#Gifted | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

georgiapeach30513 · 13 days ago

Text

I Feel Everything...But Guilty

Summary: Your husband is gone, but Frank is always there.

Pairings: Frank Adler X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, alcohol consumption, cheating, unprotected sex, PIV sex, creampie, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 2.4K

Frank Adler Masterlist

He takes a slow pull from the glass, keeping his crystal eyes on you while the Southern Comfort slowly drifts down his throat. A smirk on his lips while he swallows the amber liquid. Finishing the liquor, he sets the glass down on the table beside him, continuing to keep his eyes on you while he picks up your husband’s guitar, and pulls it into his lap.

His lithe fingers strum on the guitar a few chords before his rich baritone voice starts to sing another man’s song, and your eyes slowly close. You try to keep the confused tears from spilling over your lash line. His voice sounds so much sweeter than your husband’s, a song that was allegedly written for you, but it no longer makes butterflies flutter in your stomach.

Until it’s his voice singing the words.

You inhale deeply. Letting the oxygen feel your lungs before expelling it back out, and you open your eyes to watch him with a blank stare. The lyrics on his tongue are bittersweet. A lie from your husband’s mouth, but the utmost truth from his lips. He feels every word sung for you.

“Frank,” you whisper. Your voice cracks at the realization that you always keep his name from rolling off your lips. You’ve never uttered it once. Not with all the times that he has come here, and done this exact same routine.

He drinks your husband’s favorite liquor.

He picks up your husband’s favorite retired guitar, and sings the plethora of songs that he claimed to have written for you.

He glares at the band shirt that has your husband’s face on it.

And then he tells you that you deserve better before he stands, and walks out the front door.

You’ve told yourself thousands of times that your husband was probably taking some groupie whore to his hotel suite, while you cry in this godforsaken mansion alone. Except the hour that Frank spends with you every night. Him being with another woman is what makes you feel better about these encounters. You can allow Frank here, while you battle your feelings towards the two men.

Frank was the man that you were supposed to marry, and you chose another over him. You chose the man that had fame and fortune. And you chose a life of disappointment. You had all the money, all the parties, all the designer clothes, and bags, but what you didn’t have was love.

And Frank.

Frank sniffles before he picks up your husband’s guitar. This time letting it crash to the floor below, and you flinch at the haunting sound. He’d know if there was damage to it. As if knowing, Frank pulls out a knife and cuts one of the strings. Tilting his head to look at you, and daring you to say anything to him. You don’t. What is there to say?

“You deserve better than this, Lyric.”

“Why did you quit?” He might not have been in the band, even though he was talented enough, but you always assumed it was because he felt being a road manager was beneath him.

He cracks his neck. Before taking the time to crack each and every one of his tattooed knuckles. “You think I enjoyed watching that asshole use you?”

“He didn’t use me.”

“No, maybe that’s the wrong word. Maybe I just didn’t like to see him openly fucking other women, while you waited like a good little girl for him. And then what? He came in your room, and fell asleep beside you, while you texted me he made it back?”

“Fuck you, Frank,” you stand up, giving him full view of your husband’s band tee on your chest with nothing else on your body.

“Yeah,” he sighs, finally looking away from you. He hates seeing you decked out with anything of your husband claiming you. “I guess it's time for me to leave.”

“Why?”

“Because you hate yourself. And I hate this. This is torture for the both of us. You deny what you want, but you know the truth,” you had no proof that he was fucking anyone else. You didn’t ask because everyone would lie. You might not have proof, but a woman knows. Maybe it was his clothes smelling like perfume. Or the light bruising of a hickey. Maybe it was the way he never touched you anymore.

“You’re not lying to yourself, you know that, right?”

“I don’t wanna be a cheater.”

“Where do you sleep?” Biting your lip, you look away from him. He’s aware you haven’t shared your husband’s bed intimately in months. “What happened to your five year plan? How’s the pregnancy coming?”

“Fuck you!” you spit out at him. He struck a nerve and he knows it.

