Chapter Text
“No.”
You stood in the doorway of Micro’s hideout, staring down the most infuriating man you’d ever met. Frank glared at you through the pouring rain, heaving. He was likely injured or in need of a place to sleep, but his stupid, handsome face had soured your mood immensely.
“Not your call, sweetheart,” he grunted, looking you up and down, though he made no move to shove past you into the hideout.
“No,” you repeated, crossing your arms.
Frank’s nostrils flared. Good riddance.
“Still mad about the last time we saw each other?” He taunted, smirking.
“Fuck you, Frank.”
You slammed the door, hoping it whacked him in his large nose. It wasn’t a matter of anger; it was a matter of principle. That’s what you told yourself, at least. Frank had been circling you for years, walking in and out of your life without a second glance. He’d appear on your doorstep, call you pretty, fuck you better than any man should be capable of, and then disappear for weeks again. You’d done this dance so many times that you’d lost count a long time ago. You were not in the mood to dance anymore.
Frank banged on the door, sparking another wave of anger deep in your bones. He was relentless, but you were stubborn. You ignored it, turning back to the couch you’d been half-asleep on before his unwelcome arrival. A grumble echoed through the door, rattling in your bones. You hesitated, turning back toward the door. You hated yourself for it, but Frank was hard to say no to. He didn’t deserve your kindness, but you extended it to him anyways.
An annoying grunt left your throat as you swung the door open again.
“That was pathetic,” you said, glaring at his still-smirking face. You moved to the side, allowing him into the abandoned building.
“Where’s Micro?” He asked, looking between Micro’s usual haunt in front of the computers and your furious figure.
“Occupied,” you sent him a mocking smile, plopping down on the couch.
“Doing what?” His eyes followed your every move intensely.
“I’m not his mother, Frank. I don’t know.”
You threw your hands up in exasperation, curling your legs into your body. The TV was quietly playing re-runs of The Twilight Zone. You pretended to watch it as Frank moved to a fro, doing whatever it is that assholes do when they interrupt your very peaceful evening.
A stifled groan echoed from the small bathroom, pulling your attention away from the show. You blinked, shaking your head. Whatever Frank was doing in there was not your business. You refocused on the tv, hoping the rain would muffle his grunts. It didn’t, of course, and when the groans began ringing in your ears, you found yourself drawing closer to the noise.
Frank was shirtless, hunched over the sink, gripping a needle and thread in his shaking hand. Blood dripped from a nasty wound on his back, littering the floor around him. A small knife was lodged into his shoulder blade. The sight was nauseating. He was breathing heavily, eyes closed in concentration.
“What happened?” You asked, moving closer to the trembling figure.
He jumped, then let out another groan.
“Don’t worry about it,” he heaved, gripping the sink hard enough to crack the fake porcelain.
You rolled your eyes, huffing.
“You have a knife in your back, Frank,” you said, stating the obvious.
“ ‘m fine.” He attempted to wave you off but immediately grunted at the movement.
You placed a hand on his unwounded shoulder, hoping to disarm his foul mood.
“Let me help,” you said, meeting his gaze in the dirty mirror.
He finally nodded, dropping his eyes to the blood-soaked sink.
He still towered over you, even hunched forward. You eyed the knife, hoping it’d be an easy removal. You knew your way around injuries, especially knowing Frank for as long as you had, but there were wounds that even you couldn’t fix. This one didn’t seem too deep.
“Who did this to you?”
You began inching your way towards the knife, hoping to distract him as you removed the blade.
“You gonna go after ‘em?” He teased, smirking at your frown.
“Maybe,” you teased, “Maybe not.”
“Let me worry about ‘em, sweetheart.”
He sounded genuinely concerned, which almost made you laugh. You scoffed instead.
“ ‘m serious. Don’t get involved,” he grunted, meeting your gaze in the mirror.
“I won't. I was just trying to distract you,” you said, quickly dislodging the knife from his back in one swift motion.
He stifled a groan, somehow squeezing the sink even tighter than before. You carefully placed the knife on the counter as Frank’s heaving echoed around the bathroom.
“That fucking hurt,” he finally growled, standing to his full height so that you had to look up at him.
“Sorry.” You grinned.
“No, you’re not.”
You nodded, agreeing with his observation. You were not sorry in the slightest.
“You’re right. And you’re bleeding all over Micro’s nice, clean floor.”
