#fix'er upper

[givemethatgold]

The beginning of Summer sees you pack up your meagre belongings and move to a quiet Vermont town. The farmhouse you had purchased ��Sight-unseen” was worse than you could ever have imagined. Just your luck that the grumpy apple orchardist is willing to trade labour for labour, helping you renovate after you assist him with his harvest. He also just so happens to be handsome, gold-hearted, and as emotionally awkward as you are.

TW: past abusive relationships, past drug use, alcohol, angst, fluff, eventual smut. Warnings for each chapter are listed at the top of each post as well 💛

Part One 

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

Part Eleven

Part Twelve 

Part Thirteen

Part Fourteen

Part Fifteen

Part Sixteen

Part Seventeen

Part Eighteen

Part Nineteen

Part Twenty 

Part Twenty One

Part Twenty Two

[givemethatgold]

SORRY FOR THE DELAY IN POSTING THE NEXT PART!

by Gaspar Uhas

[ladyxskywalker]

Pedro Pascal Fic Recs 💫

princessxkenobi's 1k September Celebration 🌼🍂📖

thank you to the amazing fic writers for sharing some wonderful stories with all of us ! & to the kind readers for their constant support. 💛

please be sure to check all warnings & tags before reading

nsfw & adult content will be marked with a double asterisk **

fics marked as (series) are stories with two or more parts

pairings will be listed as (gn, f, afab, m, oc, ofc, onc, ace, masc, masc gn)

everything is organized alphabetically by fandom & character to the best of my ability

(If you would like to be removed, please send me a message to let me know 🙏)

enjoy ! xo ☕

✨ Dave York

Affliction (series) (fatal attraction au) by @clydesducktape (f!reader, ofc) **

When Legends Rise (series) by @writeforfandoms (f!reader) **

✨ Ezra

A Girl Walks Into A Bookshop (series) by @oonajaeadira (f!reader) **

Crassula Ovata (series) by @ezramando (gn!reader)

Cup Those Hands (series) by @justrunamok (ofc, bi!gn!reader) **

Rushing Decadence (voice actor!ezra) by @highsviolets (gn!reader)**

Shadows & Starlight (series) (fae king ezra) by @ezrasbirdie (ofc)

Specks of Color by @pumpkin-stars (gn!reader)

Jagged Scraps of Him by @ezrasbirdie

Mysticus (series) (soulmate au) by @juletheghoul (f!reader) **

The Family Vane (series) (borrowers au) by @miraclesabound  (ezra, cee, din, grogu)

The Lucky One (series) (about time au) by @/dayoffinkyoto on ao3

The Sun Sets With You (series) by @sharkbait77 (f!reader)

Winter Moon (series) by @rae-gar-targaryen (f!reader) **

✨ Frankie Morales

Clean by @highsviolets (afab!reader) **

Down Payment (series) (we were warriors) collab with @hotspacepilots by @jedi-mando (ofc) **

Finding Family by @absurdthirst  (f!reader) **

Fix'er Upper (series) by @givemethatgold (f!reader) **

Fly Me To The Moon by @pilothusband (f!reader)  

In Your Arms by @writefightandflightclub (masc!gn!reader)

I'd Give You My World by @clydesducktape (a/b/o dynamics) **

Oblivius (series) (my best friend's wedding au) by @juletheghoul (f!reader, ofc) **

Project Eleven (series) (post apocalyptic au) by @steeeeeeeviebb (f!reader) **

Weeknights (series) by @frannyzooey (f!reader) **

✨ Jack 'Agent Whiskey' Daniels

Crimson Rose (series) by @brandyllyn (soulmate au) (f!reader)

Experimental Love (sex pollen au) by @absurdthirst (f!reader) **

She Moves Through The Fair by @writeforfandoms (f!reader)

The Traveler (series) (western au) by @silksaddle (f!reader) **

✨ Javier Peña

Amas Veritas (series) (practical magic au) by @steeeeeeeviebb (f!reader)

Forbidden Fruit by @mellowswriting (f!reader)**

Forgotten (series) by @aerynwrites (f!reader)

Suspension of Disbelief by @justrunamok (black!omc)

Waterfall Inquiry (series) by @highsviolets (f!reader) **

Whatever It Takes by @absurdthirst (f!reader) **

✨ Marcus Moreno

Poorly Wired Circuit (series) by @radiowallet (ofc)**

✨ Marcus Pike

Share Your Address by @marvelousmermaid (gn!reader) (collab with @louderrthanthunderr & @healingstardust) 

