#frankie writes

[danielsarmand]

i wont fail (i swear it)

Speculative, non-linear piece about what might have happened before Jayce went to find Viktor at the end of 2.06 [G, 1.4k words] (AO3 link)

Viktor floats toward him, and only then does Jayce realize there is no floor wherever they are. He’s briefly thrust back to the first time they did this—floated together in a sea of blue hues, tossing around a gear with childlike wonder.

“We don’t have much time,” Viktor says, catching Jayce’s hands in his.

Jayce looks down, surprised at the warmth spreading through his limbs. He squeezes Viktor’s hands and finds them to be improbably tangible.

“Are you real?” he asks, bewildered, running his thumbs over smooth skin.

Viktor chuckles, amusement reaching his eyes.

“As real as I can be,” he answers, and his voice sounds so clear. 

Has it ever sounded as clear?

“Am I?” Jayce asks then, because something’s got to give.

Viktor reaches for his face, placing a hand on his cheek.

“Jayce, look at me,” he commands.

Jayce obeys, his eyes finally focusing on Viktor’s. Amber colored, gentle. So, so pretty.

“We can’t do this, I need you to listen,” Viktor says, and Jayce nods.

Whatever, I’ll do whatever. Just tell me what to do.

Viktor furrows his brow, searching for signs that Jayce is actually present enough to be of use.

“You have to kill me.”

[thyfrankie]

ANAMORPHOSIS

a longform Pacific Rim/Reanimator crossover fic in the works. very self-indulgent, but one I hope will be enjoyed 🙌

start reading it on ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/59557186/chapters/151895503

[lady-divine-writes]

The Journey of a Thousand Miles 1/2

Eddie thought he'd be able to find a silver lining, but he can't.

How can there be a silver lining when the outcome is he's alone?

Eddie is used to being alone. But alone has never felt like this. He feels hollow.

Empty.

Eddie crawled into bottle after bottle trying to make sense of it all. He thinks he understands the logic of Venom sacrificing himself and leaving Eddie behind, even though they swore they would be the lethal protector together.

They were supposed to walk into the abyss hand in hand.

But Venom gave Eddie a gift. Eddie can have a normal life now without Venom. All those things V had hinted at during their trip through the desert: family, kids, pets, Broadway musicals. Eddie thought Venom had wanted those things with him, but V set him free to find them with someone else.

A human.

That was a good thing, right?

It meant V loved him. Loved Eddie more than himself, his own happiness.

They had set out to become the lethal protector, and they'd done that. They'd saved many people, then the whole planet to boot. That job was over. If his journey through the multiverse proved anything it's that there are more superheroes than him out there doing that job. He didn't need to.

Like many of the jobs Eddie has had in the past, it lasted about a year. So, in reality, he's pretty much on par.

Venom had promised to be with Eddie till the end.

This isn't the ending Eddie wanted.

That first week in New York - standing on the dock, gazing across the water at Lady Liberty, ruminating over how much Venom would have loved to see her - he originally decided he wasn't going to mourn his other. He was going to move forward, travel, see the world, get his journalistic chops back, and write things that mattered. A few phone calls later he discovered that nothing about having his record expunged or being given the "thanks of a grateful nation" would help fund his endeavors, but he was going to give it the old college try.

That lasted roughly seven weeks.

Seven weeks of being motivated to change for the better before he started slipping back into old habits. Unfortunately, those habits included running headlong into alleyways when he heard an innocent scream for help, jumping from building to building while in pursuit, and mean-mugging guys who could eat him for breakfast.

One broken arm and a fractured leg later, he realizes moving forward is a facade. He can't do it. He can't live without the voice inside his head, the one he woke up to every morning. Even now, the first thing he does before he opens his eyes is say, "Hey, buddy."

The silence that follows is so immense he feels like he's drowning in it. But this time, no one can save him.

He can't survive without his symbiote.

His other.

With a dry throat and throbbing temples, he stares at a black computer screen and sees his future.

Nothing.

It doesn't matter how far forward he goes, there's nothing for him once he gets there.

He decides to go back to where it all began. 

He would take the trip back to San Francisco, backpack cross country, cover all the land he and V did on their way east. Then he'd do some research. Call in every favor he's got. He'd hunt down those 'beings' from the other universes. Venom and those monstrous insect demons couldn't be the only ones to find their way to his Earth. There has to be someone else.

Well, whoever they are, wherever they are, he's going to find them.

Then he'll make them help him find the quickest way possible to join his other, wherever he ended up.

Venom said, "Goodbye for now."

Well.

Time's up.

[whendidmythoughtsgocrazy]

Love should calm the storm inside of you, not provoke it.

k.b. // drowning, resurfacing: notes on heartbreak & healing by frankie riley

[microwavingfranky]

Where this goes, part 3.

Part 1 (Start), Part 2, Part 4

valid questions???

I love playing with silence in comics

[wigglesdtuff]

[thus-spoke-lo]

"What's Got You All Worked Up?": Little things that turn One Piece men on feat. Zoro - Sanji - Law - Usopp - Franky - Crocodile - Doflamingo

NSFW/18+ [minors DNI]

CW: gn!reader [Zoro, Sanji, Usopp]; afab!reader [Law, Franky, Crocodile, Doflamingo] - no gendered pronouns used; vaginal fingering [Law]; vaginal intercourse [Law]; somnophilia [Doflamingo]

Zoro: the way you look after a workout

Zoro never cares if you keep up with him when he works out—he loves that you want to spend time with him, adores how serious you take your bicep curls or how you look in the afternoon light when you lay down on a mat for a while to slowly stretch your limbs. But it’s when you’re all done for the day, when the heat of the midday sun has the room like a sauna and your muscles are sore and shaking, that he starts to lose all semblance of control. Your temples are dappled with perspiration, your chest heaving as you finish your last rep, sweat is trickling down your neck; he swallows hard and lets out a low groan at the sight of you. It reminds him of the way you look right after he fucks you, all heated and glistening with sweat and limbs weak and trembling. And since you’re already all warmed up, this seems like the perfect time to bend you over and take you right there on the weight bench.

Sanji: the way you smell

He doesn’t mean to be such a pest (well, actually he does) when he comes up behind you in the mornings, when you’ve just woken and you’re still sleep-drunk and groaning that the sun is out again already, but he needs to bury his face in the crook of your neck as soon as you wake and inhale your scent. Sanji thinks you smell sweet in the mornings, like pancakes and pastries, and pulls you back into bed so he can devour you like the delicious treat that you are. In the afternoons, he catches a whiff of you on the breeze, your skin covered in the salty spray of the sea, hands scented with tangerines after helping Nami in the garden, and he’s all over you, plying you with kisses and lust-tinged whimpers, begging you to come to his bunk, just for a little while, just so he can taste the way the citrus settled into your skin. And at night, he’s insatiable, burying his nose in your hair unabashedly when you stay to help him clean after dinner, taking in the way the faint traces of aromatic ingredients have settled on you and mixed with your own scent that he adores. It’s not long before he’s shutting off the sink and taking you by the hand, leading you over to the table and making a meal of you right then and there.

Law: the way you look in comfy clothes

Sure, he thinks you look lovely on the rare occasion you get to leave the submarine together and you doll yourself up for him, wearing that new shirt he likes, the one that flows over your body like water, and take the effort to line your eyes and swipe a little lipstick on. But when he feels the most hungry for you is when you get back and head straight to your quarters, stripping off your shoes and your pretty shirt and those tight jeans that make your ass look perfect but that you joke threaten to cut off your breathing one of these days. He sits in his desk chair and watches as everything comes off, and you crawl into his bed, face freshly-scrubbed, tucking your hands into the sleeves of an oversized sweatshirt. It’s then, when you’re finally comfortable and warm, when you look at ease and relaxed, and you gaze at him with half-lidded eyes, that he’s all over you, fingers dipping below the waistband of your soft cotton shorts, teasing your pussy until you whimper and beg for more. He doesn’t even bother to strip the rest of your clothes off before he pulls his cock out of his jeans and buries himself inside you to the hilt, pulling your shorts to the side instead so you can stay nice and cozy, just how he likes you.

Usopp: when you help in his workshop

Sharing his workspace with you is already intimate enough for Usopp – it’s like he’s sharing a piece of himself the way he invites you in. But once you’re in there, it’s hard for him not to be heated at how serious you take it. You look so sweet the way your tongue pokes out of your mouth when you’re focused on something, and he feels a tingle at the base of his spine whenever you pout and ask him for help—you’re so close to getting it right, you just need him to guide you, to stand behind you and place his hands on yours and make sure the welding equipment stays steady. Watching the way you grip that piece of metal piping your working with in a way that makes him wish your hands were wrapped around his length instead…it takes everything he has not to grab you and sit you on top his worktable, to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you against him, let you feel just how much you drive him crazy. But he resists, at least for the moment, anyway--hearing you describe just how hard that steel is and how hot and sweaty you've become doing all this work pushes him to the brink soon enough, and he has no qualms in showing you exactly how skilled his hands are.

Franky: when you show just a little bit of skin

Coming from a man who walks around in an open shirt and swim briefs, this sounds pretty rich. But there’s just something so tantalizing about seeing a hint of skin and having to imagine what’s underneath, like that time your leggings were more sheer than you thought, and you bent over to grab the laundry basket and he got a quick glimpse of your panties (that happened to be the same pattern as one of his shirts). It was enough to drive him to distraction for the rest of the day and make him glad he was alone in the engine room, barely able to contain the way his cock pulsed every time he remembered how you looked. He loves that one sweater you wear, too—the one that just won’t stay on your shoulder and keeps slipping down, exposing just the slightest bit of soft skin in the afternoon sun, and the way it leads his eyes down to the way the fabric settles over your breasts. And don’t even get him started on that hint of your tummy he gets to see when you reach up to grab something off a high shelf, reminding him how easy it would be to wrap his big hand around your waist and just slide it right on up until he can feel the silky material of that nice bra he bought you…have mercy.

