#pascal’s theme

[sl33py-g4m3r]

> pascal the dog is here

[buckypascal]

✨ Happy 50th Birthday, Pedro Pascal ✨

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Just Wanted To Hear Your Voice

Summary: Joel Miller x Fe!Reader -> You and Joel by no means are 'friends', but when things go wrong, you find comfort in hearing his voice.

Disclaimer: Mentions of murder, death, swearing, blood, gunshot wounds. Enemies to lovers, I guess. Single moms hitting on Joel. Hint of fake dating. Age-gap but not really specified. Angst, fluff/smaller intimate moments, Ellie calls Joel 'dad' and they have a cute moment. This is kind of a long one. Not Proof Read.

Yourself and Joel were by no means friends. 

In fact, there hadn’t really been a time since you’d both met that you hadn’t knowingly hated each other. He found you too “new” – whatever the hell that meant. And you found him to be, well, an asshole. 

You’d both first met through mutual friends. If you could call them that. You’d call Frank a friend. Bill was just…well, all being said he was a decent guy. He just didn’t take much to people. 

A small lunch had been put on, allowing a nicer air of discussion around the topics of smuggling and trading. Initially, Joel had been…nice. As nice as he could be for an asshole. 

But when he found out you were the one that the suppliers talked through, he practically ran in the other direction. 

“She’s too new, Frank.”

Frank shook his head. “Just give her a chance. I promise. She knows more about this than you think.”

Walking around the corner, pretending not to have been eavesdropping, you held up a bottle of wine. “Figured this would go nice with the food?”

Frank smiled. Bill yelled. 

“Did you take that from my-”

Keeping eye contact with Joel as you handed the bottle over to Frank, you yelled back to Bill. “Relax. I brought it with me. Your precious collection is safe.”

Bill relaxed after that and Frank went to find a bottle opener. And you stood with Joel in the sunny path. 

“If you don’t want my suppliers, you can just say so to my face. But have it be based on their product. Not on how “new” you think I am. Whatever the hell that means.” Turning away, you walked back to the dinner table and acted as if nothing happened. 

Ultimately, Joel agreed – however, to a smaller shipment. 

“This is a trial run. If you get caught-”

“We won’t.”

For a moment, Joel looked confused, but then seemed to convince himself of something else and the conversation was cleared up before you all went your separate ways. 

Except, the trial shipment never made it to Joel. At least, not all of it. 

“You're short.”

“Trust goes both ways, Miller.” 

Joel didn’t miss the way you were covered in scratches and bruises that were freshly forming. It had shocked him when he rounded the corner and found you considering he didn’t think you were also a delivery courier. 

With a heavy sigh, Joel pocketed the goods and handed over his items before he turned to walk away. 

“Wait.”

He stopped and looked back at you where he found you pulling an old card from your jacket pocket. “My details. In case you need to reach me.”

Joel took them reluctantly. “Thanks.” Then he nodded to your head. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Then you walked away. But he called after you. “Hey, don’t you need mine?”

“Relax, Miller. I know how to reach you.”

Each meeting after that never got less colder. It was a business exchange being made with minimal trust via delivery system. 

And then one day you simply dropped off the face of the planet when you were meant to be making another delivery to him in Boston. 

“I knew it! She was too new!”

“Joel.”

“I warned Frank. I told him she would never-”

“She’s been good so far.” Tess explained. “Maybe she’s just having to lay low for a day or two. Security has gotten tighter with the fireflies going around.”

That was true but Joel couldn’t shake the feeling. Then one afternoon, your voice came over the radio. 

“Wait a sec. He’s here.”

Tess stood from the chair and handed the receiver over to Joel who had just walked through the door. 

“It’s Y/n.” Tess mouthed and the buried fury began to erupt inside of Joel. 

“Yeah.”

“Joel?” Your voice crackled over the radio. 

“You were meant to be here three days ago.”

“I know. But I’m not coming.”

“What?” Joel’s fury was starting to become white hot. “No, we had a deal.”

“I am sorry, Joel.”

He breathed out. “So what are you gonna do? Run with our supplies? Why call?”

You fell silent for a moment before your voice crackled back over the radio. “Guess I just wanted to hear your voice. I am sorry. To both of you.”

Then you signed off. 

And he never heard from you again. 

Until he found himself in need of an extra pair of hands at the house Tommy and Maria had set him and Ellie up in. As he stood on his porch in the morning sunlight, he heard a familiar set of tires pull up against his driveway. 

First, Tommy stepped out of the passenger side. “Hey, figured you might need some extra panels. The ones around here have mostly rotted away with the winter.”

Then the driver stepped out. And Joel had to check he was still alive. 

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” You had beaten Joel to his own thoughts. 

“Tommy, what the fuck is she doing here?”

Rounding his truck with the extra panels over his shoulder, Tommy looked between both yourself and Joel. “You’ve both met?”

“Yeah, I ran a couple supplies to him a while back.”

“Run off with them more like. What the fuck are you doing here?”

Placing your sunglasses into your shirt pocket, you climbed the stairs of his porch. “Wow, warm welcome. If you must know, I moved here. And I’m guessing you have, too.”

Tommy piped up. “Yeah, Y/n found us after-”

You shot a look at Tommy and he shut up. “After I left Frank and Bill. They left a note for you, if you’ve seen them.”

Joel nodded. “I got it.”

“Good.” And for a moment, the short silence was awkward. “So what can I do?”

“Fuck all.”

Tommy slapped his brother on the shoulder. “She can help fix this porch before Ellie falls through the rotting wood.”

“I can do it myself.”

You looked around and then back at Joel. “Couple extra hands can’t hurt.”

You were right. Joel hated that you were right. And the only reason why he didn’t completely kick you from his home was because the image of Ellie’s foot slipping through one of the wooden slats earlier that morning kept flashing through his mind. 

You were banned early on from his porch, left to measure and cut wooden slats for one side of the porch whilst Tommy worked on the one between yourself and Joel, and Joel worked on the opposite side. 

Most of it was finished by the time Ellie came strolling back up the driveway. “Joel, you won’t believe what happened today- Hi.”

You looked at Ellie and smiled. “Hi.”

From where Ellie was standing, you were a friend of Tommy’s. “I’m Ellie.”

You went to shake Ellie’s hand and introduce yourself when Joel came around the corner. “I’m-”

“Nobody. Ellie, get inside.”

From the look Joel gave at the sight of you, Ellie didn’t question his order. But she did question his judgement. So, just before he shut the door behind her, she turned back to him. 

“Be nice.”

“I am nice.”

Ellie looked around. “Has she been helping all day?”

Joel couldn’t bring himself to voice the answer so just nodded. 

“Then be nice.”

Joel just turned her around and lightly pushed her inside. “There’s some soup on the stove.”

Ellie was quick to turn back around just before he shut the door. “I’ve got homework and I…I don’t know…”

Joel just nodded. “I’ll help you.”

Ellie smiled. “Thank you. And be nice.”

An hour or so later, Joel had finally gotten rid of you, leaving him and Tommy with Ellie as she sat at the kitchen table trying to figure out her homework. 

Which Joel and Tommy were no help with.

“When would I ever need this shit?”

“Ellie,” Joel sighed. “Language.”

“When would I ever need this stuff?”

Joel nodded. “Better.” Then he turned to Tommy. 

“Don’t ask me. I don’t know how a fucking thing is taught anymore.”

“Well do you know who does?” Ellie asked. 

“Can’t you ask your teacher?” Joel asked but Ellie shook her head. “Why not?”

“She’s…scary.”

Joel held back a laugh. “She’s scary?”

Ellie didn’t know how else to put it. “She got mad because I didn’t do fractions how she wanted me, too.”

“Did you get the right answer?”

She nodded. “Still got mad though.”

Joel looked to Tommy. “How can fractions change?”

Tommy shrugged. “Beats me. But I do think I know someone who might be able to help. Promise they’re not scary. She tutors a couple of the kids in the square. I can ask if she can drop by later on.”

“Really?”

Tommy nodded. “Sure, kid.”

It was a day later when Joel got a knock to his front door and found you standing there. 

“What the fuck are you-”

You held back your smile. “Doing here? Guess I just wanted to hear your voice again.”

Joel wasn’t amused. You held your hand up. “I’m just here to help your daughter. Trouble with homework?”

“You’re the tutor?”

You nodded. “I’m the tutor.”

“You’re a smuggler.”

“I was a teacher before I was a smuggler.”

Then Ellie’s voice called out. “Joel! Who is it?” 

Ellie appeared by his side, holding the door open wider. “Oh, hi.”

“Ellie, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’m Y/n. I’m, hopefully,” you looked from Joel and back to Ellie, “going to be your new tutor.”

“Promise you won’t get mad if I don’t do it your way?”

You nodded. “A lot of kids, and parents, learn differently from the way your teacher wants people to learn. Promise I won’t get mad.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Then Ellie looked at her dad and nudged him. “Joel…”

“What?”

“Let her in. I need her help.”

Reluctantly, Joel let you inside your home. “Come on, kitchen’s this way.”

You followed Ellie through her home and towards where she’d set up her homework station and you sat opposite her whilst Joel brought in a couple of old items from the garage outside and laid them on the kitchen island. 

By the looks of it, the things he was ‘fixing’, weren’t in desperate necessity of a new working life. Especially considering he only ‘worked’ on them when you looked in his direction. 

“Is he always like this?” You whispered to Ellie across the table. Ellie looked to her dad. 

“Sometimes. Do you two know each other or something?”

You nodded. “Or something.”

“Aren’t you meant to be talking about contemporary…normal…analytics or something.”

You looked at Joel and smiled. “Or something.” Then you turned back to Ellie when he finally looked you in the eye. 

“Let’s try the next line.”

You were in Joel’s home for another hour before you looked at your watch. “I’ve got to go, but I run a small class in the dance hall every Tuesday if you want to join us next week? I think you’d find it fun. You don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to. But it can provide some good insight into what you’re doing at school.”

“Why can’t you be one of the teachers?”

You laughed. “I’ve got my hands full helping others in town. But if your teacher is ever sick, I’ll step in.”

Ellie thought she already knew the answer. “How often does that happen?”

“Not very often.”

Ellie grimaced. 

“But still, come on Tuesday. And if you hate it, you don’t have to come again.”

“Okay.”

Joel stood. “I’ll walk you out.”

And he did so, walking you to the end of his driveway towards your truck. “Thank you, for helping her.”

You shook your head. “Don’t mention it.”

“This doesn’t mean we’re okay.”

You gave a flat smile. “Joel, I’m just helping your daughter. We don’t even have to interact outside of you dropping her off at my classes in the week. I get you don’t like me, but that doesn’t mean you have to actively hate me. I’m just trying to help.”

“Like you helped me in Boston?”

You didn’t say anything in reply to that. “Goodnight, Joel. Give Ellie this.”

He opened the paper. “What is it?”

“It’s a schedule. And my radio code. If she needs my help, she knows where to find me.”

You and Joel didn’t talk much, if at all, after that. Ellie attended your classes when they were on and much to his chagrin, Ellie had found a friend in you. 

Why was it out of all the people, in all the towns, in all the worlds, it had to be Jackson where you were? And why did you have to be one of the first people Ellie made friends with?

But one afternoon as he was sitting by the kitchen table, tuning up his guitar, he got a sense of deja vu. 

The radio in the corner of the kitchen crackled and your voice sounded through its speakers. 

“Why are you calling?”

“Just wanted to hear your voice.” You replied. “Joel, it’s Ellie.”

His heart dropped. “What? Is she okay?” He’d completely forgotten she was with you after school before she’d head to the bar to walk up with Tommy. 

“She’s fine, but I think you should come down here. She needs her dad.”

Joel was inside the barn hall calling out for you and Ellie when he entered one of the back rooms that had your name and a large poster that looked like it had been decorated by some of the school kids taped on the outside. 

As Joel walked inside, he found you and Ellie sat on a bench, your arm over her shoulder. And when you saw him, you whispered something to Ellie before she looked around and found Joel. 

Immediately, she ran over to him and crushed him with a hug. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Babygirl, I’ve got you. What happened?”

Joel managed to pull away a little so he could get a look at her face. “What’s going on?”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Joel, can I speak to you for a moment? Ellie, want to grab your things?”

Ellie looked to you and nodded, forcing herself from Joel’s embrace as she walked back to the bench to grab her bag and books. 

“What’s going on?”

You sighed and spoke quietly. “It’s best if you ask Ellie about it but some asshole kid made a comment about Ellie and she stood her ground. As a teacher, I can’t condone her actions. I can’t condone what the kid said, either. But off the record, she was right to stand up for herself and I’m glad she did.”

Joel had to read between the lines from what you said and once Ellie was back at his side, he gave you a curt nod and headed for the door. He didn’t get any answers from Ellie until the next morning at the breakfast table when, in the open silence of the morning, she finally explained what happened. 

“I…I know I’m not your daughter, Joel. But as families go, you’re the closest thing I’ve got to one. Some kid,” Ellie named him. “He said some things about me. About me having a family. A…about…about having a dad. Eventually, I lost it and pinned him to one of the posts and Y/n had to break it up. I…I didn’t stick around after that but she came to find me later. I know I shouldn’t have attacked him. He deserved it but I know I shouldn’t have…I just want to tell you I’m sorry and that if Tommy has to do something or if I have to leave, I will-”

Joel shook his head. “No. No, you did right. And, Ellie?”

She looked at him. 

“You’re my daughter in every other way that counts. And if you want me to be your dad…I know we’re not blood but, if you see me as your dad…if you say I’m your dad, that’s okay. You’re my family, too.”

Ellie didn’t know what to say exactly so, looking down at her hands, she nodded trying to will the tears away. “Mmh, y-yeah. I…I’d like that.”

Then Joel smiled before standing and cradling his arms around his daughter. “And you don’t have to leave. Y/n’s on your side, too.”

“You really should be nicer to her. She’s a good person, Joel. I know something happened back in Boston but…are you going to hold it against her forever?”

Joel thought about it for a while. He probably would be thinking about it for a while longer, too. You had done what you had said. You had helped. You were helping. 

“How about I make us some breakfast? Eggs?”

Ellie nodded. 

Joel stood with a smile, kissing the top of her head quickly before turning around. “Sunny side up or scrambled?”

“Scrambled.”

“Coming up. You brushed your teeth?”

Ellie shook her head and stood. “I’ll be back.”

Just as she got to the kitchen entrance, she stopped herself and turned back. “Hey…dad?”

Joel turned around to face her as if it was the most natural thing in the world until he realised what she’d finally called him. “Yeah?”

Ellie let the moment settle. “Thank you.”

Joel just nodded before waving the spatula at her. “Go on, brush your teeth. And maybe run a brush through your hair.”

Ellie laughed a little before disappearing upstairs leaving Joel to finish cooking breakfast with a faint smile on his face. Never in his whole life had he ever imagined hearing someone call him “dad” again, but it washed over him like a fresh wave. 

Then he remembered what she had told him. 

What Ellie had said about you. 

He never thought he’d be called “dad” again. Maybe some things could change for the better after all. He’d just need to learn to trust you more. Trust you in a way that didn’t have the end result be the same as Boston. 

It took Joel a week to approach you. 

During that week, you saw him across the square. He walked her to your lessons and waited for her every day. By day four, he stood a little closer to the building until one afternoon, when you thought everyone had left, his voice rang through your classroom. 

No “hello”, no coughing, no calling of your name to get your attention. Just…

“Thank you.”

You internally swore at yourself for jumping the way you did. Looking around the room, your brain let itself relax when you realised you were correct in your initial thought of who the voice belonged to. Not the rest of the people your head named after him. 

“Joel.” You breathed, a hand against your chest. Then you fixed yourself. 

Standing straighter with a couple books cradled in your arm, you turned and faced him properly. 

Joel felt a little awkward but considering you seemed to not mention how he’d scared you, he didn’t bother to mention it either. 

“Thank you,” he repeated. “Ellie..told me how you helped her, so I just…didn’t want it to go unnoticed.”

Never in your life had you heard Joel say so much as a nice thing towards you. To others, it was few and far between. But to you; not so much. 

You didn’t know how to take it exactly. “I appreciate that, I do. But that’s not why I did it.”

Ellie had told him the rest of the story when she came back downstairs for breakfast. How you’d broken up the fight, called out the student and warned the rest of the class before dismissing them. And how you’d spoken to her when you found her. You didn’t make her feel scared or “shit” as Ellie had put it every so gracefully to him. And if he was being honest, Ellie’s love for actual school was much better even just after a few weeks with you. 

