REQUESTS CLOSED!

Second of all, he was dedicated. He could zero in on a singular goal and focus all his efforts on that goal. It was true in many ways, but certainly in the bedroom — this time, his goal was making you feel safe and good. He was a giver, and when you finally made a move, he had every intention to take his time with you and shun his own desires and needs into the backseat. 

The only problem was your unwillingness to let him.

”Frank, you really don’t have to—”, you tried, fingers tightening in his hair as he kissed his way down to your hips and thighs. The look on his face was almost amused, but more than that, it was determined. 

”Sweetheart, you think I ever do somethin’ I don’t want to?” he countered, nuzzling his nose against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. ”Lay back, darlin’. Just relax for me, yeah?”

He could tell you struggled to follow that instruction but you tried, anyway. And as promised, he took his time exploring you, figuring out what you liked and what you didn’t enjoy as much. Patient and dedicated, he checked in with you, made sure you were feeling good — and god, you really were. 

Which was why it was so confusing when you pushed his head away. 

”Frank, I—I don’t want to… come yet”, you breathed out, face hot from arousal and bashfulness as you looked down at him. He frowned, but respected your wishes. Honestly, maybe he was too turned on to question you when you told him you wanted to do it together, with him on top of you. 

But he should have questioned it. He realized that soon enough. 

”Feelin’ okay, sweetheart?” he murmured, kissing your face with gentle lips once you were both slumped into the mattress; sweaty and breathless. Hours of passion had built up until you had fallen over the edge, hard, and now… you struggled to stand back up. 

”I—I’m gonna get cleaned up”, you evaded the question before slipping out of his embrace. His hand chased yours but you were faster; ducking into the bathroom and locking the door behind you. 

Frank was puzzled but above all, he was concerned. You had seemed to truly enjoy everything and he had checked in multiple times to make sure you did, his deep voice rumbling in your ear and his hands cradling your face to keep you grounded and communicative. And you had been perfectly so, right up until now - as soon as your moans stopped echoing across the walls, you had retreated into a shell so tough he wasn't quite sure how to withdraw you back out.

When you returned from the bathroom, Frank was seated on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on his knees. His dark eyes met yours and, like struck with lightning, he straightened up. "Hey", he breathed out, his stare scanning you closely, "you okay?"

You wrung your hands nervously and he picked up on it quickly. The nod you gave him was less than convincing. "Yeah, just needed to wash up", you shrugged casually with an attempt to flash a smile at him. Usually, it would have made his heart flutter - now, it was only alarming. Something was clearly gnawing at you.

"Hey, if I did something you didn't like...", Frank began, his gut twisting uncomfortably at the mere idea. He rubbed his jaw in thought, as if trying to recount every touch, every word. But you quickly shook your head, a frown etched onto your own face.

"No! No, it was perfect. It was... really, it was everything that I could have asked for", you insisted, taking a step closer to him. But when his big hands reached for yours, you instinctively pulled them back and his face fell all over again. You grimaced as you glanced down at your hands, forced by the anxiety in your chest to pick at your nail polish absently. "Sorry, it's just... I'm not good at the after part."

Nodding slowly, Frank scooted back on the bed. "Alright, I hear you. You're not... not good at it. S'okay if you don't like the lovey-dovey stuff", he chuckled softly, trying to disarm you. You cracked a smile at that and a gust of relief blew through his thrumming heart.

He wasn't letting go, though. He was willing to back off for now but he never stopped noticing.

The next time that you were intimate, he was prepared for you to pull away from him again. Once again, you didn't let yourself finish until the very end and that was alright with him. The part that really gnawed at him was that he couldn't take care of you. He was a man of action, not so skilled with words, and he wanted nothing more to help you wash up; untangle your hair, wipe your stained mascara away, help you into a comfortable shirt. You insisted on doing all of that on your own. But he tried to take baby steps towards a middle ground - not violating your boundaries, but perhaps, figuring out loopholes.

"Got you some water", he grunted as you returned from the bathroom. He was busying himself around the bedroom, earning a quizzical look from you. "And some of that chocolate you like", he added while giving the small bag of sweets a small shake to prove his point.

"Are you leaving?" you asked when you noticed the way he was dodging the bed. That was the last thing you wanted, to scare him off or push him away. In fact, the very thought that your preferred routine was starting to annoy him made you visibly nervous, causing you to shift on your feet and pick at your nails.

"Nah, 'course not", Frank flashed you a lopsided smile, almost amused, as if the concept of abandoning you after claiming you so intimately was unfathomable. He nodded towards the bed where he had arranged the pillows in an inviting bundle. "You cuddle up, sweetheart. I'mma sit on the floor for a minute."

You tilted your head, not sure what he was aiming at. But hesitantly, you climbed back into bed and pulled the covers over your bare legs. He nodded towards the water bottle on your nightstand and you obediently grabbed it for a greedy sip.

"You don't have to sit on the floor", you finally managed, your face twisted by a frown, although you had to deny that you didn't particularly want to share the bed with him, either. The idea of warm skin on skin right now made your limbs twitch with discomfort.

"I know", Frank said with a casual shrug, effortless in taking the blame off of your shoulders. "Your mattress is killin' my back. Just wanna... stretch a little", he continued, taking a seat on the floor next to the bed. His head leaned back against the mattress, next to your body and perfectly within reach for when you'd want the closeness again.

You didn't quite believe him, but you appreciated the gesture he wouldn't admit to. Still, you couldn't really put your finger on his plans, either.

He began weaseling his way into your routine. He was good at that; infiltration. If you showed any sign of panic or reluctance, he respectfully backed off. Just like any other mission that required delicate handling, pushing too far too soon could cause the entire operation to blow up in his face, and he was willing to work within the perimeters that you allowed him.

Getting you a snack after sex developed into finding you a comfy shirt and helping you into some fluffy socks without touching your bare skin. Eventually, you felt comfortable in letting him exist in your space. He wasn't allowed to help you clean up but you were okay with keeping the bathroom door open or letting him sit on the edge of the bathtub. He would hand over your make-up wipes or neatly organize your jewelry. On good nights, he got the luxury of helping you do your hair for bedtime. On one occasion, you granted him permission to apply lotion to your hands and he treated the gesture with the utmost respect and care, like it was the single best gift anyone had ever bestowed upon him.

But all your progress threatened to unravel unexpectedly.

He was nestled between your thighs just like always, holding onto you firmly, and the pleasure that washed over you was far too strong to resist. You gasped, writhed, tried to keep your peak at a distance but it crept up on you. You didn't find the words to ask Frank to stop in time, and without warning, it shot through you, blissful white heat blooming through your entire body and making your legs quiver. Frank effortlessly guided you through it, stroking your hips while you caught your breath and let the sensations ebb.

And then the crash came.

"Wait, wait-- stop, please", you squeaked, squirming away from Frank. Like cold water got dunked on him, he realized the full extent of what had happened and it didn't take him long to register the panic on your face.

"Hey-", he began as you sat up against the headboard, your breathing ragged. Usually so calm and collected, he slipped - made the fatal mistake of touching your leg, and you flinched back so fast you knocked the water off of the nightstand.

Before he could apologize or you could get a single word out, you were gone. In a blink of an eye, the bathroom door slammed shut and locked behind you.

"Fuck", Frank exhaled, pinching the bridge of his beaten nose. He could hear you sniffling in the bathroom and it felt like a shard of glass was being twisted in the crevices of his chest.