Crocodile: the way you look getting ready for dinner

It’s so routine now that you don’t seem to mind—at first it alarmed you, made you feel like prey when Crocodile would sit on the velvet couch in your quarters, his arms draped across the back, a cigar clenched in his teeth, and he’d watch you ready yourself for that evening’s festivities. But now, you almost welcomed the way his predatory gaze would settle on you as you sit at your vanity and paint your lips; you throw a wink and a pout his way now and again in the mirror, almost tempting him to ruin that pretty makeup after you’ve spent so long putting it on. He loves how your body moves, almost sleek and catlike, around the room, slinking into your closet and asking him which dress he likes better. He shifts in his seat as you wriggle into that pretty blue number he adores, and throbs as you glance over your shoulder and bat your eyes, asking him sweetly to come zip you up. And how can he refuse? Of course, by the time he crosses the room and reaches you, you both know that he has no plans to move that zipper an inch, and instead you feel the tip of his hook lifting your hem as he growls in your ear to bend over—he’s going to take care of that needy pussy of yours before you ever step foot out of your room. Guess you’ll be late for dinner, again.

Doflamingo: the way you look when you’re sleeping

He chuckles quietly and wonders if you fell asleep this way on purpose—the silken nightgown he dressed you in before he left for the evening has been discarded on the floor, and you lay atop the sheets, your body completely bare and bathed in moonlight. He slowly circles the bed like a predator, admiring the way your limbs are stretched out, arms flung above your head, your legs spread, one knee bent and lolled to the side, exposing your pretty little cunt. It looks just like the way you fling yourself onto the mattress when you’re feeling needy, how you toss your dress at him and lay back against the plush pillows, biting your lip and beckoning him to you with sweet pleas of I need you. He licks his lips at how your slit glistens, and wonders if you’re dreaming of him, wonders if perhaps you touched yourself thinking of him before you fell asleep. He sits carefully on the edge of the bed and watches you sleep a little longer, your lashes fluttering slightly as you moan and shift, your breasts heaving as you inhale deeply and sigh. You tempt him even in slumber, and he palms the throbbing hardness that pushes against his slacks, groaning softly as he decides if he should wake you with his fingers, his tongue, or his cock.

[juneberrie]

MONSTER HIGH CHARACTERS WITH A PARTNER WHO SLEEPS IN CLASS

requested || monster high masterlist

───featuring: frankie stein, cleo de nile, draculaura, clawd wolf, clawdeen wolf, deuce gorgon, heath burns, jackson jekyll, holt hyde, lagoona blue

FRANKIE STEIN

would look over and be like 😟

pokes ur arm like "are u asleep?"

and then she realizes you are asleep and she laughs quietly

would probably write ur notes for you??? or like she'd move ur pen/pencil so there aren't random scribbles on your paper

"did u sleep well 😊" when u wake up

CLEO DE NILE

tbh she probably wouldn't notice for a good while

she'd go to ask you a question

and there you are with your head down, obviously asleep

she'd be like "oh 😒" and then just ask you her question later

if anyone near you is like making a ton of noise she'd glare at them and tell them to shut the fuck up

DRACULAURA

"oh!" when she realizes

she'd like giggle bc she thinks ur so cutie

and she'd probably just leave u be for a while until a few minutes until class ends and she'd be like "if u want i can ask frankie if you can borrow her notes" bc lets be honest she probably doesn't take notes

CLAWD WOLF

would probably let you use his jacket as a pillow or a blanket or something

don't expect him to let you copy his notes (he doesn't take any)

would try to explain what the teacher was yapping about but he's rlly bad at explaining so it sounds like "so this and ummm i think that and probably this too.... i think he said something about this?"

CLAWDEEN WOLF

would tap u bc she noticed ur head down and she's like "are u okay"

"oh they're asleep!"

if the teacher asks why ur head is down she'd be like "they have a headache" or smth

will let u copy her notes

glares at anyone breathing slightly too loud

"shut up can't u see theyre trying to sleep?? yeah thats what i thought"

DEUCE GORGON

okay so this bitch is kinda stupid

and he sees u asleep right

so he like pulls out an extra pair of sunglasses from his bag

and he sits you up and puts the glasses on you

bro is so proud of himself!!!

its so obvious you're asleep and then u get woken up bc the teacher is like "wtf"

HEATH BURNS

he'd be like "y/n! y/n!" and then realize ur asleep

and then very loudly go "OHHHHHHH YOU'RE ASLEEP"

so you probably get woken up tbh

he'd be like " 😨 sorry 😜"

either that or he'd notice and very loudly shush people

JACKSON JEKYLL

bro is in shock

how??? are you sleeping???? in class?????

he'd be really nervous for you

cause he doesn't want you to get in trouble for sleeping in class

when u wake up he tells you to get more sleep at night or something

HOLT HYDE

straight up would NOT care

bro was listening to his music and he like looks over and sees u asleep and he's like "okay!"

he'd probably draw on ur hand tbh or like ur paper

when u wake up he's like "omg hey" and would give u one of his airpods as yall walk to class

LAGOONA BLUE

she'd let you sleep

she wouldn't really notice but when she does she's like "awww" and moves ur notebook out of the way so she can write notes for u <3

[peanutbubba]

Strawhats with a physically affectionate reader

Gn!reader, drabble, pretty short, separate char x reader, fluffy, kinda shitty ngl

———————————————————————

Monkey D. Luffy

Luffy, who really likes it when he is touching, or his partner is touching him. He doesn’t care in what way it is, hand holding, piggybacking, so long as you both have physical contact.

Though his favorite affection by far is when you change his expressions, putting your hands on his face and making new silly looks for him. He adores the way you laugh while messing with his rubber face, everytime you smile or look concentrated while working on changing it he just gets mesmerized. He’s completely in love with you, please never leave him, he wants to become king of the pirates with you by his side.

Roranora Zoro

Zoro, who isn’t really bothered by physical affection. Like, he actively doesn’t care if you cling to him, so long as it’s not when he’s training, but at the same time he finds it so adorable.

You want to cling to him? Sure, just know he’s now going to fall asleep with you tight in his arms. There is no escaping, just fall asleep with him. You make his naps a million times better, your body pressed against his, sharing each other’s warmth. Definitely his favorite part of you loving to touch him.

Sanji Vinsmoke

Sanji, who absolutely LOVES the fact that you want to touch him of all people. Holding hands, using each other as pillows, him carrying you like you’re royalty, the whole 9 yards. He gets so upset when you have to let go of him because he has to cook, or you have to help one of the other crew members, always promises/makes you promise you’ll be right back.

His favorite affection of yours however is when you softly play with his hair, or gently hold/caress his face. It makes him feel so safe and loved, like he’s the specialist boy in the world to deserve someone like you. It’s also a pretty good way to get him to relax after a stressful night, or calm down when bad thoughts cloud his mind.

Nami

Nami, who is and isn’t bothered by it. A lot of the time she likes her personal space, but she also doesn’t mind that you’re in it too, depending on her mood.

If she’s too busy mapping or navigating then she’ll politely tell you that she doesn’t want you on her at the moment, but you can stick next to her. However, during nights you’re like her personal pillow, or when she’s really happy and excited she’s always throwing her hands over your shoulders.

Ussop

Ussop, who gets really flustered at the fact that you’re in his personal bubble, but he loves it.

Don't get the wrong idea when he suddenly goes quiet after feeling your hands wrap around him, he’s just trying to boot his brain back up. So long as you cling to him in a safe place, or while he’s not working on new projects then you’re both good. Please hang on to him, he loves the attention, he just doesn’t know how to react.

Nico Robin

Robin, who enjoys it most of the time, but also likes her personal space.

Go ahead and lay your head on her lap while she reads, she'll gently run one hand through your hair, or scratch your scalp. Go and place a hand on top of hers while chatting, she’ll thread your fingers together. So long as your affection doesn’t get in the way of anything, and is safe then she enjoys it.

Franky

Franky, who also loves physical touch, perhaps just a little less than words of affirmation.

Though, he knows it’s not very fun to cuddle a cyborg, so it’s mostly hand holding, or rides on his shoulders and back to make you feel tall. Overall, he tries to be very accommodating to your comfort while you touch him.

Brook

Brook, who is a sucker for touching you. All day everyday, 24/7, just perhaps when he’s not playing his instruments.

But, he very much likes to hug/hold you, it reminds him that you’re alive and in fact here. You warm flesh against his cool bones, it brings out a nervous beat in his heart. Though… he doesn’t really have a heart being a skeleton. Anyways, also tries to be accommodating because cuddling a literal skeleton is not the most comfortable thing in the world.

Jinbe

Jinbe, who likes it, but also thinks it’s kind of unconventional. You’re obviously much smaller than him, so it’s kind of hard to making things like physical affection work, but if there’s a will there’s a way.

Hold on to his clothes while he’s tending to the helm, he finds it very pleasing, and it relaxes him a lot. Or, hold his webbed hand in your smaller one, he adores it. Alternatively, sleep on top of him at night, it’s a great comfort to him, and probably one of the only times he can give you the most affection.

—

Hope you enjoyed, Peas out!

[deuces-sunglasses]

Franky wanting to build a dishwasher for Sanji, and Zoro trying to interfere, because washing dishes with Sanji is his favourite part of the day.

