Tell me more about that at twin… What type are we thinking
Okay SOOOO
Reader is part of the band's touring crew and they all love her. She gets featured in Life on the Murder Scene and she's just the sweetest, most put together, responsible, kind person out there. She looks after her guys...
And also fucks Gerard and Frank on the down low.
It starts off as something to blow off steam on the road. They don't do groupies, and well... She's their girl. They love her. They trust her. They think she's hot.
Then they're all fucked up one night and Frank offers to film Reader and G fucking because he's a little perv and he wants to watch it later. Then, since none of their faces are in it, they somehow all agree on putting it on the Internet.
They start a website. And it blows the fuck up.
Frank usually stays behind the camera and directs, because hiding his tattoos is a pain in the ass. And he likes bossing the two of them around.
Nobody knows who these people are. A few people theorize, and actually get it right, but it gets written off as conspiracy theory shit.
Me: yes, you love synyster gates, we know, you love synyster gates so much, he is the light of your life, you love him so much, you love synyster gates, we KNOW, you love synyster gates, you fucking love synyster gates ok, we know, we get it, YOU LOVE SYNYSTER GATES WE GET IT
omg yes. I love the idea of any of the four guys landing a baddie because they're all lowkey dorks but let's talk about Frankie specifically
guess! (punk!frank iero x Y2Kbaddie!reader) 🔞
He'd be soooo proud to be getting attention from the prettiest girl at the party. He knows you're out of his league, and if he was anybody else, he might be embarrassed by this. Might try to overcompensate.
But he's Frank. So he kinda gets off on it.
He gets your name tattooed on him. Horrible idea, really. But you happen to love him enough to be cool with it. He's just showing you that he belongs to you, anyway.
Assuming this is Pencey/Bullets/early Revenge era he doesn't have a whole lot of money to throw around, but God he wishes that he did so he could take you shopping and fund your manicures on the regular. He wants to spoil you, wants to give you the world, but it's hard. He's an aspiring sugar daddy.
He knows that you like showing off your assets in your skimpy little outfits. He could be possessive about you showing skin, or make cocky little comments to his friends about how lucky he is to have bagged all that, but he doesn't do either. He's quiet. Humble. Lets you do your thing and show off all you want, without saying a damn word.
But then he'll pull you into a guest room at a house show, and things switch up as soon as he gets you alone.
The door is barely closed before he undoes your jeans and shoves them down. Because he's a little shit, he makes sure to snap the string on your thong before pulling it to the side and beginning to work at you with practiced fingers.
"Such a fucking pretty girl," he coos at you, genuine adoration shining in his hazel eyes as he fingerfucks you. "Whose pussy is this, baby?"
For all your outward confidence, you can't help but melt for him. "Yours."
He's as proud as can be. "Mmm-hmm. Yeah. It is."
All too soon, he pulls his fingers out of you. You barely have time to whine a protest before he's guiding your hands to undo his belt.
He keeps you held against the wall as he lines himself up with you. "You want it?" he asks, because he's nothing if not a little shit who loves to tease.
You nod eagerly. "Mmm-hmm."
He grins before pushing inside you all at once. You go to clap a hand over your mouth to muffle your scream, but he catches it before you can. Pulls it away. "Let me hear you," he instructs you. "Let them hear you. Don't want any uncertainty about who you belong to."
It should be embarrassing, the way that you moan his name as you defile some poor local musician's spare room. You know that the music outside can only do so much in masking your screams, especially when every other word seems to be a desperate cry of Frankie as you drag your fresh nails down his back.
There's no mistaking it when you step out of the room with your hair and makeup a mess, bite marks blooming on your neck. Unbeknownst to everyone else, his release is dripping down your thighs and into those cute Victoria Secret panties you take such pride in.
As odd of a pair as you may seem, everybody knows that the two of you absolutely own one another, body and soul.
At this point, there's no point in questioning it.
like bullets era frank / reader but with frank being horribly desperate. begging and whining for attention like a puppy 😣
When is he not begging and whining for attention like a puppy honestly
your silence makes it harder to breathe (bullets!frank iero x reader) 🔞
content: free use, recreational drug use ?(weed), unprotected sex, makeup sex, vaginal fingering, praise, frank being a pathetic mutt
Frank would surely resent it if you referred to him as sensitive. He is, of course, but it's a vulnerable, uncomfortable thing to admit. He tries to ignore it, tries to skirt around it.
But then something like this comes up, and both of you are confronted with the reality of it.
He's a needy little bastard.
The two of you got into an argument earlier in the week. It was just a stress-induced squabble,—time, money, making ends meet. Standard for a broke couple in their twenties. It wasn't the straw that broke the camel's back or anything. You're not still mad at him, and you're sure he isn't mad at you.
