ᨳଓ Frank loves to push down on your stomach when he’s inside of you. He says it’s so you can feel all of him, and yeah he’s right, but you know it’s for him too. To know how he fills you up, so much that he can feel himself from outside. He keeps his hand pressed down while he pounds into you. Your moans are blended with heavy breaths, tears in the corners of your eyes. “Fuck baby, you like it hard?” His sweet voice suppressed by his guttural moans. He makes sure he gives your clit attention all while he abuses your g-spot. His pelvis smacking into you and forcing your legs open even further. “Baby look at that.” He says, reaching over to grab the back of your head and lift it to watch his cock move inside you. “Look at how I stretch you from inside. ‘m gonna ruin you so good” Pulling out completely before thrusting his whole length back in, palm still pushing down on your lower abdomen. It helps you feel all of him, every vein, each inch, and especially his release being spread inside you.
"And try to wash that look off your face before you walk through the door... I’d hate for your father to know what you've been up to."
pairing: jon bernthal x reader | 3.2k words
warnings: MDNI ! 18+, dbf! jon, undisclosed age gap, smut, dry humping, p in v, dirty talk, praise kink, dom! jon, car sex, forbidden affair, slight angst, aftercare (kinda?)
ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚
Your phone buzzes into the blankets beside you. A single, demanding vibration.
Jon: Down the street. My car. Now.
Your eyes snap open, the screen’s light blinding in the dark.
A jagged, breathless laugh hitches in your chest. That specific, electric buzz of adrenaline that makes your fingers tremble as you grab your phone.
The fact that he’s here, sitting just a few houses away from where your father is sleeping, makes the air in your lungs feel dangerously thin.
You’re out of the covers and moving before the screen even fades to black. You snatch a zip-up off the back of your chair, yanking it on as you fumble into your shoes. Your movements are sharp, frantic, fueled by the sheer, illicit rush of what you’re about to do.
The house is a minefield of creaky floorboards. You navigate the hallway with agonizing slowness, your breath hitching as you pass your father's bedroom. You can hear the steady, rhythmic rasp of his breathing behind the door. A sound that, only moments ago, would have been a mundane background noise, but now rings in your ears like an accusation.
You reach the back door, the metal latch clicking shut with a finality that marks the point of no return.
The night air hits you instantly, cool and sharp, biting into your cheeks and turning them a stinging red. But the heat blooming under your skin has nothing to do with the temperature. It’s the low-burning, heavy pull of him waiting in the dark.
You keep to the shadows, your footsteps swallowed by the grass until you round the corner. There it is: his car, idling under the dim glow of an old streetlamp, exhaust curling like a ghost against the pavement.
Through the windshield, you see him slumped low in the driver’s seat. One hand rubbing roughly at his eyes, the other gripping the wheel with a restless, impatient tension that speaks of a man wound too tight and looking for a release.
You slide into the passenger seat, the leather biting cold against your skin, but the car is already stifling. It smells like him. The raw, familiar scent of cedar and gasoline. The engine’s idle hum vibrates through the floorboards, matching the frantic rhythm of your pulse.
Before you can even settle, he’s on you.
He doesn't wait. He doesn't even say hello. His hands are on you immediately, fingers gripping with a familiar, firm authority as he plants them on either side of your face, locking your head in place. He drags you into his space, eyes dark and predatory. An intense, singular focus that burns into you.
His lips collide with yours. It’s an attack. Feverish, desperate, and completely reckless.
He kisses you like he’s trying to scrub the frustration of his day out of his system, his fingers digging into your hair, forcing you to match his frantic, punishing pace.
You let out a shaky, breathless whimper against his mouth, your hands clutching at his jacket, finally shedding the pretense and giving in to the absolute, messy necessity of him.
He pulls back just enough to growl, his thumb tracing the frantic pulse jumping in your throat. He doesn't give you a chance to breathe, his mouth immediately reclaiming yours, hungrier than before.
You instinctively pull back, hands pressing against his shoulders to create a sliver of space. "Jon," you breathe, your voice barely a whisper.
He groans, a sound of pure, ragged frustration. "Fuck, baby, it's been a long day. Can we just—"
He doesn't let you finish, reaching up to snag the hem of your sweatshirt and pulling it up and over your head in one swift motion. He tosses it aside, his lips immediately back for the attack, hot and demanding.
You lace your hands into his hair, pulling his head back just enough to force him to look at you. "It's very late," you say, your breath hitching.
He pauses, eyes dark and blown wide. "You didn't wake anyone, did you?"
You shake your head, watching the tension in his jaw loosen slightly.
"Good," he murmurs, his thumb brushing your lower lip. "We'll be quick."
He cuts the engine before leaning back into you, his movements restless and sharp. "God," he rasps, his lips trailing wet, impatient kisses along your jawline to the hollow of your neck. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to work with him all day, when all I can picture is you..."
His hands move with an impatient, practiced ease, sliding your shirt off until your breasts are bared to the warming air of the car. He doesn't waste a second, his mouth lowering to them, hot and firm as he finishes, "...like this."
A loud, messy moan escapes your throat at the contact, the sound echoing in the small, cramped space. He shushes you instantly, the sound emerging like a low, vibrating purr against your skin.