“She’s a good kid, Joel.” You told him. “I don’t pretend to know what either of you went through to get here. But despite whatever did happen, she’s a good kid. She, nor anyone else, deserved to be treated the way she did. She stood up for herself and I’m proud of her for that. And I hope you are, too.”

Joel could only nod. “I am.”

You nodded in agreement. “Good.” You went to turn away to collect the rest of the books but then quickly turned back around. “Oh, here. Let me give you this.”

Joel was about to walk himself before you called out so, standing in the middle of the room a little worried about what you were going to give him, he watched as you rushed towards your desk and picked up a piece of paper.

Walking over, you held it out to him. “We’re having a parent-teacher night next week. Just gives the parents a chance to talk about the kids and see their work for this year. They say it’s mandatory but I do hope you’ll show up.”

Rubbing his jaw, Joel read the page. “Sure.”

“Good. Don’t tell Ellie but I plan on showing a couple of her school books. She’s a smart kid.”

“Smart mouth, too.” 

You laughed a little. “That, too.”

But all in all Joel agreed. “I’ll be there.”

“Goodnight, Joel.”

“Yeah, night.” Joel reminded himself that he had to leave and finally made his way towards the door. 

Yet he stopped by the door and looked back to where you went back to collecting the rest of the books and he couldn’t help but feel his mind was changing on you. He couldn’t place why but the fact Ellie liked you was a start. 

By the time Parent-Teacher night rolled around, Joel found himself being bossed around by Ellie as he got dressed. 

“Put on the green one!” Ellie shouted up the stairs. 

“What?”

“The green shirt. Put that one on.”

“Why?”

“Just do it!”

Joel grumbled but did as he was told. And once he was showered and dressed, Ellie practically shoved him out of the door. “Come on, we’re gonna be late!”

“Since when did you become so eager to get to school? I usually have to drag you out of bed.”

“I know but tonight’s important.” Ellie laughed. “Come on.”

Joel found himself laughing, too as he locked up before they both headed towards his truck. Maybe they could have walked but Joel had a feeling by the time the night had finished, Ellie would be about ready to fall asleep. 

And when they did finally walk inside, Joel looked around before he spotted a familiar face in you. And then you spotted him and waved. Ellie waved back. 

Then Joel was greeted by Ellie’s teacher. You chuckled as you watched them both step back and recoil a little. Like father, like daughter. 

“Fuck.” They both swore under their breath.

“Mr Miller.”

Joel started getting flashbacks of his middle school principal who seemed to have a vendetta against him and Tommy.

“Ellie.”

Ellie nodded, moving to stand behind Joel a little. “Mrs Davis.”

“Mr Miller, I was hoping to speak to you about Ellie. She’s been, let’s say, a little harsh in her language since she got here. And, despite her improving grades, she hadn’t quite been grasping the concept of how we complete work-”

Joel and Ellie got another shock when you suddenly appeared from behind Mrs Davis, except this was one of pleasant surprises. 

“Mrs Davis-”

“Please, do not interrupt-”

“Frankie’s parents are asking to speak to you personally.” That seemed to change Mrs Davis’ tune. 

“Oh, right. Um, please…please excuse me.” You pointed her in the direction of Frankie and his parents and replaced where she stood and only spoke when she was finally out of ear-shot. 

“Sorry about her. And please ignore everything she said.”

Joel raised his brow. “Everything?”

You both looked at Ellie and then back at each other. “Okay, maybe not everything. But she has been swearing less.”

Joel gave a ‘dad’ look to Ellie but she tried to hold back her smile as she held up her hands. “Hey, she said less.” 

He rolled his eyes. 

“Ellie, I hope you don’t mind but I’ve decided to show some of your work.”

“Really?”

She seemed shocked, rather than horrified. You nodded. “Both of you follow me?”

They did and once you’d all reach one of the middle tables, you held one of the books out to Joel. 

“Holy shit.” Ellie whispered. Joel nearly shut the book to give her another look but she apologised and studied the books you’d laid out. 

“Ellie, do you mind giving your dad and I a minute?”

Ellie looked between you both before giving a slight smile and nodding. “Okay.” 

Then she disappeared into the crowd. 

“How is she?” Joel asked, looking through Ellie’s books. 

“She’s good. The swearing could use a bit of an improvement,” you smiled a little and Joel finally met your eyes. You tried your best to avoid taking a mental picture or keeping a written memory of how he looked. “She’s doing well, Joel. She’s even starting to make friends. It’s taking her a while to trust people, but she’s getting there like the rest of us.”

Joel’s stare softened for a moment. 

You forced yourself to look away and back at her books. “She needs a bit of help with her maths and science but we’re working on that in our sessions. But she’s excelling at history.”

“There’s a museum not too far away. I was thinking about taking her to see it.”

You graced him with another smile. “I think she’d really enjoy that, Joel.”

He nodded, feeling pleased at your agreement. 

“Look, I just need to go and speak to a couple other parents but, feel free to stay here as long as you’d like. We…we have the kids write in a diary every week. Just jotting down what they want to work on, or what they want help with in class. Some kids even write short stories and things. I think you’d like what Ellie did.”

Lifting the diary from underneath the pile, you handed it over to Joel. 

“Last couple of pages.”

With a smile, you left him alone. 

Joel opened it up. There was the usual. Reviews of books they’d read in class. What Ellie wanted help with (science), what she enjoyed (history). Joel found himself smiling as he read through the comments. He could hear her voice in his head as he did so. 

Then he got to the back couple of pages. 

It was different sketches of their home. Of their windows, porch, backyard. Then small notes; things he’d told her. Things to remember when playing the guitar, how to fix the porch, what things are in a car. Just small notes of information she believed important to her. 

You didn’t know how long you’d left Joel to fend for himself. You knew the minute he walked in that all the single moms had their radars switched on. They already tried to get his attention whenever he walked past the school during the day. But this Joel was freshly showered and wasn’t covered in layers of heavy clothing. He had a green shirt that made his eyes stand out more than usual, his hair softening as it dried in the warmth of the building. 

You didn’t know how long you’d left him alone, knowing it wouldn’t take long for the single moms to make their move. But when you were wading deep through double digits of parent-talks, Ellie came and found you. 

“I think Joel needs your help.”

You saw when Ellie was looking and held back a short laugh. As Joel managed to get out of the grasp of one woman, another one popped up out of nowhere. And then another one. And another. And another. 

“I tried but they kinda swarmed over and I got pushed out of the crowd.”

You chuckled watching the comedy play out in front of your eyes as Joel tried his best to escape. 

“Okay, give me a minute.”

“I think it’ll take longer than that but, good luck.”

Making your way over, you called out to him before forcing yourself through the crowd. A few women were about to scold you for doing so until they realised it was you. The teacher. Apparently in search of Joel, the parent. 

“Help me.”

Taking Joel by the hand, you drew him in front of you before taking him by the shoulders. “Sorry, ladies but I need to talk with Mr Miller for a moment.”

Practically directing him out of the crowd, you beckoned Ellie over and she immediately pushed around the crowd to get to both you and Joel. You and Ellie looked back to find the women still standing waiting for him to come back. 

“I don’t know about you two but I could use a drink.”

“Yes.” Ellie agreed completely. 

“Don’t you have work?”

“I’ve spoken to enough parents tonight. Mrs Davis will only speak to them after me anyway. Want that drink, or would you like for me to throw you back into the pack?”

“Anything but the second one.”

“Can I have one?”

“No.” Both you and Joel said before he added. “You can have a soda.”

Grabbing your bag, you showed Joel and Ellie to the back door of the school and you all took the long way round the building to get towards the bar. 

“I’ll go and tell Tommy you’re coming.” Ellie took off running. Joel tried to shout back but she just called back. 

“Be safe! I know!”

“That kid is gonna be the death of me, I swear.”

You laughed, slowing your steps as you and Joel were finally far enough away from the school. 

“Thank you for showing me her work. And the other stuff. Kinda made my night.”

“It wasn’t the single moms asking you a thousand questions that did it?”

Joel chuckled. “Thanks for that, too.”

“Oh, you’ll need to thank Ellie for that one. She came and got me. Who knows, if she didn’t, you could have drowned in phone numbers and radio stations.”

Joel tried his best to laugh it off. But you disagreed. 

“Don’t knock it. Hot and handsome single dads are few and far between in this town.”

Joel couldn’t help but repeat your words. “Hot and handsome.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide your slight embarrassment of letting your inner thoughts slip. “Alright.”

“No, no. Please. Tell me more of these hot and handsome single dads.”

“You’re hilarious. I hope you know how funny you are.”

“Why?” Joel asked. “Does that make me hotter?”

You rolled your eyes, trying your best to hide your smile. “Okay. Don’t let it go to your head, Miller.”

“Too late. It’s already there.” Joel reached for the door handle of the bar and held it open for you. “Come on.”

“Thanks.”

Entering, you found the place a little quieter than usual before you both met Ellie at the bar and Tommy made his way over. 

“Here you go.”

“I already ordered for you.” Ellie told you both. “I didn’t know what you drank but Tommy said he remembered.”

You thanked them both before accepting Joel’s invitation to sit with them at the bar. Joel sat in the corner, his back resting against the wall whilst you sat between both him and Ellie as she moved up quickly before you could take your original seat. 

And for the first time, you both talked. 

At first, it was just about a few things around town. Joel asked you about how you got into teaching, or at least, why you taught tutor sessions but not lessons at the school. You told him the truth. Day one of you arriving here and meeting Mrs Davis, you knew you didn’t want to be dictated by her rules that were already scaring the kids enough into thinking they were back with FEDRA. They needed help learning and a safe space to do so. That was where you could help. 

Then you told him you were sorry about Tess. He tensed for a while, unsure of what to say or how to react. 

“I know she meant a lot to you.”

Conversation flowed for a little while longer than a distraction was provided as Ellie disappeared to the toilet and a group of moms walked in through the front door. 

Then Joel ducked and somehow tried to shrink himself in the corner of the bar. “Shit.”

You laughed. “Oh please, they won’t hate you for it. In fact it just adds to the chasing element. More than anything they’ll be hating me for dragging you away for some ‘alone time’.”

“Why? Because I’m hot and handsome?”

“I regret saying it now.”

“They’re your words, Darlin’.”

You tried to ignore what his words and accent did to you, and tried to focus on the fact that one of the moms was making their way towards both of you. 

“Where’s Ellie?”

“There was a line, she’s probably still in it.” You told him. “Relax, once she comes out, she’ll see that you’re uncomfortable and you can both go home.”

“You can see I’m uncomfortable.”

“Joel.” You leveled with him. “You look like you’re about to run out of your own skin. How could you have been a smuggler in the QZ for so long but be scared of a single mom? Just talked to her.”

“Where are you going?” 

You were about to leave when Joel reached out for you. “Going to get Ellie.”

Joel looked at the mom making her way over. She was getting closer. “You said it yourself that she’ll be able to see we’re uncomfortable.”

“We’re?” You questioned. “Joel-”

But you couldn’t say anymore than that because the mom had arrived beside both of you and Joel had tugged you back by your shirt to stand with him. 

“Emma, hi.”

She smiled at both of you. “Hi, um, I was wondering if I could speak to Joel. We didn’t really get a chance to finish our conversation since, you know, you came and kinda dragged him away.”

“Yeah,” you laughed. “Sorry about that, it’s just…” You looked at Joel hoping he’d maybe butt into the conversation. “We had to talk about his daughter.”

“I didn’t see you leaving with any of the other parents,” she mentioned to you. 

Joel finally spoke up after clearing his throat. “I, uh, well, Ellie actually…invited her out with us.”

“Ellie did?” Emma seemed shocked. 

“I did what?”

Both you and Joel seemed more than relieved to see her appear from behind Emma. 

Emma looked from Ellie to Joel and then to you, back to Ellie and then she smiled. “I was just hoping to talk with your dad for a minute if that’s okay?”

Taking a quick look at her dad to see him subtly shake his head, Ellie half-faked a yawn. 

“We were actually just about to leave.”

“But your drink is still half full.” 

“That’s, uh, that’s Tommy’s. Anyway, we’d better be off. Ellie?”

As they got halfway to the door, you called after them, making something up to Emma. “I need to tell you about next week’s homework-”

The doors shut behind you and you rushed to join Joel and Ellie. 

“Who was she?” Ellie asked. 

“A woman.”

“She was trying to hit on Joel.”

Ellie looked at you. “Hit on Joel or hit you to get to Joel?”

“Both probably.”

Then something strange happened. You and Joel looked at each other and then started to laugh. 

On the way back to the school, you explained to Ellie everything that had happened and she started to laugh with both of you before swearing to protect Joel when and where he needed to be.

“Hey, can I drop you off home?” 

You hitched a thumb over your shoulder. “I’m just down here. But thanks.”

Then from the car Ellie called out. “Dad! Let’s go!”

Joel laughed and looked back at you where he found a light smile on your face. He tried to ignore what it made him feel. 

“You better go, before she comes to hit me to get to you.”

Joel nodded, laughing a little at that. “Okay. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Joel.”

As Joel drove back home, Ellie quickly falling asleep in the passenger seat, but not before saying; “I told you she was a good person.” leaving him to roll his eyes lightly and agree, he found himself thinking over what he had been feeling since he saw you show up beside Mrs Davis. 

Maybe his feelings for you were starting to change more than he had expected. 

And they only continued to change over the following months. 

Three months later, Joel found himself as your actual friend. Between your tutoring sessions with Ellie, and being forced to work together by Tommy when he was a couple hands short for a couple jobs that needed doing around town, you’d both become friends. 

And he’d learnt to trust you. And you had learnt to trust him. 

From running the lunch tables in the school every Tuesday and Thursday and Friday together, to taking on a couple of patrol shifts on the weekends together, you and Joel earned each other's trust. 

And between all of that, you had somehow become Joel’s shield from the rest of the single mothers in the town that did not wish to hide their already obvious crush on Joel. 

Until that shield began to crack. 

“I heard she left them for dead. Why would anyone want to be with someone like that…he deserves so much better.”

“Left them for dead, more like killed them for everything. And for what? So she can come and teach our kids and steal our men.”

“I’ve tried talking to Maria but she must have her claws in her, too. She doesn’t want to listen to reason. Joel doesn’t deserve her. Nobody does. The stories people tell. And she doesn’t deny them.”

Tommy leaned over the bar. “Don’t listen to them.”

“Hard not to when gossip about you changes every hour.” 

“Have you even told Joel what happened?”

You shook your head. 

“Why not?”

“I’m happy where I’m at with him. I’m able to help Ellie without her dad wishing me dead because I bailed on a trade.”

Tommy didn’t have the chance to reply because another mom came and sat beside you. “He doesn’t deserve you, you know. He has the choice of a lot of women in this town, and he chooses you? Why?”

You sighed. “Like I told Emma, and Ashely and Tracy and every other mom in your friend group. Joel and I are not dating. We are not a thing. If you want to talk to him, then go ahead but do not blame me for something that I am not doing. And if Joel doesn’t want to talk to you, then maybe take the hint.”

“Why wouldn’t he want to talk to us? What have you been telling him?”

You looked across the bar and shouted to Tommy. “Schedule’s in the glasses!”

“Oh, okay. Thanks!”

And you stood up. But the mom gripped onto your arm to stop you from walking away. 

“We know the truth about you and sooner or later, he’ll come to his senses.”

Ripping your arm from her grasp, you made your way out of the doors and down the square. As much and as hard as you tried to forget what she had said, the stories, the gossip and what she had said to you continued to play on your mind. 

But a week later, none of that mattered. At least for you. For Joel and Ellie, it meant something different. 

When Joel had gotten up that morning, he went about his routine. Getting into the shower, getting dressed, waking Ellie up, getting his work gear ready, knocking on Ellie’s door once again, making breakfast, knocking on her door a third time before she swung it open and stumbled out of her bedroom and into the bathroom. Eating breakfast with his daughter before driving her to school and heading to work. 

Except, when he finished work and went to pick Ellie up from the group tutor session after school, he found her sitting outside the doors already waiting for him. 

“How was school?”

“Y/n didn’t turn up.”

Joel was confused. “What?”

“I waited for her to, but she didn’t.”

Joel checked the radio. “Did she cancel the session?”

Ellie shook her head. “We were meant to go over the new science homework.”

“Did you try to find Tommy?”

“Couldn’t find him. The dude in the bar said he was on patrol.”

Joel hummed, trying his best to make sure his mind remained focused. Maybe you’d just gotten caught up doing another job. You wouldn’t have forgotten about the kids. 

