FRANKIE & MILES — NIGHT THIRTY-SIX.
location : bedroom.
time : milkie talk abt where their heads are at post-recoupling.
featuring : miles / @heatwayve
miles o'sullivan
his speech for frankie had felt right in the moment, a sort of public admission that he was ready to be all in for her – at least, whatever that means in the context of the show. the recoupling had been a weird, out-of-body experience for him, something he’d seen before on tv, like a massive cultural phenomena at this point, but he’d never been part of it. felt so surreal to get that text, and he’d sort of just . . . blacked out and said things, not really feel like a person again until frankie was sat back at his side around the firepit. but now he’s not sure – after their fight, it might’ve been, like, too much? not enough? well, nothing he can do about it now. “hi,” voice soft and low as he turns to his side in their bed, arm snaking around her waist to pull her close to him. he’s got no problem with making it a long night in the bedroom, but he wouldn’t have minded being the ones to score the living room. but they might as well try this ‘talking’ thing out. “how’re you feeling? about tonight. you’re not pissed that eden foster didn’t choose you, are ya?” he asks, a bit of a smirk lifting the corners of his lips. "can do a great impression of an australian accent to make up for it." no, he can't.
𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.
sliding into bed beside him, frankie turns to look over her shoulder in an emphasised bit, before clicking. “oh! that hi is to me?” just checking he’s not looking over her shoulder for charlene. “hi,” she says back, flinching with a cold little shiver when his hand meets her skin, but gripping his wrist and sliding it up her side anyway. tonight’s not a sexy pyjama night — she’s too exhausted to faff about with lacing and clipping herself into something just to take it off — instead she’s wearing his american footballer crop top, had stuffed it away under her pillow before the props team gathered up all the costumes, kept like a serial killer’s keepsake from their latest victim. her leg slides between both of his and hooks behind his knee, knotting their limbs together in an irish-american pretzel of body parts. eyes roll, smirk pinching in the left hand corner of her mouth as she bites back a grin. “i’m actually pissed she didn’t pick you. i was so excited to finally couple up with dante.” the statement is too laughable for him to take it at face value. frankie could probably scrawl everything she knew about that guy across her pinkie finger with a biro and still have empty space. “yeah? you been taking classes since the last time you tried? is there a love island improv group i don’t know about?” her finger slides over the dip of his cupid’s bow, tracing the outline of his mouth. “your speech was cute.” cute enough that thinking about it now has her cheeks heating up ; she’s thankful for the dark even if means his face is half in shadow. “bit intense, though. that bit where you said you’re all about me…? um... talk about lovebombing.” she tries to keep her face serious, but only manages a few seconds before she’s peeling into laughter, mouth finding his in the dark to stifle it. “i’m joking,” she clarifies between kisses, not wanting to allow any room for missed communication. “i liked it.”
miles o'sullivan
"yeah, i knew it. it's the accent, isn't it? i can't beat it," he sighs like he's defeated, leaning back on the pillow. but other than that, his hands don't leave her, legs getting tangled up with hers. he's pulling her on top of him a bit by the waist, trying to eliminate the space between them – despite the fact that sort of thing has proven to be terribly distracting any time the two of them attempt to have a serious conversation about anything. "yes, and?" he jokes, a kiss pressed to the tip of her finger as she traces the outline of his lips. "nah, can you imagine if we had an improv troupe? we're already insufferable, right? they'd literally cancel the program." he knows that she's joking about his speech, but his heart pitches at the sentiment. he'd gathered from their conversation on the gym that she was ready for it if he wanted to be full on, that it was what she actually wanted – for him to stop chatting to other girls. he doesn't hate the idea either, of course, when her lips find his in the dark, one arm snaking around her waist to hug her closer, the other on the back of her neck, deepening the kiss until he feels dizzy and breathless, glad that they're laying and not standing. "i know," he laughs, too, teeth nipping at her lower lip. "that you were joking. that you liked it . . . i'm only just picking up on that." his hand cups her cheek, thumb gently tracing at her skin, wanting to feel the way her smile pinches at her cheeks. "honestly, i fucking hate the idea of you like this with anyone else. and i don't think i could be like this with anyone else either."
𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.