Stardust by @mellowswriting  

The Raunchy Raid by @absurdthirst (f!reader) ** 

Unfortunate Mistakes, Fortunate Outcomes by @absurdthirst  (f!reader) **

✨ Oberyn Martell

In Name Only (series) by @forever-rogue (f!reader)**

The Arrangement (series) by @absurdthirst (f!reader)

Hotel Dorne (modern au) by @absurdthirst (f!reader)**

Life Has It's Mysteries by @maharani-radha-writes (gn!reader)

Little Sparrow (series) by @autumnleaves1991-blog (f!reader) ** (ellaria, oberyn)

Lost in Your Depths (series) by @aerynwrites (f!reader)

Solis by @juletheghoul (f!reader) **

Sugar & Strawberries (series) (professor oberyn) collab by @ezrasbirdie & @starlightmornings (ofc) **

Washed Out (series) (deep sea oberyn) by @juletheghoul (f!reader)

✨ Pero Tovar

The Blizzard by @absurdthirst (f!reader) **

Born to Be Wild (series) (modern au) by @writeforfandoms (f!reader) **

Lavender & Mint (series) by @lilkermit14 (f!reader)** (submitted by @clydesducktape)

Pan Dulce (series) by @clydesducktape

Emparejar (series) by @clydesducktape (a/b/o dynamics) (f!reader)

✨ The Thief (Casillero del Diablo)

The Locksmith (series) by @oonajaeadira (f!reader) **

Deal with the Devil (series) by @writeforfandoms (f!reader) **

The Greatest Thief in the World by @kesskirata (f!reader) **

✨ Zach Wellison

A Room With A View (series) by @absurdthirst (f!reader) **

On the Wind (series) by @sharkbait77 (ofc)

[absurdthirst]

Would anyone be able to recommend some angsty Frankie fics? With happy ending.

From my own master list : Tipping Point, Endorphins, Home Series, The Hunt,Second Chance, The Last Mission, Finding Family

Always Be My Maybe by @storiesofthefandomlovers

Pragma and a whole collection of stories by @softpedropascal

Fix You by @astoryisaloveaffair

Learning Curves by @ezrasbirdie (alsoooooo Devil's Backbone)

Unconscious Aftermath by @danniburgh

Weeknights by @frannyzooey

Frizzie Verse by @wyn-n-tonic

Homecoming by @astroboots

Between the Raindrops by @jazzelsaur

Near the Water's Edge by @paisley-print

More Than Words by @foli-vora

Fix'er Upper by @givemethatgold

As you can tell, we have a TON of talented authors in this fandom, because I know that I've missed some!

[heliological]

if you want a fix'er upper, you’re gonna have to love her

the wens + the burial mounds (ao3)

[preciousgems308]

Let's play Borderlands

I'm in Fyrestone just finished the fix'er upper quest and i have already concluded i hate the robot and the doctor. Not really of course but they are really repetitive and it can get annoying. Also this game is hard... not really i just hate fps games, love it so far though.

[theriflemanofficial]

It's a fix'er upper, but that's what makes it perfect. #TheRifleman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . #srsly #lookitup #TheRifleman #GetGlue #Cowboys #beatsofhell #ChuckConnors #Pacers #AMC #westworld #westerns #vintagelife #TerrorSquad #Rawhide #LA #Dodgers #metv #hulu #CA #USA #life #horses #vsco #Instagood #instacool #travelglam

[jaytheinfinite]

Borderlands GOTY Walkthrough Gameplay Part 5 Fix'er Upper                             (via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkBdo3vr0dc)

Check out the full playlist here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtx8nyPHPauC70egh91HFmstsAM7LrtVa

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper - Part 13

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem! Reader Warnings: Talk of parent death Length: 2.1k words Notes: Okay bitches here we go. I’ve got 3 kids doing online schooling, a desk chair that just broke while I was halfway through typing this out, a raging headache, and couldn’t be fucked to edit. I love you al, thank you for sticking with me and this little brain baby of mine. My guidance counselor from high school can suck my dick, “You’re not a creative writer, Cher, you should considering taking Home Ec as an elective instead” I digress....

Series Masterlist

"No." You glared at him and squeezed his hand harder, "You're doing that thing again.

Frankie's head whipped over to stare at you, shocked by your assertive tone.

"You're pulling away. You're stressed, out of your depth, don't know how to deal with it and so you're pulling away again-"

"You don't understand," Frankie interrupted you, shaking his head and trying to pull his hands out of your grasp. This only served to strengthen your resolve, and your grip on him.