But before he could drive away, there was an uproar of noise coming from the main gates where Tommy rode in as quickly as he could before coming to an abrupt halt. 

“What’s going on?”

Joel switched off the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Stay here.”

Ellie did as she was told but wound down the widow in hopes she’d be able to hear what was being said. 

“Tommy!”

“Joel! I don’t know what happened but-”

“Who is it?”

Then Tommy went from frantic to unnaturally calm. “It’s Y/n.”

Then Joel saw and slowly made his way over. Your body was slung over the back of a horse before being dragged onto a stretcher. And for a second, Joel saw the worst. He thought you were dead. 

“She should be okay if we can get her fixed.”

“What happened? Tommy!”

Tommy joined his brother as you were taken away. “I-I don’t know. She was covering a shift. We were meant to be back an hour ago. But when she didn’t turn up with her partner, I went to look for her. I just found her like that.”

“Dad?” Ellie had gotten out of the car. 

“Get back in the car!”

“But-”

“Now, Ellie.”

She just nodded and made her way back. 

“Go home, Joel. There’s nothing you can do for her right now.” Those were Tommy’s last words before Maria came running out of one of the town buildings and towards her husband whose hands were covered in patches of blood. 

“Is she going to be okay?” Ellie asked, her face pale, as Joel got back into the truck. 

“I don’t know.”

You spent the next three days unconscious and Joel spent his time trying to work out what had happened and why. You hadn’t been bitten. You’d been shot. 

Joel had also spent three days hearing the whispers around town, hoping to hear any updates on your condition. He couldn’t bring himself to go and see you, and neither could Ellie. 

But rather than updates, he heard…stories. 

“It’s karma, though, don’t you think?”

“What they say about her? Everything she did? Maybe someone came to get revenge.”

“Maybe it was just self-defence.”

“Would she really do that here?”

“Maybe one of them followed her here and waited for her. After all, she never volunteered for that job.”

“Would you, though? Hunting those things? I couldn’t do it.”

“She's probably just looking for some sympathy. Not getting anywhere with Tommy’s brother – I heard they’ve got a past.”

“A past or a past? Because if I had a past with that man, I’d be making sure it was present and future, too.”

“Would you shoot yourself to make sure of that?”

The woman laughed. “Honey, for a piece of him? I’d do almost anything.”

Over the days, he heard more than just that. Of stories about you and your past before you came to Wyoming. Some were nicer than others, but many were…if he hadn’t somehow become your friend over the last few months, he would have been saying the same thing. So…was it still the same? Were you still hiding something? He still didn’t know what had happened back in Boston. All he knew was that you had practically disappeared off the face of the earth. 

When people like you sold his trade, it was usually to someone else. But he hadn’t heard anything. No extra sale. No new traders. Just complete silence. 

He had thought about asking you a few times. Part of him, he guessed, still didn’t trust you. Especially since Ellie was now involved, too. 

It wasn’t until a week later that Joel could bring himself to come and see you. They’d placed you inside the doctor’s surgery. You still hadn’t woken up but the doctors that were in the town seemed a little more hopeful for you pulling through. 

“She’s still young, her body should heal like it did before.”

Joel had to do a double take. “Before?”

The doctor nodded and rested the chart at the end of the bed. “When she arrived here, she collapsed just outside the gates. Thankfully, I was on patrol that day – otherwise they would have shot her. They thought she’d been bitten but…” 

The doctor gave a heavy sigh and they both looked back at you before he continued. Joel looked back at the doctor. 

“I’ve seen enough of those bites in my life to know the difference between that and a bullet wound.”

“D’you know who shot her?”

The doctor shook his head. “She never could bring herself to tell me. But when Tommy walked in, she looked like she’d pass out again. She didn’t talk for three days after that…then…one day she just opened up. Tommy was the only one she’d talk to and I’d figure he’s the only one who knows that whole story.”

If his brother knew the whole story, why didn’t he ever say anything?

“I suspect she’ll be waking up soon, ‘might be nice if someone is here this time.”

Joel just nodded after a while, realising what the Doctor was asking of him. He’d stay. You were alone last time. You were probably terrified to go through what you did for, as far as he knew, a second time. You shouldn’t have to be alone when you’d wake up, too. 

Except, as he sat by your bed, he’d gathered more questions in his head than he had answers. 

It took you a while before you could bring yourself to open your eyes, almost like you’d had the deepest sleep of your life and you weren’t ready to get up yet. Beneath your hands and legs you became familiar with the feeling of bedsheets. 

Slowly your fingertips felt for some kind of grip. Some kind of notion that you weren’t still left in the dirt, buried between the trees and moss alone. One hand provided you relief. Bedsheets. The other…

Opening your eyes, the brightness cut through your vision until you finally blinked them open and found Joel’s hand in yours. 

Carefully looking around the room, you recognised where you were. Only, the last time you were in the same bed, in the same room, you had woken to find yourself alone. 

“Take it easy. Tommy…he found you and brought you back.”

You swallowed but your throat felt like it had been attacked by a grater. “How…how long have I been out?”

“Little over a week.”

You relaxed back into the pillows and closed your eyes, forgetting your hand was enclosed in Joel’s. 

“Do you remember what happened?”

It took you a moment but you eventually nodded. “The doc…he told me this isn’t the first time you’ve been shot…”

Opening your eyes, your gaze met Joel’s. He looked curious…concerned. 

“What happened before you got here?” You waited for his true question. And you didn’t have to wait long. 

“What happened back in Boston?”

You figured he’d ask you one day. You just hadn’t expected it to be like this. Joel let you take your time. Blinking back the oncoming tears. Trying to control your breathing. Trying to control your fears from hitting you at full force. 

“I was with my team.” You took your time explaining what had happened. When you’d realised Tommy was Joel’s brother, you explained what you could to him. You could deal with Joel hating you for what you’d done. You would have felt the same. But you didn’t want the one place you might have been able to call a home to be thrown away on conspiracy. 

“We’d run the route a thousand times. I’d done it on my own for years. But, one night it just poured with rain. Buckets and buckets could have been filled. I remember finding new lakes in parks when I got out, but…umm…”

You swallowed thickly and bit back the tears. 

“We were only a couple miles out of Boston so we found shelter. Checked it over. It was clear. We would have been safe for the night. A couple of us stayed on watch for a while but I must have fallen asleep,” tears came to your eyes and a few escaped down your cheeks. “Because…”

You didn’t know where from but you gathered enough strength to bring your voice back, even if only for a short moment. 

“Because when I woke, half of my team was missing. A couple of our supplies had been thrown around the place. Grabbed my gun, woke the others and started searching the building. We found the rest of our team on one of the upper floors. One…one of my guys got bit. But he didn’t want to…he didn’t want to die. He’d convinced himself he wasn’t infected and when the others saw, I guess they tried to do something about it but he got…he got one over on them.”

Joel waited for you to continue but then noticed the twitching in your side. You sat up quickly and tried to lift your t-shirt. “It…ahh.” 

You closed your eyes from the pain and squeezed Joel’s hand just before he stood up and reached for some of the balm the doctor had made and left by your bedside. 

Rounding the bed, Joel sat beside you. “Come here.”

“Joel, it hurts.”

“I know, I know. Can I lift your shirt?”

You nodded and hummed in pain, letting his fingers slowly lift it up. “This might sting, but it’s gonna help.”

You heard Joel open up a metal screw-top tin before he gathered some of it on his fingers and rubbed it gently around and over your healing wound. You let out a small gasp and covered grunt in pain as the hand that had previously been closed in reached for his arm. 

“I’m sorry. I know.”

You tried to concentrate on Joel’s continuous movements as he rubbed the balm into your skin. It was less itchy, and it was cooling down a little. The pain in your side was still there but it was becoming bearable. 

“The infection came over him pretty quickly.” Joel’s fingers stalled for a moment before he continued, making sure he wasn’t causing more harm than good. 

You could finally open your eyes again. 

“It all happened so fast. I guess one of us moved and before I knew it…bullets were flying everywhere. I must have gotten caught in them then, but I can’t be sure. I just started shooting and he dropped the gun but then…Joel, he started biting. And I just…I didn’t know what to do. People were trying to help him, trying to help those he was attacking. I just fired. For a moment I thought I could get him out, maybe lose him outside and get back in time. Find another way to you. But he was too fast.”

As your tears fell down your cheek, you hadn’t realised Joel had stopped rubbing the balm into your side and was holding you steady whilst his hand held your face, his thumb tracing the tears away. 

You finally looked at him. “I shot them all, Joel. He’d bitten them all. Some in the neck, others in the arm. A few hours and my team that knew every smuggling route, that knew every way into a QZ without being detected, that…that were my family. I tried to wait. Hoped that maybe it was just a bullet graze. That they’d be okay but…just as one turned, so did the others…”

Joel didn’t know fully what to do. If he had known…

He pulled you close to him, kissing your temple before holding you against him. You didn’t know how long he held you for, but you knew he never let you go. He never left your side. He didn’t even try to. 

“I don’t know how long it was before I radioed through to you. All I remember was seeing a lot of blood on the floor and wondering why it was down my clothes. But I was glad to hear your voice. Even if you did hate me for bailing on you.” You eventually explained. “I’d managed to get some supplies to take with me. Fixed what I could of my wounds and prayed I’d make it some place. For a while I was okay, my wound was healing. But then I guess I ran into the wrong people. Some guy decided to start firing and I got hit again. I don’t know how long I ran for but the last thing I remembered was hearing horses.”

“Does Tommy know all of this?”

“Parts, but not all.” 

Joel wondered whether or not he should tell you about what he’d heard over the last few days. “People…they’ve been talking since you came back…what happened when you went out?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know. I just remember hitting something and then a sharp pain. I told my partner to meet me at the bottom of the hill. Guess the others finished the same as him.”

“What do you want me to tell Ellie?”

“Just tell her I’ll be okay. She doesn’t need to know the whole story yet.”

“Too late.”

Joel and you looked towards the door and found Ellie standing in the hallway. “Mrs Davis let us out early. I wanted to come and see you. And…I’m glad you’re okay. And as far as I’m concerned, everyone can go fuck themselves.”

“Ellie. What have I told you about eavesdropping?” Joel asked her as she walked inside. 

“Not…to do it.” She answered slowly. “But you know I’m right. You’ve heard the stories, too.”

“Stories?”

Joel sighed and turned back to you. “People in this town…they’ve got nothing better to do but gossip about what happened to you before you came here.”

Ellie jumped into the chair where Joel had previously been sat. “Yeah, and some of em’ are wild.”

You looked between her and Joel. “Like what?”

Joel looked from his daughter to you and sighed. “Most of them aren’t so nice, but…” Silently, Joel gave his permission to Ellie to tell you.

“There’s one that says you’re some bigwigs daughter who ran away to run his kingdom but then you got overthrown by a rebel group so now you’re waiting here before you can take your kingdom back over.”

You raised your brows. “Wow.”

“And someone else has said you’re actually a fortune teller that is secretly training us to help you and your psychic army to take over the cordyceps and make them human again.”

That one made you laugh a little. 

“People have nothing better to do with their time.” Joel told you. 

You shook your head. “It’s okay. The people…” you looked at Joel and Ellie. “The people that need to know the truth already know. Nobody else matters.”

Joel smiled at you before looking over at his daughter. “Go and find the doc so he can look her over.”

Ellie nodded before pulling herself out of the chair and spinning out of the door. “I’m really glad you’re okay, Y/n.”

You smiled before looking back at Joel finding him looking at you, too. Then you found your fingers tracing his own. 

“I’m really glad you were here with me when I woke up.”

Joel smiled before lifting his hand and lightly brushing the few stray hairs from your face before his eyes found yours. 

“Guess I just wanted to be the first to hear your voice.” 

You smiled, hearing your own words echoed back to you from him. You leaned into his touch before you felt yourself lean forward a little only to have his lips meet yours in a tender kiss. 

With a little confidence growing around your heart, you leaned in a little closer, feeling Joel’s fingers dig a little into your hair as he pulled you closer, and into a deeper kiss. 

“Hey, the kid told me- whoa.” Tommy stalled in his tracks and covered his eyes. “Uh, sorry. I…I guess you’re okay. Uh, yeah. I-I’m just gonna-” 

Tommy looked around himself, making sure the door he came through was still there and accessible for him to leave through it. “Good–Good door frame job.” He tapped it twice. “I-I’ll remember to knock on next time.”

You chuckled a little, leaning into Joel the same as he did with you as he watched his brother become 12 again and leave through the door. 

“I guess we should wait until we’re actually alone before Ellie comes running through her and gets the shock of her life.”

Joel chuckled. “I guess you’re right.”

But he couldn’t help himself. Kissing you once more, you both made sure to listen out for the jingle of the door and when you did, Joel made sure to sit up a little as you leaned back. However, your hand remained in his, his thumb brushing continuously over your knuckles. He pressed a quick kiss to them before Ellie appeared through the door with the doctor who seemed more than relieved to see you awake and alive. 

Maybe when you and Joel had met, you were the furthest thing from friends. But now, with a developing connection and deeper feelings, you found yourselves moving further from friends, but in the opposite direction. 

Towards happiness. 

Towards love. 

Towards the light. 

[berryispunk]

The Way You See Me

This is part 1/2. Part 2 readable here

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: dual POV, slow burn, some banter, all the emotions, fluff, open communication saves us, heavy on mental health struggles, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, yearning, best friend! Frankie, soft! Frankie, idiots in love, kissing, tension

summary: Two people pretending it’s nothing. A missed kiss, a camping trip, one tent, and way too many lingering glances. They keep telling themselves it’s safer as friends—but gravity doesn’t care.

word count: 7,2 k

notes: I am absolutely insane so I’m working on part 2 to this already, oops—

read on ao3

It had been pouring all day — not outside, but in your head. A storm of tsunami intensity, relentless and unforgiving. You were drowning in it, the waves dragging you under, and you were just so tired of swimming against the current. So you stayed home, even though you had plans with friends. They called, they texted, but you didn’t have the energy to answer. You barely moved from your bed, only getting up for the bathroom or to grab a snack.

Outside, the sky was turning dark, but it was nothing compared to the heaviness inside you. You were running on autopilot, going through the motions without any real direction — just clinging to whatever driftwood you could find to stay afloat. You thought about reaching out, letting someone in, even just a little. But how do you explain a storm that never stops brewing? Besides, you were convinced the people in your life would be better off without you.

You were nearing the end of your twenties and what did you have to show for it? Nothing worth bragging about. You were barely scraping by while your peers seemed to be thriving — making five-year plans, building futures. And you? You got up each day and waited to see what the vibes were. You felt behind, like you were watching life from the sidelines, a passenger in your own story when you were supposed to be behind the wheel.

It was frustrating — deeply, bitterly frustrating. You dreaded conversations about careers and future plans, knowing you could barely hold yourself together. Bringing someone else into that chaos felt reckless. So you stayed alone. Even though, in the quietest moments — the ones where your mind screamed the loudest — you wished more than anything for a shoulder to lean on.

The only person who knew some of your struggles -but never the full picture-was your best friend, Frankie. He carried his own weight, too. The aftermath of serving had left marks on him, not always visible, but always present. You’d met him through mutual friends, and at first, you weren’t convinced. He was too quiet, always hovering on the edges of the group, more observer than participant. But it didn’t take long to realize something about Frankie: he noticed everything. He read people like well-worn pages, never intrusive, just… aware.

So you were caught off guard the first time he actually spoke to you. The two of you had drifted a little away from the crowd during one of those loud, chaotic get-togethers. Frankie leaned in slightly, voice low and a little amused as he said, “You also have no clue what they’re talking about, do you?”

You turned to him slowly, eyeing him from head to toe, raising a brow. “Excuse me?” you replied, bristling a little at the audacity.

He just grinned, not in a mocking way — more like someone who had already figured you out and wasn’t in a rush to prove it.

From there, the rest was history. He somehow—sneakily, effortlessly—got your number and texted you one night out of nowhere. You’d never admit it, not even to yourself at the time, but it mattered. More than it should have. Something about it felt like being seen in a way you hadn’t realized you’d been aching for. And even though you played it cool, casually texting back like it was no big deal, a small part of you exhaled for the first time in a while.

[Unknown Number] [10:03 PM]You looked like you were mentally disassociating at that party. Thought I’d check in.

[You] [10:06 PM] Who is this and how did you get my number?? 

[Unknown Number] [10:07 PM] Relax, not a stalker. Frankie. From the other night.Got it from Lia. Don’t yell at her, I was very charming about it.