"Need you to be quiet," he breathes, pulling back to look at you, his eyes searching yours with a dangerous, predatory edge. "Can you do that for me?"
You don’t speak, your head swimming as you simply nod, unable to do anything else.
He grips your chin, his thumb pressing firmly into your bottom lip. "Tell me, baby. Use your words. You gonna be a good girl for me?"
His thumb drags firmly against your lower lip, forcing your mouth to stay parted, waiting for your answer. You nod hazily, your senses entirely consumed by the scent of him and the pulse hammering in your throat.
"Yes," you manage, your voice thin and raw. "I’ll be good."
He doesn’t wait for the echo of your words to fade. He grabs you by the waist, his movements commanding and hasty as he hauls you over the center console to straddle his lap.
You land against him, your breath catching as you feel his hardened length pressing against you. He immediately buries his face between your bare breasts, a low, possessive sound vibrating in his chest.
"There you go," he rumbles against your skin. As he guides your hips to grind down against his bulge, he urges you on. "That’s it."
It’s friction at its most primal. The rough denim of his jeans grazes against your sensitive skin, the heat of his body radiating through the thin fabric of what little clothing remains.
You’re frantic, trying to find a friction that eases the ache he’s built up inside you all day, but he keeps his pace slow, punishingly steady.
He forces you to ride the seam of his zipper, the coarse metal and heavy fabric teasing you, dragging along your slick core until you’re whimpering against his shoulder.
He feels every twitch of your muscles, every frantic shift of your hips, and he revels in the way you’re unraveling. When he feels your rhythm tighten, when your hips begin to hitch and you start to lose control, he halts his own movement entirely.
He holds you pinned against him, letting you hover right on the precipice of a release he isn't ready to let you have yet.
His hands leave your waist to move to his belt, the metallic clink of the buckle sounding like a gunshot in the quiet of the car. He unzips his jeans in a swift, practiced motion.
"Needed this since I woke up this morning," he rasps out, his voice dropping into that dark, dangerous register. "Had this dream that reminded me just how worked up you get. And I had to have it. Had to have you."
You reach for the hem of your pajama shorts to pull them down, but he catches your wrists, his grip firm. "No," he bites out, no room for argument. "Too long. Leave 'em."
He doesn’t bother with the fabric, simply hooking his fingers into the side of your shorts and underwear to shove them aside, clearing the way.
He pulls himself free, his eyes locked on your face with that singular, terrifying focus. With a sharp, expert movement, he tears a foil packet open with his teeth, rolling the latex down over himself with a dark, hurried efficiency.
He guides your hips down, his hands splaying across your waist to steady you as he lines himself up.
"Look at me," he commands, his hot breath filling the minimal, stifling gap between your mouths. "Don't you dare look anywhere else."
He pushes into you, and the sensation is sudden. He freezes, his breath hitching, eyes darkening as he realizes exactly how responsive you are.
"Already dripping for me," he rasps, his voice thick with a mixture of pride and hunger. "Soakin' me before I’m even fully in."
The friction is overwhelming. You bury your head in the crook of his neck, your body shuddering with the sudden, sharp pleasure.
"What did I say?" he demands, his hands tightening on your hips to hold you in place, forcing you upright. He stares up at you, his palm lying flat and hard against your bare stomach, pushing back firmly to keep you from collapsing into him.
He starts to move, relentless, bucking up into you with a punishing rhythm. You try to look down, your eyes fluttering to see the way he’s stretching you, but he bucks harder, his teeth bared in a grimace that demands your attention. "Eyes on me," he growls.
His thumb finds your aching clit, pressing in a steady, maddening rhythm that matches the frantic pace of his hips. Your jaw goes slack, your mouth falling open as the pleasure turns seering.
"Fuck," you choke out, the word breaking in the air.
"Oh—fuck," he moans with you, his composure finally fracturing.
His hand finds your hair, tangling in the dampened strands to tug you closer to him. With your faces now painfully close, lips almost touching, he sneers at you, "You’re no good girl. Look at you."
He shudders into you, his gaze pinning you to the spot before he finishes. His voice drops to a gravelly, possessive purr, and just as his hand leaves your hair, it snakes its way behind you, planting a firm, stinging slap against your ass that makes you bounce on him.
He times his words to the rhythm of his hips and the heavy, wet impact of your bodies colliding.
"So." Smack. "Fucking." Smack. "Bad," he growls, his hand still firm on your ass. "Letting me fuck you in my car like this."
His words hit you like a physical weight, your stomach twisting, your head falling back as your core begins to unravel. You’re shaking, your legs losing their strength, a desperate need to surrender and collapse into him.
"So." Smack. "Fucking." Smack. "Dirty," he spits out, teeth clenched as he pounds into you with relentless, punishing force.
He is coming apart with you, every muscle in his body rigid, his own climax tearing through him as he drives himself home. He throws his head back, a low, guttural growl of pleasure escaping him into the steaming, stuffy air of the car.
He wasn’t steady, his fingers shuddering against your skin, but he made up for it with sheer, unrelenting aggression, gripping you hard enough to bruise.
"Drive down into me, harder."
"Jon, I can’t—" you gasp out, your nails digging into his shoulders.