"No." You declare again, trying to stay calm and have a mature conversation despite the tension and running emotions. "You told me to give you time to get your thoughts straight and vocalized. I can't do that if I'm not here to hear them. I can't understand your predicament if I leave. So," You moved so you're sitting cross-legged in front of him, making eye contact in an effort to show him he had your full attention. "Why don't you tell me what that phone call was about so we can start figuring it out, together."

The situation was more complex than you ever could have imagined. Frankie's ex-wife, Karla, had died. Her car had been hit by a drunk driver. Annie, thank the gods, hadn't been in the car at the time. Before she'd died at the hospital, Karla had managed to say a few words to the paramedics. At the time they didn't make sense, however, the paramedic had taken the time to write the words down and included the scrap of paper with the patient's chart. This evidence, as it turned out, had been monumental during the resulting legal battle for Annie, all of which took place without Frankie even being notified.

Child services, lawyers, extended family, and even doctors had been involved in the court proceedings. All arguing over the future of the six-year-old girl. All believing that they knew what was best for her, most believing that she should live with them, some having the gall to pretend that they weren't aware of the sizable life insurance payout she was about to receive.

Eight words. Eight simple, beautiful words whispered through the broken, bloody lips of a woman who knew she was about to die. A young girl's future was being held in suspense, and as fate would have it, a wise and sentimental judge was overseeing her case. Eight words were all it took to convince him that Annie's mother knew what was best for her own child.

"Francisco Morales. Trust with her, he's ready now."

From the time Frankie had received the phone call from Karla's family lawyer, the two of you had two days to prepare for Annie's arrival. Frankie worked his magic and erected a wall across the bedroom portion of his loft, allowing for the little girl to have some privacy but not feel like she was being closed in. 

He had fretted for a least twenty five minutes over colour swatches at Hank’s Hardware before coming to the conclusion that he should leave it white and have Annie chose her room colours once she had settled in. He bought himself a new couch, as well, that would convert into a bed and serve as his bedroom for the time being.

The conversation you never had a chance to have with him was still in the back of your mind, but you understood that moving in together as a couple was hard enough. Moving in together with a kid neither of you knew, whose life had just been turned upside down against her will, would be catastrophic. Instead, you focused on being as much of a rock for Frankie as you could.

You made a trip to the city and bought girls bedding, some stuffed animals, and a few little decorations to help Annie feel like the new space was special for her. You also thought to pick up comfort food that a kid might crave, knowing that when you were six the best way to your heart was chocolate. Just before you left the city, a sign caught your attention and had you swerving to change lanes, normally you'd feel slightly bad about your obnoxious driving but today you just waved your middle finger at the rear window in a mock salute.

The flower shop had so many bouquets and you had no idea what kind of flowers the little girl might like. You also had the morbid realization that bouquets might remind her of all the flowers she surely saw at Karla's funeral. Just as you began to second guess yourself, a stand near the back caught your eye and made you smile.

The day of her arrival came quicker than you felt prepared for, never mind how Frankie must be feeling. He hadn't had too much time to worry about how having his daughter would change his life, but once the two of you were standing in his driveway doing nothing but waiting, the nerves had finally settled in. You could see deep, calming breaths he was taking as they condensed into little clouds in the freezing air.

Grabbing his clenched fist, you felt his fingers relax enough to allow your gloved ones to slide through them.

"It's going to be weird for everyone, she's probably nervous too." You weren't sure if the words were reassuring or not but nervous talking seemed to be your forte so you ran with it. "I mean, she's probably sad that she's leaving everything and everyone she's always known, excited about moving to a new place, then feeling bad that she's feeling another emotion besides grief. It can be hard to juggle loss and hope. Just show her how much you love her and be honest about why you couldn't be with her before. Kids are smart and are aware of way more than adults give them credit for."

A few moments later a black sedan slowly crept up the driveway. You wanted to stay, to meet the little girl but had the feeling that Annie and Frankie were going to need time to figure out their relationship without another person in the mix. Suddenly having a new parent was going to be hard enough on the little girl, you were afraid that she might see you as trying to replace her mom and push you away.

Rubbing Frankie's back for one last show of reassurance, you kissed his shoulder then took a few steps back. You figured this was the best way to be there to support him but also staying in the background for the time being. Before the car could fully come to a stop, the rear door was flying open and, in a blur of movement, a little body was flying out of it towards Frankie. You know how people will say that there are times in their lives where important moments fly by so fast they barely have time to enjoy them? Well, this wasn't one of them.

As Annie barreled her way towards Frankie, you saw in slow motion how his handsome face went from being creased with worry, to eyebrow raised shock, to breaking out in a teary smile. He had just begun to crouch down and open his arms in anticipation of holding his little girl when instead she ran right past him and locked herself in one of the sheds.