[magpiepills]

Doin’ Time

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Corrections Officer Joel Miller x f inmate reader

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: you’re a client of the criminal justice system and you have a run in with CO Miller

Warnings: SMUT! PWP, Dub Con, hand cuffs, unethical pairing, PIV, rough oral, masturbation, dirty talk, night stick, kinda mean Joel, stuff like that. It’s prison sex. Don’t read this if anything about it may be triggering to you. Barely edited, not beta’d.

A word from the author: ACAB. Cops are class traitors and policing is inherently racist. Still gonna write prison smut though.

“Inmate 4-2-0-6-9! Against the wall!” He bellowed across the yard where you sat with a few of the girls from your block. You rolled your eyes with a groan and slowly stood, dragging your feet across the yard to where he stood, arms crossed and face hard. Last thing you needed was to get maced.

C.O. Miller was the most senior guard, which wasn’t saying much considering the revolving door of the run-down prison where you were remanded for the next 32 months. Nevertheless, he was basically in charge of the way things worked in your block. He had a big, jangling key ring on his thick, black belt and you could hear him before you saw him coming. This was a blessing and a curse. It gave you time to hide your cell phone, but after four months in cell block D, the sound of his keys also created something of a Pavlovian response.

“Tits on the wall and hands behind your back,” he barked at you. “And feet apart. Come on sweetheart. I know you know how to spread those legs.”

He was behind you now, big palm pressing you roughly against the brick wall that surrounded the yard. You didn’t speak. You let your hips do the talking, tilting forward to arch your back while he patted you down, running his night stick up the inside of one leg and down the other, with a stop in between to prod at the apex of your thighs. He stood close behind you, sliding his hands greedily around your waist.

“Got anything in here I need to know about?” He breathed into your ear as he slid his hands up under your beige top. He palmed your tits from behind and rolled his hips against your ass so you could feel his straining erection.

He pinched your nipples and dragged his nose against the side of your neck before stepping back.

“No bra. That’s a dress code violation.”

You couldn’t stop the smirk on your face when he pulled your hands behind you, snapping on handcuffs and letting you stroke his cock over his uniform pants.

He pulled you away from the wall and directed you back into the building, away from the prying eyes of the other girls who got to enjoy the rest of their time in the sunshine.

Miller nodded at a few other guards as you passed, and you winked at your friends in their cells and exaggerated your strut as they whistled and whooped when they saw who was walking you to ad-seg. It earned you a rough shake. “Knock it off.” He ordered. He’s no fun.

By the time you got to the heavy, windowless door leading to the familiar, bare cell known as “the hole” your pussy was slick and throbbing in anticipation.

He unlocked the door, took off the cuffs, and shoved you inside, leaving you alone in the stuffy six by nine room. You could hear the lock being turned, and footsteps receding. You waited and listened, still soaking your standard issue pants with your wet pussy.

You got tired of waiting. He hadn’t told you how long you were going to be in here, so you laid on the thin mattress on the floor and slipped your hand under your waistband. It was really the only reasonable way to pass the time when you were sent to the hole.

You stroked over your lips, feeling the mess you made, dipping your middle finger to collect more. You circled your clit, in no hurry because you had nothing but time. You thought of Crissy, your cellmate with the great tits. You thought of your last boyfriend, who could make you come like magic but who had probably narc’d on you. You thought of C.O. Miller. You thought of that night stick of his. You even thought of Tim.

Before you could get yourself off, the lock disengaged and the door creaked open once more. CO Miller stood in the doorway, taking up the whole of it with his imposing body and his serious face.

“You’re just in time,” you cooed teasingly.

“Shut up. Hands behind your back. Turn around,” his voice is low and gruff, and if he wasn’t hard as a rock you might think he was actually mad. He cuffed you again and shoved you against the cold concrete wall of your cell. He kissed your neck, the tenderness a stark contrast to the rough way he was treating you. He crowds you against the wall, covering your body with his. “You know I could write you a shot for rubbin’ one out in here. Got the whole room smellin’ like pussy.” His voice is husky and low. He’s teasing, you think. Masturbating isn’t really an infraction is it? You don’t have time to ask. His hand is shoved down the back of your baggy pants and into your soaked, prison-issue cotton underwear.

You wished you had some of your own panties to wear for him. You wish he could see you like you are when you’re not in this place. His eyes might bug out if he saw your sundresses and your lacy panties. Your strappy sandals, your makeup, your manicures. He doesn’t see it though. He sees a criminal. He sees someone he can take from. And you see someone who can make your stay a little more comfortable if you play it right.

You tilt your hips, rubbing your pussy against his thick fingers, and for a moment he lets you, humming into your hair. “Desperate little pussy. What’s the matter? None of the other girls eat pussy? You need it so bad you’ll let me at it?” You whine at the question, the vulgarity. The other girls do eat pussy. Some are really good at it, too. But as awful as Miller is, you just want him. He’s big and rugged and he’d be exactly your type outside of prison. You like your men a little older- greying, laugh lines, softer bellies, but still strong. He’s so handsome. His eyes are so dark, his lips are so soft looking, he’s got a nose with the most beautiful gentle curve. He has the sort of looks that belong in movies, not going to waste in a women’s prison.

He presses firmly against your wet lips with his whole hand, covering his palm and fingers in your wetness before shoving two fingers in without warning. It makes you gasp, makes you buck against him, seeking more. He flexes his wrist, fucking you on his fingers. It’s not enough, you can’t come like this, but the feeling of being stretched is incredible. “More,” you whine, “more please.”

“Yeah? You need more? Two big fingers ain’t enough?” You shake your head shyly, unable to look at his face, still unsure of the dynamic. You hear the rustle of his belt, of leather against fabric, your mouth waters and your cunt clenches. You know he’s big. The way he walks, the way he talks, the look in his eyes, they tell you he’s hung even if you hadn’t felt for yourself.

Your pants are pulled down to your ankles, along with your underwear. You can feel your slick smear down your thighs. You don’t dare speak, you just arch your back, ready to take him, ravenous for his cock. his warm hand pressed into your back, your chest against the wall again, and you stifle a whimper but what you feel prodding against your weeping entrance isn’t the fat, hot cock head you had hoped for. It was cold and hard and heavy, you recognized it immediately.

CO Miller slid the tip of it over your wet pussy lips, twisting it to coat the surface in shiny wetness, smirking when you tried to grind down onto it. Without warning or sentiment, Joel nudged his night stick inside you. It seemed made for the purpose, rounded at the end, phallic. You wondered how many women he’d fucked with it. It gave you a fucked up thrill. You rolled your hips, taking it deeper. “Yeah. Look at you. Fucking a night stick. Been without dick too long, huh?”

You nodded pathetically and looked at him from the corner of your eye, his eyes were dark and his hand was inside his unfastened pants, stroking himself slowly. He matched the tempo of his fist to the thrust of his night stick inside you. You moaned for him, you saw him snarl as he watched with narrowed eyes as his weapon slid in and out, coved in your slick. He moved it slowly, watching the way your delicate skin stretched around it.

And then it was gone. Pulled free and discarded, clattering on the floor. In an instant his cock was out and hanging between you, thick, throbbing, precum leaking from the blunt head. It was better than you imagined, and you’d imagined it a lot. He spun you around and shoved you down to your knees. You nearly lost your balance, unable to steady yourself with your hands behind your back. He caught your shoulder and steadied you, petting your hair and letting his hands roam over your cheeks and down your neck, thumb brushing over your lips.

“Open up. Wide. Come on.”

You relaxed your jaw as best you could and stuck out your tongue to lick at the tip of his cock. His precum was salty and warm on your tongue. He let you taste him, licking around his thick head messily, teasing for as long as he would let you. It wasn’t long. He held your head and guided himself inside, slow and steady until he got to the back of your throat, and then just a bit further before backing out. You focused on breathing, in and out through your nose when it wasn’t pressed into the rough hair above his cock. Above you he moaned. A deep, warbling sound of pleasure that made you gush.

You turned your eyes up to try to meet his, but they were shut tight. His head lolled back and forth as he fucked your face. His movements became shorter and rougher, your mouth watered, ready to swallow his load, to prove your value to him, to earn his favor. And if you got off on it too, well, all the better.

There was no chance. Instead of coming down your throat, he pulled out suddenly, smearing drool onto your cheek. “Lay down. There, on the mattress.”

You moved awkwardly with your hands behind your back and your ankles basically manacled in your pants. You walked on your knees and laid on your back, legs together in a futile attempt at modesty. Of course it didn’t matter, he was already there, pushing them apart, spreading them wide and taking a gluttonously long look at your wet sex. You throbbed so hard you thought he could surely see.

“Jesus Christ. Look at that. You always get this wet from sucking dick? You’re dripping all over the place.”

He pulled one bare foot and then the other from your pants, and pumped his cock in his thick fist while he taunted you, spitting into his hand for one last stroke before lining himself up with your begging hole.

“Just yours,” you lied, fawning over him until he chased the air out of you with the heft of his cock. Even when he stretched you beforehand, he was tremendous. He didn’t wait for you to adjust, or to compliment him any more. He bore into you with his weight and strength, driving you into the floor. The world went fuzzy and dim, his deep voice keeping you afloat.

“Little prison pussy can’t handle some dick? Huh? Get a little cock in ya and you can’t think straight any more?”

Miller held your face in one hand, squeezing your cheeks together until your lips parted. He kissed your chin, biting it without conviction, and spat onto your tongue before kissing you, all messy, his tongue tasting yours. You pant and moan for him, trying hard to lift your hips for more even as he pounded into you.