Carefully, he disentangled from the sheets and padded to the bathroom. The incredibly gentle knock sounded like gunshots in the tense air. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. Really, I... I shouldn't have touched you. I know you don't like that, that's on me", he spoke quietly, willing to take full responsibility.

You didn't respond. Consumed by concern, Frank tugged at his hair and tried again. "Darlin'? Can you tell me you're okay?"

"I'm fine", you murmured after a moment of silence, sniffling still. "I just need a minute."

Not knowing what you were going through in that bathroom made him feel like his skin was on fire. All he wanted was to hold you through it and that was the one thing he couldn't do.

"Take all the time you need, sweetheart. There's no rush, aight?" he cleared his throat. "D'you want me to leave?" He sounded small, too - drenched in regret for what he had done when he knew damn well what a delicate situation it was. The last thing he wanted was to leave you alone with this but he knew he didn't have any more bargaining chips in his pocket; if you wanted him out, he had no choice but to go, to respect that boundary.

Your answer soothed the stress in his chest minutely. "No, I don't want you to go", you admitted from inside the bathroom. A moment of silence followed before you continued. "Can you go wait in the living room?" you requested with hesitation, and Frank's heart twisted at your voice; like you were scared to ask him that.

"Absolutely. Whatever you need", he said simply. "You... you do what you gotta do, sweetheart. But if you need anythin' at all, I'm right there", Frank vowed, fiddling with his fingers. He stood for a moment longer before finally turning away and heading for the living room.

The next thirty-four minutes felt like the longest of his life. You would think that someone so used to waiting in the shadows, anticipating the right moment to arrive would handle it better but the truth was, waiting for you to return from your silent sanctuary felt like torture. He had taken a power drill to the foot before, he had been beaten to a pulp and left to die, and all that sounded like a vacation compared to the storm of emotions inside him. He was not only concerned for your well-being but so disappointed in himself that he could feel it in his bones. He had done the one thing you didn't want him doing. A man taught to follow orders to a tee and he had fumbled so completely in what really mattered to him.

When you did, at long last, walk into the living room, you looked different. Not distraught or dissociated but... resolute. The look on your face spoke in volumes; a reluctant realization had dawned upon you, that you couldn't keep tiptoeing around the issue and expect Frank to adapt to your unspoken demands.

"We should talk", you sighed, sitting down next to him on the couch. You still kept your distance but you didn't look scared, didn't angle your body away from his or avoid the warmth radiating off of him.

"Hey, I'm real fuckin' sorry. I fucked up-", he started, the burden of his slip-up straining on his shoulders. You quickly interjected, shaking your head at him.

"No... well, yes. But I'm not mad. Thank you, for apologizing. But I want to talk about why it's such an issue for me in the first place. For... you to touch me", you spoke calmly, quietly. The fidgeting of your hands was ever-present, telling him that you were still nervous, but the way you met his gaze was beyond brave. His heart thumped with pride.

"Okay. Okay, sweetheart", he whispered. "M'all ears. Whatever you want to tell me."

You swallowed hard; he saw the bob of your throat. "I don't really have a good explanation, I wish I did. But... I enjoy sex a lot in the moment. It feels good and I want you, I really do. As soon as I come, though... it's like this crazy crash. I feel repulsed. With myself, with... everything", you tried to find the words, glancing down at your hands. You didn't say it, that you were repulsed with him too, but he gathered that some complex part of you considered it.

"It's not personal", you continued, sighing. "It's really not. Like I said, I want you. But I get this wave of panic, like I've done something disgusting or something wrong. I regret it, for a while. It passes eventually but right after sex, I just... can't deal with it. I don't want to be touched because it just makes me feel more... gross."

Frank listened attentively, hanging onto your every word. "Shit, baby, that... that sounds like a lot for you to deal with. Fuck, I... I'm sorry", he frowned, taken aback by what you were telling him - not because it was too much for him to handle, but because it was so, so much for you to handle. It made him sick to his stomach, knowing that this whole time you had been wrangling such painful feelings on your own, that you were still brave enough to keep trying.

"Means a lot to me that you began to let me in", he murmured, tilting his head to catch your gaze. "I imagine that couldn'ta been easy."

You nodded slowly. "It really wasn't. It's a lot easier to just isolate. I... I'm scared that if I push too hard, I'll want to run away from you for good", you admitted, tucking a hair behind your ear. "I'm trying, though. Because I want to stay with you. I want to be with you."

The smallest of smiles touched on Frank's lips. "Yeah?" he murmured. "I want that too, sweetheart. More than anything."

Hesitantly, you reached for his hand. You hooked your pinky around his; a small but meaningful gesture of your willingness to try. "I'll try to talk about it more. Tell you what I need", you swallowed, "I guess it's just hard because I don't really understand it myself. I just know what I feel, not why."

"You don't gotta know everything", Frank countered, tightening the grip of his finger around yours. "Just tell me what you can and I'll work with it. Promise. Won't touch you without permission again, ever."

You smiled faintly, nodding. "Thank you", you whispered. You hesitated for a second before continuing. "This doesn't make things too complicated?" you asked carefully, almost prepared for rejection.

Frank shook his head immediately, needing no time to consider. "Fuck, no. Sweetheart, I thank my lucky stars every day if I get to see that pretty smile o'yours. I'll do whatever it takes to keep it there, yeah?" His words quickly widened the smile on your face and your cheeks grew warm, earning a pleased grin from him. "Yeah, there she is."

You gravitated towards him, curled up into his side on the couch. His fingertips rubbed your shoulder, keeping you tethered to the moment and him. "Promise me you'll tell me if you don't wanna do somethin', aight?" Frank murmured into your hair, looking down at you. "Never gotta do somethin' just for me. We go with your rules", he whispered, quiet but firm.

"And also, sweetheart...", he pressed a kiss on the top of your head. "I know there's a lot to unpack there but I need ya to know that you ain't gross. You ain't done anythin' wrong. It's okay to feel good. As long as it does feel good. Yeah?"

Slowly, you nodded. "Yeah", you whispered back at him. "You help me with that. Learning how to feel good."

A small, pleased smile took over Frank's lips. He kissed your hair once more.

Much to his surprise, though, you were far more understanding and patient than anyone should have been. The first time that he stood you up on account of a mission running long, he came to your door in the middle of the night with a bouquet of your favorite flowers held in apology.

"I'm real sorry, sweetheart", he grumbled, pulling the hood of his jacket off of his head. The corner of his eye was an angry red and his bottom lip swollen with a tiny but lethal cut in the middle - he didn't need to tell you about his night for you to know. Still, he tried to offer an explanation. "Ain't right I stood you up. Wish I had a better reason than these assholes keeping me on my toes all night", he continued, extending the crumpled flowers to you with a manner that seemed almost bashful.

And you gave him a smile. An honest, radiant smile, while your dainty hand clasped around the bouquet, fingers brushing against his warm and calloused ones in the process.

"It's okay, Frank", you insisted, stepping aside to let him into your apartment. "I understand."

His eyes narrowed slightly but you sounded and looked just as genuine as you always did. He entered your home even though he didn't feel the slightest bit worthy, his mind running a million miles an hour. It felt like a trap; like a siren song inviting him close just for you to bite his head off. But you didn't, you just beamed at him like you were truly grateful that he was here now.

Like an idiot, he let himself be lulled to a sense of security by your open arms and kind smiles. It wasn't so much that you were trying to deceive him, but it did dawn on him that despite the brave front you put up, it did hurt. Of course, it hurt. Who wouldn't feel a sting when their loved one disappears unannounced, doesn't respond to texts, drags blood every time they step through the door? Still, somehow, he had let himself believe that you were fine with it; fine with him.

