𝔡𝔬𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔢𝔯﹕ everywhere you go, women throw themselves at frank. it leaves you feeling like there's no way forward. it only takes one argument to let frank know how you feel about him.
𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔤𝔱𝔥﹕ 2,302
𝔬𝔟𝔧𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔢﹕ one-sided love, confession, argument, stubbornness (ofc from franks side), angst, fluff, frank being soft
𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔤𝔢𝔱﹕ frank castle x reader (f)
𝔠𝔞𝔰𝔲𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔶 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤﹕ yelling. man raising voice. but this is frank so it's expected right?
𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰﹕inspired by the cure - olivia rodrigo. guys i've had this idea since the first day of my holiday. so glad it's out now
Cigarette smoke clings stubbornly to the wooden beams inside of the bar despite the indoor smoking ban having been lifted years ago.
Country music hums softly from an old jukebox tucked into the corner while a baseball game flickers across the televisions mounted above the shelves of liquor.
It isn't the sort of place either of you would normally choose, but after three days of chasing a lead across three different states, neither of you has the energy to care.
He's settled comfortably beside you, broad shoulders relaxed for what feels like the first time in days, a half-finished glass of bourbon resting between rough hands that bear more scars than either of you could count. His boots are hooked beneath the stool, his attention fixed somewhere between the television overhead and the amber liquid swirling in his glass.
You wish yours could stay there too. Instead, it keeps wandering.
The woman who approaches him can't be much older than thirty. Blonde hair, a dark, burgundy lipstick, denim shorts that seem better suited for somewhere considerably warmer than this forgotten town in the middle of nowhere. She leans one elbow against the bar, smiling like she'd already won.
"You mind if I sit here?"
Frank glances towards the empty stool. "Go ahead."
She thanks him before climbing onto it, flagging down the bartender almost immediately. "You look like you could use another."
Frank gives a small shrug. "If you're offering."
The sound grates against every nerve you have.
You tell yourself not to read into it. Frank hasn't smiled. He hasn't flirted back. He's barely looked at her for more than a few seconds at a time. But he's letting it happen.
The bartender slides another bourbon across the counter, and she pays before Frank has the chance to reach for his wallet.
"There," she says proudly. "Least I could do."
Frank nods once. "'Preciate it."
His attention drifts back to the television before she's even finished speaking.
And you should feel reassured, but your stomach twists.
She keeps talking, leaning closer each time Frank answers with another short sentence, her fingers brushing against his forearm every now and then as though touching him is the most natural thing in the world.
She mistakes his politeness for interest as he's answering her questions as plainly as possible.
Each time, there's a woman looking in his direction. Pointing to their friends and pulling faces that indicate they're attracted to him.
The more you look, the more you notice it keeps happening. Woman after woman.
Your chest feels painfully tight as every burst of laughter from across the bar scrapes against something already raw inside you. You try to focus on the condensation sliding down the side of your glass, on the baseball game flickering overhead, on the low murmur of conversations weaving together beneath the music, but your eyes keep drifting back to Frank.
He hasn't noticed the effect he's having on you, not once all evening. He sits there exactly as he always does, broad shoulders relaxed beneath his worn jacket, answering questions with the same clipped honesty he offers everyone. He never flirts, never smiles more than politeness requires, yet he never gives them a reason to stop either.
Another woman leans against the counter beside the blonde woman—assuming her friend—her perfume carries across the space between you.
She laughs at something he says, resting her hand briefly on his arm as though the gesture belongs there, and your stomach twists so sharply that it steals the breath from your lungs. Frank merely glances at her before looking back towards his drink, seemingly unaware that she's hanging onto every word he says.
You know you're being unfair. Frank hasn't done anything wrong. He isn't encouraging them, nor is he seeking their attention, but logic does little to soothe the jealousy that's been quietly eating away at you all evening. Loving someone who doesn't know they've become your entire world is painful enough without having to watch everyone else realise exactly how remarkable they are.
The thought alone is enough to make your chest ache.
You set your empty glass onto the bar with a quiet clink and slide from your stool before you can talk yourself out of it.
"I'm gonna get some air."
Frank finally tears his attention away from the conversation beside him, his brow knitting together almost immediately as his eyes settle on your face. "You alright?"
You force a smile that feels brittle at best and nod once. "Yeah. Just need five minutes."
He studies you for a moment longer, concern flickering behind his eyes, but eventually inclines his head.
The evening air hits your face the moment you step outside, carrying with it the faint scent of approaching rain and the lingering warmth of the day that's only just beginning to fade.
You don't stop walking until you've rounded the side of the building, putting the noisy bar and its bright neon lights behind you, before resting both hands against the cool brick wall.
You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the sting behind them to disappear, but the harder you fight it, the more overwhelming it becomes. You hate yourself for feeling this way. Frank isn't yours. He never promised you anything, never hinted that there might be something more between you, and yet watching woman after woman throw themselves at him has left you feeling foolish enough to wonder why you ever let yourself hope in the first place.
The sound of the bar door opening behind you breaks through your thoughts.
Heavy footsteps cross the pavement at an unhurried pace before stopping a few feet away.
Frank's voice is softer than you'd expected, carrying the familiar concern that's always reserved for you.
A humourless laugh slips from your lips unintentionally. You keep your eyes fixed on the cracked asphalt beneath your feet, afraid that if you look at him now, every feeling you've spent months burying will spill out before you're ready.
"You seriously have to ask?"
A brief silence follows. "I do," he admits honestly. "You walked out."
"You've barely said two words in the last hour."
His boots scrape quietly against the pavement as he steps closer, though he leaves enough space between you that you don't feel cornered. "Talk to me."