[You] [10:09 PM] Wow, stealthy.So you make a habit of texting girls who ignore you at parties?

[Frankie] [10:10 PM] Only the ones who look like they’d rather be swallowed by the floor than make small talk.You seemed like you could use an escape hatch. Figured this might count.

[You] [10:12 PM] That’s bold for someone who barely said two words.

[Frankie] [10:13 PM] Two words were all it took, apparently.You raise a good eyebrow, by the way. Very intimidating.

[You] [10:14 PM] I’ve been told it’s my most developed muscle.So what, you check in on all the emotionally avoidant people you meet?

[Frankie] [10:16 PM] Only the ones who pretend they’re not lonely.You were easier to read than you think.

[You] [10:17 PM]…Okay wow. That’s not allowed this early in the conversation.Try being mysterious again. I was enjoying that.

[Frankie] [10:18 PM] You’re right. Let me guess your star sign instead.

[You] [10:19 PM] If you say Gemini I’m blocking you.

[Frankie] [10:20 PM] Nah, you’re too tired of everyone’s shit to be a Gemini.Scorpio, maybe. Or a Capricorn with trust issues.

[You] [10:21 PM] Okay. Who are you??

[Frankie] [10:22 PM] Just a guy who thought you looked like you needed someone to talk to.No pressure. Just… here, if you want.

[You] [10:25 PM] …Thanks. I might take you up on that.

[Frankie] [10:26 PM] I’m good at puzzles. And bad at shutting up once I start.So… you’ve been warned.

A few days later — 11:47 PM

[Frankie] Be honest. Did you ghost me or are you just being mysterious again?

[You] I was waiting to see if you'd double text. Gotta keep the power dynamic healthy.

[Frankie] Leo. 100%. Knew I was close with the trust issues, though.

[You] HOW ??? I never even told you.

[Frankie] You have main character energy. Also I googled “eyebrow raise of death + zodiac” and Leo came up.

[You] Fair.Still. Feels invasive. I should sue.

[Frankie] Go ahead. I’ll represent myself. I’m charming under pressure.

A week later — 2:14 AM

[You]Can’t sleep. Brain won’t shut up.

Your phone buzzed almost immediately.

[Frankie] Same.What’s keeping you up?

[You] Everything and nothing. You ever feel like you’re treading water in a pool no one remembers you’re in?

[Frankie] Every day.But hey, I see you. Even when you try to disappear.

[Frankie] That was probably too much.I can send a meme about ducks in pants to balance it out.

[You] No, that was actually…That was good.But send the duck meme anyway.

Later that week — 6:39 PM

[Frankie] What’s your comfort food when the world sucks?

[You] Depends. Spicy noodles if I’m mad. French fries if I’m sad.Why?

[Frankie] Be there in 20. Don’t dress up. Or do. You’d win best dressed regardless.

An hour later, you were on your couch, laughing through a mouthful of fries while he sat on the floor, back against the coffee table, telling you a story about his first tattoo and how he almost passed out. His eyes flicked up every now and then—checking you over like he was making sure you were still breathing easier. And you were.

Later that night — 1:11 AM [Frankie] Tonight was good. You seemed lighter.

[You] I was. It’s weird, you just… make space. And I don’t know how you do that.

[Frankie] Maybe I’m just good at seeing what other people pretend not to. Or maybe I just like the sound of your laugh and want to hear it again :)

Tonight, as you lost another day to the darkness crowding your mind, you lay still, staring blankly at your phone screen like it might eventually offer answers to questions you hadn’t found the words for. The notifications blurred together, too many to matter — until one lit up the screen, standing out in quiet contrast.

[Frankie] [9:17 PM] The group chat’s chaos again. Benny’s arguing that nachos count as a balanced meal and Lia’s threatening to make a spreadsheet about it.Same idiots, basically.

You stared at the message for a long moment. No pressure. No asking where you were or why you hadn’t shown up. Just… that. A thread gently held out in your direction.

[You] [9:19 PM] Sounds like I picked the right night to stay home.

[Frankie] [9:20 PM] You say that, but Benny made nachos shaped like ghosts and called them “emotional support snacks.” You missed some art.

[You] [9:21 PM] I’ll live.

You paused. Fingers hovered over the screen.

[You] [9:22 PM]...Just didn’t have the energy today. Everything felt like too much.

A beat, then:

[Frankie] [9:24 PM] Yeah. I figured.No judgment.Just thought I’d remind you we’re still out here. Even if you’re not up for being part of it right now :) 

You swallowed. Something loosened in your chest.

[You] [9:25 PM] You’re annoyingly good at this.

[Frankie] [9:26 PM] Nah. Just been in the same place enough to recognize the silence.

There was a silence after that — but this one felt easier. A quiet with space to breathe. 

[You] [11:41 PM] Still up?

[Frankie] [11:42 PM] Yeah. Sleep and I are barely on speaking terms these days.

[You] [11:43 PM] Cool.I just… didn’t want the last message to be the end of the conversation.

[Frankie] [11:44 PM] Good, me neither.You okay?

[You] [11:45 PM] Not really.But also nothing happened. It’s just one of those nights. You know?

[Frankie] [11:46 PM] Yeah. The ones where even breathing feels like effort.

You didn’t respond right away. Your apartment was quiet, the kind of quiet that made the air feel heavier. You stared at the door like maybe, if you wished hard enough, someone might be on the other side.

[You] [11:50 PM] What would you be doing right now if you weren’t texting me?

[Frankie] [11:51 PM] Probably pacing around my place. Trying to pretend the silence doesn’t get to me.Why?

[You] [11:52 PM] No reason.Just… my couch is kind of empty. Fries are gone. Silence sucks here too.

There was no reply for a moment. You were about to send a follow-up — something deflective, something light — when another text appeared.

[Frankie] [11:54 PM] I’ll be there in 15. You don’t have to talk. Or smile, or clean anything. Just unlock the door, okay?

Fifteen minutes later, there was a soft knock. And when you opened it, he was standing there — hoodie pulled over his head, a bag of chips in one hand, and that familiar look in his eyes. The one that said I see you. You don’t have to explain. He didn’t ask what was wrong. He just kicked off his shoes, sat beside you on the couch, and let the silence exist without making it heavier.

Frankie just stayed. Solid and still and there and for the first time all day, the storm inside your chest quieted just enough to breathe.

It had been an hour.

The TV was on, low volume, playing something neither of you were watching. You sat with your legs tucked beneath you, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, eyes heavy but not tired. Frankie was next to you, close but not quite touching — not at first. But somewhere between the silence and the soft flicker of screenlight, his knee brushed yours.

Neither of you moved.

You didn’t talk much. Every now and then, he’d glance at you — not in a way that asked for anything, but in that quiet, consistent way he always had. The kind that saw through your walls without making you feel exposed. But this time, it felt different.

You turned toward him, and your eyes met — not briefly. Not the way friends glance and look away. You held it.

He looked at you like he was trying to memorize something. Like he wanted to say something but didn’t want to scare it away. His gaze dropped, lingered on your mouth a second too long before he cleared his throat and looked back at the TV.

Your heart thudded wildly. 

“I’m glad you texted me,” he said, voice low. “Didn’t like the thought of you sitting here alone tonight.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just shifted slightly, letting your shoulder press into his arm. He didn’t move.

“I almost didn’t,” you murmured. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

“You never do,” he said, too quickly. “Seriously. If it’s you—I’ll show up. Doesn’t matter the hour.”

Your stomach flipped.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was thick. Like the air was holding its breath.

You tilted your head toward him again, slower this time.

He looked over, eyes dark, unreadable, but his jaw had gone tense like he was bracing for something. You weren’t even sure what you were about to say. Just that the air between you had changed. And part of you wanted to fall into it.

But then your phone buzzed, loud against the quiet. You blinked and just like that the spell broke.

Frankie leaned back just slightly, gave a quiet laugh like he’d been caught leaning too far over an edge. “Guess the universe says that’s my cue to shut up.”

You didn’t push it. But you didn’t move away, either.

And for the rest of the night, something hung between you—unspoken but real. Something you both felt.

He hadn’t meant to say it like that. Hadn’t meant to let it slip past his teeth, so low and careful and honest. But when you looked at him—really looked at him—Frankie forgot to guard the edges.

He leaned back because it scared him a little. The way silence between you wasn’t awkward anymore. The way your eyes held his for just a second too long. The way his chest tightened, not in panic but in something gentler, quieter, more dangerous.

You were still close—close enough that he could smell the faint scent of your shampoo, that warm thing that always clung to your skin like a memory he hadn’t earned. And when you didn’t move away, didn’t joke or retreat or hide behind that sharp wit of yours, Frankie knew something had shifted.

But he didn’t push it, he just sat there with you, shoulder brushing shoulder, knees almost touching. The TV played quietly in the background, the flickering light casting soft shadows across your face. He let you lean your head back on the couch. Watched the way your eyes slowly blinked, heavy with exhaustion, but calmer than earlier.

You looked… lighter. Not fixed. Not suddenly okay. But not drowning anymore. He took that as a small win.

And maybe it was selfish, but he didn’t leave.

Frankie stayed. Even after you dozed off with your head tilted slightly toward him, even after the credits rolled and the room went quiet. He stayed in that space between a friend and something else he didn’t name yet. Stayed still, watching the rise and fall of your chest, letting the warmth of the moment settle somewhere deep in his ribs.

He knew the line was thin. Knew this could crack everything if he reached too far.

But damn if he didn’t want to.

Just for a second, he let himself imagine it—what it might feel like to reach over and thread his fingers through yours. To press his lips to your temple. To tell you that he meant it—that he sees you, always has, even when you’re trying your hardest to disappear.

Instead, he sat in the quiet and watched you breathe. Guarded your peace like it was something sacred. When you shifted in your sleep and murmured his name—barely audible, but real—Frankie closed his eyes and let himself hope.

At some point during the quiet, sleep crept up on him too. He didn’t remember closing his eyes—just the low hum of the TV, the warmth of the room, the steady rhythm of your breathing beside him. It felt safe, something he rarely ever felt since returning from service. When he stirred hours later, the light outside was a faint silver, the kind of early morning that painted the world soft and half-real.

And you were there.

Not beside him anymore—but curled up ,somehow, with your head resting in his lap.

Frankie blinked slowly, the sleep not fully shaken off, and looked down at you. Your legs tucked up, one arm curled around yourself like you hadn’t meant to move at all. Your cheek pressed against his thigh, lips parted slightly in sleep, hair a bit messy from shifting around.

He stilled completely at this sight, a thousand things ran through his mind—but louder than all of them was the quiet awe. Like something rare had landed in his hands and he wasn’t sure how to hold it without ruining it.

You were always careful with space, with touch. So this was something else entirely. Unintentional maybe, but unguarded. A side of you he rarely saw.

Gently, he reached down and brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering for half a second too long near your temple.

And that’s when you stirred. Your eyes blinked open slowly, and at first, you didn’t move. Just looked up, a beat of soft confusion passing between you. Then realization hit.

You bolted upright, not abrupt but tense, like waking from a dream you weren’t sure you should’ve had. “Shit—sorry,” you mumbled, rubbing your face with your sleeve, not quite looking at him. “Didn’t mean to— That wasn’t—”

“It’s okay,” Frankie said quickly, voice still low and sleep-rough. “You were out. I didn’t mind.”

You nodded, still avoiding his eyes as you scooted back a bit, putting a little space between you. Not a wall, but a buffer.

“I must’ve shifted in my sleep,” you offered, the words clumsy and thin. “Wasn’t trying to be weird.”

“I know,” he said softly. “Wasn’t weird, promise.”

But it kind of was. Not in a bad way—just in a way that meant something had changed. And now, in the grey morning light, you were both painfully aware of it.

The atmosphere was warm,charged—like a wire had been brushed and now everything was humming a little too loud.

Frankie leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You okay?” he asked after a beat, quieter now.

You glanced at him, eyes softer but still guarded. “Yeah. Just… didn’t mean to cross a line.”

He shook his head. “You didn’t.”

But he didn’t smile and neither did you, because some lines didn’t need to be crossed with intention to leave a mark.

And both of you were feeling it now—in the hush between words, in the echo of how natural it had felt to rest against each other, like you’d done it a hundred times before.

Neither of you said what lingered in the air afterwards, this big little thing that felt like it had a life on its own.

The kitchen was still cloaked in that fragile kind of morning quiet, the kind that made everything feel closer, heavier.

You moved automatically, going through the motions—grabbing mugs, flicking the switch on the kettle, pulling out the coffee tin with muscle memory alone. Your hands were steady, but your thoughts weren’t. Every time you glanced toward the living room and saw Frankie still sitting there, rubbing sleep from his eyes, the knot in your stomach pulled tighter.

He hadn’t said anything else since waking up.

But he hadn’t left, either.

You reached up to the cupboard for the sugar, standing on your toes—and suddenly he was behind you.

“Want me to grab it?” he asked, voice close enough that you felt it more than heard it.

You startled slightly, bumping into him with a soft thud. “Fuck—sorry, didn’t hear you come in.”

“It’s okay,” he said, but his hand had come to rest on your waist—just for a second, steadying you, barely there. But it lingered long enough to light a fuse in your chest.

You didn’t breathe until he stepped back.

The silence stretched as you poured the water, the steam rising between you, thin and ghostlike. You passed him a mug, your fingers brushing his—too gentle to be an accident, too fleeting to be addressed.

His eyes flicked to yours for a heartbeat, unreadable. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, suddenly fascinated with the swirl of coffee in your cup. “No problem.”

You both leaned against opposite counters, holding your mugs like shields, pretending the space between you wasn’t thick with whatever had shifted overnight.

“I didn’t mean to…” you started, but the words trailed off.

He didn’t push. Just sipped his coffee, eyes watching you over the rim. “I know.”

And maybe that was worse. That he knew—and still wasn’t moving away. Still standing close enough that you could smell him. Still looking at you like you hadn’t just curled up in his lap a few hours ago like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The kettle clicked off behind you, forgotten.

“Your friends,” you said suddenly, desperate to break the air, “they’d be disappointed you didn’t show up last night.”

He gave a quiet huff of laughter, looking down at his mug. “They were the same idiots as always. They barely noticed.”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “I would’ve noticed.”

He looked up, really looked, something unspoken passed between you again. A current, or a question neither of you were ready to ask.

You turned back to the counter, pretending to fix your coffee.

Behind you, he spoke, voice lower now, treading carefully “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

But your hand trembled slightly as you set the spoon down and you knew he saw it, had to.

He didn’t call it out. Just stepped a little closer, mug still in hand, close enough that the edge of his arm brushed yours.

Neither of you moved away and you really didn’t know who moved first. Maybe it was him, maybe it was you. But somehow you were standing too close, not touching, not quite—but almost. Another almost.

Frankie set his mug down on the counter with a soft clink, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet room. His eyes stayed on you—soft, unreadable, patient in that way he always was, like he never wanted to scare you off. Like he was waiting for you to make the call.

Your breath caught when he reached up—slow, tentative—and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers were careful, feather-light, but the warmth of his touch lingered long after he pulled his hand away.

You didn’t say anything, couldn’t even if you wanted to.Because now, there were only inches between you and it took the air from your lungs.

Your heartbeat sped up, hammering in your ears.

He leaned in just slightly, his voice low. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

It wasn’t a tease. There was no smirk, no cocky edge to his tone. Just a quiet request, wrapped in a kind of reverence that nearly undid you.

And for one breathless second, it felt like gravity shifted between you—like something inevitable was about to happen.

But then—

Your phone buzzed, sharp and jarring against the counter, slicing clean through the moment.

You flinched, just enough to step back, and whatever had been building between you shattered—sudden and brittle, like glass underfoot.

You didn’t look at the screen. You didn’t need to. The spell had broken, again.

Frankie stepped back too, blinking like he’d only just remembered where he was. He scratched the back of his neck and let out a soft breath that sounded like a laugh—but it wasn’t. Not really.

“Right,” he said, nodding once. Like he understood. Like he’d been waiting for the interruption all along. It landed heavier than it should have, a quiet sting in your chest, even though he probably didn’t mean it that way.

You turned back to the coffee, focusing on the mug like it could anchor you. “I should get dressed for the day...”

He nodded again. “Yeah, yeah of course.”

You slipped out of the kitchen with your heart pounding, the ghost of his touch still burning on your skin.

The plan had been in place for weeks. A weekend camping trip—just the group, no cell reception, no excuses. He wasn’t going to go. Had half a dozen reasons not to. But none of them stuck once Benny showed up at his door, grinning like a devil and throwing him a bag of trail mix like that settled it.