Time continued to move in slow motion, making it all the more heartbreaking watching your boyfriend's face crumple, the tears of joy turn to tears of pain as he recovered from his initial excitement and realized that his child didn't want to see him.

Tiny, muffled sobs broke the moment and brought time, and the horrible situation, back into focus. The Child Protective Services worker who had accompanied Annie from California was calling apologies to Frankie while running after the little girl, trying not to slip in the snow in her hurry.

You wanted to go to him, to lend him some form of comfort, but you were also aware that some types of grief don't appreciate witnesses. Deciding to stick around and be helpful in the background, you made your way into the loft and started making coffee and sandwiches, foreseeing a longer stay for the caseworker than initially thought.

Nearly forty minutes had passed before you emerged again with food and drinks on a tray and the two adults were still talking to Annie through the cracks in the door. She had stubbornly refused to come out, demanding that she be returned to her home at once and that she hated snow.

Once you had set down the tray and cleared the snow off a picnic table, Frankie thanked you with a kiss to your temple and introduced you to Sharon after he convinced her to take a break from the negotiations. Sharon, who had been with Annie since the day of the accident, began filling Frankie in on what had happened to his daughter in the past month between sips of coffee. He was given a folder with notes from child psychologists, doctors, a letter from her maternal grandparents, and a journal Sharon had kept that described the ways Annie had been processing her grief.

While they talked, you decided to walk over and sit next to the door of the shed, laying a wool blanket down to protect your butt from the cold. You had no idea what to say to the girl but you figured she might like to be reassured she wasn't alone. Settling down, you dug into your own sandwich and hummed quietly to yourself.

You nearly choked on your next bite when you heard a soft voice singing along with the tune you'd chosen.

"Lavender blue, dilly dilly. Rosemary Green, if you are king dilly dilly, I'll be your queen."

After you'd repeated the song twice more, you stopped the tune and said softly,

"I've never heard those lyrics before, they're different from how I learned them."

A long pause followed, making you worry that you'd offended the child back into silence.

"How do you sing it?" Came the sweetest little voice, made all the more adorable with the barest hint of a lisp.

"We always sang, 'Lavender green', for one. Which never made any sense to me so I really like how you did it-"

"Yeah, cause lavender is another name for purple," she interrupted you with a matter-of-fact tone, "saying it's green is just weird!"

"Hmmm, it might be different," you conceded, seeing the opportunity for a lesson. "But either way you sing it, it's still a really pretty song, isn't it? Things can be different but it doesn't mean one is only good and one is only bad. Each version just had different good things."

Annie went silent again but this time you didn't worry about it, you knew she was thinking about what you said and needed time to apply it to what was happening right now. You eventually heard the shifting of metal and the creak of wood and had to will yourself to sit still and calm. The way you had let her approach you had worked so far, jumping up out of excitement could possibly erase all the progress you'd made so far.

Your patience was rewarded when Annie stepped out of the shed and lowered herself so that she was sitting on the blanket right next to you. Turning your head just enough to see her in your peripheral, you noticed how dull her eyes looked. Her hair was a mess and her skin looked pale for a kid who had been living under California's sun.

"My mommy is dead."

The way it was stated as a fact, with very little emotion, broke your heart. She was so little, so young, and so unable to fully grasp what kind of future had been ripped away from her.

"I know, I'm sorry that that happened to your mom."

"That man is my daddy." She was pointing at Frankie now, who was still engrossed in his conversation with Sharon.

"He's a pretty lucky guy to have you."

"That's the lady who has been taking care of me, she's been nice."

You were a bit out of your comfort zone with the conversation but there was no way in hell you were going drop it so you cautiously trudged on. Maybe verbalizing relationships and titles was helping her process?

"I'm very happy to hear that you've been staying with someone nice. Your dad is a really nice person, too, ya know? You should see the nice bedroom he's set up for you! I even helped him bake you an apple pie. Do you like apples? Or pie?" Her eyes went wide and a spark of happiness suddenly lit her face, making her appear more childlike than before.

"Is this an apple farm?" She practically squealed. “Like in My Little Pony?!”

Her outburst had finally drawn the attention of the other two adults, who were now only realizing that Annie had exited the shed. Frankie's heart skipped a beat at the sight of his two girls, beaming at each other. The twinge of jealousy from knowing that it had been you to draw her out was quickly squashed by how proud of you he was. He had been a little worried, although he hadn't voiced it, that his kid wouldn't take kindly to having a woman around but those fears were obviously for naught.

