Stargirllevy

frank x reader smut baby pure smut hi sorry my brain has been slow and ive been ill! but! im making a comeback tw: established relationship. smell talk. lazy. uhhhhhhhh praise, joking about- having a laugh innit. sex n that. wc: 1250 also, suggested listening is this song. mwah. xx.

The room is cold. It’s been raining outside for the past 45 minutes, and you’ve just rushed out of the shower as to not waste the hot water. Frank rushes in behind you, kissing your cheek as you tumble past. You climb into bed, shoving your feet under the blanket before the steel cold of the water on your skin meets the half-humid air. 

It smells clean, everywhere smells clean. The air is something off-floral, like jasmine and tea. he’s screaming lyrics in the shower. Sade. You hear him yell, above the timber of the water I remember his hands, and you huff a giggle into the duvet. You don’t want to dry your hair, or move far- Sunday is for nothing. Non-moving, non-existing. If you had a  internal battery it would be in its port, humming with an acid energy. You decide, that smoking is nothing, a pretty much a nothing activity, and light a Newport brining the ashtray to your knees. 

You watch the steam pool out form the bathroom door, his towel held boyishly over his crotch, and he stands in the doorway, patting down his chest with a wet palm. hi pretty. He fakes a swoon fit for the black and white cinema. “You look damp” I just showered- “I know that” before you “that seems to be the case” it’s why im damp. “Im just saying, you’re damp, and in bed. It’s a strange thing to be, while in bed”. You let him watch you from the doorway, smoke rises from you like its trailing up a chimney, long feather strands of pastel grey. 

Are you making a bad joke? He takes a step closer, moving to trail a hand along the dresser, inching toward the bed like he’s testing your personal space. Like that? Just here? Can I move in here? “Am I making a bad joke?” He tilts his head, exposes one-side of his smile to you, but his eyes are low, sheepish. His hand still held around his crotch. Cupping himself, waiting. 

Something about getting wet? And he laughs- a real laugh, as he moves to lean on the dresser, holding himself against it. He watches you smoke. Revels in the view of you doing nothing. Which was his idea anyway. You suggested the pool, or a bookstore- something in the shape of a nothing activity- but he wanted real rest. Sleeping in late, making food with virtually nothing green in it. You look relaxed, pulled out. Like taffy pulled till silky. He’s proud of his nothing aided girl. “Yeah, something about that, I guess” he kicks a foot into the wooden floor. You watch water drip from his head, slow dots hitting the ground. It stains the oak. 

He steps forward. And looks down toward you. It’s rare for frankie to feel tall. “You feel good?’ And you nod, blowing a long exhale into the air, then watch it leak into the curtains and the ceiling. Yeah, yeah I do- “good, good. Thats what I wanted-“ 

He takes another step closer, moving till his calves hit the bed-frame. You watch his hand squeeze once, twice. A third time. “Would you let me make you feel better?” 

Now, it’s your turn to laugh. Small and girlish, as your stub the cigarette out to look at him. His chest tinted red, cheeks the same hue. His hair so wet its stuck to the back of his neck, you could imagine he’d smell adjacent to you, offspring, branded. Wrapped in your house. But he holds himself separate to you. His own entity, own body. He smiles again. You whisper back what kind of better? 

He lets himself fall onto his knees on the bed, and half waddles toward you. You both laugh again until you feel his dick against your knee, hard and waiting. You tilt your head, signifying why? And he looks away as he speaks. “You. You smell really fucking good, the shower was warm, and-and Jesus you left your panties on the bathroom floor what the fuck was I supposed to do?!” 

You move to hold a hand over his cock, to take that responsibility from him, but he doubles down, leaning down to kiss you- shifting the ashtray from your knee to the bed-side table. He licks possessive motions into your mouth, moving to slip his hand under the duvet. “Open up, cmon’ baby listen t’me” 

You nod, as you feel the words he whispered against your mouth, intaking the instruction like you’re inhaling them. He moans, as he presses his fingers against your clit. You whine, precious into his mouth, and he nods- cocky and proud. You rock your hand around him, meeting the pace of his fingers on you. But the air is still perfectly crips, nothing tainting it, his breath is hot however, staining your chin and nose with condensation. he moans- as he looks down at your hand moving over him, half shocked. “You, you make me feel-so fucking, good-good honey, shit-shitshitgoodgirl,cmon, cmon, faster now-ill go in hm? Fuck you with my fingers? You missed that right?” 

You think about last night. Dreaming about him in a similar way, his body up against yours. It does feels slightly embarrassing to remember rocking your hips-half asleep into his back- only to be awoken by a frankie who is overjoyed that he wasn’t having the wet dream for once. But if this is the outcome of moaning his name in your sleep why the fuck would you give a shit. You do as your told, and watch his wrist twist, to slot two fingers into you. 

You fuck often, But not like this, all the time. You can tell he’s just doing this for you, not prepping you for him. He stretches his fingers when they are inside of you, moving them inside your walls like he’s remembering each inch of you. When he runs a finger tip over that spot inside you, you moan frank-frankfrank,no-no-m'gonnacum-fuckshit- but he gets the picture. He moves quick, keeping his fingertip where it was- and raises himself onto his knees so his cock is lined up with your jaw. He looks down, expectant-dominant. You understand. You drop your jaw open and continue moving you hand over his cock- until you feel that coil snap in your lower back, and watch him spill over your mouth and chest as he smiles down at you “yeahyeah, ohpoorgirl-a mess again hm silly-shh, yeah your good, fuck, fuckyyoulooksogood, god-godyeah-fuckfuckkkk”

He convinces you that taking a picture of your shoulders and chin is good for his photography practice. But you don’t admit you like the idea of him having that picture of you with him. You move to stand, about 20 minutes after he’s half wiped you down. And he looks at you the same way you did him, why? I should shower? He shakes his head no, pulling you into his body- and licking a stripe from your jaw to your chest- he speaks, his mouth full. “No baby, don’t be’stupid, now you smell like me.”