But you haven't talked about it.
(nsfw under the cut!)
And you certainly haven't fucked since then.
It's nothing personal. Well, not really. Things have just been a little awkward.
You figured it would pass eventually. Things would naturally just go back to normal.
You weren't expecting this.
The two of you smoked a bowl after he got home from the demo session. Fuck, you needed it,— it was his first time recording anything with the band, and it was a disaster. The lead guitarist was standoffish with him the whole time, the producer was only in town for a few days and was rushing everything, the lead singer had a fucking abscess in his tooth apparently, and was being subjected to torture that ranged from hidden medication to being socked in the mouth. All in the name of rock and roll.
Your nerves were frayed. The weed was very necessary.
But there was something to be said about weed when it came to you and Frank. Where you were able to unwind, Frank often got needy.
Not usually as needy as he is right now, though.
He rests his head in your lap like a fucking loyal dog, casting red-tinted eyes up at you. "Hey." He reaches out, running his hand from your shoulder, down over your chest. His wandering hands aren't lost on you. Especially not when his hand wanders down to your hip, absentmindedly tracing the waistband of your jeans.
You drop the roach into the ashtray before focusing your heavy eyes on him. "Mmm?" you hum.
His fingers hook in your belt loop. Like he just needs to be touching you in some way, shape, or form. "Love you."
He looks at you like he's expecting the world and you're the only person that can give it to him.
Of course, you aren't going to leave him hanging. By now, the argument is a non-event. The two of you are just shit at communicating about these things. "I love you, too," you say softly.
It's as though those words are exactly what he needs to hear. The magic wand, waved once to make everything better.
Sleepy as they are, his eyes light up. He lets out a soft whine as his fingers shift, only to hover over the button of your jeans.
"Frank," you murmur. "What're you..."
"Need you," he replies. "Need you, please. Haven't touched you all week, baby..."
It isn't unusual for the two of you to just... drop everything and have sex. You're young. Restless. Can't keep your hands off of each other.
Still, your weed-clouded brain insists on inquiring: "Now?"
"Yeah." He snaps the button on your jeans. Clumsily tugs them down your thighs. Before you know it, you're gasping as he slides his hand into your underwear.
"Please," he repeats as he puts his fingers to work, calloused from a day of playing guitar. He just keeps on begging, even though you haven't denied him of anything. Wouldn't for the world.
His fingers dip inside of you, and he's still whining. "God," he murmurs, pumping them in and out of you. "So wet for me, baby..." He buries his face in your neck, letting out a shaky breath as a trembling moan crawls up your throat. "Fuck..."
Even as he rubs circles against your clit with his thumb, it's as though he's touching you for his pleasure. Not necessarily in a greedy way, though. It's as if he considers touching you to be a privilege that could be revoked at any moment, so he might as well relish it now.
He nips at your neck between kisses and licks, seeming for all intents and purposes like a lovesick puppy. The swimming of your head and the feeling of his hands on you after a week of no contact leave you soaking wet. It doesn't shock you at all when you feel the outline of his cock pressing against your hip, rock hard.
The moments blur into the next as he pushes you down into the couch, positioning himself to hover over you as he frantically attempts to undo his jeans. You take it upon yourself to help him. Hell, at this point, you aren't convinced that the poor thing can think straight.
His entire singleminded focus goes into tugging down your underwear and pushing inside of you. When he does, his eyes roll back. As though he hasn't felt anything better in all his twenty years.
"Thank you," he manages between pathetic moans as he ruts into you, setting an uneven rhythm. His hands wrap around your hips for leverage as he picks up his pace, borderline frantic. "Thank you.... Thank you, baby..."
You can hardly control the moans you let out in response, what with the pace that he's keeping. Still, once you know that he's getting close, you have to remind him of his place. Have to reap the rewards of his misguided guilt.
"Don't be selfish, Frankie," you chide between shaking breaths. "Make me come, too."
His fingers return between your legs. He works you like he works his guitar. Hard. Fast. Fucking dirty.
As soon as you squeeze down on his cock, he stills inside of you, letting out a choked whine as he comes inside whilst you spasm around him.
You let out a contented sigh, sinking down into the sofa. "Good boy," you purr.
Reserved as he may seem, Mikey is the perfect boyfriend. Devoted. Polite. Always looking out for you.
He's the type to open doors for you, keep his hand on your back or his hand linked through yours. He never willingly loses sight of you in any room you're both in. He's obsessed with you, totally and completely.
Body and soul.
The adoration that he feels for you can't easily be put into the words. He's never been good with expressing himself verbally, so he resorts to actions. And it's never any clearer than when the two of you are behind closed doors.