It wasn't until the umpteenth time that he let you down that he realized all his past transgressions had slowly chipped away at your heart. He had shown up late again and you had ushered him into the shower to get cleaned up while you heated up some leftovers for him, taking care of him like always. You hadn't even realized he had peeked out of the bathroom to ask for an extra towel, only for his heart to sink at the sight of your sniffles. You were moving around the kitchen so casually despite the tears streaming down your cheeks, despite the tremor in your hands that he could see even across the room. He didn't have the heart to tell you because he knew it was his fault and he was too much of a coward to face the truth. That he was bad for you, bad to you and somewhere deep down, you knew it, too.

He tried to show up more after that. Tried to do better, because somewhere down the line, he had found himself wanting to be worthy of you. What had once been a blunt acceptance of the fact that he never would be, had shifted into the desire to at least try.

"You okay, sweetheart?" he asked more often, observing your face as you sat on your couch or laid in his arms in your bed. He tried to get a read on you, but you were pretty damn talented at masking the hurt in your soul. It had convinced him, anyway.

Not anymore.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" you always smiled back, shrugging meekly. Like the mere idea of being anything other than compliant was unfathomable. He could see it in your eyes, that you were upset. Sometimes it wasn't even his fault; sometimes you just had a bad day but even then, you always shrugged it off.

"I don't wanna talk about it", you said casually, "it's not important."

As if anything about you could be anything but.

So, slowly but surely he realized that you weren't as happy and tranquil that you seemed. Even worse, he realized that it was far easier to see than you thought. All this time, you had been trying to placate him by removing your own issues from the equation. You offered solace, a safe haven, and he could no longer enjoy it because he figured out your trick to doing it - you made space for him at the expense of your own.

He finally had enough when he inadvertently pushed you to your limit once more. In his defense, like you pointed out too, he showed up on your doorstep holding his cracked ribs, his face bloodied and his breathing shallow. He had taken a proper beating and still dragged himself up your stairs just to show you that he wanted to be here, and that should have been enough for you. Or so you thought - he didn't.

"Frank, I get it. You look like shit, let me-", you started, reaching for him as he slumped against your door. He huffed, pulling away from you almost petulantly, giving you a tired look.

"Sweetheart, enough. I know you're mad. You gotta be mad. Tell me I fucked up, tell me you're sick of my shit", he gritted out, his words encouraging but his tone irritated. He sucked in a breath, standing up as straight as he could while clutching his ribs. "I keep droppin' the ball. Don't let me get away with that shit."

A frown pulled at your face and you tilted your head at him. "You're angry, because... I'm not angry?" you clarified, almost chuckling at the idea.

"Damn straight", Frank said firmly, huffing and puffing. The pain throbbing throughout his body wasn't nearly as bad as the pain of knowing how blind he had been. "And I dunno why you ain't."

You sighed, reaching for him again. This time, he didn't protest, just let you wind an arm around his waist. He grimaced and hissed at the sting in his ribs but you simply shushed him softly while guiding him to your couch. It proved difficult to set his heavy body down with any sense of grace, but a relieved sigh escaped him, nonetheless, once he sank into the cushions. You stood in front of him, twisting your bracelet nervously.

"I don't know how to be mad", you offered quietly, nerves building in your stomach. You had never been good at being loud, being demanding. And with Frank, it felt especially difficult. How could you ever yell or snap at someone who had been through so much but found comfort in you? You couldn't take that sanctuary away from him.

"You oughta try." Shaking his head, Frank exhaled. "Makes me sick to see you make yourself small like that, sweetheart. You shouldn't have to do that for anyone. Least of all me", he went on, hurt bleeding into his own voice now. It was killing him, knowing now that you were so used to shrinking. Taking up as little space as possible. He wanted to see you flourish, be honest with him, let him see you at your worst - because Lord knows you had seen him at rock bottom, too.

"Well, I am upset", you exhaled, fidgeting on your feet. This felt so incredibly strange, owning up to the hurt inside you, but the way Frank was looking at you was every bit encouraging. "I-I wait up for you and you never even text me. Sometimes you leave me on read, and-and it really hurts my feelings", you rambled on, your eyebrows knitted together as the emotions bubble to the surface. You were used to crying to yourself, behind closed doors, but this was different. This was frustration.

Frank said nothing. This wasn't the time for him to interject or make any comments. This was your moment to unload.

"It makes me feel really unimportant, Frank", you huffed. You swallowed hard before continuing, finally meeting his eyes. "I feel so... so lonely and dismissed when you pull stuff like this. I like you a lot and I want to keep seeing you but I need you to give me something in return, okay? I can't keep doing whatever this is."

Nodding along, Frank broke into a small smile. "Attagirl", he whispered approvingly, bowing his head in apology. "I'm real sorry for the way I've treated you, sweetheart. I'mma do better, I promise. 'Cause I really like you too, you know?" he continued, beckoning for you to join him on the couch. You hesitated before sinking down next to him, curling up against his good side.

"Thank you", you sighed softly, resting your hand on the skull on his chest. "Was that okay?"

Chuckling gruffly, Frank nodded before pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

But then the stress of work started to build up and one of your friendships was slowly crashing and burning, and Frank was dealing with a particularly tough mission, too. It all worked together to build your personal hell, your anxiety rising to new levels that you didn’t know how to manage quite so smoothly anymore.

You still tried to play it cool, though. Frank had a lot on his plate — the last thing he needed was you having a nervous breakdown. You managed to keep your explosive anxiety under wraps thanks to his irregular schedule and a brief day trip out of the city; though the latter only heightened your discomfort. But tonight, you could no longer hide it from him.

”Missed you so much, sweetheart.” His gruff voice reverberated against your hair as he held you to his chest, the two of you tangled under the warm covers. You were happy to be in his arms, you really were, but you felt the urge to check the door, make sure it was locked, and it left you unable to enjoy the affection.

When you didn’t say a word in response, he slowly tilted his head down to take a look at you, immediately noticing the worried gnaw on your lip. ”You with me, pretty girl?” he murmured, quietly but so close to your face that you finally heard him. Felt the rumble of his words against your mouth.

You met his gaze, shifting a little. ”Yeah, I…”, you started, not sure how to talk your way out of this. You didn’t want to worry him, especially not when he had had such a long night and just hoped to enjoy your company.

But god, the pounding in your head was impossible to ignore. It felt like you were in physical pain, trying not to climb out of bed and follow the compulsion. Your limbs trembled with the effort and you felt consumed by uneasiness, the fear of something impending lurking around the corner; an inevitable doom that would befall on you and Frank. Considering the latter, that by denying the compulsive behavior you were endangering Frank, was finally what got you to act.

”I just want to make sure I locked the door”, you finally murmured. You knew it was irrational. You were embarrassingly aware of it, actually. But you still unfurled yourself from Frank's embrace, feeling his worried gaze on you as you tiptoed out of the bedroom.

He wasn’t sure what to make of it. He often checked the locks, too, but the pain on your face suggested it was more serious than an inclination. He watched you leave, his eyebrows knit together as he sat up on the bed.

Exhaling, you made your way to the front door and looked through the peephole before jostling the handle. It didn’t budge — locked, with certainty. And yet, you had to do it again. Check the keyhole, then try the handle. Again, and again.