"Yes, you—shit—yes, you can, baby," he rasps, his voice a gravelly, breathless command as he picks up the pace. "Almost. There."
You obey, desperation overriding your exhaustion. You lift your hips, every muscle in your thighs burning, and slam yourself back down onto him with a cry that sounds more like a sob.
The impact forces a guttural roar from his chest. His hands, shaking violently now, lock onto your waist to drag you down deeper, harder, refusing to let you pull away.
The friction is frantic, a blur of sweat and skin, and you feel the tremors of your own release coil tighter in your stomach.
"Just like that," he grinds out, his voice fracturing as he nears the edge. He isn't just watching you; he’s consuming you, his eyes dilated and wild as he lunges up to meet every movement you make. "Don't you dare stop. Give it all to me."
He doesn't give you a choice. He surges into you one last, brutal time. Driving so deep that the blunt, staggering impact hits your cervix like a shockwave. The world dissolves into white static.
You collapse against his chest, your body hitching as the waves of pleasure crash over you, his hands still anchored to your hips, holding you pinned to him even as the momentum finally begins to bleed away into the suffocating, satisfied silence of the car.
He presses his thumb down against your clit again, hard, grounding you as you ride out the final, shuddering peaks of your orgasm.
You sit there together, breathless and heavy, as he softens inside of you. His hands move from your hips to your hair, his touch suddenly gentle as he brushes the wet strands away from your face.
The harsh edge has vanished, replaced by a possessive, satisfied warmth now that he’s had his fill. He leans in and presses a lingering kiss to your lips, biting down on your bottom lip and giving it a playful tug before pulling back.
You are drunk with ecstasy, your eyes blown wide and pitch-black as you instinctively grind against him a few more times, your core still clenching and seizing around him in rhythmic pulses.
"That’s my girl," he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction as he feels you taking what you need from him.
"I don't want to leave, Jon," you whisper, the thought of returning to reality feeling impossible.
He lets out a low, dark chuckle, his thumb tracing your cheek.
"Careful talkin' like that," he warns, his voice dropping into that familiar register that vibrates through your skin.
"Besides, gotta leave while it’s still dark. You probably can't even stand up on your own right now." He looks down at your trembling thighs, still clenched instinctively around his waist.
"You’re a total mess, and everyone would know exactly why."
With a firm, decisive movement, he pulls you off of him. You whimper at the sudden loss of contact, but he’s already moving, his hands working with practiced ease to carefully strip off the condom, knotting it before tossing it into the shadows of the floorboard. He tucks himself, soft and heavy, back into his jeans.
He eyes the mess between your legs, his gaze darkening again as he looks down at your glistening core.
"Good thing this is how I like you. All fucked out, shaking..." He reaches out, using his hand to swipe over you, gathering the slick, hot wetness until his fingers are coated. He brings them to his mouth, licking them clean with slow, deliberate focus, his eyes never leaving yours.
You throb again at the sight of him, lips parting as you watch him. He lets out a soft laugh, his lips glistening as he speaks.
"You'd just let me do anything, wouldn't you, sweetheart?"
The question hangs in the air, weighted with a smug, undeniable truth. You’re still reeling, your body too sensitized to even form a proper protest, and he knows it. He sees the way your breath hitches and your eyes track every move he makes.
He drags his hand down the side of your face, his gaze tracing the path of his own mess, his expression one of pure, unadulterated satisfaction.
"You're a wreck," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave as he watches you struggle to hold yourself steady.
"Let's get you cleaned up." He combs your hair back with his sticky fingers; a gesture that isn't really cleaning so much as it is a lingering, possessive mark. The sensation of his touch against your scalp, combined with the lingering heat of his touch, sends a fresh shiver down your spine.
He turns away then, reaching over to turn the ignition just enough to crank open the windows. The rush of cold night air hits your skin, the sudden temperature shift making you gasp as it cuts through the humid, stagnant atmosphere of the car.
"Gotta be quiet, baby," he commands.
He doesn't wait for you to catch your breath; he reaches into the shadows of the floorboard, retrieving your discarded shirt and tossing it into your lap, his eyes still heavy and dark as he watches you scramble to pull it back on.
In the passenger seat is your sweatshirt. He retrieves it, the fabric snapping sharply in the cramped cabin as he shakes it out. He doesn't just hand it to you; he unzips it, guiding your arms into the sleeves, his touch lingering on your shoulders.
His thumbs dig into the sensitive muscles there as he pulls the two sides of the fabric forward across your chest. His eyes drop to watch slowly, deliberately, as your still-pebbled breasts disappear beneath the fabric before he pulls the zipper all the way up. Smoothing it over your hips, his palms press firmly against you, anchoring you in place.
"There," he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly sound against your ear as he leans in close. He traces the shell of your ear with his tongue, a final, chilling tease before he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. "Much better. Now you almost look like I didn't just ruin you."
He settles back into his seat, his gaze shifting to the road ahead. His demeanor is already cooling into that familiar, untouchable composure that makes your pulse jump, leaving you shivering in the sudden, heavy silence of the car.
You climb back into the passenger seat, your body feeling raw and disjointed, struggling to find your center as the reality of your surroundings begins to bleed back in.