Part Fourteen 

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt. 8

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: none? Length: 2.1k Notes: I’m sorry, Cyn, I know I said there would be smut but I was just enjoying the slow burn too much. And I just feel like these two NEED this. Not me nervous to write about his p in her v, nooope. Also, I’m wine drunk and did not spell check this bitch, have fun with that. Divider by @firefly-graphics

Series MASTERLIST

The day of the fair had finally arrived and you woke with more than a little excitement churning in your stomach. Multiple meetings at the community center had given you a chance to meet more of the town's population and you'd gained a deeper appreciation for them. Small towns afforded very few entertainments, which had resulted in some of the older kids, driven by boredom, getting into trouble. Minor things like graffiti and trespassing, but the community knew if they weren't careful that things could escalate. So, instead of making the kids feel judged or harshly reprimanded, the town was working towards better programs and facilities to keep them busy.

It was an unseasonably beautiful Autumn day, the kind that carried memories of Summer on the warm breeze. Knowing that cold and snow were just around the corner, these "second summers" made people act a little more recklessly and freely than they usually might. You had a feeling that the crowds tonight were going to be bigger and rowdier than anyone could have hoped for.

Jacquie had stopped by later to offer you a ride to town but you had just sent your baking with her, insisting that you wanted to enjoy the sunshine and bicycle in.

Once you'd entered the main square you were blown away by the effort from the town. Banners, balloons, streamers, and posters were everywhere. A stage for musical acts and a ticket booth had been built and donated by Hank's Hardware, food carts selling anything and everything you could deep-fry were scattered down every road. Carnival games had been set up in rows down multiple, closed-off, streets, as well as people setting up face-painting, balloon animals, and a smaller version of the Saturday Farmer's Market. The high school football field had even been converted to a tiny amusement park with a Ferris Wheel, carousel, and swing ride.

It was still early, and there was still a lot to do before the fair would be open, but the excitement was already palpable. After making sure your pies had been marked down for the auction, you beelined for the water gun race game that you and a lovely woman named Heather had been assigned to operate. 

Too preoccupied with making sure you had the water tanks filled, the pumps were working, and your ticket box was in place you didn't notice how some of the other volunteers were acting strangely, making sidelong glances and meaningful head nods. 

Nothing seemed amiss once Heather had joined you. In fact, you were getting along with her so well the two of you had already made plans to meet for coffee the next day.

Soon, the fair was in full swing. The games booths were a popular stop with families and you were having the time of your life cheering for every child who tried their hand at your game. 

Eventually, there was a natural lull in the festivities as fair-goers drifted from the games towards the food and live entertainment. You were just suggesting making a quick snack run when Heather's phone rang. 

"Sorry, one sec, it's my husband," she grimaced, holding her finger up to stop you from leaving.

In a bid to give her a modicum of privacy, you tallied up the tickets and bunched them into coils for easier counting later. Heather's normally calm voice rose in pitch and urgency, drawing your attention back to her in time to see a look of alarm and annoyance cross her face.  

"What do you mean, burned? Like, burned burned? There's smoke?! Oh, honey, what on earth..." she paused, listening to her husband's voice some more, giving you an eye roll that clearly said 'Men. They're hopeless' and interrupted whatever he had been saying. "Alright, alright. It's slowing down here so I can run home."

Putting her phone back in her purse, Heather turned to you with a huff. "He's burnt dinner, and it sounds like my skillet is toast, too. I'm sorry to do this to you but I need to run to the store and bring dinner home. I've got the only car, so they're stuck."

Assuring her you could manage on your own, you shooed her away and told her to take her time.

Walking backward to wave goodbye, Heather kept spouting numerous apologies and promising she'd make it up to you on your coffee date. Giving one last smile she spun around and immediately ran into old Mrs. Crawley who was being escorted by no other than a very bored and trapped-looking Frankie Morales.

"Oh! Mrs. Crawley! So sorry!" She began, steadying the white-haired octogenarian, "I'm being called home, ditching my post, gotta run, bye!" With that, she was gone, weaving her way through the crowd of people.

Mrs. Crawley had glanced over at you when Heather had mentioned having to leave and was currently shuffling her way towards you, Frankie in tow.

"Frankie, be a dear and help this beautiful lady out while Heather is away."

It wasn't a question but you still felt the need to speak up, giving Frankie an out if he wanted it.

"I can manage-"

"But what about your-"

You'd both spoken at the same time and stopped mid-way through to let the other go first. Mrs. Crawley broke the silence instead.

