…You Love Me?
Frank Castle x High School Sweetheart!Reader - Glory Days
← prev chapter | series masterlist | next chapter →
Summary: How long can the honeymoon phase last? When will hurt inevitably slip through the cracks? After the phone call with Frank last night, agreeing to go to prom, none of those things are on your mind. But they should be. When you love someone… you accept hurt. One does not exist without the other. How long does a good thing last?
Warnings: fluff, dual pov, Billy Russo stirs the pot, suggestive language/past experiences, Frank’s no saint, important words are said, another piece gearing up for larger arcs.
w/c: ~2k
Billy Russo’s like the goddamn Pink Panther. Tall, slender, sly. Always got that smug ass look on his face. Up to no good. Morning’s no exception.
Lines under his eyes, face fixed in his usual scowl, Frank empties his backpack in his school locker as Bill goes on and on and fuckin’ on. Hasn’t even been able to peel his jacket or stocking cap off and Bill’s on one.
Smells like erasers and too much CK One perfume. Bill always smells like fuckin’ French toast ‘cause it’s cheap and someone else’s laundry ‘cause you gotta share in group homes.
“Must be some pretty good pussy if it’s got you going to prom,” Billy mocks, a songy emphasis on prom telling on his jealousy. Not over you. No. It’s control. Hair greased back in thin strings that sit on his shoulders, Bill slings his arm over the top of Frank’s locker, making himself at home since Frank’s the closest thing he’s had to one.
“Fuck off, Bill,” a sharp finality in Frank’s tone as he throws a hefty textbook to the foot of his locker with a muffled boom. “Ain’t screwin’ ‘er.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, grandpa. That too vulgar for you and your sweetie? I’m sorry. You makin’ sweet, innocent, passionate love to her? That what it is, Frank?”
“Jesus Christ,” Frank hucks his bag into the locker next, boots turning a half step to fully face Billy, look down at him with raised brows. “You’re sick, you know that?”
“So… what then? You just hold hands? Little smooches like you’d give your sweet ol’ gramma? Mwah mwah mwah—”
Fed up, Frank’s face cements. “You done?”
Bill reads it, long and hard. Eyes squint, a devious spark ‘cause the fucker knows he’s getting under Frank’s skin. He pushes his tongue into his cheek to stop a smirk. “…For now.”
“Good.” And Frank turns back into his locker to finish what he started.
Russo takes inventory of the hall, the hordes of their peers congregated together before first period starts. If you ask Bill? They’re all inferior. Always have been, always will be, and they’ll chant his name when he’s rich and powerful. “When’d you get to be such a pussy anyway, Frank?”
“Could ask you when you got ta’ be such a prick, but I think you was made that way.”
Billy chuckles, grins.
Frank can’t resist his own faint smirk.
Billy’s face falls first, the humor curdled.
“So that’s it,” Billy says. “You’re seriously gonna bail out on our bachelor night.”
“Yep.”
“Same tradition we’ve had for four years. Every stupid fuckin’ dance. Homecoming, winter formal, prom. You’re out on me. On me. The dozens of babes comin’ to the party.”
“Yep.”
“Gonna leave me alone to drink four cases of beer with the whole cheerleading squad. Unbelievable. You like Vanessa, Frank. Remember Vanessa? Cute perky blonde. All you needed was a little liquid courage. Last year you really liked that thing she did with her mo—”
The mention incites Frank. A hot flare streaks up his neck, puts fire in his eyes as his head snaps towards Billy. “Finish that sentence ‘n I’ll cut your goddamn tongue out, Russo.”
“Easy, big guy,” Billy surrenders, hands up. An amused tilt to his head, grin dormant. “Just making an observation. No harm, no foul. It’s all in the past. I won’t tell your pretty little princess. Your secrets have always been safe with me, Frank.” He pauses, the seconds souring his face.
Bill sees black and white in life. Sees him or nothin’. So if Frank’s choosin’ you? He’s a traitor. “Well,” Bill reigns in his disdain. Fixes it with a too-tight smile. “I’m happy for ya, man. Good for you. Maybe you won’t leave prom a virgin.”
“Eight in the goddamn mornin’ ‘n you’re bustin’ m’balls,” Frank shakes his head as he busies his hands so they don’t find Bill’s face.
“Only way they seem to get busted, right?” That shit eating grin again, the nudge of Bill’s elbow into Frank’s side ‘cause he can’t not poke the bear.
Frank’s grumbling a cursed insult when he sees the only movement that matters in his periphery.