He reaches forward and twists the ignition, the engine turning over with a low, throaty growl that vibrates through the floorboards and snaps the quiet night in two.
An awkward, heavy pause stretches between you, thick with the weight of what just occurred and the absolute secrecy required to survive it.
Finally, he glances over at you, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "Alright, you know the drill," he says, his voice flat. "Quick. Don't look back."
You look toward your house, the windows dark and still, then back at him. The contrast is jarring.
"Go," he commands, his voice dropping into something sharp.
You reach for the handle, your movements sluggish and your body heavy with the lingering ache of him. You slip out of the car, the cool night air instantly biting against your overheated skin.
You gently close the passenger door, the click of the latch barely a whisper in the quiet street. But before you can take a step, you freeze.
Jon is leaning across the center console, his eyes locked onto yours through the open window. He whistles lightly, a low, sharp sound that stops you dead in your tracks.
"And try to wash that look off your face before you walk through the door," he adds, his voice smooth and dangerous. "I’d hate for your father to know what you've been up to."
You don’t dare look back as you pull your hand from the frame and turn toward the house. Your heart is hammering against your ribs, the quiet of the street ringing in your ears.
You force yourself to keep walking, your legs feeling like lead, each step a jarring reminder of the ache deep inside you. The ache he left.
You feel his eyes burning into the back of you. A dark, silent silhouette in the driver’s seat, waiting until you’re safely swallowed by the shadows of your own front door.
Your hands fly quickly to your cheeks, rubbing ferociously to scrub the flush and ruin from your expression.
The diner parking lot is half-full, the colorful light from the neon sign casting color over the inside of Frank’s truck. His truck is parked way in the back, under the only tree that still has leaves, far enough from the entrance that no one walking out is going to notice you two.
You’re in the passenger seat, skirt shoved up around your hips, one of his big hands gripping your thigh to hold you open while the other works between your legs. Two thick fingers are already buried inside you, curling slow and deep, the wet sound of it obscenely loud in the quiet. Every time he drags them out, your cunt clenches around nothing, and he pushes back in like he’s got all the time in the world.
“Fuck, look at you,” he mutters, eyes fixed on where his fingers disappear into you. “Dripping all over my seats. Your old man would lose his mind if he knew what I was doing to his little girl.”
Your phone starts buzzing on the dash.
Dad.
You reach for it on instinct, but Frank catches your wrist and pins it down to the seat. He doesn’t even slow the rhythm of his fingers. If anything, he goes harder, scissoring them open so you feel every stretch.
“Leave it,” he says, voice low and rough. The phone keeps vibrating, screen lighting up as your dad kept calling. Frank glances at it, then back at your face, and a mean little smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “He’s probably wondering where you are. Wondering why you’re not home yet. Meanwhile you’re over here getting this pussy fucked by my fingers in my truck like a desperate little thing.”
“S-stop… hnn” You plead, a little embarrassed by his words.
The call goes to voicemail. The phone goes quiet for three seconds—then starts buzzing with texts. You can make them out from where you’re pinned.
Sweetheart where are you ?
When are you coming home ?
Call me I’m getting worried ?
Frank’s thumb finds your clit and starts rubbing tight, filthy circles. You bite your lip to suppress any moans from coming out, you didn’t want anyone to see you like this. Your hips jerking against his hand, grinding against his palm. He’s watching you fall apart and clearly loving every second of it.
“F-Frank… ah—” You bite your lip hard, but it doesn’t stop the next soft, broken sound. “Mmmph…”
“You gonna answer this time?” he asks, almost conversational, even as he stretches your pussy deeper with his fingers. The stretch punches a soft, broken sound out of you.
“Or you just gonna let him keep calling while I ruin this pretty cunt?”
You shake your head, another needy moan falls from your lips. Frank leans in, mouth brushing your ear, fingers never stopping.
“Good girl. Let him worry. Let him sit there wondering where his daughter is while she’s getting her pussy played with by the guy who’s supposed to look out for her.” His voice drops even lower, rougher.
“Bet he’d never guess you’re this wet for me. Bet he’d never guess how easy you open up when I get my hands on you.”
The phone buzzes again. Third call. Frank glances at it, then deliberately curls his fingers against that spot that makes your thighs shake. You’re dripping down his wrist now, soaking the seat, the wet sounds of him fingering you almost louder than the ringing.
“He’s worried,” Frank murmurs, amused. “Must really want to know where you are. Shame you’re a little busy right now.” He pumps his fingers faster, the wet squelch filthy and constant. “Busy trying not to come all over my hand in a public parking lot.”
Your head falls back against the seat. You’re so close it hurts. Frank knows it—he can feel you fluttering around his fingers—and he doesn’t let up for a second. His free hand slides up under your shirt, rough palm dragging up your stomach to cup your breast through your bra and squeeze.
“Ah— Frank…” Your voice is shaky, half-desperate already. “It feels… nnh…”
“That’s it,” he growls. “Ride my fingers. Show me how bad you need it. Your dad can leave as many voicemails as he wants. You’re not going anywhere until I say so.”