When you wrapped your legs around his waist he sat up, as if suddenly aware that what he’s doing is wrong.

“Don’t try anything,” he warned, and repositioned you.

Miller turned you half onto your side and pushed back into you. He held your still handcuffed wrists in one hand and squeezed the soft fat of your ass in the other while using your body,

“Fuck me, that’s a tight little pussy,” he gritted out, straddling your right thigh while the other was pushed up. He used you like a toy. He pushed and pulled you as he pleased. Your orgasm built slowly without any direct touch on your clit, throbbing and firm, all but forgotten by the man who filled your cunt completely.

Joel loved watching the shiny wet slide of his cock in and out of your pussy. Your body gripped and pulled him, soaked him and squeezed him just right. His eyes flitted from where he drove into you to your tits, bouncing with each thrust and then back.

Your release was like a ripple spreading outward from your center. It pulsed and took control of your body. Your eyes lost focus, your back arched, and you clenched hard on CO Miller’s cock.

His orgasm hit him hard and fast, like a lightning bolt through his body. The rhythmic beat of your impossibly tight pussy pulled it from him. There was barely time for him to pull out and rut his hot, wet cock against your ass, spilling his cum over your body.

He was finished with you. He wiped his cum from you body with a handkerchief. He was gentle, but sure not to leave a trace behind. He tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket and took a long last look at your slick, used sex before standing you up to right your pants.

You watched him as he went through these motions, devoid of sentiment or warmth.

“Well, Miller? Do I get off for good behavior?”

It earned you a crooked half smile that flashed across this scruffy face before disappearing again.

“You get a shower.”

It wasn’t your usual shower time but you didn’t protest. You didn’t ask if you’d still get your shower tomorrow. Just walked obediently in front of him, still floaty from your release. He took you back down an empty corridor, past disused units, what used to be a library, to a shower room that was normally off limits, used by the guards as a sort of hangout, a break room separate from the main break room.

There, waiting with knees spread wide, and an eager smile, was CO Morales.

“Morales is gonna help ya with that shower. Don’t give him any trouble, or I’ll hear about it.”

Your mouth dropped as the younger man came to stand in front of you, taking your arm and pulling you closer to him.

“Broke her in for you,” CO Miller patted your ass as he addressed the new officer. The clear implication sent a fresh trickle of wetness from your slit.

“And next time,” he warned, “put on your bra. Won’t be so nice next time.”

[danielsarmand]

never far behind

pairing: jayce/viktor rating: explicit word count: 2.3k summary: jayce eats viktor out instead of facing his fears and gets spooned about it

“I just... sometimes I have this fear.”

“Of what?”

“It’s silly.”

Viktor nods, tucking a strand of hair behind Jayce’s ear.

“Okay, so let it be silly.”

Jayce holds him a little tighter. It’s not necessarily comfortable, but Viktor doesn’t complain.

“I don’t know how to explain it. I guess... well, I’m scared that you won’t be there when I wake up.”

For a while, Viktor is silent.

“Sometimes a man needs to use the bathroom, Jayce,” he finally says.

keep reading on ao3

[thyfrankie]

Here’s my gift for @michygranger23 for @reanimator-holiday-gift-exchange !!! Some cute little slice of life Danbert, where Herbert is good at everything but fulfilling his basic needs (like a Sim) and Dan has to be the one to try to get him to, you know, eat. This was lots of fun, I hope you love it!

[lady-divine-writes]

“Kurt! Dammit! Look at your phone!” “We're in the same apartment! If you want to talk, come out here and talk!” "No! I need you to look at your phone!" "Why?" "Because I'm trying to apologize!" "Then come out here and apologize!" "But...but..." Sebastian sputters, "that'll negate the apology I sent you! And I put effort into it! Remember effort? The thing you say I don't give enough of because I solve everything with my wallet?" Kurt's burgeoning tirade stops short, leaving him mouth agape. He does say that. Quite a lot, actually, where their relationship is concerned. But that's because, for the past few years, it's been true. Sebastian forgets an anniversary? A blue box from Tiffany's shows up on Kurt's desk. They get into a fight, and Sebastian says something heinous? A new McQueen scarf gets added to Kurt's collection. Sebastian conveniently discovers last minute that he has a late meeting on the one night Kurt's friends arrive in town for drinks? A new pair of Jimmy Choos magically appears on the passenger seat of Kurt's SUV. And whereas Kurt isn't opposed to material displays of affection, the one thing all of these lack is Sebastian himself. "Fair. But why do I need to look at my phone?" "It's sort of a multi-media event." Kurt rolls his eyes. "Fine. I'll look," he promises. But he doesn't. Not right away. And Sebastian glares at him. "Now, Kurt. Now. Look at your phone right now." Kurt huffs, followed by another dramatic, "Fine!" Kurt unlocks his phone as slowly as humanly possible. - Data Dump

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

In the Winter - A "Kissing You" Drabble

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader Warnings: LOL this is so rated E for every single reason. Oral (fem receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, cum play, you name it. Word Count: 2355 Prompt #56: Pulling your love in your lap, them straddling your hips. a/n: I watched Triple Frontier twice in a week and this happened. Happy Winter!

Masterlist | Previous Drabble | Next Drabble

You’d grown up in the cold, but Frankie most certainly had not. 

“How the fuck does anyone live here?” Frankie asks for what you’re pretty sure is the fourth time since you started shoveling out the driveway. Snow was still falling, but you’d lived there long enough to know that shoveling a little at a time was greatly preferable to plowing your way through the higher drifts later. Your dad didn’t believe in snowblowers so shoveling was the only option, and this made it easier. It was a whole deal. 

You stop for a moment, leaning against your shovel as you wipe away a few stray strands of hair from your cheek. “You deal with it,” you shrug, although you’ll be the first to admit that living in Florida for the past few years has made dealing with it a lot harder than it used to be. 

Frankie mirrors you, his weight shifting against his own shovel as he breathes heavily. A giggle escapes you at the sight - Francisco Morales in a bright blue parka, his jeans tucked into an old pair of your father’s boots. A winter hat that replaced his standard baseball cap sits atop his head, and his cheeks are rosy red from a mixture of cold and the exertion of clearing the driveway. 

“I’m starting to regret volunteering for this,” he quips, taking a few steps toward you as he drags the shovel behind him, the metal scraping against the icy pavement. 

“But now Dad loves you,” you tease, maneuvering in his direction with a sway of your hips, “and wasn’t that your goal?” 

His eyebrows raise in disbelief, “how did you…” 

“Isn’t it?” you ask again, popping the “T” in your response as a smile plays at your lips. When your mom learned that you had some time off, she’d insisted that you come home for the holidays, and Frankie had been oddly eager to join you. It didn’t take long for you to realize that Frankie was trying hard to impress your parents, but it wasn’t until you accidentally overhead a conversation in your father’s study that you fully understood why. 

Your boyfriend is close enough now that his breath mingles with your own, fogging in-between your bodies. From where you stand, even through the layers you both wear, you can feel the heat radiating off him. You automatically lean closer, swaying in his direction, but he surprises you by pulling back, resuming the task of clearing snow with a sly smile plastered on his face. 

“What the fuck, Frankie?”

“If my purpose here is to impress your father, then I’d better finish clearing out this driveway,” he states, effortlessly working to clear the remaining snow with renewed determination. “Plus, anyone could see us out here.” 

Arousal pools deep in your belly as you watch him work, and you glance back at the house, where soft light pours out the front window. Frankie’s right, anyone could see you out here, your parents included, but it’s also late. Late enough that the street around you is quiet, and you’re fairly certain your parents have already gone to bed. 

Which is why, when you look back at Frankie, your brain short circuits. He’s grunting as he lifts another load of snow and it causes a flash of heat to course through your veins, and you curse the archaic traditions that have you sleeping in separate bedrooms. Frankie had sheepishly followed orders, bunking downstairs in the guest room while you took your childhood bedroom two stories up. You’d protested, but this trip and their impressions were important to Frankie, which meant they were important to you, but now your ability to refrain from sneaking beneath his sheets is wearing thin. 

And, then, a plan forms in your mind. 

You drop your shovel where it stands, moving with purpose down the driveway. He’s focused enough on his task that he doesn’t hear you, the sound of your footsteps muffled by his hat, and he’s obviously surprised when you grab his arm and drag him back toward the house. His shovel drops with a second loud clang, and you wince, hoping that it doesn’t wake anyone inside the house, but you keep moving, intent on getting him inside as soon as possible. 

“What are you…” he asks, but you drown out his response with your lips on his the second you have him pulled into the garage. With the door closed behind him, he winds his arms around you, still covered hands spanning the width of your back. 

Frankie’s a good kisser, you learned that on your first date, but nothing ever seems to prepare you for the way he devours you. You might be in control, pressing him firmly against the door, but he maintains a near-frantic pace, biting at your lower lip in a well-practiced effort that draws a moan out of you. 

It’s overwhelming, and you’re unsure how he’s been able to notice anything in the moments since you stepped into the garage when you already feel like you’re floating, but he leads you easily toward an old workbench that you recognize faintly from your grandparents’ farm. When he sits, he drags you down against him, urging you to straddle his hips, hands on your thighs as he leads you in grinding your core against him. Your movements are sloppy, desperate for any kind of friction, but then he finds your rhythm and fuck. 

He’s hard against your center, hips rocking ever so slightly up against you even through the layers you both still wear. It’s unclear when you lost your scarf or when he lost his hat, but Frankie’s lips are attached to your neck, worrying into your skin in a way that makes you thankful it’ll still be cold enough for a turtleneck in the morning. You make a feeble attempt to bring him closer by tangling your fingers in his curls, but it isn’t enough. None of it is. You need to be closer. 

