Frank Iero x Reader Oneshots

I Wanna Be Your Slave | AU | (1/3)

"What's that supposed to mean?" Frank blinks.

"I believe you understand it." I shrug, about to let go of his hand to sit back at the sight of the waiter approaching us again, but Frank keeps the grip, fingers tightening around me and nails sinking into my skin. So he's going to play it like that? He loves all the attention?

"I don't want this." His gaze locks with mine and all the nervousness is gone or at least very well masked. "I don't want to be your slave, your good boy or any other shit you call me. Stop taking me around as if I was your little puppy." He keeps eye contact despite the waiter placing each dish and glass on the table. "Stop using me."

If that's what Frank wants, then it's what he's going to have.

Everyone in the gang who's got a little bit of common sense in their brain knows how lucky someone needs to be to walk around with me or at least see me more than a couple of times a day. Taking this in consideration, seeing people angry or envying Frank for achieving it so easily wasn't new and giving Frank a normal post in the gang that doesn't involve my constant supervision was almost like throwing a piece of meat inside a cage of starving lions.

Through the days, seeing Frank was rare, but whenever it happened, he never seemed in a good state. He was full of pride in the first few times we came across each other - a pride that didn't last long. The last time I saw him was three days ago, walking into the mansion with a few other men, so I wonder where he is now.

A cigar rests between my lips and I light it on my way to the balcony, taking a drag of it as I lean forward against the railing of the balcony. The smoke slowly disappears into the air with a blow, slowly making visible the three people in the backyard.

Frank eventually becomes visible between the two with the way they move around, the men around him making quite aggressive manners.

I watch the whole scene for a moment, concluding the interaction only resumes itself to a 'talk', though I don't doubt anything severe has already happened. The smallest sparkle of violence, however, threatens to trigger something greater - something shines into the dark, reflecting against the light of the back porch, and I know how things won't end up well. Lord, I wish I always had as many men by the end of the week as it's shown in the list by the beginning of it.

Before the men are actually able to do something, however, I clean my throat - the sight of me in the balcony is enough to have the two straightening their suits to walk away in the same moment. Frank is still lying down on the grass when I return to my bedroom.

The results of having sent Frank out there were clear, I always knew what I was doing, so no surprise hit me when I saw him walk into my office and interrupt my coffee break, breathing heavily, leaning back against the door after slamming it shut.

"I'll even be a clown," he whispers breathlessly, eyes wide; I raise my eyebrows. "'M sorry for all of it. So sorry. Please, they won't even let me anywhere near the kitchen."

"They won't?" I pout lightly, watching him shake his head. "Aw, honey-" I place the plate of pie on the desk and move back lightly, patting my lap, "-come here, hm? Let me take a look at you." The corner of Frank's lips twitches a bit, but he doesn't refuse my offer and comes to sit on my lap, all tense. I cup his cheek, running my thumb along the rings around his eyes. "When was the last time you had a good night of sleep?"

"Why did you do that to me?" Frank asks instead, hopelessly, eyes glassy.

"Isn't it what you wanted for?" I ask softly, letting my hand drop to his chest, rubbing it lightly in a soothing manner.

No answer comes from Frank this time and I only grab my pie again, eventually holding the fork in front of his mouth. He furrows his eyebrows, glancing down at the piece, but he slowly opens his mouth and accepts it. Frank doesn't carry all the tension he usually does - he doesn't even have energy for it, fairly -, eventually melting back against me as I continue to feed him.

"My boy," I say softly, pressing a kiss to his head. "Such a precious thing."

A quiet whine is the most that comes from Frank, chewing on the last piece of pie before I'm holding the cup of tea to his lips and he sips on the drink eagerly, a hand clutching onto my wrist eagerly even when I move to put the cup away.

"So, baby," I whisper into his ear, wrapping an arm around his waist, "what are you, now, hm? Mine?"

"Yours," he replies weakly, "your slave, your good boy, your puppet, your sin. Whatever you want me to be, sir."

____________