Oddly enough, he seems to lose his inhibitions then.
(nsfw under the cut!)
Mikey isn't usually the most talkative. But when you spread your legs for him and let them kneel before you like some sort of altar...
"Fuck," he whines from his place between your legs. His voice is soft, as usual, but laced with something that most people don't get to hear. A gentle reverence. "Baby... Taste so good..."
Then his face is buried too deep between your legs for him to speak, lapping at you as though his life depends on it.
Right now, you're almost convinced that it does.
He moans against your pussy, looking up at you with hazy eyes. Your back arches as you let out a soft sigh.
The way that he loves you will be your undoing.
You roll your hips against his face, perhaps a bit harder than you should. He doesn't falter. His hands come to rest on your hips, pinning you to the mattress.
And he just keeps devouring you like you're his last fucking meal.
"Mikey..." you breathe, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling. "Gonna come..."
That doesn't stop him. Of course, it doesn't. He almost always ensures that you come at least once doing foreplay. Then another time or two after that.
It's strange. How a man can be so generous that he becomes paradoxically greedy.
You let out a choked sound of pleasure, tugging at his hair as you arch up against him and cry out.
He lets out another pathetic whimper as he pulls away, lips shiny with your wetness. His tongue darts out to lick over them as he climbs up towards the head of the bed. His eyes are heavy-lidded, far away. As though he's the one who just came, rather than you.
You let out an incredulous laugh. "That good, huh?" you ask breathlessly as he hovers over you.
"Mmm-hmm," he confirms before leaning down to kiss you deeply.
You moan into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue as he gently guides your leg over his hip. He guides his cock inside you so carefully, even though you're plenty wet enough to make it easy.
He moans into your mouth as he presses all the way inside you, his breathing shaking ever-so-slightly. You can't help but dig your fingers into his back as he sets a slow, steady rhythm.
He isn't rough with you. He very seldom ever is. He touches you like you're some precious thing that he couldn't stand to break. You seriously doubt that he even has the capacity for it.
But if you asked him to be a little less tender with you, you're certain that he would.
You're pretty sure that he'd do anything for you, if it meant that he could have this for the foreseeable future.
He melts with you, losing his composure completely. His fingers tangle with yours, framing either side of your head. He pulls away from your mouth to bury his face in your neck.
"Fuckin' love you," he murmurs. "So perfect, baby. God..."
You don't register all of the sweet nothings that he mutters against your skin as he releases one of your hands, sliding his own free hand down between your legs to rub slow circles against your clit. You're so used to this unbridled devotion and gratuitous pleasure that all of his sickly sweet sentiments starts to blur together.
You do catch one as you hurtle closer to your second orgasm, however.
"Need you," he says. "Feel like I can't fuckin'... Breathe without you... God, you're everything..."
You're his saving grace, his lifeblood. His everything.
The thought is enough to send you over the edge along with him as he stills on top of you, letting out a choked cry as he fills you up.
Careless? Maybe. But you aren't worried.
Can't bring yourself to worry about anything, when you know that this man would do anything for you, and more.
just think frank telling gee to fuck reader harder or threatening to take over cause gee isn’t fucking reader hard enough
-✂️
omg you're so realllll
He loves her too much and the sex makes it easier for him to get attached. And it pisses Frank the fuck off because he likes watching and listening to her getting railed.
Plus, it naturally makes Frank mad when they're all over each other and giggling like he doesn't exist. When Gerard is whispering things in Reader's ear that he can't hear from his spot in the godforsaken hotel cuck chair.
It's enough for him to momentarily stop the recording and tell him to shape up, or he'll show him how it's done.
A few times, he actually does. But it never really fixes anything.
Just relieves the tension between them for maybe half a second.
hii I wanna be 🪞 anon god I can just imagine the desperate thrusting as he tries to explain how much he wants to be in my orbit forever just starting out slow and so loving and getting more filled with emotions he would go so deep that I can metaphorically feel his cock in my soul
-🪞
omgggg this is so good.
I need desperate Poison. Little bit weepy Poison. Pathetic, falls-to-knees-and-begs-before-you Poison.
Just absolutely in love with you. Terrified of ever losing you.
Fucks you so good, too. Maybe even breeds you, even though you're pretty sure with all the radiation you're exposed to all the time nothing will come of it.
does old man trent reznor count as a band boy? because that weird corset contraption he's got going on the last couple of dates of the tour has my imagination running wild. slutty plumber vibes. is that a thing? it should be
he is my old slutty husband yes 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤 (he would not be able to handle my youthful stamina) ((idk maybe he would he's still a freak as evidenced above))