“I’ve been trying to fuck you for years,” rolling your eyes, you walk out of the living room. Frank has been here enough, and can let himself out. “I have been chasing you for years. I have been begging you for years. I have loved you for years.”

You stop in your tracks, right in the middle of the hallway, and his tall form come up behind you. As close as he can get without actually touching you. “I am in love with you. But it’s not reciprocated,” he whispers into your ear before he stands up straight, and starts to retreat down the way he came.

“That’s a lie,” now it’s his turn to stop, while you turn around to stare at his back. “That’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told.”

“Then say it,” his voice is without emotion, and he doesn’t turn around to look at you.

“I’m in love with you, too,” there is but one blink before Frank spins around, meeting your lips with his own. Capturing even more of your heart, and every last breath out of your lungs as he backs you down the hallway and into your husband’s room. The master suite that is supposed to be for the both of you, but you’ve long since left it to him and whatever whore he sneaks into the house.

You undo his pants, while he starts to kick off his boots, and pulls his shirt off his head. Returning to you, Frank rips the band tee down the front, and yanks it off your now naked body. Ripping the shirt into smaller pieces before he sprinkles them on the floor, and softly stares at you. He gives you one moment to walk away. To let this end here, and tomorrow it can go back to the awkward game of him strumming a guitar, singing your husband's songs, while drinking his alcohol.

Instead you walk towards the bed, and back yourself onto it. No regrets. You won’t feel guilty. “Frank,” your voice is so soft that he wants to explode right there. He walks himself out of his pants and boxers before crawling into the bed and over you.

Too many years have been spent building up the foreplay. He wastes no time in settling between your thighs and desperately pushing himself into your warmth, and you keen at the feeling of having him there. Mouth going slack, back arching, eyes closing, and head tilting back as he pumps into you. You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him even closer into you, while your fingers run down his back.

Flashes of moments you wish you still had with your husband mingle with the current situation with Frank, and it’s so confusing. You were madly in lust with your husband, and it developed into love. Before ultimately colliding into a contract. A trap set by marriage and the public’s persona of him.

Knowing just how conflicting your feelings are, he keeps his mouth on your neck. Panting on your skin, while he kisses your sensitive column. He wants to paint every inch of you with his lips. Kissing over your collarbone, and there’s a part of you that hurts. It kills you that you are allowing yourself the beauty and simplicity of Frank. You don’t deserve him. You’re a married woman that chose another man over this most perfect one.

It’s been so long since you’ve had anyone else, you feel your husband’s name creep up your throat, so you bite on your lip to keep Frank from hearing it. He fills up your core in the most bittersweet passionate pain. Rutting into you with so much force your eyes go crossed. You feel everything. Every part of him. But the one thing you just won’t feel is guilty.

You love him.

You’re in love with him.

You thought that by keeping on his band tee that it would make you think of your husband instead of Frank. But all you feel is Frank. All you want is Frank. All you can see is him. He is everything. But this isn’t making love. It’s a desperate, aching fuck. You have yearned for him for so long that the wrongness almost feels right.

“Keep pulling me tighter into you,” his voice is wrecked. Pained almost. “It makes me think you really want me.”

“I do.”

“Leave him,” he pleads. He tilts his body, and his thick cock hits an angle in you. Straining your walls, and it makes you see stars. Makes you grip his shoulders tightly, and slice your nails down his back over and over again. Trying to ground yourself as your body tightens and heats up. Pushing you right to the edge right along with his own staggered movements.

“I can’t.,” you choke out. But the words don’t hurt as much as the choke in Frank’s throat.

“Then I can’t do this anymore,” he cries as both your walls crumble and come crashing down around the two of you. The most beautiful orgasm met with the most aching agony. You don’t know if it was the pleasure or the gut wrenching truth that brings tears to your eyes. It sears everything inside of you knowing that Frank is willing to leave. That this was his last time. That he can’t subject himself and you to this torture. That he gave, and he will take away in an instant.