You.
Russo’s forgotten.
Frank lifts his head. Catches your eyes in an instant, like they dunno where else to look but you. The fatigue softens. The scowl alleviates.
You make a straight, leisurely walk through the middle of the hall. Bag on your shoulder, face bright like you slept good like he told you to. Hair sectioned in four little twists on top of your head, held in place by four little butterfly clips. You only do your hair when you’re feelin’ good, Frank knows that. Makes his heart lurch across the hall for you.
Your nose scrunches when you smile too big.
Frank loves it.
You’re doin’ it at him now as you wave.
No one sees the development of Billy’s hatred because that’s how he keeps it. Under the surface. Enemies close. Resentment closer.
You wave. A shy flutter of your fingers.
Frank waves back. Big, blocky hand in a daze as his eyelids get all heavy like he’s toked the fuck up.
Doesn’t even realize how Bill’s going red. How his eye twitches, smile ripped so tight his lips might split. “Speak of the devil,” Billy speaks through clenched teeth, close-lipped and petty. “Guess I’ll see myself out.”
But his feet stay planted a moment longer.
“Yeah, sure, see you ‘round, buddy,” Frank automatically spits out.
Bill scoffs, almost humored in his disbelief. He takes a step back. Pauses. “Hey, Frank.” Bill waits until Frank blinks a glance over at him—nothing more, just that one fleeting second. Looks up at Frank, all cold steel and icy anticipation in his stare. “Remember these things are supposed to end, hm? High school. This shit. It ain’t forever.” A smile of all charm and zero authenticity. “Don’t want a girl breakin’ my brother’s heart.”
“She won’t,” Frank says, eyes trained on you. “Not this one.”
Frank doesn’t realize the problem isn’t you.
Frank’s many things.
You’ve noticed how, in the mornings after a shift, he’s an oversized teddy bear. A little ornery, even, but not towards you.
“Hey, pretty girl, mornin’,” he says as you slip into his side, his arm coming around your shoulders for a half-hug. Just the right amount of PDA to leave you wanting more.
“Good morning,” you hum, eyes fluttering when he smooshes you in, the side of his hat-covered head warm where it presses on top of yours.
Pulling back to slide from the embrace naturally, Frank stamps a kiss to your temple. Finally gets to shed his jacket, thumbing quick over your jaw like he can’t resist with one arm out the sleeve. “How’s your mornin’, huh? You get that resume done f’me?”
“I did,” you smile as you sling your backpack forward, balancing it as you rummage a folder for the pristine packet of papers. “You didn’t tell anyone at the grocery store we’re dating, right? I don’t want to be a nepo-hire.”
“Good girl,” Frank nods once as he takes your resume, slotting it safely onto the shelf in his locker. “Didn’t say nothin’.”
He said he could’ve talked to his boss, got you the job without an interview. But… how’re you supposed to be self made anything if you get handouts? You don’t want easy. You want to be worth it.
“Thanks,” you say, hushed through your smile. “You sure you don’t mind looking it over for me before we drop it off after school?”
“F’you? Ain’t no problem. ‘Sides. S’the least I could do with you fixin’ my whack ass English essay. Fuckin’ hate that shit.”
“Oh! Right. Here—” more rifling in your bag until you retrieve it, handing it over.
He did the work. You just fine-tuned the verbiage, corrected the grammar and punctuation, and made sure it would get a solid B. Because you wanted to. This is how this—you and Frank—work. You help each other where the other falls short.
“What’d I do without ‘chu, huh?” Frank asks, head bent to keep the gravel-rumble of his question between your faces.
For having been at work, he smells amazing. The distinct scent of his house (aromatic spices and fresh bread?), clean laundry detergent, and cedarwood filters into your nose and soothes every nerve in your body. “…Fail the essay,” you murmur.
“Yeah…” Frank’s eyes drop to the smiling curl of your mouth, looking every bit like he’s refraining from laying one on you. “Yeah, thinkin’ I sure as shit would, doll.”
You make no move. The abeyance of time right here is better than an actual kiss. The look of want in his eyes. Eyes that never leave you. Eyes that trace your lips, your nose— every conceivable feature on your face. Frank memorizes all over again with such profound fondness your heart swells until it aches.
“Gonna kiss me, Castle?” you whisper, your own eyes watching his lips twitch into the slightest, crooked smirk. “Or just keep standing there pretending you don’t wanna?”
“I ain’t pretendin’,” Frank admits, smirk twisting into a one-sided grin. “‘M savin’ us from detention.”