The phone finally goes silent. Frank doesn’t even glance at it this time. He’s too focused on the way your cunt is clenching around him, the way your hips are rocking to meet every thrust of his hand. He leans down and bites the side of your neck, just hard enough to mark, and then he’s talking right against your skin.
“Next time he calls, maybe I’ll answer. Tell him you’re with me. Tell him I’m taking real good care of you.” His fingers drive in deep and stay there, grinding against that perfect spot while his thumb works your clit mercilessly. He chuckles against your neck, “Wouldn’t even be a lie.”
You’re trembling, thighs locked around his forearm, so close you can barely breathe. Frank’s watching your face like it’s the only thing in the world that matters, eyes dark and hungry.
“Frank… m’gonna— Don’t stop, please don’t stop— ”
“Come on my fingers,” he orders, voice like gravel. “Right here in this parking lot. Let me feel it. And when you’re done, I’ll drive you to your dad and you can act like nothing happened.”
His fingers curl one more time, hard and precise, then you shatter.
You come with a broken little cry, clamping down around his fingers so tight he groans. He works you through it, slower now but just as deep, milking every last pulse out of you until you’re twitching and oversensitive. Only then does he ease his fingers out, shiny and soaked, and bring them up to your mouth.
“Clean them off,” he says quietly. You take his fingers in your mouth and whimper as he shoves his fingers deeper, making you gag slightly.
Your phone lights up one more time on the dash—Dad, again—but Frank just reaches over, silences it, and pockets it like it belongs to him.
“He can wait.” he says, starting his truck.
tag list ; @emmaisafarthead , @eeuthymiia , @danyiisstuff , @prrincessbabydoll , @izukus-wife , @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing , @mattchal0tve , @1elianae , @skzlover143
✧ warnings: smut, praise, talking you through it, p in v sex, cowgirl position, some aftercare, language, rpf, creampie, nsfw below the cut
✧ a/n: title too on the nose? sorry i had so much fun with this. also should i start a tag list? (w.c. 1k)
✧ song: pyramids by frank ocean ᢉ𐭩
you were only a little tipsy as you walked out of the bar into the cool night, clutching at jon’s bicep.
tonight at the bar, a group of girls were having a bachelorette party, western themed, apparently. the bride—who was drunk out of her mind—gave you one of the cheapy little glittery cowboy hats on her way out.
jon grinned when you tripped in your heels as you walked over a curb, “you alright, mama?” he chuckled, shaking his head. he grabbed the flimsy red cowboy hat out of your hands, placing it on your head, “there. now you’re a real cowgirl.”
you giggled, adjusting the hat. “you saying i wasn’t before?”
he elbowed you in the shoulder as he opened the passenger door. “nah, ya always are.”
you slid into his sleek black truck, taking your heels off with a sigh. “never let me wear these again.”
“sorry, girl. love ‘em on ya too much,” jon replied, starting the engine.
the second you were back at your place, he was on you, grabbing at your waist, your thighs. he kissed you and you could taste the liquor on his lips.
he shut the front door absentmindedly, pushing you up against it. “christ, baby, you looked so damn good for me tonight. been waitin’ on this.”
“jon, please—“ you whispered, already a mess. your panties were soaked, thighs pressed together.
“yeah, i know, hold on…” he drawled, kissing up your neck, biting a little. his hands pushed up your tiny dress, rubbing your thighs. “fuck, so pretty for me, mama.”
you whined, hips bucking against his hands.
jon chuckles, grinning. “relax, i got ya.” he pulls your panties to the side, fingertips brushing your pussy. “jesus, girl.”
you claw at his shoulders when he barely pushes his middle finger in, desperate for more. he plunges in, pumping his finger a few times. but, much to your disappointment, he stops. he sets you down with a grunt, sucking your slick off his finger.
you pout, clearly upset. “jon, i need…”
he grins again, slapping your ass, pushing you into the hallway with another tap to your ass. “get on the bed.”
a cock-drunk smile on your face, you practically skip down the hall to your shared bedroom.
jon’s quick to follow, bending over to pick up your little cowboy hat, which had fallen off when he shoved you against the door, with one hand. he uses the other hand to unbuckle his belt while walking to the bedroom.
eager to please, you peeled off your dress while you waited on him, lying on the bed in the lingerie set he bought you.
you watch as he comes in, shoving down his jeans, kicking them to the floor next to your dress. he shucks off his t-shirt, too.
“uh uh, wanna do something, alright?” he says when he sees you laying down.
you sit up. “like what?”
he places the cowboy hat on your head again. “wanna see my pretty girl ride me. said you’re a real cowgirl, right?”
you grin, practically scrambling up. “yeah, i am. wanna ride you, daddy.”
he watched you sit back on your knees, big smile on his face. “‘s what i thought.”
he settles on the bed with a grunt, sitting up to see you. “goddamn, you look fuckin’ sexy like this. wearin’ what i bought you.”
he grabs you, pulling your face to his, kissing down your body, cupping your lace-covered breast. your fingernails rake through his hair, lips on his pokey beard.
“oh, jon,” you moan when he pinches your covered nipple.
you palm his hard cock through his boxers, and he groans. he grabs you by your hips, sitting you up on his lap. “atta girl.”
he reaches his arm behind you, his bicep pressed into your side as he undoes the clasp on your bra. it falls away after you pull it off, your nipples hard.
