( picture prompt meme )

[cocksocker]

the picture prompt meme

I — Comment with your character.
II — Others will leave a picture (or two, or three...)
III — Reply to them with a setting based on the picture.

IV — Link to any pictures that are NSFW, please.
V — Be aware that this meme will likely be image-heavy. That's kind of the point.

Link to an image: <a href=IMAGEURL>TEXT</a>

Embed an image in your reply: <img src=IMAGEURL>

You can control width and height of your pictures: <img src=IMAGEURL width=INSERTNUMBER> OR <img src=IMAGEURL height=INSERTNUMBER>

Comments

[underachievement]

[ the arch in her spine relents and starts to bow inward, her shoulders and head tumbling forward as her elbows give. her grip goes slack as she rolls off him and onto her back, chest filling like a bellows. without concern for where frank might be looking, she stares up at the ceiling too. her right hand, still lying against his shoulder, is drawn to her face and she plucks and peels damp strands of hair. she licks her lips, exhaling, and the blackness blanketing the walls inside her head takes on that sheen of tar as the ooze starts to drip and thoughts filter in. ]

Shit. [ half-breathless, so he can take it how he wants. throw it away like he ought to and she's sure she means to.

you're not supposed to do what they just did without a safe word, and jess doesn't know it's the choking part that's got her thinking that. ]

[380s]

[Safe had never been Frank's MO, and anything requiring safewords hadn't been part of his relationship with Marie. He would always ask before trying something new, but be more trusting on the receiving end. Now, it isn't so much trust as testing his own limits, though in the heat of the moment, all he could call it would be want.

Frank's mind scrambles back together once Jess rolls off him, the new space between them allowing the sweat on his skin to cool. When she curses, he turns his head to look at her. He quickly chases away the temptation to help push her hair out of her face and draws a deep breath through his nose.]

You good?

[His voice sounds even more gravelly than normal. It's a quick courtesy he can't help but give, even though she obviously works him over far more whenever they fuck.]

[underachievement]

Yeah.

[ no, but she's okay. and she was really damn good there for a little while. her next breath is measured, bringing a decisive end to her recuperation. though it feels too soon, her lungs obey. she brings her fingers into two loose fists, exhales and sits up.

telling him not to try and hold her hand like that again is a non-starter for them both. all it will do is open up the can of maggots malcolm spilled onto luke without her permission. truthfully, she doesn't know how to talk about it and can't recall how she managed to tell the therapist trish set her up with when she was more frequently sober. and how did that end up helping her, really? the one thing she got out of it, her mantra, has been tarnished now too. what's his brain-damaged ass going to have to say?

questions like those have become a mantra of their own. as she recites it in her head, she becomes less aware of it and it seems easier to think. her shirt is in the other room but there's always clothes to be found on her floor. her favourite flannel is half-tucked, half-strewn against the wall. she makes a beeline for it as she gets out of bed. ]

Go put a pot on. [ jess tosses over her shoulder, pulling her shirt around her and heading for the bathroom door. her tone is less flat than it was in forming her noncommittal response to his question -- if that's because she's talking or she talks because of it, anyone's guess. ]

[380s]

[The grey areas between them could paint a prison yard, but Frank knows better than to talk about them. When he got his psych evals, they always went on about verbal communication, but some things that happen-- words don't do shit to make them go away. So he doesn't ask. If she wants to talk, she will. She grants him the same courtesy, if that's what he could even call it.

Frank stays sprawled on the bed for a bit longer, watching Jess move in the dark. City lights leak through the blinds and highlights stripes of her bare skin. His fingertips tingle with the sensation of touching it all over again, smooth and scarless compared to his. When she speaks, Frank snaps back to the present, and finally climbs out of the bed.]

Yes, ma'am.

[With Jess, that address stays dry, but not quite sarcastic. Frank slips back into his jeans and doesn't bother to button them. By the time he reaches the door, he can already hear the skitter of nails on the hardwood floor, and Max is there to greet him when he opens it. His lips twitch upwards for a moment, and he reaches down to scratch the dog's head.]

C'mon, boy. [This bastard has too much patience with the both of them, Frank thinks, as he heads in the direction of the coffeemaker.]