"Don’t be a ghost, man," Benny had said. "She’s coming."

Frankie didn’t ask who she was. He didn’t have to.

And now here he was, standing ankle-deep in soft dirt while the late afternoon sun bled gold over the trees, watching your car door slam shut. His stomach did something annoying at the sight of you stepping out, wind-blown and smiling faintly, like you weren’t quite sure you’d made the right choice by showing up either. You hadn’t looked at him yet. But he felt it anyway—that quiet current that had lived between you ever since that night back at your apartment.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked out at the lake, pretending he wasn’t already a little unraveled.

The campsite was beautiful. Dense trees, soft moss underfoot, and a lake that glimmered like it had been carved from glass. Everyone fanned out, unpacking coolers and gear and arguing over who forgot what. There was music coming from Benny’s car, something old and loud and badly sung along to.

And then your voice cut through it: “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Frankie turned. You were crouched beside your bag, frustration etched into every line of your face. Pieces of tent poles lay scattered on the ground like broken bones, and the rest was nowhere to be seen.

“Problem?” Santi called, already laughing.

You held up a tent bag like it had personally betrayed you. “I either forgot the actual tent or packed the world’s saddest kite.”

There were groans, and someone yelled 'rookie mistake' and someone else suggested duct tape and tarp. But eventually Benny, ever the ringleader, clapped his hands and declared, “Only one solution. Draw matches. Losers share their tent.”

Frankie knew—he just knew—what the universe was about to do to him.

The sticks were torn from a granola box and held up like some ancient rite. One by one, the guys picked theirs. Frankie went last.

When he looked down, it was the shortest stick.

A beat of silence. Then a chorus of oohs and Benny’s terrible drumroll on a cooler lid.

Frankie didn’t even glance at them. He looked straight at you.

And this time, you looked back. Your eyes met his like you’d been waiting for it—and damn if it didn’t do something stupid to his chest. You didn’t smile, didn’t smirk. But your gaze held, quiet and unreadable. Heavy with something neither of you had put into words.

Frankie cleared his throat. “Guess I’m the lucky one.”

You arched a brow., arms crossed defensively. “That’s one way to put it.”

He nodded slowly, heart doing double-time, already dreading and anticipating the moment night would fall.

No escape. No couch cushions or coffee mugs to serve as shields between you.

Just one thin tent wall and all the silence you still hadn’t broken.

You weren’t sure how it got so quiet.

Everyone else had turned in. The fire had died hours ago, and now the campsite was just a rhythm of distant snores, rustling leaves, and the occasional crack of branches shifting in the cool night. Inside the tent, it was still and dark—too still. You lay on your back, cocooned in your sleeping bag, barely breathing, aware of every inch of the man beside you.

Frankie was close. Not touching you, but close enough that you could feel his warmth, hear the soft exhale of his breath, smell the faint mix of campfire and whatever clean laundry detergent he used.

And god, you wanted it. The warmth. The comfort. The steadiness of him. You wanted to curl into it, let yourself have it—just for a moment. But you stayed frozen. Afraid that even the smallest move would tip everything over the edge.

Your mind wouldn’t shut up.

You kept thinking about the almost-kiss. About how it lingered between you like a thread that hadn’t snapped. You thought about his hand brushing yours that morning in your kitchen, how your breath had caught in your throat like something sacred had passed between you. You thought about falling asleep on him, about waking up there—on him—and how he didn’t push you away.

And you thought about how terrified you were of needing someone. Of needing him.

The silence clawed at you, unbearable.

You turned slightly, your sleeping bag crinkling loud in the dark. “Frankie,” you whispered.

He shifted. “Yeah?”

“I think about that morning,” you said, voice soft. “The almost-kiss.”

The silence stretched.

You swallowed hard. “I think about it a lot actually..”

Still, he didn’t speak. But you could hear how sharply he breathed in.

“I just… I don’t know. I’ve convinced myself you’re better off when we keep some distance.” You stared up at the ceiling, blinking slowly. “Because I’m a mess, Frankie. Not the cute kind. The ‘can’t even be alone with myself for too long without falling apart’ kind. And I guess I’m scared of what it means to let you get closer.”

More silence, but it didn’t feel empty, it felt full. Like something inside it was shifting.

Then you heard his voice, low and gravel-soft, barely more than breath. “I know.”

You blinked, unsure if you imagined it.

“I know you’re struggling. I’ve always known more than I let on,” he said. “I didn’t want to push. Didn’t want to make it worse.”

You turned your head just slightly toward the shape of him in the dark.

“I haven’t said much about my own shit either,” Frankie continued. “But you should know—I’m still in recovery. Still fighting the edge of it every day. My temper’s not great, I lose patience faster than I should. Some days I hate myself. Other days I just feel… hollow.”

Your heart cracked a little.

“I don’t usually let people in. It’s been a long time since someone made me want to.” His voice went quiet. “But you did. And you never treated me like I was broken. You just… saw me. All of me. And it gave me this stupid illusion that maybe I wasn’t too far gone.”

You turned toward him then.

The space between you was barely a breath. You reached out slowly, fingers grazing his chest, resting just over his heart.

“You’re the best guy I ever met, Frankie,” you said, voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “For real. And none of this—your past, your battles, any of it—makes you any less valuable.”

His breath hitched.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The tension between you wasn’t sharp anymore—it was tender. Fragile. A thing you both held gently in your hands.

Frankie turned to face you too, his forehead just inches from yours, and in the dark, it felt like the whole world had narrowed to just this—just you and him.

You didn’t say anything else, you didn’t need to.

The morning came too soon.

Sunlight filtered through the nylon walls of the tent, warm and golden, and you woke slowly, disoriented by how calm you felt. Frankie was still beside you, quiet and breathing steadily. You didn’t know if he was awake yet, and you didn’t dare look. You just listened for a moment—to the breeze outside, birds in the trees, someone cursing over trying to get the fire started.

Eventually, you rolled out of the sleeping bag and changed into fresh clothes, not looking back.

By the time you joined the others, coffee was brewing over the flames and the boys were already half-alive and throwing jabs at each other. You sat on the log bench next to Benny, who passed you a metal mug without looking.

“Sleep okay?” he asked casually.

You just nodded, eyes flicking to Frankie across the fire. He was already looking.

Your gaze met for a second too long—soft, searching, warm—and it did something stupid to your chest.

No one said anything. But you felt it. You both did.

Later, the sun climbed higher and someone—probably Benny—declared it “prime lake hour.” Everyone agreed with groggy enthusiasm, and swim trunks and towels came out. You stayed behind a moment in the tent, staring down at your bikini, stomach tight with hesitation. It was cute. Objectively. But that didn’t mean you felt good in it.

When you stepped out, arms crossed over your bare middle, Frankie was standing barefoot near the treeline in the world’s most ridiculous swim shorts—sky blue, patterned with rubber ducks like a fever dream. It made you laugh before you could help it.

He turned at the sound, eyebrows lifting when he saw you. “There she is,” he said, that easy smirk tugging at his lips. “Took you long enough.”

“I was deciding whether to fake a leg injury.”

“Should’ve gone with amnesia,” he said. “It’s more dramatic.”

You laughed again, and—somehow—you didn’t feel so tense in your skin anymore.

Then Benny cannonballed into the water, screaming like a child. Santi followed with a cocky, slow-motion dive. Will, of course, gave a tiny, polite whoop before launching himself in.

That left just you and Frankie standing at the edge of the dock.

You glanced at each other.

“Race you,” he said, already grinning.

“You’re on.”

You both took off at the same time, feet slapping the wood, laughing like you’d already won. You hit the water seconds apart—cold and shocking and exhilarating. You surfaced gasping, blinking away the brightness, and when your eyes found Frankie, you were already swimming toward him without thinking.

He was floating just a little ways off, hair wet and curling wildly at his temples, eyes squinting against the sun, droplets glinting on his skin like gold dust. He was laughing quietly to himself, mouth slightly open, and when he saw you approaching, he raised an eyebrow.

“What?” he asked, teasing.

You flushed just a little. “Nothing.”

“Oh, it’s something. You were staring.”

You rolled your eyes. “You wish.”

“Don’t need to wish,” he said, cocky and soft at the same time. “I know.”

You dunked him or at least tried.

He yelped, grabbed at your wrists, and in seconds had pulled you under with him, both of you sinking briefly into the quiet blue.

And something happened there—under the water, beneath the surface noise of the world. Everything felt still. Weightless, safe.

You didn’t think. You just moved—arms sliding around his neck, legs curling instinctively around his waist. Frankie didn’t ask questions. He didn’t need to. He just held you there, his hands finding the small of your back like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You both stayed suspended for a moment too long, eyes locked, hair floating between you like ink in water. His gaze was steady, wide, real, and you couldn’t look away.

Then—

“Yo! Stop making out under there, fish freaks!”

Benny’s voice broke through the surface like a bad joke, followed by a splash that hit too close.

You gasped and broke away, popping up with a sputter.

Frankie surfaced beside you, wiping water from his face, grinning like he hadn’t just had the wind knocked out of him emotionally. “I’m gonna kill him,” he muttered.

You laughed despite yourself, blinking water from your lashes. “Get in line.”

The fire cracked loud in the silence, hissing as a log shifted and sent sparks spiraling upward into the night. The lake behind them lapped gently at the shore. Bugs buzzed in the thick summer air. Someone passed around a half-empty bag of marshmallows and a mostly dead lighter. Benny told a story that probably started out true and ended in a full-blown lie.

Frankie barely heard a word of it.

You were sitting beside him. Close. Shoulder against his, legs stretched out, toes tucked near the edge of the firelight. You’d been soft all evening—unguarded in a way that made his chest feel like it had been cracked open with a crowbar.

And then you laughed. Head tilted back, sunlight in your voice even though it was long past sunset. Without thinking, you leaned into him, head resting on his shoulder like it was second nature.

You hugged his arm and Frankie forgot how to breathe for a second.

It wasn’t just the touch. It was the weight of it. The ease. The way your fingers curled around his bicep like they belonged there, like he wasn’t some danger to your peace, like you weren’t scared of him the way you sometimes seemed to be. And that—god, that did something to him. Melted him from the inside out.

He sat as still as he could, afraid if he shifted even slightly, you’d realize what you were doing and pull away.

You didn’t.

The warmth spread through him slow and molten, thick and sweet in his veins. He stared at the fire, but his senses were full of you. The smell of your shampoo, the soft sound of your breathing, the lazy shape your fingers made against his arm.

Across the flames, Santi looked up from his beer and met his eyes, one brow raised. Frankie gave him nothing back. Just the tiniest shrug, like don’t you fucking say a word.

Santi didn’t. Neither did Will, who definitely noticed but kept his face turned toward the fire. Benny just snored softly, half-asleep on a log with a marshmallow stuck to his shirt.

Frankie let out a slow breath. Let his head tilt just enough to brush yours. Didn’t dare move more than that.

He didn’t need more, not right now.

This was already more than he thought he’d ever get.

And it felt like something, something worth to hold onto. 

The zipper buzzed softly behind him as he ducked into the tent. The air was cooler now, the fire burned down to coals outside, the lake settled into glass. Most of the guys had knocked out where they sat or stumbled to their tents half-asleep.

You followed a few minutes later.

Frankie lay on his back, hands behind his head, trying to look casual even though his pulse kicked up the second he heard the nylon rustle.

You crawled in with that quiet way of yours, the kind that made it feel like you belonged there. Like this wasn’t just a random arrangement of bad luck and missing tent poles.

It was dark, save for the moonlight slipping through the thin fabric above them. Still, he didn’t need to see you to know where you were—he could feel you. Every inch. Every breath. Like his body had memorized your gravity.

Minutes passed in silence.

Then—

“You make me feel safe,” you whispered, sudden and raw in the dark. “You know that?”

His breath caught.

“Like I don’t need to keep my guard up all the time. And I’ve never had that before.”

Frankie turned his head slightly, could just make out your silhouette now. You were still staring up at the roof of the tent, like if you looked at him, you might not get the words out.

“You don’t see the mess,” you went on, voice a little unsteady. “You see me. The me I mostly don’t even meet myself. And it scares me shitless, but I also… I don’t know, it’s good. Please just—keep doing that. Wherever it lands.”

He blinked hard.

God, you didn’t even know what that did to him.

He shifted, just enough to turn onto his side. Your face was barely visible in the moonlight—eyes wide and vulnerable, like you’d just handed him something breakable and weren’t sure if he’d hold it right.

His throat felt thick. Words weren’t his thing, not like this. But he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

“I love your laugh,” he said softly. “You know that?”

You looked surprised, breath catching.

Frankie smiled faintly, gaze tracing the line of your cheek. “It’s—fuck, it’s beautiful. Makes something settle in me. Every time I hear it, it’s like I get a little reminder that good things exist. That you exist.”

The silence between you stretched, but it wasn’t empty. It was so full it ached.

And then, barely above a whisper, he added, “So yeah… I’ll keep doing that. Seeing you. Because every version of you I’ve seen so far has been worth it.”

You turned to face him then. Closer now. His breath stilled as your hand found his chest again, warm and gentle like the night before.

And for the first time in a long time, Frankie didn’t feel like a man carrying too much weight.

He just felt wanted.

Your fingers rested lightly on his chest, just over the steady beat of his heart. You felt it jump the moment you touched him, and maybe yours did too. It was so quiet you could hear every breath, the rustle of nylon, the night sounds muffled outside the tent walls.

And still—it felt like the loudest thing in the world was the space between your bodies.

You didn’t know how long you lay there like that. Staring at him, feeling him breathe under your palm. It should’ve been small. But it felt enormous. Like your world shifting on its axis.

Your fingers curled slightly into the fabric of his shirt. Old, worn down and loved. Safe. Like everything about him felt. You couldn’t look away from his mouth, the way it parted just a little as your gaze dropped there. Your breath hitched before you even moved.

Still, you leaned in.

Soft, slow, tentative. Not quite a kiss. Just the beginning of one. The question of it.

And then, just before your lips could brush his, Frankie whispered, “I really would like to kiss you. Would that be okay?”

The way he said it—like it mattered. Like you mattered and all you could do was nodding, barely able to find your voice. “Yeah… please.”

And when it happened, it wasn’t like you imagined. It wasn’t fireworks or a movie scene or something dramatic.

It was careful and so gentle it made something ache in your chest.

His hand slid up, cradling your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye. His lips met yours like he’d never been more sure of anything.

You kissed him back just as slow, like neither of you wanted to break it. Like this might be the first real moment of your life where you weren’t running from something, weren’t hiding.

Just here. With him, in this moment that stretched and made heat bloom in you.

And when you finally pulled away, your forehead stayed pressed to his. Both of you breathing quietly and unevenly.

You whispered, “That okay?”

Frankie let out a soft, breathless laugh, like you’d just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. “That was more than okay.”

Your smile broke before you could stop it, and this time when you laughed he kissed you again.

Just because he could.

thanks for reading 💌

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[darlingjmiller]

Pedro Pascal presenting Best Supporting Actor in a Drama Series

“Kieran Culkin beat the shit of me”

[sunlightdrop]

start on the chores 'n sweep 'til the floor's all clean!

[fanfictilltheend]

"The Bear" (SerialKiller!Medieval!General!Joel x Whore'sDaughter!reader fic) Snippet 1

Very First Part of The Bear aka (SerialKiller!Medieval!General!Joel x Whore'sDaughter!reader fic)

Warnings for this snippet: VERY DARK!!! 18+ Only Medieval Au, graphic depictions of violence, serial killer, attempted sexual assault (nothing graphic), mentions of prostitution, probably so historically inaccurate!!!!!

Masterlist of "The Bear"

Masterlist of all my work

The other soldiers call him “The Bear.” Joel cannot say if it is because of his size or the way he kills or maybe it is the hunger for blood they see searing in his eyes through the slits in his helmet. 

What they don’t know is that Joel’s killing does not stay on the battlefield. He takes it home with him to the cobblestone streets of his kingdom. He cannot stop it. It is a need inside of him greater than anything he has ever experienced. On the battlefield, there is a distance to killing – the length of a spear or sword or bow, the barrier of heavy metal armor. In the streets, he uses his hands, a knife, his teeth. He feels the ooze of blood against his tongue, the copper taste of it, the heat of a body fighting him back, screaming, begging. His men are more correct about him than they will ever know. 

