One of my favorite things about this season is the quiet moments between Frank and Karen. There are just some really beautiful scenes between them.
WOLL: One of our favorite moments is in one of the very first scenes, when she hugs him, out of the blue. I liked that because, in reading the first two episodes, you’ve been through so much and learned so much about all of the horrible things that have happened to him that by that moment, the audience wants to give him a hug. You want to reach out to him and be like, “It’s okay! You don’t have to kill!” I liked that, in that moment, I could speak for the audience. I could reach out and treat him like a human being, in a way that a lot of the rest of the world won’t. [x]
summary: inspired by porch light by josh meloy. frank made a promise: come hell or high water, he would always come home to you. he intends to make good on that.
a/n: well well well. fulfilling the fanfic author cliche of “i have literally been through hell since my last update. so sorry i fell off the side of the earth for awhile.” to keep it vague, losing someone really made me lose my desire to write. while the wound will probably never heal, for the first time in so long, i’ve felt like i could do this again. and who better to bring us back then frank motherfucking castle. please excuse the writing it’s been so so long. but, if you would like to be added to a frank taglist, lmk and i will happily add you. no promises of how often i will make updates bc school is actually kicking my ass, but i’m trying!
picture was taken from pinterest! credits to the owner!
with the wind knocked from his lungs and blood still dripping from his face, frank had one mission left to complete before he could collapse: get home.
he made the promise long ago when you had moved into the quaint house in the suburbs with him.
no matter how ugly it was, how badly he was injured or how empty he felt, he would make his way home to you. night after night, he kept his promise, only breaking it when he was away for a multi-night event, like this past one.
but he had sent you the text, so he couldn’t go back on his word now.
i’m coming home baby. leave the porch light on.
his bones felt like lead as he heaved himself into his truck, a two hour drive ahead of him until he would see you. his reason, his heart, his everything.
———
your past few nights were hauntingly quiet. no sounds of clatter from the kitchen as frank cooked for you both, no soft hum of the television as he watched one of his documentaries, no quiet breaths as he slept next to you.
on nights without him, sleep almost always evaded you. it’s not that you didn’t want to, it’s not even that you were particularly worried about frank.
of course, there would always be anxiety with the line of business he was in. but you knew him. not even a bullet to the head could take him out. a symbol of strength and perseverance, he was nearly indestructible in your mind.
it was the lack of his heat that kept you awake until the wee hours of the morning. the absence of his smell, so strong of cedar and masculinity that made it impossible for you to find rest. the missing arm that he draped over your waist as you slept, a constant weight and reminder that even in sleep, he would never let anything get to you first. he would throw himself over your body and take a thousand shots to his back before so much as a shot gun bead could penetrate your skin.
around eleven, as you lie lounging on your couch, caught up in one of frank’s many books, the familiar buzz of your phone startled you out of your story.
a message from an unknown number sent anxiety through your bones. until you opened it.
you saw the words and relief passed through your body.
i’m coming home baby. leave the porch light on.
you knew who it was instantly. a small smile spread across your lips.
you typed out a short message back.
will do.
———
the two hour window between the text and frank’s arrival felt like eternity. your mind filled with questions.
would he be covered in blood?
would ahe be silent like he always was after a particularly rough night?
did he succeed on his little quest?
finally, the firm sound of boots on your creaky old steps fell upon your ears and interrupted your constant internal monologue of questions. you were instantly on your feet, reaching the front door in record time.
you stared at him. even from your poorly lit porch, you could see the sheen of blood on his face.
he lifted his head and saw your familiar silhouette.
god, he’d fucking missed you.
“hey baby,” he graveled out.
“frank, honey…” you started as you went to meet him on the third step.
you reached him in a second, hands instantly coming to his face. you needed to feel the rough stubble of his beard and the contrast of his soft skin.
“hey, hey..” he whispered, gently removing your hands from his face and placing them on his shoulders instead.
you leaned into him, head resting against that stony chest of his, absorbing the heat of his body, enraptured in the scent of gunpowder and blood and him.
he kissed the top of your head, seamlessly melting back into the man he was with you. the patient, gentle man who’s only wish was to keep you safe and tend to your every desire.
“missed you so fuckin much baby. couldn’t get here fast enough,” he softly said, gently pulling you out of his chest and tilting your chin up to him.
your eyes met his, melting that roughness he had carried back with him with your one look.
“missed you too frankie. cmon let’s get inside,” you said, grabbing his hand and leading him off the porch and through the front door.
the smell of home nearly made his heart burst as it reached his busted nose. the flowers he had bought you before he left, his favorite pasta dish you had likely made for dinner, the laundry that you had folded up neatly now lying on the couch and you. he nearly groaned as he felt it all surround him.
he dropped his bag just after you had closed the door behind him, letting the weight of the past few days slip off him.
“let me,” you said, bending to untie his dirty old boots.
“i got-“
“no frank. let me take care of this,” you told him.
a small grin graced his face. of course you wanted to tend to him. always giving, always soothing. how could a man so thoroughly fucked up as himself ever deserve you? ever deserve to come home to all of this?
you tapped his ankles, indicating your completion of the task. he slipped them off and reached down to grab your hand.
“thank you,” he said, “you don’t need to-“
“you stubborn, stubborn man. just let me help you,” you smiled.
god he shouldn’t be this lucky. not after all he’s done.
“kay baby,” he relented, letting you do what you always did for him. make him feel.
———
you led him upstairs and into the bathroom and turned on the hot water for him.
he unfastened his belt and dropped his pants. as you turned back toward him, you gave him a soft smile.
“c’mere,” he let out, pulling you back into him. he couldn’t get enough of this. feeling you against him. warm, safe, home.
you slid your hands underneath his black henley. he allowed it, let you pull it up over his head. allowed you to run your nails over his tight abs as his muscles tensed.
“get cleaned up. i’ll go warm up the leftovers-“
“nah don’t worry about it. not hungry. just want you,” he said meeting your gaze beneath his, keeping his arms around you, his bare skin against your clothed form.
a yawn crept out of you, your darkened under eyes becoming noticeable to frank as he looked at you closer.
“go get in bed sweetheart. be right there,” he said as he released you. you let him be, closing the door gently on the way out. you knew he needed that time alone, needed to let the heat of the shower wash away his newest sins.
———
you stripped from your clothing, clad only in your underwear, and slipped under the sheets.
after a few minutes, frank opened the door attached to your bedroom and came out in his boxers, the steam from the shower wafting out after him.
he saw your form bundled beneath the thick comforter and felt everything fade from him. every ache in his body, every pain in his heart, all the rage he kept buried inside. it just… dissipated. because there was his girl. sleepy eyes locked on his, trying so hard to stay open. body wrapped in god knows how many blankets because you were always “so cold, frankie. you’re my heater.”
this was what he came home for. this angel of a woman, the beat in his fucking chest.
he slid under the blankets, exhaling a sigh of relief.
it took him less than a second to reach for your body and pull you into him. he indulged his desire to have your skin on his.
you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of irish spring soap. you’d lost track of how many times you’d told him he needed more than just one bar of soap for everything.
he kissed the crown of your head and another yawn escaped you.
“i got you now, baby. just sleep,” he said.
“g’night frankie. so glad you’re home,” you said sleepily.
“no where i’d rather be,” he responded quietly, slowly shutting his eyes and allowing sleep to overtake him.
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