visions, gentle, baby (frank x reader)
frank x reader frank knows things, and he's a good guesser. he's good at what he does. hi hehehh this is a one off porn uhm yeah love yall tw: somnophila, slight, daddy kink!! FORERVAAAAAA, patronising language, he kinda babies you, you guys gotta keep quiet. she/her reader, dad issues in general, issue with your body. frank is soooooo nice wc/ 2000 also, i listened to this song, while writing this. i think it goes along well.
You’re unsure how it started. Frankie is perceptive. knowing. He likes watching you. It's about understanding, he explains over dinner- watching a show you can’t pronounce on his couch. “I just watch to see stuff you won’t tell me”. You shudder to think what he can notice subconsciously. He’s good at that stuff. Like how your lips puff out when you sleep on your side, what kind of breathing is equal to how much physical /emotional pain you are in. He can spot it. Code words, repeated phrases. He’s a writer in that way, like a magpie- collecting the parts of you are that are visual, not told- and storing them in his memory like something shiny.
This is probably one of those moments you are equally embarrassed, and astounded by his perception.
You didn’t feel good today. You just felt normal. Nothing brilliant, far away enough from your menstrual cycle to be in pain, or wrapped in a pit of extreme sadness. You just didn’t feel good. Not pretty, or astounding, smart or funny. Kind of loose at the ends. unglued. Frankie pokes at you earlier In the day, before he heads to work “you good? baby?” And you nod wordlessly, then mention something half-hearted about a walk. And then the texts start.
And look, your semi-positive/mainly difficult relationship with your father is a common topic of discussion, specifically cause frank sr. is so obsessed with you that your own fathers half-disinterest in you is confusing to the poor boy. But he’s been doing things, specific- knowing things. Just small gestures of something you could maybe be into. He’s a gentleman, sure. Opens doors, buys dinner- picks up flowers on the way home. But there are other things. Like how he holds your face in two hands instead of one, he mutters before you go “m’so proud of you -“. He calls you his baby, honey, his little one. The last one, churns something retched in your stomach. An over exposed nerve.
It’s hard enough, pretending you don’t have a neon sign over your head that reads “my father and I are complicated” but you know, with his perfect, evil understanding. Frank can see and hear the sign buzzing loud and clear.
He texts around 11;30-, hey baby, jus checkin’ on ya. x’ and you send him back a picture of your outfit for the walk and an all good ox as you usually would. You turn over in the mirror, forcing yourself not to pick apart each section of your body. But the notification of a voice note cuts you out of that loop.
*Hiiii little love, looking’ awful pretty-but hey, s’gonna be cold so chuck on a scarf for me? Please baby, no fussing- and look, you go on your lil’ lady walk n have the best time, but I want you sleeping when I come back, kay? I’ll keep it quiet for you, don’worry-ijus think you just need a little extra today, yeah? Yeah, anyway- ill be home round likeeee 4?? N’ I’ll bring dinner, miss you little, be good for me*
He’s spoken like this before, when he’s slipped inside you late at night, being a confusing mix of kind and caring, whilst feeling dirty and wrong. He lifts your leg slowly and tucks himself inside you, moaning about what a perfect fit his lil’ girl is. And it can’t just be something he’s seeing in you. He has it in him too. The need to be revered, in control. Smart, and understood. You wouldn’t take that away from him, where it comes out in your relationship is your business. But you put the scarf on, and send a picture with a large smile. He thumbs up the message and texts you- atta’ girl x’ .you try and hold in the noise your body makes without instruction.
The walk is fine, the air is cold. You pick up some new bath soap, a book of essays on myspace culture and how ranking friends is a terrible idea for social media. When you get home, frank texts you again, unprompted- home safe? X’ you text back and picture of your feet in the door. You begin to move into the kitchen, you coat cold-air-damp and heavy. Frank voice notes again-
*good job baby, get all cosy, you deserve it- wear that new shirt you got, the one last week? N’ get comfy on the couch yeah? I’ll be back in a lil’ while, just gettin' together love, I’ve got you f’tonight. All mine- thats a good girl*
The room is cold, but you haven’t felt warmer all day. Your gut is heavy, the need to rub your hand along your gut and then lower is palpable. But doing what frank says feels good, so you do it. The new shirt is low cut, but comfy- so there’s no major complaints. The couch, is that perfect kind of leather fresh. It reminds you of sleeping on long drives home when you were small, or the first time you and frank kissed in his car. Leaning over his console and flicking at his shoulder till he faced you. He’s been a lot more perceptive since then.