“you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, baby.” jon lifts his hips up, readjusting.
you peel his boxers down, revealing his thick cock, dark, curly hair trailing from his stomach to the base. he hoists you up so you can take off your panties.
he throws his head back when you drag your soaked pussy along the tip of his dick, groaning. you carefully sink onto him, exhaling a breath.
you gasp as he bottoms out, jutting his hips up to meet yours. “fuck, jon, feels so good—“
he gropes at your waist. “squeezin’ me so tight. fuck…” after you’ve adjusted, he grips onto your hips again. “move your hips back and forth, yeah? shit, just like’at…”
you hump back and forth, testing to see what he likes best.
“fuck, now—go up and down a lil’,” he pants, moving his hips in time with yours.
you raise up just a bit, crying out in pleasure as you sink back down, his cock going deeper.
“this good?” he asks, grunting.
“yeah—so, so good…” you reply, holding onto his shoulders. his thumb swipes over your puffy clit again and again, earning a whimper out of you.
he feels your pussy flutter around him, and he can tell you’re close. “gonna come all over my cock, babygirl? make a mess?”
“yeah, please, i need you—“ you whine.
he keeps rubbing your clit, sending you over the edge, until you’re gasping and panting, hands on his chest.
“there—shit, there she is…” he praises, still rutting into you. “gonna come inside ya, okay?”
you nod, now a mess in his arms. a few lazy rolls of your hips has him sputtering his cum into you, groaning your name, riding out the high.
he slips out, then pulls you into his chest, squeezing you into a hug. he pets your hair, speaking softly. “did so good for me, baby. so good.”
after you both catch your breath, he rolls you off of him with a kiss, then grabs the cowboy hat off your head. “be right back.”
he sets the hat on the dresser, grabs some sweats out of his drawer, and goes into the bathroom. you hear the faucet run, and then he’s back with a damp rag, sweatpants low on his hips.
“here, let me clean you up honey.” he wipes the rag over your stomach and carefully over your sensitive pussy.
he throws the rag to the floor and climbs up next to you, nestling your face into his chest, his biceps around you, kissing the top of your head. “you okay?”
“uh huh. so good,” you mumble, exhausted.
he sighs, running his fingers through your hair. “love you, girl.”
TW: sub!black!reader, BDSM dynamics, brat!reader, mean dom!frank but he gets nicer, age gap(frank is 43, reader is 22), riding, hair pulling, hickeys, face slapping, spanking, cock worship, choking, belly bulge, reader going into subspace.
"yeah, look at you, riding my fucking dick." he hissed as he had your head pulled back by your hair, staring at all the hickeys he left all over your chocolate skin, specifically your neck. that comment made your knees buckle, making you slow down your bouncing on his thick length. "don’t you fucking stop, who told you to stop?" he said harshly, pulling your hair harder which made you hiss in pain which quickly subsided when he began bucking up into you, your ass meeting his hips as he forced his cock deep into you which made you moan aloud, "’s too much daddy!" you whined, his dick bulging out of your stomach but he ignored you, "wasn’t saying that when you was teasing me outside, right? now shut the fuck up & take this dick." he said sternly, before he laid you down flat on your back, "please, i'm sorry!" you pouted, using your signature puppy dog eyes to get out of a situation which always works. he looked you in your eyes & paused, your heart beating quickly before he looked down, repositioning himself as he entered, "nah, you not." he told you, which left you a bit flabbergasted.
"wh— shut the fuck up." he told you after delivering a firm smack to your face, making you whimper as your eyes teared up. you gave him a mean look but that didn’t do anything but make him laugh, "oh what? you gonna be a big baby & cry?" he taunted as he began to move his hips at an insanely fast pace. "look like an angry puppy, you’re not intimidating nobody." he told you as he grabbed you by your neck, choking you tightly but just enough where you can breathe. the slight lack of oxygen made your head spin as his monstrous cock dug out your insides, "mmhm, this tight ass pussy.." he mumbled to himself as he rammed into you. he watched as your mouth fell open while your stomach turned violently, an orgasm approaching rather quickly while he played in your guts. your eyes rolled back & he stared at your face, carefully examining every little detail of it before he smacked your face gently this time, "come back to earth, you ain’t cummin’ yet." he said as he pulled out, leaving you right there which made you whine more, "daddyyy!!~" you complained once more. "don't ‘daddy!~' me you spoiled brat, you lucky i'm even giving it to you after that bullshity stunt you pulled today." he mocked you as he clapped back, effortlessly flipping you on your stomach before pulling your hips up; now in doggy.