”Sweetheart.” Frank’s voice tore you out of the loop, and you glanced over your shoulder to find him standing there, eyes full of concern. You felt caught, exposed, and it welcomed shame into your chest.

Swallowing hard, you turned back to the door to do it just one more time. Then, finally, it felt complete. Like you had done it right. ”Sorry.” Your whisper broke the silence. ”I’m good now.”

Tilting his head at you, Frank took a step closer, gently thumbing your chin with his finger, lifting your head up. ”This a compulsion, sweetheart?” he murmured, finally realizing what was going on. He had never really seen it like this, so uncontrollable. In some weird way, it had always made him feel left out — like you were purposefully hiding your struggles from him, and he didn’t like it one bit. He wanted to help you, to support you. In some selfish way, he liked finally having the opportunity, but for the most part, his heart broke at the way you seemed so tense and anxious.

You managed a nod. ”It’s been getting worse”, you admitted quietly. Frank sucked in a breath. He wanted to chastise you for not telling him sooner, but he also knew it would do nothing to alleviate the storm inside you, so he simply nodded back at you.

”C’mere”, he gestured towards himself, hauling an arm over your shoulders. He pressed a kiss on the top of your head and squeezed you against his chest. ”You did it. Yeah? Attagirl. Now let’s get to bed, huh? It’s done”, he affirmed, and reluctantly, you nodded. He was right. You had completed what your brain was imploring you to do, and you felt momentary relief, allowing you to follow him into the bedroom.

You curled up back under the covers, breathing in his comforting scent and feeling the warmth of his furnace-like body. His hand drew soothing circles on your back, grounding you as best he could.

”Wanna tell me about it?” he murmured, inviting you to share. You hesitated, but eventually nodded and exhaled, preparing to try and describe your experience.

”It’s… it’s like I’m in actual pain. I can’t relax and I can’t think of anything else. I can’t sleep. Not until I finally do the compulsions”, you spoke quietly, wringing your hands as you lay there, staring at the wall behind him. ”Nothing is a safe activity. I’ll just… walk into a room and I feel the need to do something. I’ll be watching something, listening to something, walking somewhere, and it just hits me.”

Frank frowned, his chest clenching at your explanation. He wanted nothing more than to take the pain away, to remove the struggle from your mind and shield you from the distress you clearly were in. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, just yeahs and soft grunts and hums to assure you he was paying attention.

But you didn’t really give him a chance, when you shifted again.

”Maybe I should check the door again”, you breathed out, the anxiety creeping back in. Frank was quick to react this time, shushing softly.

”Hey, hey, nah. The door is locked, sweetheart. It ain’t gonna change no matter how many times you check”, he spoke firmly but gently. He had asked you once how he could help best, and you had told him to challenge you. He was good with that. ”You just did it, yeah? You don’t gotta do it again. It ain’t gettin’ unlocked.”

You swallowed hard, nodding reluctantly. You still squirmed, though, like staying put was hurting you. He pulled you closer, kissing your temple and then your hairline. ”Just stay with me, huh? I know it ain’t fun. But you gotta resist, baby. Lemme distract you”, he went on, stroking your arm softly. He pressed his lips against your temple again, then your cheek. There was no heat behind it, just an attempt to comfort and ground you.

Your eyes brimmed with frustrated tears. ”I don’t want to keep doing it”, you whispered shakily, ”I don’t want to be this way. I just want to stop. But I can’t.”

Swallowing thickly, Frank could practically feel his heart crack. He wiped your cheekbones quickly, tenderly. ”Hey, hey, hey. I know, sweet girl, I know. It ain’t your fault”, he grunted, his voice soft and quiet.

You burst into tears at his reassurance, feeling like the walls were coming down on you. Your head was spinning and it felt like the only solution, the only remedy would be checking the damn door. Frank enveloped you in his arms, shushing you gently and caressing your hair.

”I’m here, sweetheart. There ya go, let it out. I’m not lettin’ ya go”, he murmured against the top of your head. ”You’re so fuckin’ brave, you know that? Fuckin’ adore you. You’re so goddamn strong and don’t you ever think otherwise, hear me? Unbelievable.”

You wailed into his chest, and he did not falter for one second. Your breathing picked up quickly, as did your heartrate, and he noticed within seconds.

”Breathe for me, darlin’. Yeah, yeah, just like that. Just hold onto me. It’s aight. Not gonna let anythin’ happen”, he spoke softly, though firmly, giving you the guidance you needed. Trembling, you followed his example of exhaling and inhaling, your eyes squeezed shut. You felt like you were falling apart.

”I ain’t goin’ anywhere, you got that? Gonna stay home with you, help you deal with this. Not leavin’ your fuckin’ side until you feel better”, he went on, swearing his loyalty to you. Somehow, it made you cry more — you were so grateful for his support. You weren’t sure why he was willing to stick by your side even when you were acting like this, feeling like a crazy person.

As if on cue, he leaned down to whisper in your ear. ”Ain’t a goddamn thing wrong with you. We gon’ deal with this together, make sure you don’t gotta struggle any more”, he swore, kissing your cheek softly.

Nodding, you sniffled. You took a beat to catch your breath, still trembling and still aching to follow the compulsions. But having him hold you down, keep you anchored to him, it helped.

”I—I think I should find a therapist. Maybe… maybe start medication”, you admitted quietly, and in an instant, Frank gave you a squeeze.

”Brave fuckin’ girl. My girl. Yeah, we’re gonna get you help, whatever you need. I’mma stand next to you the whole time”, he promised, kissing the top of your head again, his lips trying to convey his care for you nonstop.

Sniffling, you exhaled and hugged him back, as tightly as you could. ”Thank you”, you breathed out, hoping those two simple words would tell him just how much you loved him and appreciated him.

With a quiet huff, Frank smiled down at you. ”Got nothin’ to thank me for, darlin’. Whatever you need, I’m here, yeah?” he said sincerely, his thumb reaching down to stroke your cheek.

A moment of silence fell in the bedroom, but eventually he spoke up with a grunt. ”Ya still wanna check the door?” he asked quietly, and hesitantly, you nodded. You hated it, but it was true.

”Aight.” He cleared his throat. ”Lemme keep holdin’ you. Wanna hear me yap your ear off about some shit Curt and I got up to?”

With a soft chuckle, you leaned into his chest. ”Yes, please”, you requested quietly, and Frank repeated your laugh.

”Yeah? Aight, sweetheart. Get comfortable”, he instructed gently, helping you lay against his chest as he sat up against the headboard. ”Attagirl.”

You were barely inside when Frank called out to you from the living room. ”Hey, sweetheart.” His gruff voice rang throughout the apartment and instinctively, a wide smile tried to break on your face but it made your lip sting and you covered your mouth with your hand to stifle the grin.

”Hey, Frankie”, you responded, a faint grimace on your face when your voice slurred. You knew he would notice immediately — and indeed, he reared his head from the living room couch were he was crouched over his shotgun, his cleaning process slowing down as he frowned at you. He was perceptive, but with the distance between you, he couldn’t see the silver jewelry resting under your swollen bottom lip.

”You alright?” he asked raspily, brown eyes scanning you with concern. You weren’t swaying, weren’t crying — in fact, you had the tiniest smile on your face. He couldn’t pinpoint what was going on, and he didn’t like that.

”Oh, uh, I’m okay”, you cleared your throat, kicking your shoes off and then trailing to the living room. His stare followed your every move, and he leaned back, dropping his foot off the coffee table to allow you to join him on the couch. ”Just… kinda did a thing”, you added, wringing your hands shyly as you sank down next to him.