"My hip is feeling much better, and I think I'll just make my way over to the bandstand," she gave Frankie a meaningful look accompanied by a rather sharper-than-expected slap to his cheek, "alone."

You both watched her walk over to the stage, stopping to wave at Jacquie and Agnes where they were organizing the bake sale.

"What on earth is going on," you thought to yourself while staring daggers at Jacquie from across the street. This had zero effect on her, she was just sending you lewd winks and had the audacity to give Mrs. Crawley a thumbs up. That conniving little-

"Emmmm... hi."

His voice, sounding uncertain and shy, brought your attention back to Frankie. Taking a moment to soak in his presence, you noticed how worn down he looked. "Good," thought the petty part of your brain, but she was easily squashed by the rest of it appreciating the rest of him.

Tight jeans hugging his thighs, the buttons on his shirt working overtime where the material pulled across his back and chest, his hair was long and getting shaggy but when you saw the curls peeking out from under his baseball cap you had to fight the sudden urge to run your fingers through it.

Your eyes traveled up his neck, noting the way his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, and across his face. He'd trimmed his beard, filthy thoughts of how it would feel on your skin flashed in your head.

Finally meeting his eyes with your own, you had to take a breath before replying.

"It's nice to see you, Frankie." Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, drawing his gaze "I guess we should talk-"

You were cut short by rowdy laughter and a crowd of people bustling onto the street, another wave of ticket-holders were coming to try their luck and win the huge teddy bear prize each game boasted.

For the next hour, you were kept too busy to talk more than what was necessary for running the booth. You used the time to gather your thoughts and make a list of what you wanted to say, how you wanted to say it, and how you were going to start the conversation casually.

Frankie wasn't sure how he had ended up as Mrs. Crawley's crutch. One minute he was dropping off a crate of fruit for the apple bobbing contest and the next he was walking at a snail's pace listening to the old woman reminiscing about her long-dead husband. 

She was sweet, and he didn't mind the slow meander around the square. No, it was the subject matter that had bugged him. After his divorce was finalized and his daughter was taken from him, which he could see now was the right thing to do at the time, Frankie had accepted the fact that he was alone.

Just him, his trees, and the memories of what he did to end up this way.

Then, you had come along. The first woman to catch his attention in five damn years. It wasn't just your beauty, or your easy smile, or the curves of your body. It was your goodness, your innocence, your ability to worm your way into everyone's hearts and not even know it. 

Listening to Mrs. Crawley and the love she had shared made his chest ache, knowing he'd never deserve it himself he still found himself longing for the same. The first moment he had laid eyes on you, it was like a movie about his life had played in flashes in his mind. The meet-cute at the market, romancing you with thoughtful dates like picnics and driving up to the city’s museums and theatre. Getting married, growing the business, then growing your family. It had all played out in a split second but the impression it had left was immeasurable. 

Then, he'd opened his mouth and ruined the moment. Crashed into your truck and ruined the moment. Spooked and burned you, ruining the moment. Gained your trust, broke down your walls, and then left like a coward in the morning and ruined it.

Shaken by his inward reflecting when Mrs. Crawley was jostled, Frankie froze in place once his eyes were directed to where you stood. You were glaring over his shoulder and refusing to meet his eyes, understandably, yet he still felt his chest contract with the hope you'd look at him and smile. 

The way your gaze had eventually taken him in, once he'd been abandoned by a suddenly spry-looking elder, had flared that longing back into a roaring flame. The sudden need to work the booth gave him plenty of time to plan his speech: begging for forgiveness and admitting to the way he felt. While his mind was busy planning his speech, his heart was bursting at how comfortably and effortlessly the two of you worked with each other, like you’d been doing it for years.

Heather returned, strolling over with a barely concealed smile on her face, not looking at all like she'd just come back from a domestic emergency. This whole town could win an Oscar for their performance tonight, it was mildly humiliating but you knew they were acting out of love.

She thanked Frankie profusely for standing in for her and wouldn't take no for an answer after suggesting the two of you go and enjoy yourselves for a bit. Glancing at Frankie you shrugged your shoulders and made a face that said "why not?". He smiled and nodded back, grabbing your bag and slinging it over his shoulder before joining you on the bustling street.

You walked in comfortable silence for a while, relishing just being near each other and absorbing the jubilant energy surrounding you.

Frankie bought you cotton candy and you made him belly laugh when you showed him the few bottles of cider you'd smuggled in your bag. Seeing the way his face lit up, how he exposed that delicious neck when he threw his head back, hearing the joyous rumble from deep within, sent a realization slamming into you so suddenly it made you stumble.

You loved him.