"you wanna say sorry?" he asked as he pushed himself in slowly— no matter how many times he’s fucked you, his girth was still shocking to you, you’re even surprised that he can even fit into you. "fuck you!" you spat at him which was the wrong call. he grabbed you by your hair, pulling you back to look at him, "fuck me?.. fuck me??" he repeated as he began to fuck you without any remorse, his hips snapping against your backside with extreme force, the tip of his cock hitting your cervix which made your eyes roll. "nahnahnah, what happened to ‘fuck you’?" he questioned as he continued to deliver inhumane thrusts, staring at your contorted face before he grabbed your neck, now gripping both your hair & neck. “i see, you just wanted me to fuck you like a slut, hm?" he asked before a sharp sting was delivered to your backside, causing you to yelp as you tried to push yourself away from him but he was a strong, beefy man. you couldn’t escape him. "no running now, babygirl, you're gonna take every inch of me." he whispered in your ear before he slowed down his thrusts, going slow but really fucking deep. "o-oh sh-shit!~" you moaned, his cock constantly hitting your G-spot the deeper he went. you even started to shake a little bit, "oh, that feel good? right here?" he asked before he went back to his ruthless thrusts, fucking you like he hated you. "tell me how good this dick feel." he said as he let your hair go, delivering more spanks to your ass.
"feels so good daddy, real fucking good!" you moaned aloud, your mind cloudy— only focused on his voice & cock. "keep going babygirl, don’t you stop." he told you as his a knot started to tighten in his lower stomach, making him grunt lowly, "i love your cock daddy, feels ‘s good!" you said pathetically as he grabbed your neck, pulling your head back & looking into your blown brown pupilled eyes. "oh, there's my princess.." he said softly, rubbing your cheek gently which made you shudder, your mind blank but focused on him. "you're doing so good, so fucking good." he told you as he stared into your eyes, both of you staring at each other with lust & love as he tore you apart from the inside. "can i cum, daddy? please can i cum?!" you pleaded, the familiar knot building back up rather quickly which made your walls flutter around him. "you think you deserved it after today?" he questioned, taunting you as he knew he was gonna cum soon as well. "i’m so sorry daddy, so very sorry!" you pouted, which made his heart melt; he knew you were being genuine. "good girl.." he purred as he started to deliver slow thrusts, "cum all over my dick, babygirl." he told you, which you did; your warm walks contracting as you creamed all over his length, whining quietly as your body jerked in intervals while he came inside of you with a loud groan, pushing your upper body down so now your back is arched. he held onto your hips as he pulled you back onto his cock, making sure you got every last drop of his cum.
(NOT PROOFREAD!!!!, frank is DEFINITELY ooc, kissing, fluff, maybe like two swear words?, established relationship, i think that’s it..)
wc: 1.5k
a/n: this just came to me kinda randomly… i hope it’s actually good bc i went back and forth on quite a bit of it. this is the longest thing i’ve written in QUITE a while, so again, i do hope it’s enjoyable… my flow and pace is weird… also kinda forgot how oddly tumblr formats lmfao
when frank answered his phone after the 50th ring, it was extremely begrudgingly. he was just trying to finally relax after his long day. he didn’t even actually look at the number calling him because he was so over the constant ringing coming from the little nightstand beside the bed. with an annoyed huff he speaks into the receiver without moving, “what do y’want?”
it’s quiet on the other end of the phone for a moment. the long pause has him even more annoyed. all he wants is to lay down and just have the night to himself, but someone else had a different idea, calling him in the middle of the night. he’s straining his ears to try and hear anything on the other end of the call. he can kind of hear music? maybe some muffled rumbling of an engine? who the hell even called him?
”hiiii frankieee.”
oh...
your name didn’t even cross his half-awake mind when he answered the phone. he was so focused on just getting to relax after the long frustrating and exhausting day that he kind of forget you were going out for the night. you on the other hand? you had kissed him goodbye prior to going out, bidding him goodnight, and are now currently buckled into the passenger seat of your best friend’s car as she tries to drive you and your other friends back home from a night out. your friend was going to call him for you, but you’d beat her to it, unfortunately.
“hey pretty girl,” he shifts to sit up in bed, the comforter falling to pool in his lap. now he’s not as upset about being woken up in the middle of the night. his gorgeous gorgeous girl was calling him and that thought made him smile a little.
“hi frankkk, ’m comin’ home now!” you slur in response. his smile drops. he didn’t know you were drinking tonight. he remembers you kissing him goodbye earlier in the night and saying you’d be going out with your girls, but nothing about drinking.
”baby… were you drinking tonight?”
”maybeee.”
“yeah? which friend is driving you home, baby? can you hand her the phone?” he asks so he can speak to someone who’s sober and can actually explain the situation to him; just so he can prepare for you when you get to him. a small hum comes from your end of the call before your friend, amelia, speaks into the receiver. the run down she gives frank is very simple. the group of girls went out for dinner and then drinks and you had one too many to drink. yeah, that explains it perfectly. he thanks her for driving you home before hanging up.
—
when you get home frank is already standing outside, ready to help you out of amelia’s car and into your shared home. he walks up to the passenger seat with a bitten-back grin, helping you out while mouthing a “thank you so much. drive safe,” to your best friend.
“frankieee, hiiiii.”
”hey mama, you have fun tonight?”
”mhmmm, had sooo much fun,” you giggle against his arm while stumbling towards the front door beside him. he’s practically holding you up with one hand firmly on your shoulder and his arm wrapped around you. it’s a struggle and a half to get from the sidewalk to the front door, but once you’re inside your shared home, he immediately picks you up and takes you to your shared bedroom. with the alcohol crowding your system you move so much slower. and you babbled the whole way, going on and on about things that didn’t even make any sense. of course, you didn’t care about the way frank was practically manhandling you, you were focused on… you don’t even remember anymore.