***

Joel is out late one night stalking the streets for prey. Usually, it is a woman he finds attractive, but Joel doesn’t discriminate. Blood is blood. Flesh is flesh. Screams are screams.

 He passes the house of the whore he goes to sometimes, Genevieve. He’s gone to her for years. Nothing Joel could ever do to her would ever phase her; she’s seen it all which is probably the only reason he isn’t burnt at the stake or hanged in the public square yet. Next to her domicile is a popular pub. 

This time, he sees a small, lonesome-looking girl crouched outside the alley wall of the bar, her face clutched in her hands. She looks like she is crying or freezing or both due to how she is shaking, without even a cloak on. Joel considers her an option, but then two, young, drunk men stumble out onto her side of the street. She starts at the noise and looks up and then Joel can see her face and realizes it is the whore Genevieve’s daughter, Y/N, who can’t be more than 12 or 13. Ridiculously young never did anything for Joel, so he grumbles to himself and mentally crosses her off his potential kill list. He turns to leave, but that stupid little girl, he notices, got into a conversation with those drunken – likely savage – men. He thinks they are newly recruited soldiers, but isn’t sure. He should save her. That’s what a good soldier would do. Joel snickers.

“Quit your crying!” one of those hooligans is chuckling to Y/N and his friend. 

“Who said I was crying?” The girl snaps, shivering from the cold.

“Kinda pretty if you smiled,” the other observes, circling her like prey, backing her further against the wall. “And didn’t talk back like that.”

“Hey, open your mouth,” commands the first, reaching to undo his trousers. “You’re that whore’s daughter aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” she says, holding up her hands quickly. “I mean, not after what happened to the last guy…”

“What is she on about?” The second man asks the first.

 The other shrugs, staggering a bit from the alcohol.

“Well, didn’t someone tell you when you moved here? I’m the town witch,” she says, dead seriously.

Joel rolls his eyes.

“Like curses and that?” One of the grown men asks stupidly.

“Like worse. Like transforming! You know what that is? It’s like shapeshifting. And you know what I can turn into?”

“What?” The first man snickers.

“A bear!” she growls dramatically. “You know, like they have in the circus! With big, sharp teeth, and claws, and the point is I could chop off your prick no trouble if I wanted so I would keep that back in your trousers, I mean, if I was you.”

The first one laughs.

“Is that true?” The second man asks the first skeptically.

“It’s starting!” The girl cries, leaning back against the cold stone wall and shaking every part of her body dramatically. “THE TRANSFORMATION!”

“Shit. Shit. Is this real?” The taller one mumbles in confusion. 

“I’m too sloshed, let’s not risk it,” the other whines. “My auntie got cursed by a witch once and she’s never been the same.”

“Yeah, yeah, forget it,” the other nods.

And to Joel’s amazement, the grown men stagger away down in the direction of most of the brothels in town and away from this little girl.

Y/N smiles at the sky and sighs in relief, sits up, and surveys her surroundings as it begins to snow. 

And then she sees him.

She sits up straighter, stops smiling.

“Are you alright?” Joel forces himself to ask now that she’s acknowledged his existence. 

They only have a business relationship. She opens the front door for him, for all her mother’s clients he supposes, brought him a towel a few times over the years, offered him water. He doesn’t know her. She means nothing to him. Reminds him of no one.

And just because his mother was a whore too doesn’t mean they have anything in common. Not even when Genevieve had had that boyfriend or husband or boss or whoever the fuck it was whose eyes had wandered. Joel had gotten rid of him, but that was a public service. Anyone would have done that. Anyone.  

“I…” the girl stammers, so much less confident than when she was playing those boys, looking up into Joel’s face, her breath mist. “I’m fine, Sir Joel.”

Joel steps closer to her and she visibly cowers. He feels strangely sorry about it. Or was it just the cold? 

“Take this,” he grunts, pulling off his cloak and awkwardly draping it over her shoulders. “Go home.”

“But she—“

“Please, Y/N, it’s safer than these streets at night. I’m sorry ‘bout whatever she’s done. I’m sure it was awful but it’s better than finding your body out here. Understand?”

“Yeah,” she finally nods, the tears in her eyes turning to ice crystals.

“Don’t let me catch you out here like this again,” he snarls as she turns away to go home, but Joel doesn’t exactly move out of her way either.

She checks her surroundings.

“Y-Y’know, I’ve got a few magic powers and I got some bear teeth on accident,” she half-heartedly tells him, shaking ever so slightly. “Yeah, from I spell I cast because I’m a certified sorceress ‘n all if you didn’t know. Yup, I know, pretty weird, right? But they’re wayyy in the back. And I can even summon the occasional claw which can rip through human flesh if my nails are sharp enough so I wouldn’t try anything you wouldn’t stand by losing a hand for is all I’m trying to say. You know, I mean, just for your sake, I’m just saying…”

Joel smirks and instinctively grabs her roughly by the jaw and pulls her close, the large paw of his hand engulfing her chin. He grips her tightly, his cold fingers digging into her flesh.

She struggles instantly, her eyes going wide and wild like a caged animal’s, terrified, and Joel takes in her expression, drinks it in deeply. He looks into her eyes and lets out a sigh that sends a rush of visible mist into the freezing air. Finally, though, he comes back to himself when, after a while, she’s able to still as Joel does nothing worse to her. He gets back to business, squeezes her lips open, and examines down her throat into the back of her mouth.

“Don’t see any of them bear teeth,” he sneers. “And one day, lying about magic and monsters and beasts ain’t going to save you,” he spits, more angrily than can explain.

He drops her back to the ground where she lands slumped up against the paved wall.

“Go home.”

And then, after staring up at him for a moment, she has the audacity to roll her eyes.

“Pretty funny,” she says after a while, staring Joel down now unflinchingly, smirking, like she’s seen right through him. Like she has been here a million times before. Joel doesn’t like that at all. She bites her fingernail absentmindedly and spits. “I know what they call you and all too. Call you ‘The Bear’ this and ‘The Bear’ that and then they whisper about who keeps killing all those people in town over the years. But it’s funny. I don’t see bear teeth on you either. Or your claws. Never even heard you roar neither. And I’ve heard a lot in my time. Anyways, just a thought. Thanks for the coat, General Miller. See you ‘round.” 

And to Joel’s immense relief, she stands up and heads home. 

Dumb, stupid girl is lucky she doesn’t get to see the side of Joel that he barely wraps away in daily life! Maybe she’s seen flickers of it over the years, observing from the shadows of the dimly lit house he fucks her mother in. He can’t say. Joel is a monster, sure, anyone would agree to that, but even he has some limits. Maybe she’s even seen even worse than he. Who knows? But more importantly, he doesn’t care. This is nothing. To him she is meaningless.

But no teeth, no claws, no roar? He can’t help but wonder, the thoughts gnawing and clawing at the back of his mind. What did she mean? What did she even think she was saying? And most importantly: Why had she stopped looking up at him with that intoxicating fear in her eyes?

Well, no matter. Joel has an answer for her.

***

The next morning, two mangled male bodies appear in the little courtyard square that compose the pub and Genevieve’s home. The corpses are mutilated almost beyond recognition: bite marks, teeth marks, claw marks, chunks of missing flesh, blood soaked into the cobblestones all around them.

Joel joins the crowd that forms casually, acting just as surprised.

Women cover their children’s eyes and shuffle them away quickly, a man dry-heaves onto the pavement.

“Saw them at the pub last night!” exclaims the town butcher in surprise. “They were just fine, but definitely wasted. Christ.”

“Weren’t they soldiers in training?” A young woman Joel doesn’t know asks and a few people nod.

“Hope whoever did this gets hanged!” growls another young army recruit.

And then what Joel has really been waiting for occurs: Y/N steps out from her house, dumping out a wash bucket, and then sees the commotion.

She comes closer to get a good look and Joel sees the horror cover her features, the recognition. She looks away, her hands shaking, her face draining of color, and finally sees Joel.

He winks.

[yeoldecorprusarium]

2 Cover Up Road, an edit of @jodeliejodelie's makeover (her Strangetown is my cannon) or the "I unchecked all the CC when installing and had to scramble" version.

(I forgot to take the before pic. Or the floorplans'... I'm sorry T.T)

[clockworkreapers]

Jerry brought a moth into the store!

[skyshipper]

*JOEL MILLER FINDING HOPE THE LAST OF US - HBO (2023)

[vadersaber]

there's been a little bit of talk again surrounding dark fics, particularly for joel miller, and i think we should discuss some things.

these are just a few people who have addressed their concerns this past year regarding dark fics. others i have spoken with privately & they'd like to remain anonymous.

and why is that?

they're afraid of publicly saying how they feel about these fics. they are afraid of possibly being bullied by writers of such fics, which is INSANE. the fact that the go-to response when someone is critical of someone else's work is to bully or be mean or laugh in their face and say "it's just fiction lol just don't read it" is INSANE. being critical of someone's work DOES NOT MEAN they bully the writer or the fic itself and IT DOES NOT MEAN that they are being "the fandom police".

there does seem to be a huge influx of mostly dark fics in the tlou fandom. not sure why that is, but regardless, people may write from a place of trauma that they experienced themselves or from a place of simply wanting to explore the dark genre, and that is okay. it's very valid.

me personally, i don't really get how writing about your favorite character and non-con is any way helpful or good, but that is the way that I feel. it has nothing to do with the people writing it. i find it very, very odd, but again, that is how I see it. they see it differently, and that's okay.

maybe it would be more productive if writers who do post dark joel content would give an insight into their thoughts & ideas for those fics if they are asked about it or if the topic comes up. it would be interesting to understand their pov and such, instead of being met with bullying, mockery or being called names & harassed because they disprove of incest/SA, like it recently happened to one of my mutuals.

i think there are way more fitting characters to explore for dark fics but i understand why it is explored for joel; he suffered the biggest possible loss & has a rough past, so it does make sense from this pov to explore what would happen if he'd go down a darker path. but once again, before anyone gets mad, this is MY opinion. i don't think portraying joel, a caring, protective man, as a stalker who assaults you & makes you afraid of him is any way hot.

however, that is not to say hey, stop writing this. write whatever you want, tag it & warn it accordingly! but also try to understand & remember that when people say they are triggered by these fics, that they find them bizarre or gross etc. they are not attacking you. it's how they feel, and retaliating with bullying over their personal feelings is not helping the matter. it makes them more afraid to speak up or even be a part of the community they once loved.

[chronically-ghosted]

i've been getting a lot of anons lately asking if i am in the same city as pedro why in the world would i not go stake out the Paramount. instead of responding individually, i've use an artform through which i can best express myself: memes

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

The Christmas/New Years Masterlist

all my christmas/New Years themed fics in one place 😌

Updated: December 19th 2024

✨ = newest updates

Fic Ratings (read warnings in fic for details):

(G) General Audiences

(M) Mature

(E) Explicit: only suitable for adults

A Christmas Carol - Made in Colombia 

Nothing was the same since Escobar was gone. Javier didn’t want to be back, but he had no other choice. He was there to do a job and a job only. When a stake out went wrong and Javier ends up in a drug induced coma the three ghosts of Christmas show him what he was blind to see. (Mini Series, Javier Peña x fem reader; G)

How I met the King of Mandalore (without knowing it) 

AU: A business meeting after Christmas takes you to the small kingdom of Mandalore where you meet a handsome stranger at your hotel bar who does not only show you the beautiful town but a side of himself that made you fall for him in a matter of hours. What happens when you run into the same man on your mission to return a child you had run into on your tour through the palace the next day? Did you… accidentally sleep with the next King of Mandalore? (One Shot; Din Djarin x fem. reader; E)

Alone (with me) 

Christmas sometimes is a lonely affair. Until you find someone you can be alone with. (One Shot; Frankie Morales x fem. reader, G)

Alone (with you) 

You spend the week between Christmas and New Years getting to know Frankie better. (One Shot; Frankie Morales x fem. reader, G)

A walk in the woods 

Frankie talks you into taking a walk to the local farm to pick out a Christmas tree. (One Shot; Frankie Morales x fem. reader, G)

Roasted Almonds 

Almost getting knocked over by a handsome stranger on a christmas market might be the start of your personal Hallmark Movie experience. (One Shot; Marcus Pike x fem. reader, G)

New Years wishes 

After spending difficult six month without Marcus he surprises you for New Years Eve. (One Shot; Marcus Pike x fem. reader; G)

Lonely Christmas 

A storm that makes it impossible to leave the island, leaves you spend Christmas with your friend and boss Javi. (One Shot; Javi Gutierrez x fem. reader; G)

Cookie Kisses 

Dieter finds you baking cookies in your home after being away to shoot his series for months. (One Shot; Dieter Bravo x fem. reader; G)

Here comes Santa Claus 

After working as Mrs. Claus with Dieter Bravo as your local mall Santa for the last six weeks you finally agree to go out for drinks with him, not knowing how this night would end for you. (One Shot; Dieter Bravo x fem, reader; E; dub con/noncon)

✨ Miller's Christmas Tree Farm ✨

Wanting a fresh start after your husband died, you and your nine year old Step Daughter Ellie move from San Francisco to Noel, a small town in Colorado where you, looking for a job are found by Tommy Miller, who offers you a place to stay and a new job at his family owned Christmas Tree Farm that is in dire need of some fresh ideas to make some money. There is only one problem, his brother Joel Miller, who, judging by the google reviews of the Christmas Tree farm, is an asshole. But you like a challenge. And Joel? Joel can only try to pretend to be grumpy for so long until he finally realises that you might just be what he needed. (Mini Series; Joel Miller x fem. reader; E)

Christmas Writing Challenge 2019

Christmas Writing Challenge 2020

Christmas Writing Challenge 2021

December Writing Challenge 2022 

Winter Writing Challenge 2023

[berryispunk]

The Way I See You

This is part 2/2. Part 1 readable here

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: dual POV, slow burn, angst , all the feelings, fluff, vulnerability, push and pull, mention of PTSD & addiction , best friends to lovers, oral (f&m receiving), unprotected PiV, soft! Frankie

summary: A tense, emotional journey of two people navigating their complicated, raw connection. What starts as a push-and-pull dynamic slowly transforms into something deeper, as they learn to open up and face their vulnerabilities.

word count: 7,5 k

read on ao3

Frankie had planned it.

Maybe not perfectly, but with care—the kind of care he rarely let himself show. Dinner at that little Italian place Benny wouldn’t shut up about. A walk by the marina afterward, maybe ice cream if the night went well. It was stupidly romantic, probably too much, but he couldn’t help it. You deserved more than porch lights and half-formed confessions in tents.

[Frankie] So… what if I take you out? Like, really out. A date-date. No tents, no coffee mugs, no Benny jumping in at the worst possible moment.

[You] You trying to prove something, Morales?

[Frankie] That I’m serious about you, yeah.

But now? He stood by his car, jaw locked, watching rain slice sideways across the hood like the sky itself was pissed off.

You laughed, squeezing water out of your hair as you huddled under the awning of the closed ice cream stand. “So much for the marina.”

Frankie ran a hand down his face. “Fuck. This wasn’t how I— I wanted it to be good.”

“It is,” you said simply. “It’s kind of perfect, actually.”

He stared at you, soaked and smiling, looking at him like none of it mattered. Not the storm. Not the car alarm that wouldn’t shut off in the parking lot. Not the stupid vending machine that ate his dollar when he tried to get you a drink. None of it mattered, because you were still here, drenched and laughing like it was the best night of your life.

He didn’t deserve that. Not with everything rattling around inside his head. Not with the cravings that had crawled up his spine the moment things started going wrong—like they always did. The moment his past whispered see? You’re still a mess. You’ll ruin this too.

But then you got in his car, cranked up the heater, and the sound of your laughter filled the space between you like sunlight bleeding through cracks. It wasn’t delicate or hesitant—it was warm and beautiful and by far his favorite sound. 

He turned to look at you, his smile ghosting at the edges of his lips, fleeting even as doubt crept in.

And it hit him.

Like a fist to the ribs, a sudden clarity that made his throat tighten: he was gone for you. Hopelessly, stupidly gone. And that terrified him more than anything.

Because the last time he let himself love like that, it ended in pieces. 

And yet here you were, looking at him like he was someone worth laughing with. Like you saw something in him that wasn’t just damage and regret.

He swallowed hard. “You’re really something else, you know that?”

You tilted your head. “Is that a compliment or are you just in shock I didn’t bolt?”

“Both,” he said, voice rough around the edges. “Mostly the first.”

You nudged his knee with yours. “I had fun.”

Frankie didn’t speak right away. He was too busy memorizing the way you looked right then—wet hair, flushed cheeks, a laugh still echoing in your throat.