It's easy to fall asleep, specifically because the memory of frank’s voice rings through your ears, small instructions spoke simply, spoke perversely. But he knows, and you know- that you both need this. Whatever ‘this’ is, is undefined and blurry, out of focus and warm. ember-like. You can hold your hands around the centre of your relationship and feel no burn, feel no pain, just a warmth that works. But, when the itch of nothing crosses your spine, the ongoing blank feeling that reminds you of its presence rises it’s head, franks palm would lock over yours, and he forces you to squeeze that ember, so when the sharp sear of hot skin wakes you up- you know it was done by someone who knows you needed it. And by god alone, you needed this today.
The door clicks open a few hours later, and he crosses the room swift, dropping his things by the door and shucking off his shoes. He stands over your for a bit, watching you sleep- looking at your open palm facing the sky on the cushion. He knows it’s dirty. But you are much worse than anyone could let on. He places a hand over your mouth, holding down firmly giving you a compressed space to breath through your nose. The force of his hand on your jaw wakes you up, and his smiling face, gleeful and warm- is what you see first. “Shh-shh hey baby, gotta be lowf’me okay- know you’re usually so loud, but I need a little bit of quiet, yeah-wa, wake up baby-“
You grab one hand at his arm and he laughs, empathetic. You’re half awake state makes you seem silly, pathetic. Your voice an octave higher, you whine into his palm, and he ah ah ah’s at you till you’re calm again, but by this point, he’s already kneeling over your thighs, and rolling you legs to the side and your hands are now both securely wrapped around his arm. “Nice, nice n’quiet thats a girl, sogoood honey, good job-yeah-yeah”
He swipes a finger through you, holding his hand up to show you how wet you are at the show he’s putting on. Humiliating, and exactly what your brain considers attractive. He laughs to himself, then mutters something about you being so g’damn easy, and you can’t tell if this has been a trick, all day. He’s wanted you strung out and needy, desperate for him before he even gets back. But when you brain spirals on, he quizzes at your jaw, forcing you to look at him with a wordless instruction, “no-none of that sugar, not big enough to think that-that hard are we? Nah, nah I’ll do the thinking for the both of us, kay?”
He unzips his jeans, lucky you, embroidered down by the zipper. You kick yourself mentally, for not wearing prettier panties- but he looks at your cunt now, exposed and wet- like he’s discovered a treasure worth billions. He stares at himself entering you, commiting the visual to memory as you breathe heavy into his hand, a high whine escaping through the gaps in his fingers. He and laughs, cause of course he does, and then shakes his head in faux-disappointment. “Nah-no baby, here-here, good girl, wow-so grown up hmm?” He moans- as he pushes two fingers into the plush of your mouth, while rocking his hips in and out of you.
You can hear him think it, loud and clear. As obvious as your proverbial neon sign. You can feel it too, how hard this make him- as he holds off on speeding up his thrusts to watch you drool around his fingers. So you throw him a bone, and start sucking of his digits, wet and warm- and still so quiet. His jaw drops, like he’s heard the best gossip in the world. He speeds up then, moaning about how good you are being, how gross you must feel, how nice you are to frank-to your daddy.
As soon as the word drops out his mouth, you know you’ve won something. His trust maybe, or his proof of knowing you, understanding the bits that can’t catch up to the others. You moan into his hand, embarrassed in the best way- as he fucks into you faster, apologising as he fucks you at a brutal pace. The whole time, his ,mouth dropping obscenity “shh-shh quiet, good job baby, who knew huh? My little cock-warmer could be so quiet? Yeah baby, yeah I know, you wanna talk, say thank you, such good manners on you baby-yeah, yeah I known know, you can thank daddy-lat-later okay? Mmm, that’s my girl”
You’re still holding on to his arm, gripping tight with eyes wide open, Half shock- half the refusal to look away. Like a car crash, or a tsunami- wonder, fear, all-final. He moves to rub circles over your clit, tugging your shirt down to expose your chest in the process, and then laughs at your prone body once again, calling you a show off- as he watches your breathing change, sharp pants and a slight shake in your shoulders.
And once more, frank is fucking perceptive. He fucks you, nodding over you- as he snaps his hips into yours- “take-take it all, cmon baby, shh-my cunt’ thats my girl, fuckin, Jesus so tight, fuck, fuck fuck-“ cumming inside you as you finish around him, your walls closing around his cock. Locking him inside you. You pull him down, tugging his arm harshly so he falls on top of you, still snug inside you- and kiss him. Your mouth wet and warm from when he finger fucked your tongue. He nods into the kiss again, agreeing with your choice.
You don’t fall asleep, you make out for a bit- then talk about his day, watching tv a little over his shoulder until your legs get restless. He kisses your cheek twice, and holds you into him, as close as he can. “You tired baby?” And you nod, impressed again. Of course he knew you were exhausted. I mean it is his fault, in a way,