“Oh, yeah?” Your lashes heavy, cheeks hot. You tip your chin up in invitation, mouth just one painful, thrilling inch from his. Adding fuel to the fire, you reach up and comb the hair flipped up under the brim of his beanie. “How’re you saving us from detention?”
“‘F I kiss you now…?” A click of his tongue. His eyes squint, a playful—albeit serious—intensity to his expression. “Ain’t gonna be able t’ stop.”
Laughter punches out of you. A small thing, but genuine nonetheless. “Romantic…” And as you put one step between you two—you know he’s not lying—you yank his hat down over his eyes, tug him in by it, and pop a big fat smooch to the hunch of his nose. “Behave,” you murmur through a soft grin, holding the hat in place. “That’s an order, tiger.”
Right on track, Frank rumbles that goofy ass chuckle. Lets you manhandle him. Stays put as you sway his head by control of the beanie.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The bell rings, announcing first period, but you don’t scatter at it like everyone else. Hurried shuffles. Squeaks of tennis shoes. Class can wait. This can’t.
“See you in gym,” Frank says.
“See you in gym,” you agree. But before you let him go…
You draw him in slow. Carefully, almost, like despite being a tank in size and weight and temper, he deserves gentle handling.
And you kiss him all the same…
Slowly. Carefully. Like he deserves gentle handling.
A soft but familiar brush of lips. Close enough you can taste the coffee he’s drank, loose enough it won’t warrant detention, and tempting enough you’re sure he’ll think about it for the rest of the day.
Yet when you pull back, something… spills.
You don’t mean for it to. It just… gets pulled out of you with the kiss, a natural conclusion to something so tender and precious it only makes sense.
“…Love you, Frankie.”
Everything freezes. You. Him. Time.
Two words. Two barely audible words leave your mouth before your eyes ever open. For him. Because of him.
Frank’s breath stutters against your lips, left statuesque with the hat over his eyes; blind to the reality.
A catch in your breath rolls your throat, bunches your shoulders up at the gravity of your confession. Heart bottomed out in your stomach, you think you might blow chunks on his face next. Your eyes fling open, mortification draining color from your face. You see double. Double hat over double Frank’s face, heart hammering away so fast the hallway falls sideways.
Hoarse now, Frank stammers, “You, uh—?”
“I uhhh— I’ll… see you in gym! Okay? Okay. Good talk! Good stuff! Bye, Frank!”
Before Frank can get your name out, you’re gone. You dart down the hall, zip around a corner, and disappear.
Only after you evac can he move, his soul reentering his body by a miracle.
The second bell rings.
He’s late for first period.
Standing to full height again, Frank pulls the hat from his head. Frizzed curls fall out. Wide, dark eyes gape at the space where you once were, where your lips said love and his name in the same sentence like it’s meant to be. World in elated smithereens, Frank catches top of his locker to stay upright.
“Jesus Christ…” bewildered and rasped, he drags a hand down his face. Tries to clear his vision, his head. Pinches his own side, but he’s immune to pain. He doesn’t need the pain as proof. Not when he has you and the ferocity of this raging sickness known as love.
“…You… love me, pretty girl?” he whispers to no one but himself, awestricken in the deserted hall with residual heat of your lips on his. “Shit, I— fuck, I—”
People’ve said a lotta shit to Frank over the years.
You’re an asshole, Frank.
You’re fucking freak, Frank.
You’re a fuck up, Frank.
Frankenstein Frank.
Never had anyone say… love you, Frank.
Then again… he ain’t ever had anyone like you.
“…Goddamn it, I love you too, sweetheart.”
content is mine, always without the use of AI. i am strongly against AI in fandoms. do not share or repost on any other site without consent of the author (hi, me). characters are not mine. do not feed my work to any AI platforms. this is not a place for anyone under 18.
Tags (tag list open, only for 18+ users): @emma-frxst @tigerf-cker @harbouredsoulss @gingin3-blog @notimminent @yesshewrites1 @allinourprivate-traps @saintcastiglione @cinamqnr0ll @peterftpercy @star-yawnznn @gradysbaby @writeoffside @tintedrose2609 @hyperfixationsgobrr @athalia-amor
please consider reblogging to help this reach more people! comments are massively appreciated! if you’re not comfortable commenting publicly, consider sending an anon ask! 🩷🩷🩷 THANK YOU!
divider creds: strangergraphics & starrliqhtt / pics from Pinterest