That’s when he noticed. His eyes widened and he tilted his head at you, observing, making sure he was seeing right. His gaze zeroed in on the piercing and your cheeks heated up under the intense look. You couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking, not until he gave you a low whistle.

”Goddamn. That right, sweetheart?” he scanned you, his lips curling into a small smile. It made you do the same, though you quickly winced and tried to pull your cheeks down. Your reaction made him realize there was, in fact, an open wound on your face and while his eyes shone with amusement, the tone of his voice was caring. ”How’s it feelin’, pretty girl?”

Huffing, you gently touched the ball, as if to make sure it was real and still intact. ”Sore. Not too bad, just… feels weird”, you hummed, ”but it should heal quickly if all goes well, and I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”

With a nod, Frank propped up the empty shotgun between his knees. ”They give you instructions? One of those, uh, pamphlets?” he asked, making your heart flutter. You had told him all about your first piercing and the healing process when you had first started dating — it had been fresh at the time and he would often check in to make sure everything was going alright. Clearly, he still remembered how it worked, even though this was a different type of piercing.

When you nodded in response, he gestured with his pointer finger. ”Lemme see”, he requested curtly, and with a bashful smile, you reached for your pocket to grab the sheet with all the aftercare information on it.

He took the pamphlet in his large hand, his dark eyes scanning the text diligently. You just knew he was committing it all to memory, and it made your heart leap with joy and appreciation.

”Aight”, he grunted eventually, ”I’mma take you to the store today and we’ll get you some of these recommended foods, yeah? You get that mouth wash yet?”

Overwhelmed by your love for him, you leaned in to kiss him but he quickly ducked so that your lips collided with his cheek, instead. With a frown, you pulled away, and he just chuckled before leaning in to kiss your forehead.

”Sorry, sweetheart, but says right here no kissin’ allowed.”

In that moment, you knew two things for sure: refraining from any fun oral activities was going to be torture, and he was absolutely going to be a hard-ass about it.

////

”Hey, hey, go slow.” His tone was firm but loving as he watched you try to get the fork in your mouth. His eyes were watching closely, his hands ready to swoop in and feed you himself if necessary, but you wanted to do it on your own. You weren’t a child, after all.

That said, it was difficult to consume the mashed potatoes without your teeth clinking against the jewelry and you kept groaning in frustration. Opening your mouth too wide hurt and you tried your hardest not to bite on the silver bar, but it was certainly not easy. You had been sitting at the dining table for half an hour now, Frank was long finished with his meal but you were still struggling.

”Attagirl. There you go”, he praised you, pleased when you managed to get a forkful with minimal contact with the jewelry. Although you chuckled, you gave him a glare.

”I’m not a kid, Frank”, you reminded him and he snorted, shrugging.

”I can’t look after my girl, huh? Nah, you ain’t a kid but you gotta relearn this shit. It’s different now and I don’t wanna see you gettin’ hurt”, he argued gently, nodding towards the plate to encourage you to keep going.

When you were finally done, he took the plate from you, refusing to let you wash your own dishes. ”Great job, sweetheart. Ya gotta rinse with water now”, he commanded softly, and with a small roll of your eyes, you kissed his cheek before heading for the bathroom.

You took a long look at yourself in the mirror. It looked nice, right? Eating was giving you a hard time, though. Sleeping hadn’t been particularly easy, either. Maybe you had been too impulsive, after all…

”No pokin’ at it.” Frank’s gruff tone tore you out of your thoughts, and you turned to find him standing in the doorway, his thick arms crossed over the expanse of his chest.

”Does it look okay?” you asked with a frown, bashful under his stare. His eyebrows knitted together and he took a step closer, firmly but gently holding your chin to observe the piercing.

”Doesn’t look infected. Why? Is it hurtin’?”

You huffed slightly. ”No, I mean… Does it look okay?” you repeated, fidgeting nervously. Finally, your tone registered in Frank’s head and he realized you were feeling insecure. Like maybe you had made a mistake.

He took a deep breath and licked his lips. ”Sweetheart… I ain’t even gonna tell you the things I’ve been thinkin’ since you came home lookin’ like that, ’cause none of it ain’t very gentlemanly of me. Goddamn right it looks okay, it looks fuckin’ heavenly on you”, he swore, his voice as serious as it was gravelly, sending a shiver down your spine.

”But it doesn’t matter what I think, yeah? Just matters what you think”, he added, brushing your cheek with his thumb. ”If you’re feelin’ unsure, just give it a few days, huh? Maybe you’ll feel differently. If you don’t, you can always take it out.”

He always knew what to say, didn’t he?

You smiled softly and nodded. He returned the smile and leaned in to kiss your forehead, long and lingering. It grounded you, helped you breathe again.

♥︎ his reaction to finding out depends on whether you’re already out or not. if you come out to him and you’re visibly nervous about it, he’ll pull you into a hug and thank you for sharing with him. he’s incredibly honored that you trust him with this information and feel safe enough to tell him.

♥︎ still, he doesn’t make a huge deal out of it because honestly, he doesn’t care. well, he cares in the sense that it’s important to you and therefore it’s also important to him, but it doesn’t really change anything, least of all how he feels about you. so maybe he’s almost too casual when he finds out.

♥︎ however, if you’ve already done the whole coming out thing and happen to just mention a past crush or girlfriend in passing, he’ll do that little pout he does and nod approvingly. ’that right, sweetheart? aight, that’s wassup. didn’t you had game like that.’ earning a shove in the shoulder from you.

♥︎ he knows not to be an asshole, but there is still quite a lot he’s not too educated on. so, he takes it upon himself to do some reading — he gets a book on bisexuality from the local library and reads it half in secret, not wanting to be all embarrassing about having to study up on it. he’s lowkey about it, and he also doesn’t want you to praise him; to him, it’s just basic decency and not something to get credit for.

♥︎ he learns a lot about different ways bisexuality is discriminated against and it makes him huff and puff. he makes mental notes of things not to say, to you or to anyone else. he takes it incredibly seriously.

♥︎ if lieberman or someone else says something questionable, frank is quick to shut it down. ’hey, asshole, you ain’t supposed to say that shit. apologize to the lady, huh?’

♥︎ one thing that he doesn’t need to be told is that threesomes are a cliché. he would never suggest it to you, not before or after finding out about your sexuality. you’d have to be the one to bring it up if it was in fact something you wanted, and even then, he’d decline. he doesn’t want to share you with anyone, regardless of gender.

♥︎ he does, however, inevitably wonder if you’d rather be with someone else. it’s not because he doesn’t trust you — it’s because it’s a fear he has regardless of your sexuality. he always believes you deserve better, that he’s not good enough for you, so it exacerbates that fear. there’s even more options out there for you! but when he tries to bring it up, scratching his neck and nervously wondering if you’re really happy with just him, you make things abundantly clear for him. you’re in love with him, and you don’t want anyone else.

♥︎ if you want to go to a pride parade/event, he’s hesitant. he wants to support you, but he considers it a massive safety hazard. all those people in a massive crowd where anything could happen? he knows hate crimes occur far too often and the last thing he wants is something happening to you.

♥︎ but he knows it’s important to you. so he asks, just once, if you’re sure. and if you say yes, it’s settled. he’s coming with you, holding your hand the whole time, scanning the crowd nonstop. he’s like a bodyguard; a scary dog by your side. it’s difficult for him to see people coming up to you with hugs, because every time he thinks a threat is approaching, but eventually, he figures that you’re in a safe space together.