You might not be in love with him, not yet anyway, but there was a lightness and a warmth in your heart and he had put it there.

Frankie had grabbed your arm when you had stumbled and when you didn't pull away from his touch, his hand slid down your arm and his fingers wove their way through yours.

Walking like this, hand in hand, you found yourselves at the rides.

"I've never been on a Ferris Wheel," he admits to you, craning his head upwards to stare at the top carriage.

Dragging your eyes away from his neck, again, it took your brain a moment to acknowledge what he’d said. "What?!" You expressed with mock horror, already making your way toward the ride’s gate, "Then let's remedy that!"

"I'm- uh this is stupid," he was barely moving with you and adjusted his hat, a nervous tick you'd noticed, "I'm scared of heights."

This admission stopped you in your tracks.

"Frankie." You deadpanned, gripping his hand and pulling on it to emphasize your words, "You're. A. Pilot."

He groaned and you were sure you could see a blush creeping up from beneath his collar, "I know! I know. It's just that, up there?" He stops with a sigh, gazing at the stars wistfully, "I'm in control. I trust myself."

"Do you trust me?" You ask him softly gripping his hand between the both of yours.

Frankie gazed at your face for a breath, not in a way that made you think he was hesitating, it was more like he was pausing so you knew the full weight of his words.

"I trust you with everything."

PART NINE

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[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt. 6

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Reader

Warnings: Angst, morning wood

Length: 1.5k

Notes: Back at it with their bullshit!  Finished this and even though I’m not as ahead as I’d like to be with this fic I have a general idea where it’s going so I’m posting this before I feel like I should? Enjoy! Divider by @firefly-graphics 💛 Header by me 💋

Parts ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE

Sleep slowly faded away, like a heavy fog evaporating in the morning sun, and your consciousness was becoming aware of a few things all at once. You were unseasonably warm, you had a raging headache already, and you really needed to pee. The arm slung over your waist was doing nothing to ease the latter issue, but it was also the reason for your warmth. 

This was the first morning, since moving into the drafty old farmhouse, that you had woken perfectly cozy and warm. You could say it was due to the fact that you had passed out in your leggings and hoodie but you didn't even want to pretend it wasn't because of the living furnace currently snoring softly into the back of your neck.

Normally, as a morning person, you would jump out of bed and be putzing around the kitchen by now. However, you had no desire to disturb the peaceful atmosphere that waking up cradled in Frankie's arms had created. Morning light was already streaming through the edges of your curtains, casting your room with a warm glow. You watched dust motes dance in the air as you relaxed and matched your breathing with Frankie’s even as his mustache tickled your skin with each of his exhales.

Deciding to give yourself another ten minutes you carefully, as to not wake the grumpy farmer behind you, pulled up the blankets and wormed your body further backward so his curved fully around yours.

Frankie hummed in his sleep as his arm subconsciously tightened around your waist, his large hand spreading out so that his pinky was touching your hip bone and his thumb caressed just under your breast. His mind was still deep in slumber but his body was, er, waking up.

Visions of last night bombarded your mind as you laid there, body frozen and barely breathing to avoid waking Frankie. 

Opening up to Frankie, and he to you. Crying, him making you tea, you asking him to stay so you wouldn't be left alone with the ghost of Brad to haunt your dreams... Frankie had surprised you both, if the look on his face was anything to go by, when he had agreed. The initial awkwardness of laying in your bed together, fully dressed. He had eventually started telling you stories of his childhood friends and their adventures and his soft, raspy voice had lulled you into a peaceful sleep.

All of that, however, had been more intimate and exposing than you'd ever been with anyone. Having Frankie wake up, after all of that emotional intensity, to having his boner pressing into your ass? It would be too much, you didn’t want that level of awkwardness detracting from how each of you had let down your walls for each other.

Slowly, very slowly, you rolled to the edge of your bed and slithered to the floor, avoiding the creaky floorboards on your way to the bathroom.

As you stood at the sink, gazing at your reflection, you were pleasantly surprised by your complexion. No bags, no dark circles under your eyes, just a bit of smeared mascara that was quickly wiped away. Last night's slumber had done wonders for your body. Before this morning you hadn't realized how much tension you had been carrying, or how your poor nights had been weighing on your mental state.

One great night's sleep, the best night's sleep you'd had in a long, long time, had completely restored you. Just sharing a bed with another person, nevermind the fact that he was extremely sweet, thoughtful, and hot as hell, had given you the tranquility you were missing. You instantly craved more. 