“Why the fuck did I wear snow pants?” you whine into the dark as you stand, frantically starting to peel back your layers. Frankie is barely visible in the shadows of the room, but you hear his low laugh, and you swat at him in warning. “Stop laughing and help me out of this thing.” 

“As you wish,” he returns, making quick work of your jacket, pushing it off your shoulders to let it pool on the concrete behind you. You’re already working at your boots while he unzips his own coat, and then his hands are on you again, attempting to unfasten the suspenders on your snow pants. “And here I was thinking the most complicated thing I’d ever have to get you out of was that thing you wore for our anniversary,” he grumbles as his fingers work. 

“Just wait till you see me in a wedding dress,” you tease, and you can tell by the way Frankie stills for just a moment that you haven’t extinguished a fire, you’ve lit one. 

You’re barely aware of what happens next, of the way Frankie lifts you so your back is against the rough surface of the bench. He practically rips your snowpants from your legs, revealing the yoga pants underneath, and he makes quick work of those too. Your skin protests at the onset of the cold room, but he’s quick to distract you by trailing a line of kisses from your neck down your body, hands running up underneath the sweatshirt you’re still wearing to cup your breasts as he drifts lower. 

When he reaches your core, he blows a puff of air against your soaked panties, and you’re faintly aware of the way you’re begging him to do something, anything. He makes you wait instead, tracing your thighs with his tongue as he slowly pulls the remaining fabric down your legs, and only then does he finally give you what you want. 

You struggle to swallow a moan when his tongue traces a path through your center, his fingers already easing their way toward your entrance. He’s methodical, the same way he always is when he eats you out, carefully monitoring every sound you make, every move of your hips.  “Doing so good for me, baby,” he murmurs against you, “but you’ve gotta stay quiet for me.” 

It’s a command that’s easier for him to give than it is for you to follow, especially as your hips rut up against his mouth. It’s harder when he’s buried two fingers kuckle-deep inside you, pumping in and out slowly. Frankie knows how to play you, and when your motions become more evident, he pins your hips down with an arm, preventing you from increasing the pace. Forcing you to take what he gives you. 

“Can you take a third?” he questions, swiping at your walls while he waits for a response. You can barely nod, afraid that if you stop biting your lip you’ll alert half the neighborhood to the fact that your boyfriend is currently eating you out in your parents’ garage. He complies, adding his ring finger just as he resumes his assault on your clit. 

It’s exactly what you need, and within seconds you feel the pressure building. One of your hands finds a grip on his forearm, still pinning you to the bench, and the other holds his head against you as you let the white hot heat consume you. 

He brings you down gently, like a pilot touching a helicopter to the ground, fingers continuing to circle slowly as he crawls up to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue, the kiss sloppy as you immediately start to work at his belt. “Frankie,” you whimper quietly, pushing at his jeans, “get these off.” 

“A little impatient tonight, Querida?” 

Your eyes have finally adjusted to the low light, and you glare at him, watching as he kicks off his jeans and makes quick work of his boxers, his cock springing to life. “I swear to god, Frankie, if you don’t - “ 

He cuts you off with a lengthy kiss, his body crowding you into the wooden surface, his length already rutting against your folds. “If I don’t what?” he asks when he finally allows you both to come up for air. 

“If you don’t fuck me right now you’re sleeping outside.” 

He chooses that moment to slip inside you, cock dragging against your walls as he buries himself to the hilt. You grab at his shoulders, mouth biting at the skin of his chest as you conceal your moan. Frankie’s hips are pressed against yours tightly, waiting for you to adjust to his size, and he gently grinds into you in some effort to speed up the process.

Sloppy kisses are left along your collarbone, but you can easily tell just how hard he is, how much effort it’s taking him not to spill into you then and there, so you encourage him to look at you in the dim light. “You can let go, baby. It’s okay,” you reassure him, fingers pushing unruly curls away from his sweaty forehead. 

He shakes his head. “Want you to come again too.” 

Of course he does. 

“Then fuck me, Morales.” Your statement is more of a command than anything, and it’s one that he heads without hesitation, pulling back before slamming into you with a particularly rough stroke. He repeats the process, immediately lost in the sensation, brows furrowed in concentration as he holds himself back. It’s fast and it’s needy and you’re only faintly aware of the way the old wooden bench is squeaking beneath you, legs hammering against the concrete with every snap of his hips. 

“Come on, baby. Come on,” he urges, breath hot against your skin. You know you’re close, but that he’s closer, and you wrap a leg around his hips in an attempt to push him over the edge. 

“Let go, Frankie,” you whimper again, hardly coherent yourself, but it causes the coil in him to snap. His hips stutter as he fills you, the rough pad of his thumb circling your clit in an attempt to take you with him. It works, and you follow just as he collapses against you. 

His cock is still buried within you when you come back to your senses, his head pressed into the crook of your neck. It’s only when your shoulders start to ache that you encourage him to move. 

“Wait,” he stops, and you watch with curiosity as he slowly pulls away, his cock immediately replaced with his fingers as he drops to his knees at the side of the bench, pulling you toward him. You shudder at the motion as he pushes his spend back into you, swiping his tongue along your slit once, twice, and then a third time that has you aching for more even after two orgasms. His gaze meets yours. “I want to remember what we taste like,” he states, and you have half a mind to spend the rest of the night in this garage if it means he can keep fucking you.

But then the sensor light outside turns on, illuminating you both as the light seeps in through the garage window. There’s a scramble to find your clothes, both of you giggling like teenagers as you pull on pants and coats and jackets somehow faster than you’d ripped them off, giggling the whole while. Your snow pants remain tossed on the garage floor, forgotten as you ease your way toward the door to see who’s triggered the light. 

And there, in the yard, sits a raccoon, staring at you with bright, mischievous eyes. 

Frankie’s behind you a moment later, crowding your space as he looks out over your shoulder. “Do you think he knows?” 

You elbow him lightly, “knows what? That you just fucked me into oblivion in my parents’ garage?” 

“No,” he whispers against your ear, a hand already trailing down beneath your yoga pants again to where he’s still seeping out of you. “Do you think he knows I’m about to do it again?” 

[javiscigarette]

Emergency Contact

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: Frankie gets in trouble and this is the last time you're helping him. At least that's what you tell yourself.

Warnings: angst, smut, post break up, mentions of drug/alchol use/abuse, military ptsd, frankie on a downward spiral and needs to get his shit together, emotional smut because I had to, fingering, oral (f receiving), creampie, frankie is literally this emoji -> 🥺 the whole time

w/c: 6.8K

a/n: part of @iamasaddie writing challenge 2.0!!! I picked puppy eyes brown and my genre was angst with the prompt: "Tell me how to fix this." And guys listen. I literally never write angst I’m such a softy but I tried my best with this okay! and I obviously had to include some smut I just couldn't resist hehehe. Also thank u to my baby love @undrthelights for finding theses pics and for everything else you do :) enjoy!

my masterlist

You should scream at him, yell at him. Tell him to get the fuck out, fight him tooth and nail to prevent him from worming his way back into your heart, to avoid anymore pain.  But then he’s against you, his chest flush against your back, legs tangling together under the blankets. He slips an arm around your waist, the other underneath you, pulling you against him tighter as he nuzzles into your neck, burying his face into your hair and takes a deep breath. “Just one more night" he whispers. "Please. Just let me have one more night."

The vibrations of your phone buzzing on your nightstand pulls you from a deep slumber, your heart is already pounding at the sudden noise, the rest of your body slow and sluggish as you try to gain your bearings. 

You paw for your phone, squinting at the brightness of the screen when you find it. A call from a number you don't recognize. You debate letting it go to voicemail but the area code is local and that makes you pick up, a raspy Hello? leaving your mouth as you roll over in bed, glancing at the clock. 

2:13 am.

The sound of your name crackles down the line, the immediately recognizable voice causing your heart to plummet to your ass.  

"Frankie?" You ask, sleep quickly leaving you as tension takes its place.

"...Yeah, sorry, I…I didn't know who else to call." His voice is frail and pinched.

You don't have to ask him what's wrong, your brain already piecing the puzzle together You've been in this exact position before. The anger is already starting to creep in, your brow furrowed and stomach twisting as a familiar rage blooms in your chest.

"You couldn't have called anyone else?"

You know the answer is no. The rest of the boys are on a mission, leaving him behind after he failed on his promise to stay clean for long enough to get cleared to go. And now, you’ve fallen victim to that decision too,being the only person left to call whenever he finds himself without a leg to stand on. Frankie in trouble, you bailing him out. Just like normal. 

"I'm sorry I didn't want to bother you I just..." he takes a deep breath and sighs. "I'm at the station on Oak street. Can you maybe... pick me up?"

You close your eyes and take a moment to compose yourself and reign in the anger at the way he's gotten under your skin already.

"What did you do this time, Frankie?"

He's quiet for a second before he finally says, "DUI. And um, slightly resisting arrest? It’s uh, it’s my first one and I didn’t blow too high so they’re letting me go as long as I show up for court in a few days."

His voice is soft but you can hear him fighting back emotion, his voice cracking and straining under the pressure. the sound eliciting sympathy you desperately wish you didn't feel.

"Jesus, Frankie," you sigh, defeated already.

It shouldn't even faze you at this point. It should be expected given the path he's fallen down since his return home from their last mission 3 months ago. The Frankie you knew before he left had been a steady force. Protective, headstrong but soft in his demeanor, so sweet and full of love. The man now standing in his shoes still holds some traits of that Frankie, but they've all been scarred and tainted with his fall from grace.