♥︎ that said, he’s still frank. when a man with a free hugs sign comes up to him, he doesn’t budge.

♥︎ when someone in the crowd starts throwing out free bracelets, frank is watching like a hawk. his tall and broad build allows him to effortlessly snatch one of the bisexual-themed ones, holding it closely to his chest like it’s the most precious treasure. only when you’re somewhere more quiet together, he slides it over your wrist, a little bashfully.

It was growing difficult to stomach. He couldn’t stand the lack of resolution, the wound of your argument still open and bleeding. He wasn’t good with these kinds of situations, and he knew that he needed to act. His first instinct was to tell you to cut the attitude, but he knew he was in the wrong tonight and he needed to do some groveling.

”You need anythin’, sweetheart? Something to drink?” he called out to you from the kitchen, a peace offering. His boots were untied, his bags unloaded, his vest hidden in the back of the closet. He was ready to shift back into boyfriend-mode, and to extend an olive branch, but you more or less snapped it in half.

”Since when do you care about what I want or need?” you snapped from the living room, your voice quiet but venomous. His eyes widened, and his lips parted to say something in return but before he could, his gaze fell on your form. As he assessed you, he could tell that this wasn’t just being bratty — you had those days, too, but now… The way you were clenching your fists, practically vibrating with angry energy, your teeth gnawing on your bottom lip to stop yourself from saying anything else.

Oh. It was one of those times.

”Hey, hey, sweetheart”, he started, his tone concerned and not at all offended by your words, not anymore. ”You need your space, that it? Need a moment?” he asked, trying to understand what you needed as he approached the living room, maintaining a respectful distance. This had happened once or twice in the past, and you had tried to give him guidelines to helping you, but the truth was, you were still trying to figure it out yourself.

You finally looked at him, huffing. Your jaw ticked, and he could tell you were straining with the effort to not lash out at him. ”You don’t have to baby me”, you said in a warning tone, gathering your pillow from the couch as you stood up. ”I’m just gonna go to bed, Frank, it’s whatever”, you continued, but he was quick to act.

”Hey, uh, you don’t have to do that. Yeah? If that’s what you want, I’mma let you but if you just wanna sit here and watch your show, I ain’t gonna force you out. I’m more than happy to get in bed and let you be, huh?” he stepped closer to you, eyes narrowed as they still scanned every inch of you. He was good at that part; analyzing you and figuring out what only ticked you off more. But at his proposal, you stopped, slowed down even. It seemed to appeal to you.

He suspected you didn’t want to admit that it was a good idea, though. ”Aight, hey, I gotchu. There ain’t no rush”, he continued, padding past you. He ached to stop and hold you, to kiss the top of your head, anything — but he knew better, knew you didn’t want that right now. He weaved past you, and once at the door of the bedroom, he turned back to you. ”Lemme know if you need anything, yeah? ’Cause I… I do care.”

With that, he slipped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. You sighed heavily and returned to the couch, trying to sink back into the show, to distract yourself. But the more you sat there, the worse you felt. At first, it was anger at him — your brain spewing hate at him, telling you he was the worst person in the world who hated you, too. He didn’t care. He just wanted to hurt you. Why couldn’t he understand? Why couldn’t he do what you asked, what you needed?

But then, your thoughts shifted and you started to feel bad. You probably scared him away for good now. He saw what an ugly, awful person you really are. You hurt his feelings, so why would he stay? He could never love someone like that. Someone so mean and vicious, someone who can’t even control themselves. He was probably laying in bed thinking of ways he could leave you. He wasn’t the worst, you were.

Your eyes burned with tears and you no longer wanted to be alone. Reluctantly, with your tail between your legs, you shut off the TV and slid into the bedroom, praying Frank would already be asleep.

He wasn’t.

The sight of him looking at you so expectantly made you cry, the regret and guilt overwhelming. You hugged your pillow as you stood in the doorway, and Frank swore you had never looked more vulnerable and small than you did in that moment. You breathed raggedly, trying to find the right words, but in the end you went with your first instinct.

”I’m sorry.” Your voice was weak and faint, and he could hear the waver in every word. Sighing sympathetically, he nodded at the empty space next to him in your shared bed, and with a sniffle, you trailed to your side before climbing in with him.

”C’mere.” He gathered you into his arms right away, closing you against his bare chest, so warm and firm, both of you sitting against the headboard. You couldn’t stop the tears from flowing but you felt embarrassed about it — why were you crying? God, this was so manipulative of you. Hurt him, then cry to get out of trouble. You hated yourself in that moment.

”I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I’m so sorry”, you whispered, trying to contain your sobs, ”I shouldn’t have—I didn’t—I know you care, Frank, I know you do. You care more than anyone, I don’t know why I would say something like that.” He tried to shush you softly, caressing your shoulder as he hugged you, but you just kept going.

”I don’t deserve you, really, I’m such a fucking bitch”, you continued, smacking the heel of your palm against your forehead. You didn’t get to do it more than twice when Frank was quickly grabbing your wrist, gentle but firm.

”Hey, hey, stop that. None of that, baby, hear me?” he spoke sternly but with love and care. He tilted his head down at you, his grip on your wrist loosening just so he could move to wipe your tears. His dark eyes were full of concern as he observed your flushed face, his heart aching for you.

”You ain’t a bitch, sweetheart, I don’t even like hearin’ that. And there ain’t a single thing wrong with you, yeah? You just…”, he swallowed, trying to find the right thing to say. ”You’re just someone who struggles with certain things. Just like everyone else struggles with somethin’. It sure as shit don’t make you bad, in fact I think you’re fuckin’ brave”, he went on, praising you, stroking your cheek softly.

You chuckled dryly, shaking your head. ”You shouldn’t be saying that, Frankie. You shouldn’t be comforting me. I was the one who was mean and hurt your feelings, so it-it’s not fair that I’m making you make me feel better”, you hiccup, sniffling. You drop your head on his broad shoulder, feeling sick to your stomach as you sit in the guilt.

”Darlin’, you ain’t makin’ me do anythin’. And you couldn’t hurt my feelings if you tried. And I guess you did try, huh? I’m perfectly fine, peachy even. I ain’t scared of you”, he chuckled softly, a small smile on his lips as he looked down into your eyes. ”Besides, I was an asshole for leavin’. You asked me not to and I disrespected that. Way I see it, I deserved a lil’ feedback”, he continued, making you giggle softly.

”You’re too good to me, Frankie”, you whispered, pressing a kiss against his shoulder. ”I feel like an awful person and an even worse girlfriend.”

He shook his head, kissing the top of your head like he had longed to do earlier. ”Nah, that doesn’t sound like my girl at all. You’re all good, baby, I promise. We’re all good”, he murmured, winding his arm around you and caressing your shoulder.

You sighed in relief, closing your eyes to just breathe him in. It grounded you, his scent in your nose and his warmth spreading across your limbs. His breathing helped you pace your own, and his gently drawn patterns on your skin made your heart happy. The guilt wasn’t all gone, but it felt like it could be okay. You felt at peace in the bed, in his arms, his defined body right at your fingertips and his soft reassurance in your ears.

You sat in the silence for a while, just enjoying his calming presence, but eventually he spoke up, that gruff voice sending a shudder down your spine.