“shut the fuck up. your accent is way sexier than his.” frankie assures him, low in her throat as her mouth travels up along his jaw, teeth pulling at the lobe of his ear. “i love it when you start talking about something and don’t stop. it’s hot. talk to me about the offside rule or something.” frankie’s more than happy to follow miles’ lead when he pulls her on top of him, swinging her leg over to straddle his hips, knees tucking in against his waist until their bodies are flush as sardines in a tin, her chin resting against his collarbone. “what colour do you wear when you play? i’ll have to get the kit. make a big foam hand to wave every time you’ve got possession of the ball, or like, a giant sign of amos diggory when he’s crying that’s my boy. but hopefully you won’t be dead.” she might be half-joking, but there’s the subtle reassurance there that she’s picturing this, the two of them, existing outside of the context they’ve become accustomed with, her van parked up in a field outside his family’s cottage, surrounded by sheep, despite the fact that she knows he lives in the city. as if ireland has cities. good for you, girl! fuck the british. “i don’t find you insufferable.” maybe together they are, with their constant displays of affection, but she can’t think of a reason why anyone would think of miles as anything short of charmingly likable. “and if you are, then i’d gladly suffer you.” his kiss nullifies everything else, the hand on the back of her neck drawing her closer, body melting into his with a groan, until they're tangled as a girl scout's reef knot. he’s so easy to get lost in, presence addictive enough that when she’s in his company, she forgets anything else, forgets even to eat, like he’s her latest hyperfixation only the novelty isn’t wearing off.
“no, totally. me too!” she’s shifting with the excitement of feeling understood, though the friction of it catches, a pang of heat tearing through her. “i think that’s why i got so fuckin’ defensive and angry about you talking to other people. because honestly, it’s not that big a deal. if it’s just talking.” or at least it shouldn’t feel like a big deal. but considering he’d been solely focused on frankie from the start, his sudden desire to try new things out felt like something was missing for them, like this wasn’t enough. “but the thought of you like this with someone else?” forehead pressed to his, her thumb rolls over the hollow of his throat as she swallows down something that tastes like bile. “i get goosebumps, not in a good way. like i’m already imagining the logistics of it, and i’m jealous of a relationship that doesn’t fuckin’ exist, which is crazy. i’m so fuckin’ selfish when it comes to you.”
miles o'sullivan
frankie always surprises him in little ways – like, maybe he should be finding her voice sexiest, or her lips on his neck, teeth on his earlobe. sure, that’s sexy on its own, but it’s the words that she says that get to him, and the fact that she’s brought up football in whatever attempt to try and seduce him. “see, you say that like you already know what it is,” he laughs, “and it’s really not all that interesting, you see it all the time. just means that we’ve got to keep ourselves in front of the last defender when we get the ball. free kick when the other guys fuck it up.” though his lips pull into a smirk when she swings her leg over to climb on top of him, his hands on her hips as his thumbs find the divots on the inside of her waist to trace the shape of her hipbone. “though you’re really not acting like you’re wanting me to do all that much talking, y’know? like, this,” he sighs, pressing his lips against hers in a kiss that’s intense, lingering, almost completely gets him off track from his point, “is very distracting.” his arms wrap around her, adjusting her weight on top of him as he kisses the top of her forehead affectionately. if he had to pinpoint it, his love language has probably always been physical touch, the guy to greet all his mates with a hug, swinging an arm around someone, reaching for a hand. when he likes someone, it’s tenfold, whether he’s grabbing them by the waist, lifting them up, kissing them everywhere, reaching out to smack their ass. it’s annoyed people he’s been with before, but frankie seems keenly in tune with his language, speaking it right back with every affectionate or antagonistic touch. any excuse for it. miles loves it. “ blue and black, ” he says, “ you’d look good in those. but don’t be fucking ridiculous, i’ll get whatever you want for you. ” he is also hopeful he won’t be dead, though the amount of sun he’s gotten from a couple weeks on love island is surely going to give him early skin cancer.
he could call the conversation here, honestly, get lost in the tangle of sheets with her for the night – it’s a conversation-ending kiss, really, though all of them are. frankie always kisses with everything in her, no holding back, almost like she’s got something to prove, and miles loves to rise to the challenge, no hesitation in his intensity, hands wandering without so much as a second thought. it just feels right when they’re together, though practically improbably, that this girl from america – from florida – who lives her life so transiently, always on the road or at sea, could be made of the same stuff as some guy who plays footie for a club in ireland. though it’s always painfully obvious and extremely exciting that neither of them have a plan. but this is a place that pushes things like plans and choices on you, and where the conversation gravitates in spite of them and who they are. “really?” he blinks, surprised at how easily frankie plays it off now after how upset she’d seemed in the gym. “okay, fine. yeah, it can just be talking. though i don’t want . . .” miles hesitates. what does ‘just talking’ mean? “like of course we’re gonna talk to people, it’s a small villa, but say some new bombshell comes in tomorrow, hits you up the same way eden did. is your answer different?” his brow furrows slightly, hips shifting against hers. miles has never been good at the what are we? of it all, tends to get tripped up and confused, especially when it’s like this – future unknown. doesn’t help that her forehead’s against his, frankie’s breath warm on his lips, hand on his throat, and he wants to be fucking selfish with her, too, and not in a way that pertains the ‘relationship’ word.
𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.
fingers walk their way over his skin in little scissoring motions as he speaks, tip-toeing over his abdomen to trail the line of hair between stomach and waistband. truth be told, she does already know what the offside rule is. frankie’s got four brothers after all — four sports kits to peg out on the washing line on sundays, four sweaters used as goal posts in the clearing down by the junkyard, where the creek meets the marshland, and the little girl went missing the summer she turned fourteen — their own little five-a-side team, frankie alway demoted to goalie. but there’s something about his way of explaining things that makes even dull concepts seem fresh and exciting, and frankly she’d let him talk until the cows came home ( and the sheep… and the pigs… ) about anything and everything if it meant having him to herself like this. “yeah, no, you’re right, it’s boring as fuck, but when you talk about stuff i’m interested. i feel like you’re like that, too. like i could read you a bus timetable and you’d be like, yeah, babe, sure that’s good craic.” their interest in one another feels evenly-matched that way, the novelty of this new, precarious, vibrant thing still unsteady like a newborn chick in the palm of her hand. “shut up, i want you to talk!” frankie fires back, the irony of her juxtaposition lost on her as her hand smacks lightly against his chest in the same moment that he draws her in for another kiss, skin sliding over skin to tug herself closer, fingers rooting in the hair at the back of his scalp. “mm-hm, i would look good in blue and black. and i’d get your number on the back and everything.” it’s weird how she can picture this, despite living on the opposite side of the world, despite not even knowing the rules of european football, she can see herself, hands cupped around her mouth, hooting and hollering every miles has got possession of the ball, in a football kit with his name on.
it’s fucking rude of miles to ask her this shit when his hips are shifting against hers, body tightening like a coil, a soft sigh on her lips as she feels herself slipping. it’s like meeting her scott pilgrim nega-self, a sharp, zingy spoonful of her own medicine, always broaching the topic of conversations she’d rather avoid when a partner is horny enough to tell her what she wants to hear. still, she’s trying to communicate better, speak her truth rather than what she wishes were the truth, and if she comes on too strong, she’ll deal with the consequences. “i mean, no? no. even if it was like… alysha newman or olivier giroud. it’s probably not gonna change. for me, at least.” because the truth is, she can fantasize about connecting with a celebrity crush, but it probably wouldn’t match what she’s already got, so why bother missing out on what’s in front of her. whether miles is talking to other people or not, she wants her priority to be him, wants him to feel like he's her priority, too. fingers lock around his wrists, tug them up over his head, and pin them between the pillow and the headboard. “maybe i’d be nicer about it. tell them we can still talk and stuff, see if there’s a vibe, but right now i’m not looking to complicate crap. like, for me personally… i’ve already got way more than i came for.” hesitating, she struggles for the balance between directness and coming on too strong, when the whole premise they’d built this on was keeping things light. “i'm not saying let's close this shit off, i'm just not interested in window-shopping. i don’t expect you to feel the same. you’ve had less time.” shrugging, frankie reaches for the duvet, pulling it over her head on it’s journey to tug it over them. “do i look like E.T.?” frankie asks, a half-hearted attempt to steer them away from the subject of what this is and back to the comfortable realm of silliness. she stretches out her index finger to place it against his forehead. “i’ll… be… right… here…”
miles o'sullivan
he’s about to protest such a thing, that there’s no way he makes shit like that sound that fascinating to her – she’s just putting him on. but she turns it around on him (in a way that compliments herself, of course, characteristically frankie) in a way that he can’t really argue with. “you have a point,” he says this slowly, a smile working its way onto his face, “but i think part of the reason i like you is that you don’t talk about stuff like that, like if you were reading me a bus timetable you’d have some sort of commentary, some story about one of the places on a roster or some interesting bit you read somewhere. it’s not just about you reading the bus timetable.” he pauses, “not that i’d ever underestimate a well-planned schedule.” he kisses the top of her head lightly, arms wrapping around her as he squeezes her briefly, muscles taut. he loves how she’s a mess of limbs, all over the place like she’s held together with rubber bands, slingshotting around rooms and hallways and lawns. feels good to have her in one place, too. “i like when you say it like that, though. craic,” he replies, tone playful. it’s funny to think of them in a real-life scenario, feels like a fantasy or a daydream even still. miles thinks that keeps it fun, though, not being bogged down by future plans and all. “if you keep talking about yourself in my kit, we’re gonna have to cut this conversation short,” he admits, voice low and somewhat husky as he presses his lips to hers in a lingering kiss.