He grunted but didn’t move to stop the bleeding. You kept your eyes on his, ignoring the way his muscled chest was heaving so close to your own.
“We even now?” He finally spoke, dangerously low.
You rolled your eyes, scoffing. Sure, he’d given you the chance to physically hurt him in return for his swift departure from your apartment the last time you’d seen him, but that didn’t make up for the fact that this toxic relationship was ruining your sense of self. Your self-esteem was at an all-time low. Why weren’t you good enough for him?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied, shaking the thoughts from your head.
“Thought you were smarter than that, sweetheart.”
He tapped the bottom of your chin with a bloody finger. Teasing. Taunting. Tempting you to bite it off. You pulled away from him, anger renewed.
“You’re an asshole, Frank,” you sneered, turning to get as far away as possible from him.
“Woah, sweetheart,” he said, wrapping his hand around your arm and tugging, pulling you flush against his chest. “I was joking. Relax.”
You shoved against his steel hold around you, letting out a frustrated sigh when he didn’t let go.
“Don’t fucking tell me to relax. I don’t want to do this with you anymore, Frank.”
He blinked, then unlocked his arms and took a full step back. You were grateful for the distance, finally able to breathe now that he wasn’t smothering you.
“I didn’t know,” he simply said.
“Of course you didn’t. That would require you to care, which you’re clearly incapable of.”
It felt like a low blow. Frank cared more than anyone you’d ever met, but you wanted to kick and scream, and he was being entirely too levelheaded for your liking.
“I care,” he sneered, taking the bait. “Don’t say shit you don’t understand.”
“I understand plenty,” you pointed at him, “I’m not a thing you get to take your sexual frustration out on, Frank. I have feelings.”
“Oh, I see,” he said, mocking you, “What do you want me to do? Take you out? Treat you like a girlfriend? A wife? I never promised you any of that.”
“I get it, Frank. Whatever,” you said, leaving the bathroom. Your plan to rile him up had worked, but his words hurt worse than you’d ever admit. Still within earshot, you called out, “Clean up the fucking floor before you leave.”
You occupied yourself in Micro’s makeshift kitchen, ignoring what you hoped were the sounds of Frank cleaning up and leaving. You never wanted to see his abnormally large nose again. You’d probably punch it. Or kiss it. You couldn’t decide which would be worse.
Suddenly, Frank pressed against your back, wrapping his arms around your torso. His cheek rested on the crown of your head. Guilt roiled in your gut, but you didn’t say anything. You wanted him to go. You wanted him to stay. You wanted to knee him in the groin.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Let me make it up to you,” he whispered, voice raspy in the quiet kitchen.
“Did you clean up?” You rested your palms against the countertop, hoping the coolness of the granite would contain the heat climbing up your throat.
“Cleaner than it was. But that bathroom has never been clean.”
You bit your lip, hiding the smile that forced its way onto your face.
“Are you still bleeding all over Micro’s floor?”
“No,” he shook his head, swaying against you.
“Leave,” you said, sighing. You didn’t mean it, and he knew it.
“You know I can’t let you go to bed angry, baby” He teased.
You felt his smirk against your head.
“I’m angry every time I see you, Frank.”
“I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you,” he repeated, pressing a kiss to your temple for emphasis.
“How?”
You knew he wouldn’t be able to fix everything. It was in Frank’s nature to leave when feelings got too big.
“The only way I know how,” he whispered, running his hands over your waistband.
You couldn’t help it. You arched into him, resting your head against his chest. Your shirt, already cropped, revealed goosebumps along your torso.
“Let me show you how sorry I am, sweetheart,” he murmured, fingers splaying over the exposed skin above your pant line. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
You believed him, cursing yourself for allowing him to worm his way back into your good graces.
“You’re going to run off like you have every other time,” you breathed, closing your eyes.
His fingers wound their way around your stomach, soothing touches for all the times he’d burned you.
“I won’t,” he shook his head, “’ll stay this time.”
“You can’t possibly think I believe that,” you said, scoffing.
“Let me take care of you, baby,” he murmured, ignoring your statement, solidifying the truth of it.
You hated him for it. You hated yourself even more for nodding your head, agreeing to his suggestion. Knowing he was a lying snake. Knowing he would do the same thing he always did. Knowing this would end with you alone in bed, again.
“I hate you,” you whispered, arching further into him.