God, he wanted to tell you.

Wanted to tell you he hadn’t felt this safe around someone in years. That your presence calmed the itch in his blood better than any substance ever had. That this thing—whatever it was—scared the hell out of him, but also felt like the only thing real in a world that constantly blurred at the edges.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he just looked at you like a man trying to imprint the moment into his bones, storing it for moments the darkness took over again. And in that silence, when you reached across the console to take his hand, he let you.

—

Some time had passed since that rained-out almost-moment. Since the camping trip and the soft kiss in the tent. In the quiet way these things go, you’d started spending more time together—casual dinners, long walks that blurred into longer conversations, nights at your place where Frankie stayed too late, and mornings at his place where you learned how he liked his coffee, black but with sugar, always two spoons.

You’d let your guard down—slowly, hesitantly, but genuinely. Enough to let him see parts of you most people missed. Enough that it surprised you how easy it started to feel. But with every piece of yourself you offered, you noticed how Frankie seemed to step back just slightly. Like your closeness was pushing against something he hadn’t named yet. His walls weren’t obvious, not loud, but you felt them in the pauses that stretched too long, the way he’d sometimes look at you like you were a dream he didn’t quite trust to stay.

Still, it had started like any other movie night—bare feet tucked under throw blankets, an old chick flick humming low from Frankie’s TV, and the smell of kettle corn faint in the air from earlier. He’d let you choose the movie, even though he pretended to grumble about it, and you’d rolled your eyes, pretending not to notice how his gaze had softened every time you laughed.

Now, the room was quiet as the screen faded to black. You’d both drifted sideways on the couch without realizing. His arm had ended up around your shoulders; your cheek eventually found the space just above his ribs. Warm, easy. Like a rhythm you already knew by heart.

You were half-asleep when it started—so subtle at first you weren’t sure you felt it. A twitch. A shift. Then his breath hitched. Sharper this time. His chest rising too fast beneath your hand.

Your eyes blinked open.

“Frankie?” you whispered, voice hoarse from sleep.

No answer.

His jaw was clenched. Face turned away, brow creased tight like it hurt to stay still. His breath came in short bursts now, shallow and panicked. One of his hands fisted into the blanket. The other trembled slightly on his lap, twitching like he was reaching for a thing that wasn’t there.

You sat up carefully, gently pressing your hand to his chest, grounding him.

“Hey,” you said, firmer now. “Frankie—breathe. You’re okay. You’re home. You’re safe.”

He gasped once, sharp and rough, before his eyes finally opened—wild and glassy. It took him a second to focus. And then—

“Oh,” he rasped. “Shit.”

“No,” you murmured, already pulling him close. “You’re okay.”

You didn’t ask what it was, you didn’t have to. You’d seen the way his eyes went distant sometimes, like they were seeing something else he couldn’t outrun.

He tensed for a moment, like his instinct was still to pull back, to apologize, to vanish into himself—but then your arms wrapped tighter and he just gave in. Letting the weight fall against you like he didn’t have the strength to carry it anymore.

You held him through it. His head tucked against your shoulder. One hand still gripping your sleeve like he needed to make sure you were real. He was fragile in a way that contradicted the broad-shouldered, cocky man who wore his humor like armor.

The room was quiet but full—your heartbeat in his ear, your breath anchoring his.

You didn’t say unnecessary, hollow things like ‘you’re strong’ or ‘you’re fine’ or ‘you’ll get through it’. You just stayed and tried to be there for him. 

And slowly his breathing settled again. His hand loosened. His shoulders uncoiled, the tremble fading from his frame as he leaned more of himself into your touch, like something inside him had finally, quietly cracked open.

You smoothed a hand through his curls, feeling them damp at the temples.

“I’m here,” you whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He didn’t answer with words—just a soft, broken nod against your collarbone that made your heart ache. It was vulnerable in a way that felt natural and delicate, like even the smallest movement might shatter the moment.

And somewhere in the silence that followed, you realized—maybe this was love. Not the loud, cinematic kind, but the quiet decision to stay when things got hard. The kind that held steady in the dark. And Frankie deserved that. He deserved someone choosing him for once, the way he’d always been the steady one for everyone else.

—

You woke to the scent of coffee.

Soft light spilled in through Frankie’s kitchen window, filtering through old curtains, catching on the dust in the air. The TV was off. The blanket from the night before half-slipped to the floor. For a second, you were warm and weightless, still caught in that liminal space between dreaming and memory.

Then you saw him.

He stood in the kitchen, shoulders tight, hands braced on the counter like the silence in the room was too loud to breathe in. His coffee mug sat untouched beside him. He hadn’t noticed you were awake.

You sat up slowly. “Hey.”

He flinched, just a little, voice distant. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”

Frankie nodded, not looking at you. A pause stretched between you, thick with whatever was unfolding right now. 

“Frankie…” you started, soft, despite your heart being in your throat from his sudden coldness.

“I’m sorry,” he said, too fast. His voice low and hard. “For last night.”

Your chest tightened painfully. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

“I do.” He finally looked at you. There was a flicker in his eyes that made you feel like you were standing on a cliff edge with him—like he was already backing away. “You shouldn’t have had to see that. It’s not fair to put that on you.”

“I wanted to be there.”

He shook his head. “You shouldn’t want that. You don’t know what you’re signing up for.”

You stood then, slowly, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. “Frankie, I’m not scared of you.”

“Well maybe you should be,” he snapped. And it wasn’t anger—it was fear. Pure and sharp. He swallowed hard, looking away again. “That wasn’t even the worst of it. Sometimes it gets bad. And I don’t sleep for days. And I pick fights I don’t mean to. And I spiral, hide it, pretend I’m fine until I’m not. And the last thing you need is to get caught in that.”

“I’m not just anyone,” you said quietly.

He went still.

You stepped closer, standing in front of him now. His hands were still on the counter, white-knuckled. You laid yours on top of his gently.

“You’re doing that thing again,” you whispered. “Trying to push me out before I can choose to stay.”

Frankie’s throat bobbed. His gaze was somewhere just past your shoulder, jaw clenched like he was holding back the tide.

“I saw you last night,” you said. “I see you, Frankie. Not just the parts you think are acceptable. All of it.”

His eyes finally met yours, and for a second they were glassy again, wide and wounded and scared.

“Don’t do that,” you said softly. “Don’t disappear on me in your own kitchen.”

He cracked then—not loud or dramatic. Just this quiet breath that shook in his chest like it hadn’t been allowed to move in years. He leaned forward slightly, forehead gently pressing to yours.

“I don’t know how to let anyone stay,” he said.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” you whispered. “One morning at a time.”

You stood there for a long while, your hands wrapped around his, the coffee growing cold beside you. And maybe he didn’t say anything else that morning—but his silence wasn’t a wall this time.

It was a beginning.

—

The air felt heavy before the rain even came. Thick with the kind of pressure that settled deep in Frankie’s chest, like the storm had already broken somewhere inside him.

You were walking beside him, close but not touching, shoes scuffing the sidewalk in quiet rhythm. It should’ve been peaceful. It looked peaceful. But Frankie hadn’t known real quiet in days. His head was a mess. Like a dial turned all the way up—cravings humming in his bones, memories pressing in like ghosts. The kind that crept in when he was tired or vulnerable or maybe just too close to anything good. He hadn’t touched anything. Not since you. But the itch was there. Whispering that it would take the edge off. That it would make him feel less.

Or worse—make him feel nothing.

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and exhaled through his nose.

“You’re doing it again,” you said softly.

He glanced at you, brow furrowing. “Doing what?”

“Going somewhere in your head without telling me.”

The words struck a chord. So gentle, but they saw him. And he hated how much he needed that. How much he wanted to let you in even though everything inside him screamed not to.

You stopped walking, so did he.

“I’m not good at this,” he admitted, voice rough. “Being seen like this. Like all of me. It’s not fair to you.”

You just looked at him for a long beat. “You were okay with my mess. So let me be okay with yours.”

Thunder rumbled somewhere behind the clouds, low and distant—but Frankie was sure the louder sound was whatever cracked open in his chest at your words. Steady, certain, unshakable. He’d known you were stubborn, but this was something else entirely— fiercer, more terrifying. That you wanted him not despite the cracks, but with them. This version of him, broken and bruised, the one he tried so hard to keep hidden from the world. And yet, here you were, choosing him anyway. He didn’t know if it made him want to kiss you or run. Maybe both.

He opened his mouth, but then the sky split.

Rain came fast—sheets of it. You both scrambled for cover under a nearby awning, water already dripping from your hair, your clothes sticking to your skin.

You looked at him, eyes bright despite it all, chest rising and falling fast. And for the first time in days, the noise in his head paused just enough. Because there you were. And maybe it was the rain or the look on your face or the way he felt like he’d fall apart if he didn’t touch you right then—but he did.

Frankie’s hands found your waist, pulling you into him like gravity. His mouth crashed against yours—messy, soaked, and real. You melted into him without thinking, like your body had been waiting for this. There had been kisses before, soft hellos and quick goodbyes, but not like this. This was different. This was everything unspoken—emotion, want, and longing—poured into a kiss that felt like a language only the two of you understood.

Clothes tugged, wet fabric shifted. You gasped against his mouth, soft and aching. He swallowed it down like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Your fingers in his hair, his on your hips, your thighs—

And then he stopped. Breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours.

“Wait,” he rasped. “Fuck—I’m sorry. I just… I can’t. Not like this.”

You nodded immediately, both your chests heaving, soaked and shivering. You didn’t pull away. Just rested your hands against his heart.

By the time you reached his apartment, everything was soaked. Shoes sloshing, clothes clinging, hair dripping in slick strands. The rain had slowed, but it hadn’t let up—not really. It was still there, like a pressure behind glass. Like a metaphor too on-the-nose for the thing inside him that wouldn’t break open.

He unlocked the door with shaking fingers, let you in first. You moved through the space quietly, like you didn’t want to disturb the air between you. Like he might shatter if you did.

Frankie shut the door behind him, leaned against it for a second longer than he meant to.

You stood in the center of the room, arms wrapped around yourself—not from the cold, but from a heat that twisted with confusion and a quiet ache he recognized all too well. He grabbed towels, draping one over your shoulders, rough cotton brushing your bare arms.

You gave him a soft, grateful smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

Frankie swallowed hard. His clothes were plastered to him, but he didn’t move to change. Didn’t move to touch you again. He couldn’t. Not without risking the whole dam inside him breaking.

You took a slow step toward him.

“Frankie?”

He looked up. And it nearly wrecked him—the way you looked at him. Still open, still there. And he was doing this. Ruining it, again. 

“Did I do something wrong?” you asked.

That hit deeper than any relapse ever had.

“No,” he said quickly, voice too tight, too brittle. “No, it’s not you.”

You frowned, arms dropping to your sides. “Then why do you keep pulling away like I’m going to break you?”

Frankie ran a hand through his wet curls, turned his back for a second just to breathe. Just to not grab your face and kiss you like a drowning man. Just to not fall apart.

“Because I want you,” he admitted, voice rough as gravel. “And that scares the shit out of me.”

He turned, met your eyes again.

“You don’t understand what it’s like… having something good that doesn’t feel like it’s going to be taken away. And if I let myself have it too fast, if I let myself have you like that—I don’t trust myself not to fuck it up.”

You stared at him for a long time. And God, the silence between you hurt more than anything. Because it felt like he’d just cut you open, even if that wasn’t his intent.

Your voice was small. “It kind of feels like you don’t want me at all.”

Frankie’s eyes closed and his jaw locked before he crossed the room in two steps, hands shaking as they caught your face.

“I want you,” he said, forehead pressed to yours. “So bad it fucking hurts.”

You exhaled, trembling. “Then why does it feel like a rejection?”

“Because I’m trying so hard not to ruin this,” he whispered. “Not to ruin you.”

There it was, the raw truth, the thing he didn’t say aloud to anyone else.

His thumb brushed your cheek, tentative, reverent.

“I’m still learning how to be okay,” he murmured. “But if you stay—just stay—I swear I’ll meet you there.”

—

You didn’t mean to hold your breath, but you did. Somewhere between I want you and I’m trying not to ruin you, a part of you curled inward, tight with fear and wanting.

Because he meant it. You knew he meant it, but that didn’t make it hurt less.

The warmth of his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your face so gently like you were precious—it should have made you feel wanted. Safe. But it only made the ache more pronounced.

You nodded softly, barely a movement at all.

“Okay,” you whispered.

His eyes fluttered open, searching yours. Probably hoping for more than just a single world.

But you didn’t give it.

Not because you didn’t want to, but because if you stayed another minute, you were going to fall apart. And you didn’t want him to see that. Didn’t want him to carry your heartbreak too.

So you stepped back.

His hands slipped away from your skin like a question left unanswered.

“I should go,” you said quietly, offering the smallest smile you could manage. “You’ve had a long night.”

Frankie’s brow creased. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” you cut in gently. “But I think I should.”

You reached for your jacket, still damp and wrinkled from the rain, the sleeves sticking to your arms as you pulled it on. You kept your eyes down—less chance of him seeing the flicker behind them.

At the door, you hesitated. Your fingers curled around the handle, and your voice came out before you could second-guess it.

“For what it’s worth,” you said, not looking back, “you wouldn’t ruin me.”

Then you slipped out into the cool night, heart thudding in your chest like a secret you couldn’t bear to say out loud.

—

You didn’t cry until you got home. It wasn’t loud or messy—just that kind of quiet unraveling, like threads tugged loose behind the ribs. The kind that creeps up in the silence after you close the door, when the world feels too still and your skin still remembers the way he touched you.

It wasn’t rejection. You knew that.

But it felt like it.

Felt like the start of something slipping through your fingers before it ever got the chance to land.

You kicked off your shoes and peeled off your damp clothes piece by piece, trading them for an old, oversized t-shirt that offered a strange kind of comfort. Then you curled into bed like you were trying to take up less space—like if you stayed small enough, the ache might shrink too.

He wanted you, you knew he did.

But the caution in his voice, the restraint in his body, the way he looked at you like he was made of jagged edges—it carved a sharp ache into you. Left a hollow place where the heat of his kiss had been.

And worse than that?

You understood why. So you didn’t text him the next day, or the day after that. You gave him space because he needed it—but also because you weren’t sure if he wanted you in it anymore. 

—

He felt like a monster.

That’s the word that kept circling his brain, cruel and familiar. Like it belonged there. Like it fit.

He hadn’t meant to hurt you. Jesus, never that.

But the second your hand slipped out of his, the second you whispered that soft little “Okay” like you were tucking your feelings into a drawer so he wouldn’t have to see them, he knew he’d fucked it all up.

Again.

He’d stood in the rain long after you left, water soaking through his shirt, cooling the heat of your body that still clung to him.

You wouldn’t ruin me.

Your words echoed louder than the storm had. But he didn’t believe them, not really.

Because if you didn’t mean anything to him, it would be easier. He could let it happen. Let you in. Let his hands slip beneath your clothes and pretend it didn’t mean more than it did.

But it did and that terrified him more than anything else.

So he stayed in his apartment, restless, watching the phone like it might forgive him. Like maybe if he stared hard enough, you’d reach out.

But you didn’t.

And part of him knew—you were waiting for him to show up differently, he just wasn’t sure if he knew how.

—

Three days passed. Maybe four. He wasn’t sleeping much, so time got slippery. The throw blanket you’d fallen asleep under still smelled a little like your shampoo— soft and vanilla. The kind of detail that shouldn’t have stuck in his head, but did anyway.

The rain had stopped days ago, but the storm inside him hadn’t.

He stared at his phone until the screen dimmed, then lit it again. Thumb hovering over your name.

Then, finally:

[Frankie] So… you still not sick? Because standing in the rain like that seems like the kind of thing people catch colds from. Just sayin’.

It wasn’t enough. But it was a start. He didn’t expect you to reply right away. But when you did, it was like oxygen after holding his breath too long.

[You] No fever, no cough. Just a lingering ache somewhere between the ribs. Probably weather-related.

He smiled. Actually smiled. It ached in his chest a little.

[Frankie] Should’ve known you’d be the stubborn type who survives a thunderstorm like it’s a spa day.

[You] You were the one dripping all over the sidewalk, Morales. I just happened to walk away faster.

That last line—soft. Unbitter. And it gutted him. Because it told him you were trying too, even now. Even after he’d made you feel small and unwanted in the middle of a moment that had meant everything to both of you.

He stared at your message a long time. Then called you.

You didn’t answer.