“…’fore i left, we kissed, an’ i was thinkin’ ‘bout that all night, frankie,” you murmur as your foot slides off his thighs. your legs swing on the edge of the bed between his absentmindedly. despite the haze in your mind, something was telling you that this was right, this was how it always is.
frank gently set you on the edge of your shared bed and brings one of your delicate ankles up in his big, warm hand. he places your foot on his thigh to take your heel off of your foot, then he does the other one and tosses your heels across the room near your little shoe rack by your bedroom door. he’s taking his time with helping you out. relishing in the way you’re being so cute, all helpless and slurring your words, rambling nonsense; then your babbling gets interesting.
”hmm, is that right?”
“mhmm! but it was a… somethin’ good,” you grin up at him, fighting a hiccup halfway through your sentence. your doe eyed gaze is glassy and your pupils swallow your irises.
”why’s that, ma?” he nudges your legs open with his knees to stand between your thighs. his hands move to sit on either side of your hips, keeping you there, nice and close with no other place to go than further up on the bed.
”’cause wanted more wh-when i got home. soooo much more, please?” you lean closer, hovering your lips just above his, waiting to see if he’d bite or not. he can smell just how strong the alcohol on your breath is. he knows that now is really not the time to dirty the sheets.
”yeah? not tonight honey, ‘m sorry,” he informs as his hand slides from beside your hip to the back of your neck. the zipper of your little black dress is pulled down with a gentle touch as a pout grows on your soft, glossy lips. that’s a little cruel, he’s going to deny what you want most while undressing you. although, his reverent touch is so tender, like you’re made of a delicate porcelain he’s terrified to break.
”b-but.”
”i’m really sorry, baby. i’d rather you remember it in the morning, hm?” he presses one of the softest kisses to your forehead and lingers there. his hands make quick work of your dress, then he’s moving away, albeit reluctantly. grabbing warmer clothes than the mini dress you opted for. not that he cared, he knew you liked dressing like that. he loved seeing you all dolled up for yourself.
“would ‘member it!!” you protest, then hiccup and pout more. yeah, there’s no way in hell you’re going to remember any of this come morning.
“mhmm, sure. let’s just get you into something comfy, okay sweetheart?” he tosses the black fabric near your heels and slips you into the soft neutral colored crew neck and cotton pajama pants. once you’re in the new clothes, frank stands between your legs again. his hands rest tenderly on your hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the cotton waistband of your pants. then, he leans forward to connect your lips, but it’s not full of the quiet hunger you’d hoped for.
when he pulls away, one of his hands bushes a strand of hair behind your ear before finding itself on your jaw. his lips are shiny with something other than your swapped spit. you watch as he licks his lips and giggle when his brows furrow together. your lip gloss held up throughout the night with a few reapplies and coated his lips when he kissed you, “this a new lip gloss, baby?”
“mhmm, y’don’t like it?” you frown. his thumb comes up to wipe away the remaining makeup product. instead of a verbal answer, he angles your head toward him to kiss you again. harder this time, like maybe he was finally indulging your little request, with his lips pressing against yours then moving to find a better position. his hand on your hip pulls you flush against him while the one on your jaw finds purchase in your hair. he grins against your lips and for a moment, you think your drunken charm and new lip gloss worked.
you were getting some tonight!!
then frank pulls away. his warm breath on your face with his forehead pressed against yours before he murmurs, “no baby, i don’t like it. doesn’t taste right.”
oh… well so much for that.
“c’monnnn, i jus’ got it,” you huff to which he shakes his head at you. he almost laughs but bites it back.
”let’s just get you to bed, pretty girl, y’gonna have a killer headache tomorrow if you’re pouting about some lip gloss with me.” why did he have to be so reasonable right now? it’s getting so annoying. you roll your eyes but have no real argument to move further into the bed with him.
once he has you properly snuggled in, his big arms wrapped around your delicate body and your face pressed into his chest, frank presses a kiss to the top of your head. the blankets surrounding you are so warm with frank there. the alcohol in your system doesn’t even stand a chance at running your mouth or making your eyes wander. instead, your lids get heavier and heavier. eventually, you’re sleeping in frank’s arms and he can relax once more.
although, when the morning rolls around it’s a lot of frank holding your hair back and him teasing you over everything you said that… shocker, you don’t remember.
౨౿ ⁺ thinking about being hiked up on all fours, face down and ass up on frank’s makeshift mattress. the glow of the light bub swinging above you catching a perfect glimpse of the swell of your ass that swallowed up a cute pink thong with the glittery letters “juicy” on it. spreading your checks behind you with his large hand, frank moved your thong to the side careful to not rip it since you loved it oh so much. trying to see what he was doing you tilted your head backwards toward him. “ah ah. don’t worry ‘bout what’s going on back here doll, focus on petey will ya’?” bringing your gaze back to peter, he was sprawled out in front of you, cock standing to attention and waiting for the warmth of your wet mouth. tip a beating red with beads of precum leaking out of his cute slit.
🐆 sev’s comments ┆i saw others back writing for frankie and had to share my thoughts. this may become a frank blog now … (kidding!) and when tf did tom holland get this fine?