You shake your head. "There's nothing to talk about."
"No." His voice remains calm, but there's an unmistakable firmness beneath it. "Something's wrong."
Frustration bubbles painfully beneath your ribs. "Why can't you just leave it alone?"
You let out a sharp breath, your composure beginning to splinter around the edges. "You really don't know why?"
He studies you for a moment, genuine confusion settling across his features before he slowly shakes his head. "No."
The answer is enough to make something inside you finally snap. "Of course you don't."
His brow furrows. "Don't what?"
Frank blinks, clearly thrown by the accusation. "Sit where?"
"In there." You gesture angrily towards the glowing bar sign behind him. "You sit there while woman after woman throws herself at you, and you act like none of it's happening."
His expression shifts from confusion to disbelief. "They were just talking."
"I wasn't flirting back."
"I wasn't gonna be rude."
"They were buying your drinks, Frank."
"They kept touching you."
"I moved away when I noticed."
"You noticed?" The disbelieving laugh that escapes you is edged with hurt. "You barely even looked at them."
"I wasn't interested in them."
"Then why didn't you tell them that?"
He stares at you for a beat before answering with complete sincerity. "...Because I didn't think I had to."
That simple admission steals the anger from beneath your feet, replacing it with something infinitely more painful. "You really don't get it," you whisper.
"I don't," he says quietly. "Help me understand."
"It's watching them smile at you like they already know they're going to get your attention. It's seeing them touch you whenever they feel like it, hearing them ask if you're seeing anyone, hoping you'll tell them no." You swallow hard, your gaze dropping to the cracked pavement beneath your feet.
"And every single time it happens, I have to stand there pretending it doesn't make me feel sick."
Frank's expression softens, concern replacing the confusion, but he still doesn't interrupt.
"It shouldn't bother me," you continue quietly. "You've never given me a reason to think I have any right to be upset. You don't owe me anything, Frank. You can talk to whoever you want." Another humourless laugh slips free as you shake your head. "I know that."
You close your eyes for a brief moment before finally looking back at him, the tears you'd fought so hard to keep at bay slipping silently down your cheeks.
"Because I'm in love with you."
The words settle between you in the silence.
"I have been for a long time," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper now. "Long enough that watching other women flirt with you feels like someone's reaching into my chest and pulling pieces out one by one."
You force yourself to hold his gaze, even as your heart threatens to beat its way out of your chest.
"I know you don't feel the same, and I hate myself for even telling you because I know I've probably just ruined the best friendship I've ever had..." You laugh weakly, shaking your head. "...but I couldn't keep pretending anymore."
The sound of his boots follows as he closes the distance, and before you can move again, his hand curls carefully around your wrist. His grip is loose enough that you could pull away if you wanted to, but you don't.
You blink over your shoulder. "What?"
He lets out a short breath, shaking his head to himself before looking back at you. "You really think I wanted any of that?"
"I watched it all night, Frank."
"They were all over you."
"'Cause I was tryin' to be polite."
"Yeah." He nods with purity.
"They were practically sat in your lap."
"I wasn't lookin' at them." His words cut clean through your argument.
"I wasn't lookin' at them." His thumb shifts absentmindedly against your wrist before he exhales slowly. "I was lookin' at you."
The world seems to fall silent. "I kept wonderin' why you were so damn quiet." His gaze searches yours, as though he's only just beginning to piece the evening together.
"You stopped laughin'. Stopped joinin' in. Every time one of 'em came over, you'd get this look on your face." He shakes his head, a small, almost frustrated smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Thought maybe I'd done somethin'. Didn't know what."
"I didn't entertain any of 'em because they weren't the one I wanted talkin' to me."
"They could've been anybody."
His voice is steady now, certain in a way that leaves no room for doubt. "Didn't matter. They weren't you."
Your eyes sting all over again. "But..." You shake your head slowly, struggling to keep up. "You never said anything."
He laughs quietly. "Neither did you."
"I thought you deserved better. I figured if you wanted me..." He gives another small shake of his head. "You would've said somethin'. So I kept my mouth shut."
He looks at you then with an expression so open, so vulnerable, that it steals every remaining word from your lips.
"Truth is..." His voice softens. "You're the only woman I've been lookin' at for a long damn time."
He studies your face with an expression you've never seen before. The guarded edges he carries so effortlessly have softened, replaced by something quieter, something almost uncertain.
His thumb brushes absentmindedly across the back of your hand before he lets out a slow breath.
"So..." A faint smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. "Guess we're both a couple'a idiots."
"I think that's a fair assessment."
Silence settles between you again, but this time it feels different. Lighter. Easier. As though years of unspoken feelings have finally made room for something neither of you quite knows how to navigate yet.
Frank's eyes drift from yours to your lips for only a second before returning to meet your gaze.
His voice is quieter when he speaks again.
Out of everything he'd said tonight, somehow those four words undo you the most.
You nod before your voice has the chance to catch up with your emotions, another smile breaking through the tears you'd almost forgotten were there.
His expression softens as he takes one careful step closer, lifting a scarred hand to gently cup your cheek. His touch is impossibly warm against your skin, his thumb brushing away the last lingering tear before he offers you the smallest, almost shy smile.
He closes the distance slowly, giving you every chance to change your mind before his lips finally meet yours. The kiss is impossibly gentle, lingering just long enough to tell you everything the two of you had spent years too afraid to say aloud.
And when he finally pulls back, his forehead comes to rest against yours as a quiet smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"Worth the wait," he murmurs.
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ 𝔯𝔢𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢!