Memories of the nights spent tucked in his bed, his arms around you, his hands buried in your hair come flooding back like they usually do. The sound of his laugh, the feel of the downy hairs on his forearm pressed against your skin and the steady thrum of his pulse under his jaw as you placed kisses against his neck. The words you would speak softly to one another in the early hours of the morning, secrets only shared with each other under the protection of black velvet night sky. 

All of it traded for bitter resentment and anger towards a version of the man that was ripped away from you.

When he was gone, you’d sleep in his shirts and on his pillow, clinging to the faded scent of his cologne as your brain conjured up ghost touches from his fingertips. Dreaming of the day that he'd come home, how he might touch you, and kiss you, the taste of his lips and the feel of his skin on yours. A reunion so deeply desired that the day after he returned was a sharp double edged sword - a blessing, and a curse. The Frankie that walked back in your life was broken, smothered with the weight of the innocent lives on his hands. 

Warmth and tenderness traded for stony silence. Nights now spent at the bar, warming himself up with vodka instead of your embrace. Fights ending in harsh words and raised voices as he stubbornly dug his heels in deep, too ashamed to admit he needed help. Staying out late with no warning and coming back at dawn smelling of smoke, weed, and liquor. You are always wondering where he went, who he was with, if he was safe, or if he’d found someone else to soothe the pain. 

Then the coke. An old habit that was kicked to the curb in his earlier years now back with a vengeance. Your ultimatum quickly following.

This or you.

A choice you prayed he'd be strong enough to make, but was clearly not.

And now here you are. Two months since you walked away, trying to convince yourself it was for the best. The majority of the last two months of his life is a mystery to you, which you've accepted is probably for the better. 

"I know," he finally replies. "I'm so sorry baby, you know I..."

You can almost hear the way his jaw snaps shut, three words catching on his tongue. You don't need to ask to know what the next words are. Tonight was not the first time he's tried to use them in a vain attempt to patch up a crack in the foundation of your crumbling relationship.

There’s nothing but silence on the line as a war wages within you. Part of you wants to believe that he’s the selfish, careless man that he’s recently proven himself to be. But your heart whispers in your ear a softer notion. He's scared. Fragile. Battered. Embarrassed. Alone.

With a heavy sigh, you run your hand down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe away some of the grogginess clinging to you.

"I'll be there in 20," you say.

There's a pause before he speaks, "Really?"

Always an air of disbelief.

"Yes. But this is the last time I'm doing this Frankie, I mean it,"

"I know, I... thank you."

You don't bother to reply, simply hanging up the phone as the heaviness of this final gesture sets in. The gravity of the situation, of the line you're about to cross, already threatening to consume you.

This will, without a shadow of a doubt, be the last time you show up to save Frankie’s ass. 

At least that’s what you tell yourself. Just like you told yourself the last time this happened and the time before that. But this time will be different. You'll set new boundaries. That's it, just ride this storm one final time and be done.

You know it’s a lie, one you desperately want to believe it.

___

He’s standing outside the doors of the small station, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, wisps of smoke rising and dissipating in the still night air. He looks up as he hears the engine of your car approaching, the red glow of his cigarette temporarily highlighting the deep frown on his lips as he takes one last drag before he flicks the butt aside and heads your way.

The anxiety radiating off of him is tangible as he drops into the passenger's seat, gently shutting the door and peering at you with wide puppy dog eyes full of shame. You don't look at him, focusing on backing out of the parking spot before pulling onto the road.

He picks at the skin around his thumb and bounces his leg, his jaw tight. You wonder how long he’s been at the station. How long he’s been sober. You’re still not sure if he entirely is right now.

Most of the ride is silent save for the hum of your engine and the clicks of your turn signal. His eyes never leave you, he can feel him boring a hole in your profile, trying to catch your eye as you watch the road.

"What?" you finally snap.

"Nothing, just...I was wondering if I could stay with you tonight. I can sleep on the couch, I…I don’t really want to be alone right now" he speaks so softly it makes your stomach lurch.

"Absolutely not."

"Please? I'll leave early in the morning, by the time you wake up I'll be long gone."

The rage is back, glowing red hot in your chest, fingernails digging into the leather of the steering wheel, your knuckles white and tense. How fucking dare he ask. 

"Absolutely. Fucking. Not," your grit your teeth with each word, biting off the end of the sentence with a sharp finality.

"Right. Okay."

Silence takes over once again, your heart slamming against your chest, heat crawling up your neck as your cheeks grow red and damp. No. No. Absolutely fucking not. Absolutely not.

Frankie leans his head back against the headrest and rolls it to the side to watch you again. You can feel the disappointment radiating off him, hear him sniffling, his eyes, big and glassy, pleading when you glance over at him. 

It would be a lie to tell yourself that your “plan” isn't already halfway out the window as your jaw clenches and your gaze ping pongs between the road ahead and the man beside you. Deep in the darkness of your soul you know that with Frankie is where your comfort lies. It’s tucked in the space between his ribs, squished alongside his heart and lungs, running the length of his spine and settling between each vertebrae. You worry you may never be able to completely dislodge it, unsure if it would ever fit anywhere else in any other person.

Maybe it would be easier if Frankie didn't fill up the cracks in your heart with the fractured parts of his. If he didn't take up room in your brain that's not his to own, if he didn’t crawl under your skin and take root into your DNA. Now every cell in your body knows what it feels like to be next to him, now programmed to cry out for his presence when he isn’t near.

And it’s no different now. He’s here, looking so pathetic it’s almost laughable, staring at you with tears sliding down his cheeks that glisten in the glow of the headlights passing you by. Crying over something that’s entirely his fault. You should be the one crying right now. Not him. 

So you do. 

Hot angry tears spilling over your lash line. Though you can’t decide who you’re more upset with. The man who drank himself out of your life, or yourself for falling for him once again in spite of it all. Either way, it’s not enough to convince yourself to stay firm in your decision. 

Fucking pathetic. Both of you. 

“You’re out first thing in the morning and then I’m done Frankie. I fucking mean it this time, we can't keep doing this to each other."

“Okay. I promise baby, I will. First thing, I promise." He replies quietly. 

Your hand flinches with the urge to reach over and slap him for calling you baby. But instead, you clench your jaw and you shake your head at him.

"Don’t call me that, Frankie."

He quickly nods his head in understanding, his eyes again facing forward as he wipes away the wetness from his cheeks, watching the road the rest of the way to your house. 

—

Neither of you move once the car is parked in your driveway. The silence is heavy, cut only by the tick of the engine slowly cooling once you remove the keys from the ignition. You chance a look at him and find him picking at his thumb once more, his face red, his eyes soft and timid when they meet yours. 

“Tell me what happened, Frankie?” 

You ask even though you don’t really want to know. 

Frankie sucks in a breath and scrubs a hand down his face. 

"I got into a fight at the bar, got kicked out, made the dumb fucking decision to try and drive home and...now I'm here," he laughs mirthlessly as he waves his hands as a vague gesture to you, your house, his current situation. You can't tell if he's telling you the whole story, his answer simple and devoid of context. The context you’re sure wouldn't be good for you to know. 

“You could’ve killed someone, Frankie. yourself included,” you say after a few beats, your voice comes out sharp, frustration bleeding in each syllable.

He slowly nods as huffs out a breath.

"I know... it was stupid, and I was an idiot I...shit I was really careless and not thinking straight I’m sorry. I'm really sorry I-"

"I mean seriously Frankie,” you snap, cutting him off. “Do you ever, I mean ever, think about anyone but yourself? Or has it genuinely never crossed your mind that your shit might possibly affect the people around you?"

Frankie opens his mouth, eyebrows furrowed as he's about to respond. You don’t give him a chance to. 

"How many more times are you going to take advantage of me, make me look like a fucking dumbass always showing up to rescue you? Why am I always the one covering for you, taking your crap, cleaning up your messes, only to have you throw it right back in my fucking face, every single time!"

Your voice cracks at the end of your sentence, chest heaving with each word that flies from your mouth. Two months worth of bitterness bubbling up from deep down, spilling over and cascading down your face in the form of frustrated tears.

"When did you become so fucking selfish, Francisco?!"

Hearing his full name fall from your lips spurs Frankie on, the last of his shards of resolve flying away as his walls come down.

"I don't fucking know okay?! I don't fucking know!" You flinch at the rise in his voice and his tone stings. But it's how quickly he follows up with a softer, feeble excuse that adds fuel to the fire, "I'm doing the best I can."

That does it for you. Hot searing molten rage pulses under the skin of your face, the tips of your ears hot with blood.

"Doing the best you can? The best you fucking can, Frankie? Fucking bullshit! Getting into bar fights, spending all your money on booze and blow, losing your fucking pilot license because you were too coked up to see straight? Was losing your driver's license just putting your best foot forward? Throwing your whole life away just because you refuse to get clean? Is that really the best you can do?"

You pause and swallow, giving Frankie a second to take it all in, letting him process the onslaught of scalding truths you've thrown at him, before you quietly continue,

"I can't keep doing this, Frankie. I just can't."

He sniffs and shakes his head in what appears to be defeat, his gaze fixed on his hands folded in his lap. 

“I know...fuck. I know I’ve fucked up alright? I know that. I just don't know how to fix this," he admits quietly, his wide eyes watching you helplessly. “Tell me how. Tell me how I can fix this. Please."

You bark out a laugh, sarcastic and cynical.

"Are you serious right now? What do you mean you don’t know what to do? How many times did I help you try to find a therapist, try to get you into a program? How many times did I suggest AA? Don't fucking tell me you don't know what to do because you do."