”I, uh… I dunno if this is crossing some kinda boundary but uh, I guess I tried looking up some ways to help before you came in”, he cleared his throat, scratching the back of his head nervously. ”Found some ideas if you want me to keep ’em in mind for next time. Like, uh, I guess icy water and a quick exercise might help? There’s-there’s others too if that sounds like bullshit to you.”

You looked up at him, eyes blinking in disbelief and amazement. He looked cautious, almost sheepish, but you broke into a smile and it alleviated some of his nervousness. ”Baby, that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s done for me. You tried using the Internet for me?” you asked with a goofy smile, earning a snort from him.

”Yeah, yeah, alright. It’s like that, huh?” he huffed, making you giggle.

”But seriously, Frank… That’s really nice. It’s hard for me to remember all those tips and skills when I’m really in it so if you can look out for me… I’d really like that. Only if that’s okay”, you exhaled, a soft smile on your lips.

You were going to be pissed. Or at the very least, upset in a way that ate at him from the inside. That was the only thing on his mind as he sat in that cage, chained and beaten. Well, the only thing of two — the other being how he would escape, but he supposed those two were interlocked. After all, his main motivation for escape was to get back home to you. He could still feel your lips on his cheek, your grip on his arm as you bid him goodbye, even after all the punches he had taken today; none of it was enough to wipe away the memory of your sweet touches, always so gentle and tender with him.

”What’s going on?” you asked him when he emerged from the bedroom, his vest strapped to his chest and his gun over his shoulder. He looked like a man on a mission, and that was nothing new to you, except just a moment ago he had been all wrapped up in your little bubble of domesticity, counting down the minutes until the homemade dinner you had prepared for him just because. Jesus, you were heaven-sent.

”Karen called”, he rasped, his voice heavy with the guilt of letting you down, ”needs me to save Red’s ass.”

”Oh.” He heard the disappointment in your voice, no matter how hard you tried to conceal it. ”Okay. Be safe”, you added with a smile, putting great effort into not letting your dismay show, but he saw right through you.

With a sigh, he dropped his bag and stepped over to you, his tall frame looming over you. He cradled the back of your head and pulled you in to kiss your forehead. ”Hey”, he said sternly, tilting his head down to look at you in the eye, a solemn look on his rough features. ”I ain’t bailin’, aight? Y’know you’re the most important thing I got, sweetheart. I’ll be back for dinner.”

You gave him a smile, nodding in understanding. ”Okay, Frankie. I’ll keep it warm for you”, you promised, and taking in a deep breath, appreciative of your eternal patience with his antics, he kissed your forehead again.

And then, he walked out of your shared home.

God, you’d have a field day with this, him in chains. You’d probably say something witty to call him out on his impulsive bullshit. But deep down, you’d be worried and do your damnedest to help, he knew that. The thought made him crack a weak smile to himself, the split on his lip stinging but it was a good kind of pain.

He knew he had to act, had to get out of there. The thought of you sitting at the dinner table all alone, anticipating when his key would turn in the lock, carved at his soul.

”How’s it goin’?” he spoke up in the silent room, calling out to the guard pacing outside his cage. The man, young and foolish enough to turn his attention did exactly that, stopping in front of Frank. ”What do, uh, what do they call you?” he continued, feigning interest in his keeper. He didn’t turn on the charm often — in fact, he reserved it for you and for very desperate situations, and undoubtedly, this was one. With no guns to his aid, he stooped to sweet-talking his way out. He had gotten pretty good at that with you.

”Anthony”, the guard responded cautiously.

”Anthony”, Frank parroted him, ”you got a last name?”

The guard didn’t hesitate, and Frank knew he was getting his hooks in. ”Anthony Petruccio”, he elaborated, and nodding in approval, Frank adjusted himself in the cage.

”There ya go. It’s a good name. It’s strong”, he licked his lips, a crooked smile on his lips. He grabbed the chains, pulling himself up, forced to crouch down in the cage that was by no means suitable for a man of his sheer size. ”Where you from, Anthony Petruccio?” he asked, prepared to go along with whatever the guard would tell him.

”Jersey.”

Watching him closely, Frank staggered to the front of the edge, a grin on his face. ”Ah, Jersey”, he chuckled, ”you know, I-I thought so. I had a feeling, y’know?”

The guard was eating it up, and he could tell. He made small-talk like it was second nature to him, saying exactly what Anthony wanted to hear. He could practically taste your lips, so close to breaking free and running back home to you.

”You, uh, you got a lady, Anthony?” Frank queried, tilting his head at the man as he knelt down at the front of the cage. When the guard nodded, he chuckled again. ”Yeah? Yeah, I, uh, me too. My girl’s waitin’ for me, y’know? Told her I’d be back for dinner. Missed it a few times too many, and I ain’t really a fan of lettin’ my gal down. I’m, uh, a man of my word, yeah?” he went on, emphasizing the soft side of him, hoping to appeal to Anthony — and it was working.

”You know a lil’ about me, Anthony?” he asked then, and when the guard confirmed, he chuckled, ducking his head like he was bashful. ”A little bit, yeah? Then you, uh, you gotta know that my girl, she’s a real one, y’know? Ain’t too many people in this world who’d deal with my bullshit, stick with me through everythin’”, he explained, and the soft nod he received in response told him enough. He had painted a pretty picture for Anthony, earned his pity.

”I ’preciate you givin’ me a minute like this”, Frank smiled at him, standing up but still crouching before sliding one chained hand out of the small opening in the front of the cage. ”It’s an honor to meet you”, he added, and that sealed the deal — Anthony walked over to him, taking Frank’s hand to shake it.

Frank thanked him. ”I really can’t let my girl down, Anthony”, he spoke finally, before twisting his arm. A sickening crack echoed through the room, and as Anthony collapsed against the cage, Frank yanked on his arm as hard as he could, slamming him against the metal over and over again. And then, he bent his arm down completely, breaking it for good.

Satisfied with himself, Frank grabbed the keys from him, and in a blink of an eye, he was gone, leaving only an empty cage and poor Anthony’s body behind. He made his way home, careful not to get caught again, his only objective to have you in his arms.

As soon as he was through the door, you were all over him. Panicked gasps enveloped him, your hands running across his face and body, assessing the situation. ”Oh my God, Frank, I—I was so worried. Are you okay? Well obviously you’re not, Christ! Baby, I was so scared, I saw the news and—and I just—”, you stammered, but he just shushed you, taking your shaky hands in his own and stopping you from fretting over him.

”Hey, hey, shh, shh. Sweetheart, I’m here. It’s alright, hey, don’tcha worry, darlin’”, he tried to reassure you, looking down at your horrified face. He knew his words probably didn’t mean much, the swelling on his barely gone down and the rest of him just as tortured.

”You can’t be serious”, you sighed softly, looking over his face, ”you look like someone put you in a blender, baby.”

Mustering a chuckle, Frank dropped his forehead against yours. ”I’m fine, sweetheart. Real fine now that I’m home”, he insisted, cradling your face to pull you into a tender kiss. You could taste blood on his mouth and your tongue swept across the cut on his bottom lip, but he didn’t falter, kissing you slow and deep.

As you hesitantly walked into the bar, you spotted him immediately even though there were plenty of people around. Well, it was less knowing and more hoping, the sight of that tall hunk of a man taking your breath away so quickly, it was almost embarrassing. He was leaning against the bar counter and sipping a beer while scanning the room; for you, you hoped, but the tension in his broad shoulders suggested he was out of his element, too.

