shit out of him in the beginning. "Dude, you can't fall in love with her if she's in the band. That's like a million HR violations." And then starts catching feelings for you like 5 business days later lol.

First thoughts about him were “His eyes are so pretty.” “Is he always this energetic?” And “Wow. This guy is so fucking annoying.” In that exact order. 

You do not like Frankie at first. He’s obnoxious. Always high. Takes up the most space in the band van despite being 3 apples tall. Dips into your gas station snack stash without asking because he thinks you won’t notice (you always notice).

On the nights the band stays at shady motels, you’re paired up with Frankie because it’s cheaper to book a room with a full-size mattress than a king, and you’re both small enough to fit on a full together. Obviously, this isn't an ideal arrangement, but the band is broke and you're in the middle godknowswhere, and it was too cold to justify sleeping in the van. It's fine though. Frankie is insufferable at his worst, but makes you laugh at his best. It's not the worst thing ever to be stuck watching Jerry Springer on a tiny motel tv with him. Plus he let you borrow a pair of his boxers that one time. You wake up big spooning him.

Frank wants you to like him so bad. He secretly pines for you for months, lies to himself and insists its some sort of mutual respect musician thing and he is not the jerkoff that ruins the band because they have it out for their female bandmate. But he also wants you to think he does guitar good. And thinks your hair smells like strawberries even after you're drenched in sweat and grime after shows. And secretly looks forward to watching trashy television and sharing post show joints with you.

Ray is always clocking the shit out of him. You make them stop at a gas station for a pee break and once you're out of the van Ray's like "Dude. What I think is happening better not be happening." and Frank is like "I literally have no idea what the fuck you're talking about." Whole van errupts in groans. Frank has never been subtle.

They already get a lot of shit in the scene for being weird and theatrical, and having a 'chick drummer' had all the shitty rock dudes losing their minds. The whole band is constantly running defense for you, but especially Frankie–who has gotten himself banned from 2 seperate bars for starting fights. He's scrappy and eager to defend your honor, which you think is both stupid and sweet. Okay fine he's growing on you.

Frank's behavior on stage is fucking insane, and you're constantly catching strays. He's always throwing himself at your rig mid song, knocking your shit over, writhing on the floor etc. Typical Frank shit. It's kinda cool (sometimes). One night he throws a mic stand and almost shatters your crash–this sets you tf off because if he actually broke something, you were too broke to replace it. You full force throw a drumstick at his head and the crowd eats it up. Huge blowout fight after. "What the fuck is your problem?!" "Dude, I'm just doing my fucking job." "I can't do mine if you trash my fucking kit, dumbass!"

You sleep on the floor in Ray and Mikey's room after that. The motel carpet smells like mildew but it was better than punching Frank in the face and making everyone miserable by extension.

Ray, fed up with whatever the fuck was going on between you two, decides to Air out Frank's business. "You know he acts like that because he's trying to impress you, right?" Mikey comes up for air from his DIY bong to put his two cents in. "You ever see male birds do those insane dances to impress potential mates on, like... fuckin' animal planet or whatever? Dude, just hook up and get it over with. I'm tired of you guys fighting in the van." Everything makes sense after that.

You go back to you and Frank's room after much deliberation. You were constantly getting on eachother's nerves, but you'd be lying if you said you haven't thought about him in between your legs. You've definitely rubbed one out in the shower thinking about his fingers (which you would never admit).

Frank immediately tries to apologize, but you end up making out instead and he finally, just for a minute, shuts the fuck up.

Him frantically unbuckling his pink belt, you clumsily taking off your shirt, both of you moving too fast to think twice about potentially ruining the band.

"I'm sorry." "I'm a fucking idiot." "I keep pissing you off. I don't know how to stop." In between open mouthed kisses. You respond with "Stop breaking my shit." and dropping to your knees.

He makes the prettiest noises when you go down on him, borderline girlish. Open mouth, flushed cheeks. Same face he makes when he's ripping the shit out of his les paul. You get the idea.

Running your thumbs over the swallows on his hips 🤭.

Sucking him off lasts about 60 seconds and then he's pulling you off before he cums too fast.

You climb on top EXPEDITIOUSLY. Ride him furiously. He fumbles with the clasp of your bra, gives up and just tears down the straps. He's got two handfulls of your ass and he's looking at you with his big wet eyes like you hung the moon. You make a note to feel embarrassed about it later.

The whole affair is quick, fast, and hard. Headboard knocking against the wall, bed squeaking, etc. You feel bad for whoever's got the room next to you.

You both finish quickly, Frank wrecklessly spilling into you. There's a minute of post fuck bliss before Frank's freaking out about not wearing a condom. "I'm on the pill." You say simply. "Really? Fuck, I thought you were taking vitamins." You laugh at him.

Joint, Jerry Springer, and then sleep.

You both wake up like nothing happened, too wary of the long day of driving in a cramped van ahead of you. Another city, another grimy basement show. You'll have to unpack what went down later, because check out time for this shitty motel is at 8am and it's 7:45.

The van is uncharacteristically silent for the entire ride. The rest of the band share knowing glances.