He nods, shifting around in the seat, sniffling yet again as he looks back at you. "Okay, okay. I get it, okay? But what can I do right now? To fix this at least for tonight?"

You sigh, deep and heavy, your entire body now just exhausted. You half wish he would put up more of a fight, call you a bitch, snap back at you for going off on him. Maybe it’d make it easier for you to let him go. But instead, he looks at you with desperate eyes and you can feel your resolve crumbling once again. 

"Just forget it, Frankie.”

But he won’t give up that easily. The man is persistent, you’ll give him that. 

"I'm serious. Tell me what I need to do right now to fix this. What can I do to show you how sorry I am?"

You stare back at him, jaw clenched, biting back the next words you were about to speak. They die on the edge of your tongue. You know the answer is.

Not a single damn thing.

"Look, I'll try harder, I fucking promise alright?” His tone becomes more frantic as your silence stretches on. “I’ll fucking try harder, please just...please," Frankie pleads, more tears welling in his eyes.

Your throat is tight, your head spinning and aching as your blood roars in your ears. He's already taken enough, stealing more would simply be the end of you. Giving in now would mean you've swallowed the bait, falling hook line and sinker into his trap, stepping back onto the slippery slope you've fought so hard to escape. And for what? More heartache, more bullshit excuses, more fighting, more pain?

But one glance into his wide-eyed, watery gaze and you know he's got you. Again. Faster than you can tell your mind no, your heart, foolish and hopeful, speaks for you instead.

"Lets just get some sleep, okay? It's late. We can...we can figure it out tomorrow."

"Thank you," he whispers immediately, relief coming off of him in waves. "I really mean it, I-thank you, I promise I’ll—“

“Can we not talk anymore Frankie? I just wanna go to sleep."

"Yeah. I'm sorry, let’s go."

There's nothing left to say, washing over the two of you as you make your way inside. You give him a towel and dig up some of his old clothes that live in the back of your closet from when he was here almost every night. You're back in bed before he’s done with his shower, tucked underneath the covers with your face pressed against your pillow, the silk fabric soaking up your tears of sadness and frustration.

The water shuts off and you can hear him getting settled in the living room. A pillow being fluffed, the creak of the couch when he sits. 

And then soft footsteps on the hardwood 5 minutes later, padding their way into your room.

He doesn’t knock. He doesn’t bother speaking either. He just simply creaks open the door and walks over to the other side of the bed, peeling back the covers before slipping into bed beside you. 

You should scream at him, yell at him. Tell him to get the fuck out, fight him tooth and nail to prevent him from worming his way back into your heart, to avoid anymore pain. 

But then he’s against you, his chest flush against your back, legs tangling together under the blankets. He slips an arm around your waist, the other underneath you, pulling you against him tighter as he nuzzles into your neck, burying his face into your hair and takes a deep breath.

“Just one more night" he whispers. "Please. Just let me have one more night."

You don’t have any fight left in you. Because at the end of the day, a night spent wrapped up in his arms, inhaling his scent, touching his skin and his beating heart is worth a thousand fights. And a million shattered dreams.

You don’t answer him, but you don’t tell him to leave either. Instead, you block out any looming thoughts, the impending worry of where this could go, or how bad the damage will be. For now, you chose to focus on the rise and fall of Frankie's breath against your skin, the way you fit so perfectly into his arms. 

One more night.

Frankie presses a kiss into the back of your neck, repeating his previous sentiment in a rough scratchy whisper, "Just one more."

And you listen to it resonate, bouncing around the walls in your head and tickling the space behind your eardrums.

Inhale

Exhale.

You should want to fight.

But instead, your body melts his, molding your bones and flesh against his, fitting into all the creases and gaps that have been carved out and reserved just for you.Trying to forget, to bury this pain as deep as possible,. Just for tonight. 

He waits a few more minutes, waiting until your breathing levels out with his before he makes his next move. His fingers trace mindless patterns on the skin of your stomach, goosebumps erupting under his fingertips, rippling outwards like a rock being tossed in a pond. He leans in once more, slowly dragging his nose up the length of your neck and curling his lip to press another kiss behind your ear. Then another.

And then another, this time lingering as he sucks softly on your skin.

Inhale.

You close your eyes, hoping for anything but this, yet feeling the sting of arousal spark below your skin.

And exhale. 

You’re better than this. You won’t stoop down to his level, you won’t let him chew you up and spit you out again.

But fuck, his lips are soft and warm, so is the breath as he exhales against your neck, lightly swiping his tongue and soothing the faint red mark he left behind with a small little hum.

“Frankie..." You warn, albeit much more breathless and weak than you would have liked. 

“Tell me to stop and I will," he murmurs, his beard gently grazing your sensitive skin, causing your toes to curl.

You take another deep breath, but this one is shaky, as you can't help but tighten your grip around his hand, squeezing his fingers as you lean your neck to the side, exposing more of your soft skin to him.

Dead in his trap. Caught so fucking easily. Pathetic.

But if his teeth and lips and tongue and soft, gentle touches are how you go down, then so fucking be it.

He hums his appreciation against your skin, scraping his teeth down to your shoulder, latching his mouth on a spot and sucking harder. Strong, callused fingers continue exploring, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, waiting for you to give him permission.

He rolls his hips forward against your ass and you bite your lip to stifle the whimper at how hard he is against you, his soft grunts in your ear traveling straight between your legs and fanning the flames building.

Then suddenly, he's sliding his hand up your shirt, squeezing your waist and traipsing over your chest until he’s cradling the weight of your breast in his palm, his thumb slowly brushing over your peaked nipple, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to moan out loud.

A small gasp escapes you instead, your fingernails digging into the back of his hand. 

"Frankie."

This time not a warning. It’s a plea. A desperate, burning want that you should be ashamed of. 

He murmurs into the shell of your ear then, his tone is deep and scratchy. 

“I miss you...I need you, baby. Just tell me to stop if you want. But I... fuck I miss you so much."

You don't tell him to stop.

You roll your hips back instinctively, a warm wave of arousal washing over you at the feeling Frankie's hardened length pressed firmly against your ass. He grunts in satisfaction as his palm slides from your chest and up your throat to your jaw. His grip is gentle as he turns your head to face him, his lips against yours without missing a beat. 

It’s too easy to fall right back into him, back into the practiced, very well rehearsed routine. To let him glide his tongue along the seam of your lips and coax them open so he can lick into your mouth, getting the taste of his tongue stuck behind your teeth. Too easy to let him remind you just how easily you fit in the palm of his hand, how tightly you’re wound around his finger. 

He kisses you fervently, desperately almost, lips and tongue moving against yours as though he’s trying to devour you whole, just like he used to. He’s been starving for too long.But right now, he's finally found nourishment, the feeling of your body under his hands and the taste of you on his tongue feeding his soul. Wanting more. Always more, entirely unable to help himself.

“Wanna make you feel good,” he murmurs, his mouth half a centimeter away from yours. “Let me make you feel good baby, please.”

As if you could say no.

As if you even wanted to.

He pushes his leg between yours, thick, firm muscle under warm skin pressing against your clothed core and you answer him with a roll of your hips, seeking out any sort of friction you can. 

It takes less than half a second for him to have you flipped over on your back. When Frankie truly wants something, he does it quickly and efficiently.

He moves above you, licking and kissing a trail down your neck. He makes his way down your body, greedily nipping at the skin stretched over your collarbones. He swirls his tongue over each nipple, only moving on when he’s satisfied. He presses wet, open mouthed kisses to your ribs and your tummy just above your navel, his beard tickling skin, making it twitch under his mouth. 

Your body is cooperating far more than it should, your hips lifting up instinctually when he hooks his fingers into the elastic of your panties, your thighs automatically parting further, and your hands migrating to his head. Your fingers tangle in his soft curl, your nails softly scratching his scalp just like you know he likes. 

And when his tongue drags up your thigh you have to sink your teeth into your bottom lip to stop the reactive moan. But your back arches with pleasure anyway, the last bit of your resolve evaporating into thin air as you give into him freely.  

His hands burn hot where they smooth over your skin, a comforting weight and a familiar drag of calloused palms fueling the fire and tightening the coil in your stomach. 

“Missed you so much,” he whispers, his breath fanning over your pussy before you feel the first stroke of his flat tongue up through your center.

This time, you're not strong enough to hold back the breathless mewl that leaves your mouth. You immediately push down on his head while simultaneously canting your hips upward, needing more friction, dying for more of everything he's willing to offer. He slides his arms underneath you and hooks his hand over your hip bones, holding you down and keeping you in place as he tries to find salvation between your thighs.

Heavy breaths through his nose as he uses his mouth, lips and tongue working in tandem to take you apart. Lapping and sucking at your clit while his fingertips nudge at your entrance, dipping just enough to tease, waiting until he hears the high pitched whimpers that he's after.

And when you've reached that level of desperation he wants from you, whimpering and panting, he slowly dips a finger in.

He moans along with you as though he's the one experiencing the pleasure. He's always gotten off on this almost just as much as you. The warm, slick slide of his fingers in and out of you, how you gush on his tongue, your thighs trembling on either side of his head, the tingle of his scalp when you tug on his hair.

More addictive than any substance he's ever found solace in.

And against your better knowledge, you're more than happy to indulge him, let him chase the high you give him and let yourself drown in it as well.

Your back arches off the bed as he adds another finger, grunting into you and thrusting faster as you tighten and flutter around them. He finds the spot he's looking for with practiced ease, whimpering into you and groaning along with you as he drags his fingers back and forth along the spot that has you bucking your hips into his hand. 