“Yeah? You hate me, baby?” He asked, pushing his hand down the front of your pants. Warmth echoed throughout your body as his fingers brushed against your clit. “You’re already fucking soaked. You don’t hate me, sweetheart. You love this.”
He emphasized his statement by rubbing circles around your sensitive clit. You moaned, leaning into his strength to keep you upright. His free hand was holding you steady against his chest while he teased you relentlessly.
“I love it too,” he whispered against your ear, sending goosebumps down your back, “I love seeing you so worked up over me. So angry. Makes me hard. I think about it for days afterwards.”
“Liar,” you gasped, whining when his finger teased your entrance.
He tutted, wrapping one hand around your throat and lightly squeezing.
“Don’t be a brat,” he chided, running his other fingers through your wet folds. “’m here to say sorry, remember?”
You moaned when he finally plunged two fingers into you, pumping in and out as he lightly squeezed your neck.
“See? You’re so good for me when you’re nice and quiet,” he teased.
Your jaw dropped, ready to argue. He chuckled.
“’m joking, baby.”
He peppered your neck with kisses, emphasizing every pump of his fingers with sloppy nips at your skin. You were wound up tight like a bomb, moments away from explosion. Frank had that effect on you.
“I’m not forgiving you after this,” you huffed, whining when his thumb brushed your clit.
He hummed in response, tightening his grip on your throat.
“Don’t want your forgiveness, baby,” he finally murmured, breath skittering across your exposed skin. Goosebumps fluttered down your spine. “Just need this sweet, sweet pussy.”
He curled his fingers, sending an electric pulse through your body so overwhelming that your knees gave out. An orgasm ripped out of you so fast you couldn’t catch your breath. You mewled as Frank slowly bent you over the counter, gently pulling his hand out of your pants. Your legs wobbled in sickening desire as he tugged your pants down, exposing your ass.
“Love that sound you make when you come, baby,” he grunted, kneading the newly exposed flesh between his large hands. “It plays in my head when you’re mad at me. I get hard every time.”
You huffed in annoyance but didn’t do a thing to stop Frank from rubbing against your bent over figure. He was skilled in two things: fucking and fighting. You weren’t going to complain when he targeted you for the first thing.
“You’re so wet for me already,” he pointed out, slapping your sensitive mound with his palm.
You jolted forward, whining when your cheek scraped against the counter.
“ ‘m sorry, baby,” he said, running a soothing hand up the length of your back. “Do you want me to stop?”
You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment. Did you want him to stop? Never. You always wanted this and so much more. He wasn’t willing to share that with you though, so you’d accepted a long time ago that this was the only piece of him you’d get to cherish.
“Baby,” he said, pressing his forehead between your shoulder blades, “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop. Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll go.”
You blinked your eyes open, ignoring the tear that had appeared on your lash line.
“I don’t want you to stop,” you murmured, breathing hard as his hips grinded against your bare skin.
“What do you want, baby?”
“I want you to fuck me, Frank,” you said, almost whining. It had already been too long without contact. “I want you to fill me up and then I want you to fuck me again.”
A low groan sounded in his throat. You couldn’t see him, but you knew what his face would look like if you could. His eyes, usually harsh and unforgiving, would be dark with desire. His lips would be plump with need, half-smirked and cocky at your foul words. You knew exactly how to drive him crazy too.
“Sweetheart,” he said, somewhere between a plea and a moan, “I love it when you talk to me like that. You’re so fucking pretty.”
You wiggled your ass in response, jumping when his palm smacked against your exposed skin. The sound of his belt being undone made your toes clench. His massive hands wrapped around your hips as he finally pushed into you. Gentle, at first, because you both knew how big he was. This was not the first time he’d bent you over and called you pretty.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, smacking your ass again as he began moving in and out of you, “Your perfect little pussy is so fucking addictive. I dream about doing this every night.”
A moan was the only response you could muster, because he’d suddenly picked up his pace, pounding so deep into you that you saw stars. You gripped the counter, holding on as he slammed into you over and over again.
“You’re so pretty, baby.”
It was almost a whine. Almost. You clenched around him, tightening your pussy as he continued sliding in and out of you.
“F-Fuck,” he grunted, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, “This pretty pussy is going to kill me, sweetheart.”
You did it again, this time arching off the counter even more. And there it was – a whine so deliciously sinful that you nearly came from the sound of it alone. The only time Frank allowed himself to be vulnerable was when he was with you. You relished in it. The biggest, baddest thing in New York was whining in your ear about your pretty pussy and your even prettier face. It was enough to give a girl an ego.