“But I love you,” he says as he starts to pull himself out of you. He kneels on the bed, while keeping his eyes on your weeping cunt. Staring so intently until he watches his spend start to leak out of you. “I love you so much. You were always the reason behind every lyric.”

You gape at him as he starts to make his way off the bed. “What is that supposed to mean?” Your voice is a screech. “Frank? What does that mean?”

“Maybe you should ask your husband,” he says as he pulls on his pants. “You think that tool knows how to write music?”

“What?”

“Why do you think I call you that? Why do you think he keeps me around enough, knowing,” his face becomes ruddy as he pulls his shirt on. “Knowing about us. They’ve been lying to you. Even me,” he gulps, while you sink onto the bed, running everything through your head. Unbelieving of what Frank is telling you. All the awards, and the tours. Your husband was the brains behind the band. Frank was just jealous.

“You were always the reason, Lyric,” he says before he gives you a final nod, and walks out the door forever.

Your husband staggers into the mansion, and takes one look at his prized possession on the floor with a cut string, and an evil smile spreads across his face. He runs his hands through his hair as he starts shouting your name. Looking over his liquor cabinet, he scowls. Another fucking empty bottle of his goddamn Southern Comfort.

He flattens his hand over the top, knocking every bottle onto the floor with a sickening smash. And you stand in the doorway watching his belligerent self. He screams your name again before he turns and looks at you. “You whore.”

“You’re one to talk, Ari,” his eyes zero in on the multiple hickeys that Frank left on your neck. He knew Ari was coming home the next day, and he wanted to make sure that he saw just everything that Frank touched.

“Who's been here?”

“You don’t know?” You ask, cocking up an eyebrow. “I thought you checked the cameras, and knew everyone that came in and out of this fucking house.”

“You wouldn’t be so stupid to fuck Frank.”

“Why?” Ari licks his lips before he leans over and picks up his baby off the floor. “Does it bother to know his hands have been all over me?” He glares at you before he walks the guitar back to its stand. “Does it bother you to know that he’s the one that drinks your Southern Comfort? That he plays your guitar and sings your songs to me?”

Ari leans back against the wall as you walk closer. He never denied bedding other women, so why should you be ashamed of what you did with Frank. Because of Ari you let the best thing that ever happened to you walk out of your life. “Does it bother you to know that I let his cum sit inside of me?” Ari’s brows furrow as he glares at you. “Does it bother you to know that I know the truth? No wonder you can’t make a hit album anymore. Frank left, and now you can’t write a decent fucking song, huh?”

“Oh, he decided to open his fucking mouth, huh?” Ari is damn near screaming, and something in you breaks.

“Does it bother you to know he says he’s in love with me?” Ari chuckles, pushing himself off the wall. “And you won’t make me feel guilty for being in love with him, too.”

“Why are you still here then?” He says, stepping closer to you. He gets right up to your body, and bends. Pressing his forehead against your own, he acts like he’s going to kiss you, but doesn’t touch your lips, “Is he really in love with you? Or is that just what you tell yourself to make it fucking worth it? To make it not hurt so much when I divorce you, and you get nothing because your cheating ass broke the prenup agreement. So fucking stupid,” he says.

His lips barely graze on your lips, and you preen leaning closer to him. “Just like a desperate bitch in heat,” he spits out before leaning away from you and hobbling to the bedroom that Frank fucked you in.

You stand there shell shocked. You swore you heard Frank tell you that He was in love. You know what you know. It’s been a few years since Frank worked for Ari — wrote for Ari. He loves you. He’s in love with you. And you will feel everything, but guilty.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @rnurse-kole @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@musingsfromthemitten @pandaxnienke @kmm-fluv @donutloverxo @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@bambamwolf87 @rogersbarber @theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy @distractingbeth

#i feel everything...but guilty #frank adler #frank adler x reader #frank adler x female reader #frank adler x fem!reader #frank adler x y/n #frank adler x you #frank adler smut #frank adler fic #frank adler fics #frank adler fanfiction #frank adler fanfic #frank adler fanfics #chris evans #chris evans character #gifted

77 notes · View notes