He knows how to get you there. Knows how to do it fast. And right now, that's what he wants. He's craved it too long, spent far too many nights with his hand wrapped around his leaking cock your name on the tip of his tongue as he fucked up into his own hand. He wants to hear you fall apart again, feel you coming on his tongue, your walls clenching as they try to suck his fingers in deeper. Wantsto know that he hasn't ruined absolutely everything between the two of you.

"Come on baby, lemme feel you,” he urges, voice deep and rough as he brings you to the edge. His mouth, licking and sucking at your clit, works in perfect rhythm with his fingers, sliding in and out, crooking them at the exact angle and speed he knows will get you there. 

"Please, Frankie...need to– fuck, I'm..." Coherent words evade you as he works you towards your peak, your breath stuttering as you struggle to keep air in your lungs. Your grip tightens in his hair, tugging roughly in an effort to ground yourself as the wave of euphoria starts to crest, the undercurrent pulling you down. 

Frankie growls in approval as you tighten around his fingers, all your muscles tensing as the sensation crashes into you. Your mind and body shut off and float into that sweet state of oblivion as Frankie's name falls from your lips, mixed in with a litany of profanity and slurs and choked back moans. He doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down until you're yanking on his hair hard enough for it to hurt, trying to wiggle away from his touch.

Frankie raises his head up and locks eyes with you, the tip of his nose, beard, and cheeks shiny with your arousal as he looks up at you through his dark, heavy lidded lashes.

"Want you so bad," he sighs, breathless and needy, crawling up your body and resting his weight on his elbows on either side of your head. He kisses you again, soft and sweet as if he has the right, tasting yourself on his tongue. 

You whimper into the kiss and hook a leg over his hip to pull his hips towards you. His cock strains almost painfully in his boxers when he grinds it against you, your warm arousal dampening the front of the fabric.

"Gonna let me baby?" He rasps when he moves to your neck, his teeth scraping sensitive flesh.

You both already know he's won. You're not even putting up a fight at this point, any dignity you thought you had left totally abandoned the moment you picked up the phone. But he asks anyway, needing the verbal affirmation, needing the confirmation that you want him as badly as he needs you.

And you can't lie.You're both equally weak and vulnerable. Two pathetic, heartbroken creatures chasing a temporary relief. A small glimmer of something to make the pain more bearable, something to fill the hole for the briefest amount of time.

You both know. And neither of you care.

No response to his question. Instead, you push up the hem of his shirt up and he does the rest, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor before he hooks a thumb underneath the waistband of his boxers and tugs them down his hips and off his legs.

Your hand finds his cock and he hisses at the contact, his hips shuddering as he pushes forward into your grip. You swear he's thicker and longer than before, heavier and hotter where you hold him. Your thumb brushes over the tip, spreading the pearls of pre cum around, coating the rest of his length to ease your glide. Frankie's mouth finds your neck again, tongue and lips tasting and teasing, his shaky breath in your ear.

You try to push up onto your elbows in an effort to roll him over, wanting to take over. But a palm finds your chest, gently pushing you back down until your flat against the bed again. 

"Wanna look at you," he says simply, as he pushes his length into the palm of your hand once more before sliding out. 

He lets his length rest against your sensitive clit and gently rocks his hips, slicking himself with the mess between your legs, sighing whenever you gasp each time his tip nudges at your clit.

"Please..." you whisper, feeling pathetic and needy, but at this point too desperate to care.

And he’s equally impatient, not waiting another moment before lining himself up and slowly pushing in. 

You tense at the initial intrusion, not having been with anyone in far too long and the feeling is almost overwhelming. You're trying to remember how to breathe again as you let your head fall to the side, trying to hide from his intense stare. But Frankie's there, using a gentle finger to tilt your face back up towards him as his hips moving at an agonizingly slow pace to let you adjust.

"That's it baby. Look at me."

And you do, the heat in your belly burning brighter with his eyes boring into yours as he witnesses your surrender to him. Your heart aches, still raw and tender and in pain from all the hurt that's transpired. But you ignore it and tell yourself the tears in your eyes aren't a result of a broken heart, but rather of how full you feel as Frankie's length finally bottoms out in you.

"Fuck..." You both curse under your breath as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust before he starts to move his hips. You cling to his broad shoulders as he pulls out of you, his eyes glued to where you’re joined, his thick cock slick and shiny with your arousal before he slides back in again with a quiet groan. He repeats the motions over and over watching as he pulls out almost completely before pushing back in, stuffing you to the hilt.

"Shit,” he hisses under his breath, his eyelashes fluttering when you clench in response. “You feel so good baby, fuck."

He buries his face into your neck, panting and pressing soft kisses as his pace starts to speed up. The soft grunts in your ear turn into more desperate moans when you lock your legs around his waist, pulling him, trying to get him even deeper than he already is. 

Your fingernails dig into the skin of his shoulders, holding on for dear life, hoping that you’ll leave half crescent moon shapes embedded into his flesh. A painful reminder for the morning that you were here and this was real, despite the circumstances.

His hands slide under your ass, angling it upwards to let him hit just that little bit deeper inside, pushing the air from your lungs with each thrust. The muscles in his forearms flex and strain as he tries to hold back, always making sure you finish before he does. 

And he doesn't have to wait much longer. Your orgasm is creeping up and taking over your body and Frankie can sense it. He knows exactly what to look for, knows all the signs.

One hand moves to reach between the two of you two fingertips pressed against your pulsing clit, drawing fast, tight circles just like you like it. Your grip on his shoulder tightens, your nails digging into the skin and dragging down his back as his thrusts become more erratic. 

"Keep lookin' at me," he grunts and you struggle to keep your eyes open. They sting, the image of him above you starting to blur around the edges as he drives you closer and closer to your release.

"That's it, baby. Lemme see it, lemme see you come on my cock."

He doesn't have to tell you twice.

You come undone again just like that, dizziness spreading and heart hammering in your chest as you sob out, pleasure consuming you from within. He fucks you through it, not giving you a chance to catch your breath, as he curses and rambles in your ear about how he's missed this, how he's missed you.

You've barely started to come down when he grabs one of your legs behind your knee and pushes it into your chest, letting himself sink even deeper into you. The new angle has your head spinning, drowning in an unparalleled amount of pleasure. Your eyes flutter and roll back in your head as you whimper his name, fingers curling into the pillow above your head.

He doesn't last much longer, breathless moans and strangled whimpers into your neck as he gives you the last few sloppy thrusts. He's almost there, and when he tries to pull out, it's the way your leg tightens around his waste and your needy whine that sends him over the edge, groaning and cursing with his face in the crook of your neck as he spills himself into you.

His cock pulses inside you with every wave, his hips chasing his release, tiny jerks as he empties into you. He stills, his heavy breathing in your ear, his weight resting on you, heavy but grounding, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

Once the room stops spinning and the stars clear from behind your eyes, you drop your legs. With a shaky sigh, Frankie starts to pull out, both of you groaning in protest as he slips out.

His cum leaks out of you, quickly pooling between your thighs no matter how hard you squeeze your legs together. And when he catches sight of it, it makes your face burn. At the mere sight of his sticky, warm release spilling out of you, mixing with your own, Frankie swears he could go another round right then. Something about knowing he marked his territory, his claim on you established once again. He looks up at you, your eyes closed, forehead creased, and he has to dig his nails into his palm to keep from dragging his fingers through the cum leaking out of you and pushing it back in, keeping it where it should be. 

But the weight of reality is starting to press on him once again, the fear and shame from earlier taking root again and tugging at his stomach and pulling him out of the euphoria.

He kisses your hip bone once before making his way to the bathroom for a wet washcloth. The room is silent as he cleans you up, wiping gently between your legs, both of you keeping your eyes on anything except each other's. 

When he's done, he stands and moves to gather his clothes off the floor, tugging his boxers back on before heading towards the door. But your shaky, watery voice breaks the silence and freezes him where he stands.

"You're leaving?" You ask, voice squeaking at the end as you pull the sheet up to cover yourself, as if it would protect your heart when he ultimately breaks it again.

He turns to look at you, his heart aching in his chest from the innocent way you're looking at him. The way your eyebrows draw together, and your lips pull into a frown, the way your lower lip trembles as your eyes fill with tears.

"Can I stay?"

His voice is quiet, fragile, as if speaking any louder would scare you off, would cause you to start yelling at him again until you ultimately kick him to the curb for good.

He stares at you through the darkness of the room as you chew on your lip and try to grapple with the split decision you’re facing.

The logical part of your brain is screaming at you to say no and end this right here and now. But that part of your brain is buried and silenced underneath the heaviness in your heart. That desperate need to hang onto whatever's left. You swallow the lump in your throat and give in.

"Please," you plead softly. "Don't...don't want to be alone anymore."

A rush of air leaves his lungs as the pressure is released from his chest as he climbs back into bed beside you. Your head finds his chest, curled into his side and letting his arms wrap around you. His embrace is familiar, comforting, your safe space.

You count the steady beats of his heart in your ear as his blunt fingernail scrape lightly up and down your back, knowing it always soothes you. No words are spoken but the air between the two of you is thick, full of the things you both want to say, but neither of you speak.

Sleep wraps its tendrils around you once again, exhaustion settling in your bones. You welcome it fully, even though you know when you wake up, you'll have to face the reality of the situation once again.

You can only hope that he'll still be here in the morning to face it with you.

For now, you let yourself drown in the warmth of his embrace, pushing away all the other things that are gnawing at you and letting yourself relax in the arms of the man who broke your heart.

Just one more night.

Thank you for reading!! :))