#hmm!

hi baby, how you doing? missing you, as always. this is so not something I wanted. or enjoy writing. or anything. (im lying. im so obviously lying baby get real.) yeah, anyway. kisses my darling, be good. xox

its not a bad dive bar- its cute. your friends are off, dancing around on tables near the front of the bar- the music just awful enough to make you guys laugh and dance at the same time.

he texted that he was going out. and look, a crush is something you can deal with, easy. you've had one million and one before. but he's different. energetic and charming- funny and ridiculous. he's so talented, passionate. and he is so fucking hot it actually hurts a little to look at him sometimes. you came to the bar, not because of him, but in spite of him. better to feel like you could get your mind off the over whelming amount of love you have for the boy.

you lean over the bar-top- let the guy serving flirt with you as he looks at your exposed shoulder, you hair sweeping around you face in the "im soo not planning on seeing the guy I like today" blow out you worked 20 minutes perfecting.

you hear him enter the room, hear his friends laughing as they joke around. Mia comes over and hushes for you to 'keep cool', as if you don't talk about him for around 50 minutes a day. when he comes over, you flip your body so your back faces him. and listen, he's seen outfits. but not this one. this one is specific.

low rise trousers, off the shoulder black tee with a slight rise in the back. the tattoo is obvious. too easy to see, like a bullseye on the centre of your lower back. the word discipline spelled out in neat cursive. he can see the other tattoos you have littered around your body like this too. ornamental, floral. feminine. powerful. they make you feel that way too. you keep a calm- straight face. let yourself, hopefully, be gawked at. you here ray drop a holy fucking shit man- look , you hear frankie pause. and its cute- but yeah you get a little nervous as the bar tender in front of you offers you his number a bit too loudly.

frank rushes to your side. eyes dropping to your lower back. he growls, nearly whimpering out a "hey-hey can we chat just- do you- need, need a smoke?" and you nod over, smiling down at him. he is a little guy anyhow. sure frank-like-like now? "yeah uh- rightthefucknow-"

he grabs your hand and tugs you through the crowds of people. out into the alley between between this dive and the one next to it- "hey uh, what the fuck is this?" you look around, look down at yourself. shake your head uhh-what? "the, the-you did not tell me you had-uh-th-tha-" the tattoo? "yeah, you're like. like covered.- the uh-" the tramp stamp, frankie? "yeah actually- what the fuck-"

he moves over too you so quickly it feels like a sprint-flips you around so your facing away from him-your hands pressed into the wall. he runs a thumb along the tattoo- tracing the scarred ink with his thumb. you can hear his breathing speed up, you can feel the alcohol flushing you system- his touch rushing along the process of your face increasing in shades of red. "baby, you can-cant do this too me-"

you don't feel like saying anything, standing up for yourself- you just want. you've wanted this- him for so long it has started to feel like a pain in your spine. you nod into the wall get-get the fucking hint, frank.

and he laughs soft behind you, grips the side of your waist tight- and kisses down the exposed skin of your shoulder- the pale form with black dancer-ly marks all over it. "my-my car is parked a, a minute away-" you nod. you nod again and again and again.

your jacket is pressed into the window- a make shift shield. his breath fogs the air in short breaths, it's cold out. his hands feel so warm its like kissing a candle. he bucks in and out of you- one hand under your lower stomach to feel you- the other lands a hit down on your backside, laughing to himself- that the tattoo is basically "a fucking instruction." you moan his name on repeat like knocking a buzzer- he's perfect, panting out sweet whimpers like he's locked into you, into only you.

you feel in control, in charge- you feel like you would let him do anything. because fuck does it feel so good to have his cock hit you ridiculously deep- his thrusts get messy- voice gets drowsier as he moans "babybaby-baby fuck this- you're mine now alright? just- just frank's baby-fuckfuck, let me- fuck gonna mark this-this fuckin whorish-tattoo-show-fuck show me its mine-baby-babyfuck-not gonna let anyone have you-"

he pulls out just before finishing, you let him push your head into the bottom seats as he sprays himself over the back of you. you whisper frank, I-was you-yours already- and you hear him smile, whisper to himself "thank god" and he sits in the car with ease.