Frank wound his arm around your face, pulling you slightly off the counter and arching your back even more. His hand gripped your throat tightly. The new angle allowed him to plunge even deeper, and you couldn’t stop the pleasure-soaked tears from finally spilling down your cheeks.
“Even when you’re being bratty,” Frank started, emphasizing the word ‘bratty’ with a punishing slam, “You’re fucking pretty. My pretty fucking brat.”
“I’m not your anything,” you murmured, arching into his touch.
“You’re my everything, sweetheart,” he grunted.
“Maybe just your annoying little plaything,” you said, unable to keep the venom out of your voice.
A firm hand smacked against your ass. You meant what you said, but you didn’t truly believe it. Frank’s pace hadn’t stuttered, but you felt his intense stare as he continued wrecking you.
“You’re my salvation, baby,” he murmured, barely loud enough for you to hear. So quiet, in fact, that you thought you might’ve imagined it.
He didn’t give you the chance to think too hard about it. You were very suddenly seeing stars, orgasm sneaking up on your pleasure-filled body. You turned your head, muffling your moans with the countertop before Frank pulled you off the counter again. This time, he pulled out of you completely, turned you around, set you on the counter again, and plunged back into you.
“Nah, sweetheart,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours, “I wanna hear those pretty noises you make for me.”
You nodded, swallowing thickly. You’d barely gotten through your first two orgasms. A third seemed unlikely, though Frank’s face was more determined than ever. His hands wound around your hips, helping himself find the right angles to send you spiraling once again.
You couldn’t help yourself. His face was right there, and you wanted to feel his skin against your palms. You rested your hands against his cheeks, pulling his attention to your face. He hesitated, only for a moment, before pushing his lips against yours.
It was a frantic, wild kiss, begging to devour you whole. Frank did everything with his entire heart behind it, including kissing you. It wasn’t the first time you’d kissed, and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last, but this one felt different. Hungrier.
You whined into his mouth, which spurred him to drive into you at an even greater speed. If you weren’t hanging on to each other, you would’ve certainly fallen off the counter.
“You drive me fucking crazy,” he whispered against your lips, brushing his tongue over the corner of your mouth for emphasis before capturing your lips in another intoxicating kiss.
You whined into his mouth, feeling your pleasure heat between your legs for a third time that evening.
“Frank,” you moaned, arching your back, “I want you to fill me up.”
You knew that would be the thing that brought him over the edge. He was stoic and quiet in most aspects of his life, but you knew deep down that Frank had a breeding kink. You had put yourself on birth control as a surprise for him. He fucking loved it.
His hips finally stuttered, plunging deep inside you as he came. You couldn’t stop the heat from overtaking you as well, pulling a third orgasm from deep within your core. Maybe Frank was your kink.
You wilted against him, worn out and wobbly from the intense make-up sex. Those were always your favorite sessions, even though the feelings that came before and after seemed to get harder every time.
His strong arms wrapped around you, pulling your legs around his waist and lifting you in the air. You sagged into him, praying to a God that you barely believed in that he would stay. He said he would. You wanted to believe him so badly.
“Get the lights, baby,” he murmured as carried you towards the bed you sometimes shared with him.
He plopped you down on the bed, crawling under the covers with you in the dim light of the warehouse. It was still pouring outside, which was maybe God’s fleeting mercy. Frank pressed against your tired body, soaking in the warmth of your skin brushing over his.
“You’re leaving?” You asked, barely above a whisper.
“Not yet, baby.” He shook his head. “I said I wouldn’t.”
“I didn’t believe you.”
Frank’s mouth formed a small grin before he planted perhaps the softest kiss he’d ever given you on your forehead. You sighed, finally allowing yourself to rest against his chest. You already knew this wouldn’t end well, but that didn’t stop you from hoping it wouldn’t.
Later, when the rain finally stopped, and only when Frank knew you were in a deep sleep, would he sneak out of the warehouse. When you awoke to an empty, cold bed, you resigned yourself to never speaking to Frank again, knowing you were lying to yourself. You and Frank were in a toxic cycle that you couldn’t begin to pry yourself out of. You rolled over, half-aware that you’d done this to yourself by trusting him again. That didn’t stop the tears from flowing onto your pillow anyways.