But five minutes later, your name lit up his screen.

“Hey,” you said, voice quiet but not cold.

“Hey,” he echoed. “I, uh. I meant to call sooner.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Just a breath, maybe two. Then: “I figured you needed time.”

“I did. I do,” he admitted. “But I don’t want space from you. Not like that.”

Something shifted in your silence—barely-there, like the moment a cloud moves off the moon.

“I was scared,” he continued, voice lower now. “Still am. What I felt that night—it wasn’t just about wanting you. It was everything else too. The part that says I’ll ruin it the second it’s good. The part that remembers every time I did.”

You exhaled, not a sigh, more like a quiet surrender. “I know, Frankie.”

And he could hear it in your voice: the ache, the understanding. The hope, too, buried just deep enough to keep you safe.

He wanted to say he was sorry, to explain that he hadn’t touched you like that because you didn’t matter—but because you mattered too much. That he hadn’t stopped because he didn’t want you—but because he wanted everything, and didn’t know how to survive that.

Instead, he just said, “Can I see you?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Come over.”

And something in him unclenched.

—- 

The knock was soft.

So soft you almost convinced yourself you imagined it—wishful thinking wrapped in thunderstorm memory.

But your body knew better.

You stood there for a moment with your hand on the doorknob, heart crawling up your throat. You hadn’t heard from him in days. Not since the rain. Not since he kissed you like he needed you and pulled away like he regretted it. And you told yourself you were fine. You told yourself space was good. You didn’t text him. Didn’t call.

But now he was here.

You opened the door, breath tight in your chest.

And there he was—Frankie, with damp hair curling at the edges, shirt clinging to his shoulders, looking like the storm hadn’t left him. Like maybe it had followed him all the way back to your front step.

He didn’t say anything.

Neither did you.

But your chest cracked wide open at the sight of him. You’d missed him more than you let yourself feel until now. Missed his stupid soft jokes and the way he looked at you when you weren’t paying attention. Missed the steadiness of him, the quiet hum he brought into your space just by being in it.

He stepped inside slowly, like he wasn’t sure he had the right. You let your shoulder brush his on the way past him, something quiet and deliberate. He stood still. You could feel the weight of everything in the room with you—the way your skin remembered his, the way your heart still beat a little faster in his presence, the way everything in you wanted to break and reach for him at the same time.

“I haven’t been able to sleep,” he said, voice low and worn.

You turned to face him, arms crossed before you could stop yourself. “Me neither.”

Your voice almost cracked.

And just like that, it broke.

Frankie crossed the space between you before you could think. His hands cupped your face, gentle, reverent. And his mouth met yours like he couldn’t stand another second apart. Like something in him had cracked too.

You kissed him back like it hurt to breathe without him. Like the ache of missing him had curled into your bones and only now could you begin to exhale.

Your fingers dug into the hem of his shirt, desperate for more—more of him, more warmth, more of this thing that had been burning between you since the very beginning. You felt the tremor in his hands, the restraint fighting the want, and it shattered you on the inside.

Because he was still holding back.

He broke the kiss first, panting, eyes half-lidded and dazed. “I don’t wanna stop,” he murmured, voice thick. “But if I don’t, I might not be able to.”

You blinked up at him, lips parted, chest rising and falling like you were trying to steady the unraveling inside you.

And then you said it. Quiet, raw, but sure:

“I really don’t want you to stop.”

The words hit him like a wave. You saw it in the way his eyes darkened, in the way his grip on your waist tightened just slightly—like he was torn between crashing into you or holding himself back.

He exhaled a sound that was almost a curse, forehead resting against yours. “Don’t say that,” he whispered, pained. “Not if you mean it like I do.”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

“I mean it exactly like you do.”

That broke him.

His lips were on yours again before either of you could think, kiss all teeth and desperation, his hands tangled in your shirt, yours pulling him closer, anchoring him to this moment, to you. The tension that had been simmering for weeks snapped like a wire—every soft glance, every near-touch, every silence that held more than words—it all burst open between you.

Your back hit the wall, and you didn’t care. His shirt was bunched between your fingers, your breath catching as his mouth left yours just long enough to find your neck. It was messy. Uncoordinated. Hungry. He groaned—low, rough, like it was torn straight from somewhere deep in his chest.

His mouth found the spot just behind your ear, sucking gently, not knowing it was your weakness—but feeling it anyway. Feeling the way your fingers tangled in the back of his hair, how you tugged with a breathless sound that cracked the last of his restraint. You arched into him, body aflame, every nerve ending reaching for more.

This wasn’t just hunger. It was everything you hadn’t let yourself want—everything that had been simmering under the surface for too long. Now that it was here, now that it was him, you knew you wouldn’t be able to let it go.

One of his hands slipped beneath your shirt, calloused palm dragging heat across your stomach until it hovered just beneath the curve of your breast. His thumb brushed the soft edge of skin there, and you gasped like you felt it in your spine.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” he rasped against your neck, voice wrecked, lips still swollen from where they'd claimed you moments ago.

The question hit you square in the chest—gentle, reverent, undoing.

Of course it was okay. You couldn’t remember a time you’d ever wanted anything more.

Your answer came out a little breathless, barely more than a whisper. “Yes.”

He didn’t wait.

His hand slid up, cupping you fully, like he’d been thinking about the weight of you in his palm for far too long. You moaned into his shoulder, half-embarrassed by how much it undid you—but you couldn’t help it. Not with his knee nudging between your thighs, not with the solid weight of his body pinning you gently to the wall, pressing into every part of you like he couldn’t bear an inch of space.

The friction was maddening.

You ground down on his leg instinctively, and he swore softly against your jaw, dragging his lips back to your mouth like he was starving.

But even in the heat of it—his hands were still careful. His mouth still reverent. Like he wanted to memorize the way you trembled, the way you gasped his name like it meant more than just desire.

Because it did.

It always had.

Frankie kissed you like he couldn’t breathe without it, like the days apart had unraveled him thread by thread, and only now—only here—could he start putting himself back together. His hands mapped you like he was trying to memorize you in the dark, fingertips learning your edges, your curves, your quietest reactions.

Your shirt was tugged over your head with a kind of reverence, his gaze trailing the exposed skin like it stunned him, like he’d never seen anything more beautiful. His hand stayed on your waist, grounding you, but his eyes flicked up to meet yours—checking, asking.

You nodded before he had to say a word.

He kissed down your neck again, slower now, lips dragging over collarbones as he dropped to his knees in front of you. With uttermost care he helped you out of your legging, followed by your underwear. His hands slid down the backs of your thighs, coaxing them apart, lifting one gently over his shoulder. Your breath caught as he looked up at you, completely focused, like there was no part of you he didn’t want to worship.

“You still sure?” he asked, voice hoarse but hands steady.

“Yes,” you breathed. “God, yes.”

The first stroke of his tongue was devastating. You jolted, a soft sound escaping your throat before you could bite it back. He groaned into you, like he felt it just as much as you did. He moved slowly, deliberately—like he had all the time in the world to learn what made you fall apart. And you did fall apart, slowly but surely. The walls, the hesitation, everything crumbled just in this moment. 

Your fingers twisted in his hair, anchoring yourself. And still, he didn’t rush.

He traced you with aching precision, lips and tongue working in tandem, one of his hands splayed against your stomach to hold you steady, the other inching back up to cup your breast again, thumb brushing your nipple until you gasped. The combination stole the breath from your lungs. Pleasure rippled through you in waves—sharp, unbearable, and building.

“Frankie,” you whimpered, thighs trembling around him.

He didn’t stop. He just looked up at you, eyes dark, hungry, and so gentle it nearly broke you.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice rough against your skin. “Let me.”

And you did.

You let go.

You came with a broken sound in your throat, back arching, hands gripping him like you’d come apart without the anchor of him, afraid you would break his head with your thighs. 

When he rose again, his mouth was slick with you, he kissed you slow and deep. He held you like you’re sacred, like this was more than just need—like it had always been more.

You buried your face in his shoulder, heart still racing. “Don’t stop,” you whispered again. “Please, Frankie—I really don’t want you to stop.”

His breath stuttered at your words. He nodded against your temple, voice trembling like the rest of him. “I won’t. Not this time.”

You took his hand, guiding him through the soft shadows of your apartment, your lips meeting again and again in hungry, half-breathless kisses. It was clumsy and heated, all hands and urgency, laughter blooming between kisses like it couldn’t help but live there.

You tugged his shirt off as you walked, fingers slipping beneath fabric, while he fumbled with his belt, pausing only to step out of his jeans—one pant leg catching stubbornly around his ankle. He hopped once, muttering a curse, and you laughed—genuine, bright, unguarded. His face lit up with it, eyes crinkling, like the sound of your joy was his reason to be.

By the time you reached the threshold of your bedroom, you were both breathless. He stood in nothing but his boxers, and you—naked, unhidden. Normally you’d hesitate, maybe pull the covers up or reach for a shirt. But the way he looked at you—warm, reverent, like you were something he never thought he’d get to touch—it made you feel bolder than you ever had.

You sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight, and reached for him—fingers sliding around his hips, pulling him closer. Your eyes flicked up to meet his as you slowly dragged his boxers down, freeing him. His cock sprang forward, brushing softly against his stomach, and you watched his breath hitch.

One hand went to the back of his neck in that nervous gesture you’d come to recognize—the quiet tell of his vulnerability.

“You really don’t have to do this,” he said softly, voice rough around the edges, uncertain.

You smiled, gentle and sure. “I know. But I want to. You deserve this.”

His expression softened, hands rising to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your lips with aching tenderness. And then you leaned forward.

Your lips pressed a kiss to his tip, slow and deliberate. Then you licked—kitten-soft, teasing. The sound he made was ragged and raw, a deep groan punched straight from his chest, and his fingers found your hair—not pulling, just grounding. Just holding.

You took him into your mouth with care, with hunger, and dangerously close to worship. His hips twitched, a strangled gasp catching in his throat, and you couldn’t help but smile around him, eyes flicking up to watch the way he fell apart.

Frankie was beautiful like this—unguarded, wrecked, his head tilted back and jaw slack, muscles trembling beneath your touch. You moved slowly, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing, letting every moan, every breathy curse, settle deep into your skin like a mark only you got to wear.

And he didn’t stop looking at you like maybe you were undoing him in ways he hadn’t prepared for.

You let him go with a soft, wet pop, eyes still fixed on his face. His were shut tight, like he was trying to hold onto the feeling, savor it. When he finally blinked them open, it took a second for him to remember where he was—who he was with. But you were already climbing back onto the bed, settling against the pillows, open to him in every sense of the word. Ready for whatever he would give you next.

You thought he might dive right in, all urgency and want. But he didn’t.

Instead, he hesitated.

He moved slowly, carefully, like this moment meant something he didn’t want to rush. He crawled up over you, bracing himself on his forearms, skin brushing skin, close enough to kiss but not yet taking. His fingers found a loose strand of hair and tucked it behind your ear with aching tenderness, the backs of his knuckles grazing your cheek.

Then he laughed—soft and disbelieving, a puff of breath against your lips. He shook his head, eyes searching yours like he still didn’t trust what he saw there.

“Can’t believe this is real,” he whispered, voice cracking slightly. “That you really want me… even with all my flaws.”

Your brows pulled together, heart catching in your throat at the way he said it. Like it wasn’t just surprise—it was fear. Like he was waiting for the moment you’d change your mind.

You reached up, hands framing his face with a gentleness that made his breath stutter. Your thumbs traced along his cheekbones, slow and grounding.

“Frankie,” you whispered, like saying his name could steady him. “You’re not perfect. Neither am I. But I want you. All of you.”

His eyes shone with an unspoken weight, old and aching, unhealed. He leaned into your touch like he needed it more than he could admit, pressing a kiss to your palm before resting his head into your hand.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured.

“You won’t,” you promised, even if it wasn’t a promise either of you could truly make. “Just stay. That’s all I want.”

He nodded, barely, like he was still letting himself believe it. And then he kissed you again—slow this time. Like he was trying to memorize your lips, the taste of your breath, the shape of safety. His body lowered onto yours, warmth sinking into every place you’d been cold for too long. And when he finally pushed inside you, it wasn’t rushed or wild. It was steady and careful. Like he wanted you to feel every inch of how much he meant it.

You wrapped your arms around his back, holding him close like you could keep both of you from falling apart. Like maybe, if you held tight enough, the cracks wouldn't split wide open.

Frankie found a steady rhythm, his body pressed so close to yours you felt like one—like there was no telling where he ended and you began. His hands slid beneath your back, keeping you anchored, as he kissed every inch of you he could reach. His mouth found the crook of your neck, breath hot, lips worshipping your skin while his hips moved with growing purpose. Faster, deeper. Still paying attention to you with every thrust.

He shifted your leg higher around his waist, the new angle sending lightning through your core, a moan tumbling from your lips as stars burst behind your eyes. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thigh, holding you there, grounding himself. He looked wrecked—face flushed with exertion, a wild curl falling across his forehead, his entire focus narrowed down to you. You’d never seen anything more beautiful than him like this, lost in you.

Your nails dragged down his back as the knot inside you tightened, the pleasure spiraling too quickly to contain. And when it broke, it did so with force—your release washing over you in waves, raw and loud and completely unguarded. He followed seconds later, hips stuttering, a guttural sound tearing from his throat as he buried his face into your shoulder. His arms held you close as he let go, his body trembling with the weight of it, one hand clutching your thigh, the other still braced beside your head. 

It took him a long, breathless moment to find his voice again.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, gently, and it undid you more than anything else ever could.

No one had ever asked before.

You nodded, running your fingers through his damp, beautifully disheveled hair, lips brushing his temple. “More than okay,” you whispered, and it felt like a full-circle moment—back to the tent weeks ago, under that quiet stretch of moonlight, when you kissed for the first time and didn’t yet know what you were starting.

—

Frankie lay there, your head tucked under his chin, your leg still draped over his hip like you didn’t plan on going anywhere. The room smelled like skin and heat and whatever the hell had just passed between you two—wild and soft all at once. A feeling he hadn’t let himself hope for.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at the ceiling, grounding himself in the feel of your body pressed against his, your breath warm against his chest, the beat of your heart steady under his hand. Everything in him was quiet for once. Not numb—just still. Like the war inside him had finally gone mute for a minute. You shifted slightly, brushing your nose against his throat, and his arm tightened around you on instinct.

He let out a breath, heavy and half-laughing. “Jesus,” he muttered, voice rough. “I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

You let out a little laugh, warm and teasing. “That bad, huh?”

He smirked, eyes closed, head sinking into the pillow. “Nah. Just might be too old for this shit.”

That made you laugh for real. The sound was bright and unguarded, your body shaking lightly against his, and God, it hit him like a sucker punch. 

He looked down at you, you were smiling—eyes crinkled, lips soft—and for a moment he just took you in. Not saying anything, just looking at you like he still couldn’t quite believe you were nothing his mind just made up.

“C’mere,” he murmured, voice low and a little wrecked.

You barely had time to react before he kissed you again. Slow at first—deep and familiar, like a language he didn’t know he remembered how to speak. And then it shifted. Got greedy and needy. Like he was already aching for another taste.

You hummed softly against his mouth, your hand sliding up to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair. His body responded before his words could—hips pressing into yours, slow and deliberate, like his need for you hadn’t gone anywhere.

He didn’t say a word.

Just rolled you beneath him again, lips trailing down your neck and across your collarbone, kissing you like he was memorizing you all over again. Like this was a rediscovery.

You made space for him—physically, emotionally—arms open, heart quiet but certain.

And when he sank into you again, it felt like something unspoken was being sealed between you. Too big for words, but demanded to be felt.

This wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just lust or a fleeting need finally satisfied. It was quieter, deeper. A promise made without speaking. A vow written into the space between each breath and each touch.

And he knew—God, he knew—that when you came undone beneath him for the third time that night, soft and wild and entirely his, he’d do anything to keep you close. Even when the darker parts of him flared up, the ones that told him to run before he got hurt. Even when those old instincts screamed at him to push you away, to sabotage what felt too good—he’d fight them. For you.

Because you gave him a home—not just in your bed, not just in your touch—but in your heart, and somehow, in your very bones.

And that was something Frankie never thought he’d have— didn’t even know he was allowed to want.

Not until now.

thanks for reading 💌

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[tightjeansjavi]

He’s serving so much cunt in my new profile pic 🤭✨💖

[chasinggeekdom-blog]

A perfect Disney's Hollywood Studios day post-runDisney 5k! 🏃‍♂️ 🏅 🎢