becuase he loves you... (standalone)
- Tittle: because he loves you...
- Author:
miss_kelsi_alix
- Pairing: Frank/ 2 others.
- Rating: R - Angst, Mild Sexual stuff.
- POV: Frank
- Summary: "And right there, that’s what you’re the most lucky to have"
- Dedications: Miss Mayo.
bad_mayonnaise
- Disclaimer: This story is very fucking true for alot of people, not for these characters though, so don't sue me.
- A/N: Welll.. so Mayo, I started writting this for you and it totally didnt turn out the way it was planned, just took of in some random direction. But i really like it, so deal with it. hehe
No, but i will write the actual story i was planning on later.
I wrote this very late last night and at no point did i stop and think about what i was saying, the words just poured out. Turns out i actually like it.
“Take off your fucking clothes”
Oh no, not again. Please no.
“I fucking told you to get undressed”
No, please. Not tonight.
You are frozen to the spot, you know there is no use trying to run, no use in crying, no use in begging for mercy. You should just do as he tells you… it’s easier this way.
But instead, instead you just stand there. Frozen.
3 large strides and he is upon you, pinning you suddenly down on the floor, clothes somehow already torn from your body before you could even notice, before you even protest.
You are naked, freezing and humiliated.
Obviously you are not worthy, almost a waste of time. At least you’re good for one thing.
He only bothers to unzip his pants and pull his cock out, it’s quicker that way. And more humiliating for you, the one already lying on the dirty carpet, legs spread embarrassingly and uncomfortably wide, fear evident in your eyes.
He can see the fear, probably smell it to. The stench lingers in the air.
Just 10 minutes later though, it’s horribly overpowered.
Replaced by a new scent, a scent that you can both smell - sweat, blood and sex.
His grunts get louder and his thrusts get faster, frantic almost, before he finally slams himself inside you for that one last time. His salty elixir stinging its way up your passage as it leaks into the fresh rips - well maybe they are not fresh, you are sure they never have had a chance to repair since the very first time. His disgustingly perfect teeth piercing a hole in your shoulder, a low groan pressing out between your flesh and his lips; running over your skin, followed quickly with a trail of disgusted goose bumps.
And then he’s spent.
He doesn’t even wait to catch his breath, no basking in that after sex glow for either of you. Not that you have a glow, you’re sure of that.
He’s up and his zip is closed and before he leaves the room he gives you a swift kick in the ribs.
The kick hurts like hell, the fire burning through your already bruised body, but then the words, his words are like ice.
“Get up and fuck off”
So you do, No questions asked. No protest’s made.
There is no point anyway.
You scramble for your clothes and get the hell out of there before he changes his mind and is ready for round two.
He always tells you to leave but he always wants you back. And like a fool, you always come back.
Right now you don’t think about the prospect of returning although deep down you know you will. He knows you will too. That’s why he lets you go.
Tears are pouring down your face as you run under the single street lamp. The solitary bulb casting eerie shadow’s around you.
The moisture on your cheeks sting’s in the cold, the same bitter wind that makes you shudder and shake underneath the thin cotton of your shirt.
You’re so lucky he lives so close, so lucky it’s only 17 houses and a traffic island away (you know, you’ve counted) you’re so lucky he is always there. So lucky, he is your safety.
His door is unlocked, like you knew it would be, like he knew it needed to be, like it always will be. Because this cycle never falters the pattern never changes.
And as you stagger, sobbing, through his front door his small figure, not much bigger than your tiny self, is there to catch you. He takes you into his arms and pulls you close.
Sometime, somehow amidst your sobbing he has manoeuvred you to a warm spot in front of the wood fire that has been blazing away silently in the corner of the room. The two of you stand together, swaying softly, your head on his shoulder and his fingers entwined gently in your hair. It could be minutes, but it’s more likely hours before you allow him to finally pull away.
He sits you down and cleans you up, mends all the broken bits as best he can. But he can’t fix your feelings; those bits will be hurt forever. He still try’s though.
When he’s done with you, you are as good as new, well almost. Excluding the black eye, busted lip and sprained wrist, oh and the pain that bursts though your small body with any and every movement you make. But apart from those things, you are all better.
He fixed you up, like he always does, and always will.
You sleep together in his comfortable bed, his arms holding you close, keeping you safe. He won’t let you get away from him this time.
You’re his doll and he’s ever so worried that one day you will break, or more than likely - be broken.
In the morning he begs you to stay or to run away with him, he offers you everything but he doesn’t really bother to argue when you insist that you must go ‘home’. His fighting spirit dissolved somewhere long ago, just like yours did.
So you go, back home, go back to him. But honestly it’s more like going back to being alone. Unless he is using or abusing you he ignores you, that doesn’t mean you have freedom though, it just means that you’re not worthy of his time.
It’s okay though, it really is.
Because in another 12 hours you will be back here and Bert will still be here, ready to welcome you like he always does.
And you’re so lucky to have him, so lucky he is so close, so lucky that he fucking cares. You honestly wonder why he does, because you're truely not worth it, you deserve all this, you must, otherwise he wouldn’t put you through it. You really do deserve everything you get and as you quietly open your front door the bitter sweet reminder washes over you.
“Welcome home Frank”.
And right there, that’s what you’re the most lucky to have, you know deep down he loves you. He must or he wouldn’t want you to keep coming home, wouldn’t hug you tenderly when you step through the archway, he just wouldn’t care at all. But he does, you're precious to him, and that’s why he hits you, because he loves you so fucking much, that’s why he abuses you, because you are his everything and he needs to show you the things you do wrong, he doesn’t want someone as perfect as you to go to waste, to fall into the hands of someone nasty or to do the wrong things with your life. That’s why he does it, honestly it is, because he loves you.
