#( the way i queued this instead of immediately posting this should win me an award )

[pohlepen]

       IF HE WERE SMART, HE’D  say no.   he'd get up and leave, or he'd tell her to fuck off.   she'd relent then, take a hint for once and slink into another's peripheral.   because really, she can get a drink from someone else; easy.   but it's not a drink that she genuinely wants, that’s just a momentary remedy.   a bandaid on a bullet wound, a few misplaced sutures sewn into the carotid.   a decayed and cracked dam, barely managing to hold back the flood.   the booze numbs the hunger, makes it more bearable for a few hours.   but she's starving now - she’s always starving at night.   for the moment, it's a simple enough diversion.   she slides onto the stool beside the stranger and hooks her heels into the footrest and wiggles her hips a little, attempting to pull her dress down her thighs.   not that she's concerned with modesty, the movement instead is deliberate.   it's a dare not to look, but christ, she wants him to.   frankie eyes him gently, low-lidded, but her teeth and lips are all hunt.   sharp, stinging no matter how benevolent she tries to appear. it's always her mouth that gives her away.    ❝  my real name?  ❞    she offers a weighted pause,    ❝  or what i want you to call me?  ❞    there's no difference: she'll tell him what she wants to hear either way.

continued from this / @unheardmuses​ (ft. Derek)