“not even? shut the fuck up. you’d better dump me for giroud, sexy bastard,” if he’s got to fight france’s top scorer of all time for frankie, does he even want to win? miles would respectfully take that L. “though that’s wicked cute of you to say,” he adds, kissing the tip of frankie’s nose. cute and frankie might seem like concepts incongruent to each other to some people, but to miles, they’re in tandem. and he’s absolutely going down on her in a minute for a comment like that. “okay, i can roll with that,” though part of miles is a little confused. it’s not like he wants frankie to order him to be shut off, but he can’t help but wonder if she’s just saying it because she thinks she should, or that it’s because he wants to hear it. he didn’t expect her to basically say that it’s cool if he leaves the door wide open. “well, i’m not exactly window-shopping either. i’ve also already got way more than i expected out of this whole thing, like, from the moment we first kissed,” he admits, fingertips lightly trailing down her back. they’ve had so much fun in here, he doesn’t wanna do anything that’s going to put an end to that right now. “yeah, actually,” he laughs, rolling her tighter into the duvet, “we’re gonna have to ship this alien mug back home asap.”
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368 Unicorn
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390 Vampire by Night
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394 Magik II (Amanda Sefton AKA Daytripper)
395 No-Name the Brood
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473 Minotaur (Dario Agger)
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476 Arcade
477 Chamber
478 Volcana
479 Zarathos
480 Morph
481 Doop
482 Beast (Hex-Men)
483 Doctor Nemesis
484 Jack Flag
485 Belasco
486 Hepzibah
487 Thunderstrike (Eric)
488 Anaconda
489 Thunderstrike (Kevin)
490 M-11 the Human Robot
491 Black Mariah
492 The Buzz
493 Xarggu
494 Arsenic & Old Lace
495 M.O.D.A.M.
496 Margali
497 Marrina
498 Noh-Varr
499 Yo-Yo (Elena Rodriguez AKA Slingshot)
500 Hellcat
501 Starhawk (Stakar)
502 Bushmaster (Quincy)
503 Miss America Chavez
504 Krugarr
505 Daredevil Shadowland
506 Bushmaster (John)
507 Trevor Fitzroy
508 Zeitgeist
509 Terror
510 Major Victory (Vance Astro)
511 Geena Drake
512 Shanna the She-Devil
513 Wong
514 Satana Hellstrom
515 Scream
516 Zarda the Power Princess
517 Nuke
518 Venom Rocket / Venom the Raccoon
519 Speed Demon
520 Tarantula (Kaine)
521 3-D Man / Marathon Man
522 Doorman
523 Superia
524 Carter Slade the Satan-Stomper
525 Dino-Thor
526 Hobgoblin 2099
527 Gorr the God-Butcher
528 Mimic
529 Great Lakes Avengers (team champ)
530 Psycho-Man
531 Moondragon
532 Agent Phil Coulson
533 Firelord the Spicy Q-Tip
534 Sin
535 Aldrich Killian on Extremis
536 Angel (Tech/Black Vortex)
537 Kaecilius
538 The Uranian
539 Dragoness
540 Storm (Queen of Wakanda)
541 Exodus
542 Gravity
543 Beetle (Janice Lincoln)
544 Blizzard
545 Maverick / Agent Zero
546 Swarm
547 Bloodstorm
548 Achebe
549 Kull the Conqueror of Atlantis
550 Slayback
551 Tempus (Eva Bell)
552 Nakia
553 Zenzi
554 Midnight Angels of Wakanda
555 Hyperstorm
556 Moses Magnum
557 Scalphunter
558 Harpoon
559 Solo
560 Black Swan
561 Gentle
562 American Son
563 D'Spayre
564 Doctor Crocodile
565 White Wolf (Hunter)
566 Tetu
567 Atlas Bear
568 Agatha Harkness
569 Elixir
570 Sugar Man
571 Uatu
572 Proteus
573 Terminus
574 Wolvie
575 Talos
576 Captain ****
577 Llyra
578 Jimmy Hudson (Poison)
579 Luna Snow
580 Eclipse
581 Miss America (Joyce)
582 Ms. Marvel II (Ventura)
583 Smasher (Rokk)
584 The Russian
585 Ogun
586 Lincoln Campbell
587 Cardiac
588 Taskmaster (MCU)
589 Owl
590 Plantman / Blackheath
591 Ms. Thing
592 She-Thing (Ventura)
593 Bloodscream
594 Karkas
595 Red Ghost and his Super-Apes
596 Shatter
597 Kluh
598 ForgetMeNot
599 Post
600 Litterbug
601 Karolina Dean
602 White Rabbit
603 Shogun
604 Iron Duck
605 Druig
606 Poundcakes
607 Sinara
608 Synch
609 Bushwacker
610 Haechi
611 Dirk Anger
612 Mister M
613 Powell McTeague
7 notes
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View notes