So you smile timidly and accept his embrace and the cycle begins again.
- Author:
miss_kelsi_alix
- Pairing: Frank/ 2 others.
- Rating: R - Angst, Mild Sexual stuff.
- POV: Frank
- Summary: "And right there, that’s what you’re the most lucky to have"
- Dedications: Miss Mayo.
bad_mayonnaise
- Disclaimer: This story is very fucking true for alot of people, not for these characters though, so don't sue me.
- A/N: Welll.. so Mayo, I started writting this for you and it totally didnt turn out the way it was planned, just took of in some random direction. But i really like it, so deal with it. hehe
No, but i will write the actual story i was planning on later.
I wrote this very late last night and at no point did i stop and think about what i was saying, the words just poured out. Turns out i actually like it.
“Take off your fucking clothes”
Oh no, not again. Please no.
“I fucking told you to get undressed”
No, please. Not tonight.
You are frozen to the spot, you know there is no use trying to run, no use in crying, no use in begging for mercy. You should just do as he tells you… it’s easier this way.
But instead, instead you just stand there. Frozen.
3 large strides and he is upon you, pinning you suddenly down on the floor, clothes somehow already torn from your body before you could even notice, before you even protest.
You are naked, freezing and humiliated.
Obviously you are not worthy, almost a waste of time. At least you’re good for one thing.
He only bothers to unzip his pants and pull his cock out, it’s quicker that way. And more humiliating for you, the one already lying on the dirty carpet, legs spread embarrassingly and uncomfortably wide, fear evident in your eyes.
He can see the fear, probably smell it to. The stench lingers in the air.
Just 10 minutes later though, it’s horribly overpowered.
Replaced by a new scent, a scent that you can both smell - sweat, blood and sex.
His grunts get louder and his thrusts get faster, frantic almost, before he finally slams himself inside you for that one last time. His salty elixir stinging its way up your passage as it leaks into the fresh rips - well maybe they are not fresh, you are sure they never have had a chance to repair since the very first time. His disgustingly perfect teeth piercing a hole in your shoulder, a low groan pressing out between your flesh and his lips; running over your skin, followed quickly with a trail of disgusted goose bumps.
And then he’s spent.
He doesn’t even wait to catch his breath, no basking in that after sex glow for either of you. Not that you have a glow, you’re sure of that.
He’s up and his zip is closed and before he leaves the room he gives you a swift kick in the ribs.
The kick hurts like hell, the fire burning through your already bruised body, but then the words, his words are like ice.
“Get up and fuck off”
So you do, No questions asked. No protest’s made.
There is no point anyway.
You scramble for your clothes and get the hell out of there before he changes his mind and is ready for round two.
He always tells you to leave but he always wants you back. And like a fool, you always come back.
Right now you don’t think about the prospect of returning although deep down you know you will. He knows you will too. That’s why he lets you go.
Tears are pouring down your face as you run under the single street lamp. The solitary bulb casting eerie shadow’s around you.
The moisture on your cheeks sting’s in the cold, the same bitter wind that makes you shudder and shake underneath the thin cotton of your shirt.
You’re so lucky he lives so close, so lucky it’s only 17 houses and a traffic island away (you know, you’ve counted) you’re so lucky he is always there. So lucky, he is your safety.
His door is unlocked, like you knew it would be, like he knew it needed to be, like it always will be. Because this cycle never falters the pattern never changes.
And as you stagger, sobbing, through his front door his small figure, not much bigger than your tiny self, is there to catch you. He takes you into his arms and pulls you close.
Sometime, somehow amidst your sobbing he has manoeuvred you to a warm spot in front of the wood fire that has been blazing away silently in the corner of the room. The two of you stand together, swaying softly, your head on his shoulder and his fingers entwined gently in your hair. It could be minutes, but it’s more likely hours before you allow him to finally pull away.
He sits you down and cleans you up, mends all the broken bits as best he can. But he can’t fix your feelings; those bits will be hurt forever. He still try’s though.
When he’s done with you, you are as good as new, well almost. Excluding the black eye, busted lip and sprained wrist, oh and the pain that bursts though your small body with any and every movement you make. But apart from those things, you are all better.
He fixed you up, like he always does, and always will.
You sleep together in his comfortable bed, his arms holding you close, keeping you safe. He won’t let you get away from him this time.
You’re his doll and he’s ever so worried that one day you will break, or more than likely - be broken.
In the morning he begs you to stay or to run away with him, he offers you everything but he doesn’t really bother to argue when you insist that you must go ‘home’. His fighting spirit dissolved somewhere long ago, just like yours did.
So you go, back home, go back to him. But honestly it’s more like going back to being alone. Unless he is using or abusing you he ignores you, that doesn’t mean you have freedom though, it just means that you’re not worthy of his time.
It’s okay though, it really is.
Because in another 12 hours you will be back here and Bert will still be here, ready to welcome you like he always does.
And you’re so lucky to have him, so lucky he is so close, so lucky that he fucking cares. You honestly wonder why he does, because you're truely not worth it, you deserve all this, you must, otherwise he wouldn’t put you through it. You really do deserve everything you get and as you quietly open your front door the bitter sweet reminder washes over you.
“Welcome home Frank”.
And right there, that’s what you’re the most lucky to have, you know deep down he loves you. He must or he wouldn’t want you to keep coming home, wouldn’t hug you tenderly when you step through the archway, he just wouldn’t care at all. But he does, you're precious to him, and that’s why he hits you, because he loves you so fucking much, that’s why he abuses you, because you are his everything and he needs to show you the things you do wrong, he doesn’t want someone as perfect as you to go to waste, to fall into the hands of someone nasty or to do the wrong things with your life. That’s why he does it, honestly it is, because he loves you.
So you smile timidly and accept his embrace and the cycle begins again.