Swallowing, you gathered your strength and stepped over to the bar, and as soon as his stare found your shorter figure striding towards him, some kind of recognition awakened in the dark depths of his eyes. He didn’t move away from you, but he also didn’t say anything, so you took in a deep breath and made the first move, hoping he would invite you into his company — though you couldn’t deny the thought was intimidating, too.

”Are you Curt’s friend?” you asked, your voice coming out more soft and careful than you intended, and as he eyed you over in a way that he probably meant to be subtle, you assumed he could tell how nervous you were. You hadn’t been until you had seen him from

the doorway, and now, with his burly frame towering over you, you couldn’t help the quiver in your fingertips.

”Yes, ma’am. Frank”, he introduced himself, sticking out his large hand for you to shake. His old-fashioned mannerisms made your lips twitch upwards and you felt some of the anxiety dissipate as you gripped his thick fingers and shook them.

”No need to be so formal, Frank”, you insisted with a chuckle, telling him your own name before ordering your go-to from the bartender. He watched your every move keenly, dark eyes observing you curiously like you were something awfully unusual. His scrutinizing gaze invited warmth to your face but you didn’t comment on it, and he did not either, though his mind was running a million miles an hour.

Then again, it often did. But this was different. Just like you, he had been reluctant to agree to Curtis’ idea but he generally had a hard time saying no to the man, and tonight was no exception. So, begrudgingly, he had put on the only shirt he had without any blood on it, shelved his plans for a late night mission for a later time and strolled to the bar with the single goal of just indulging Curtis. Having a beer didn’t sound so bad, either. And then you showed up, and his throat started to close up and his palms sweat against the cool bottle. He was good at giving nothing away, for the most part anyway, but he couldn’t quite resist scanning your figure and instinctively licking his lips.

”How d’ya know Curtis?” Frank cleared his throat then, his eyes meeting yours while he tilted his head to the side as a display of his attention. You drew a much needed sip from your drink and debated on whether to give him the long, honest answer or the filtered version of it. Most guys didn’t want to hear the heavy shit right off the bat, but you were well-aware who the man in front of you was, and you supposed that heavy was hard to avoid with him. Maybe he’d even appreciate it, knowing he wasn’t the only one burdened by the past.

”Uh, I go to his group every now and then. I—I’ve never served, but um, PTSD haunts me like it does a lot of the people there so I like going there, being surrounded by people who understand”, you decided to choose the middle road by elaborating just enough to sate his curiosity.

His eyebrow lifted at your answer, and the look in his eyes shifted, like he saw you differently now — but not in a degrading, disappointed way. It was more like he recognized himself in what you were saying and it hooked him in, made him realize that you were more than just a pretty face Curtis had sent to woo him. Maybe he should have known his best friend wouldn’t waste his time.

”Guess Curt thought you and I got that in common”, he grunted, sipping his beer before shrugging, ”I mean I ain’t the biggest fan of goin’ to the group but I do it sometimes. Never bumped into you before, though.” You wondered if that was a good thing or not. He was easy on the eyes, that much was obvious to you, but there was a certain charm to him in general, and so, you were inclined to wish you could have met him sooner. Still, you couldn’t help but feel like hearing you at your most vulnerable might have scared him off, so you supposed you were glad to meet under these circumstances.

Clearing your throat, you gave him a careful nod. ”I understand that, it still makes me kinda anxious, too. But it’s helped a lot, I think. I mean, I’m still here, aren’t I?” you managed a chuckle, and he repeated the sound, briefly ducking his head before looking back up at you with an inkling of a smile on his lips. When the purple light above the bar hit him just right, you saw the fading cut on his bottom lip and the dark bruises on the corner of his eye, and you gulped so hard your throat bobbed, unable to resist wondering what he would feel like under your fingertips or, better yet, your own lips.

”I’m real glad you are, sweetheart”, he remarked, that deep, gravelly voice of his sending a thrill down your spine. You were starting to be into this, into him, way more and way faster than you had anticipated, but you tried to cool off and simply enjoy the excitement of his firm body so close to yours. You could practically feel the warmth of him, and even with the people and the music around you, it felt like you were in your own bubble with him. His eyes were laser-focused on you now, still darting to the front door whenever someone left or entered, but for the most part he had ceased his jittery observing of the room.

”So, guess you haven’t dated in a while, either?” you pointed out, trying to convey that you knew about his past without prying too much. ”Same here. I’ve had a few bad experiences that kinda deterred me from trying again but I guess Curtis thought I should leave my apartment more”, you continued casually, not wanting to get too hung up on his dating life beyond the necessary acknowledgment. It was up to him to share if he so wanted; you were starting to be comfortable enough with him to ramble on.

He looked at you with his eyebrows pulling together. ”Anyone I gotta take care of?” he asked, his voice so stern and laced with concern, even a sense of duty, that you couldn’t quite tell if he was being serious.

”Thanks for offering, but I’m good. It’s in the past”, you smiled at him, partly out of amusement but it was sincere, too. Even though it wasn’t all in the past, you didn’t feel the need to worry about it now — right here, right now, you were happy to be in Frank’s company, and with every minute that passed you by, you felt increasingly, and inexplicably, safe with him.

He chuckled, almost bashful while scratching the back of his neck. ”Yeah, uh, I’m the same, sweetheart. Don’t really see a lotta people ’cept Curtis and I’m takin’ this as a hint that he’s gettin’ sick of seein’ my ugly mug”, he shrugged, and immediately, you made a sound of protest.

”Don’t try that with me, Frank, ’cause you know I’m gonna tell you that you look good. If you haven’t dated, it’s definitely not because you don’t have women lining up”, you argued playfully, waggling your finger at him. He gave you a short laugh, but the amusement on his face melted into something almost hungry as he gave you a quick once-over.

”Nah, darlin’, outta the two of us, you’re the stunner. Got me all flustered and shit, y’know?” he insisted, hiding his mischievous smile by drawing a long sip from his beer. You fidgeted shyly, clearly bashful and unable to say anything witty back, but before you could feel uncomfortable under his curious gaze, he continued.

”But, uh, yeah, I ain’t been datin’ all that much ’cause I don’t exactly feel ready for it. I dunno what that feels like, really. Maybe I’ll never feel ready, but I just gotta take that leap”, he explained, sucking in a breath as he looked into your eyes, ”I don’t mind this, though. I’m startin’ to be real happy I showed up.”

Smiling at him, you nodded. ”Me too. It’s been a… long, long week and I didn’t think I was in the mood for meeting someone new but this was the right decision, I think”, you agreed with him, twirling the straw in your drink, feeling your heart race in your chest.

He considered his options for a minute, took a look around the bar and then finally turned to you with a quizzical look. ”Ya wanna get a booth, sweetheart? Sit down, have some privacy? You can tell me all about that long week, huh?” he proposed, and immediately, your stomach flooded with butterflies. His attentiveness, his rough voice, his fingertip grazing the back of your hand… they all worked together to make your head spin and you didn’t know if you would even be physically capable of forming the word ’no.’

But that was the last thing you wanted to say to him.

”I’d love that, Frank. I’m not in any rush to leave”, you affirmed, and nodding in approval, he flagged the bartender down for another round of drinks.

Once he was armed with a second beer and your cocktail was refilled, he nodded towards an empty booth in the corner. He waited for you to walk ahead, and you felt your body quiver with excitement when his tall, broad form followed behind you like a guard dog, working as a forcefield against anyone even giving you a look.

As you sat down across from him, he flashed a grin and you almost swooned.