It killed you to acknowledge it but a battered, bruised, yet healing part of yourself cried for independence. Reminding you how little of it you've had. It wanted you to be happiest on your own and not need someone else to feel comfortable and safe.

Hating to agree, you knew that bitch was right. For however nice that sleep had been, and however much you craved it again, you knew that you also needed to find happiness in yourself first. Brad had done so much damage, you needed to heal yourself and find yourself again before adding another person into the mix.

Taking a deep breath and coming to terms with your new resolve, you finished your morning routine before exiting the bathroom. Seeing that Frankie was still snoring away, you decided to run to town for coffee, thinking it would be a nice way to thank him for his kindness and company.

Writing a quick note and leaving it on the table, you stepped outside into the beautiful Autumn morning. Grabbing your bicycle you made the short trek to town, unable to wipe the smile from your face.

Town was busy for such an early house, and you were met with a line of customers in the bakery when you entered. The din of chatting friends nearly drowning out the bell chime above the door. Agnes, the owner ‘for over forty years!’ gave you a wave before giving her attention back to the tourist family at the counter. The smell of cinnamon, coffee, and yeast instantly enveloped you and your stomach growled making you want to order everything they had to offer behind the counter.

Knowing it would take a while before you could place your order, the owners of the place liked to stop and chat with customers, you meandered over to the community notice board that hung on the wall near the little bistro tables that graced the front window.

Amidst the notices for lost dogs, babysitting services, church service meetings, and town hall meetings was a poster for a fundraiser that caught your eye. The local youth group was organizing a county fair to raise money for a skateboard park to be built near the school. Visions of cotton candy, excited girls bursting with glee, and purses bursting with prizes flooded your mind. You had loved visiting the fair when you were younger, and decided that helping out would be a great way of experiencing that excitement again.

Grabbing a phone stub you called and signed up as a volunteer. The lady you spoke to was ecstatic and your offer to help and couldn’t wait to meet you. This was a great opportunity to meet more people in the community as well, you realized. You’d been so busy working at Morales Acres and then on your home, you hadn’t put very much effort into getting to know anyone else.

On the bike ride back home, you felt like you were walking on sunshine. Not only was your bike basket laden down with sweetbreads and a new French coffee press, which Agnes had sworn was foolproof, but you had also convinced Jacquie to volunteer for the fundraiser. It hadn't been hard as her eldest child, Cole, was very keen on becoming the next Tony Hawk.

Your future was looking so bright. There was guaranteed girl-time with your new best friend, meeting new people doing something that sounded super fun, and while you had decided to not dive into anything romantic with Frankie, you were looking forward to spending more time with the grumpy guy hiding a heart of pure gold.

Regardless of the crick in his neck, his belt digging into his hip, and his feet sweating from sleeping with socks on, Frankie woke with a smile. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so well. Despite the discomfort, he'd had a dreamless, deep slumber and woke fully rested.

He could try making excuses for it, blame it on the cider, the tiring workday, the spent emotions, but deep down he knew it was due to you. You, who had asked him to stay. You, who had given him so much comfort by just laying next to him. Not only that but he felt like you truly saw him when he spoke. He had opened up more in the last twenty-four hours than he had in the five years since he'd moved here.

He hadn't told you everything yet, the last time he'd done that he had scared away his wife and lost his daughter. He feared that he could lose you too if he told you about Columbia, Tom, the money, and how it had brought out the worst in him. 

Frankie had felt safe enough to share his struggles with cocaine, his failed marriage, and losing custody of Annie. You had only shown sadness and concern, there had never been pity or judgment in your gaze.

Coming out of his inner reflection, Frankie soon became aware of just how quiet your house was. He could tell you had left the bed a while ago, as the space you'd occupied had gone cold. There was no usual humming or singing, no footsteps or signs of life. Slightly mystified and erring on the side of caution, Frankie slipped silently out of bed and began sweeping your house room by room.

By the time he made his way into your kitchen, his heartbeat had gone from a panicked staccato to a slow beat heavy with dread. The truth slapping him in the face: you had left. You'd woken before him, slipped away without saying anything, and left your own house in order to avoid him. Frankie couldn't help but wonder if you regretted your plea for him to stay.

Had he taken advantage of your emotional state? Was staying the wrong thing to do? Even though nothing sexual had happened he still felt like he had done something wrong, and felt horrible for it. Had he talked in his sleep, or maybe lashed out from a dream he didn’t remember? 

Should he leave and give you the space you seemed to want? Should he stay and apologize? Glancing between the stairs that led to your bedroom and the front door, Frankie hesitated while weighing his options. With a sigh, he shook his head and made up his mind. Grabbing his coat from where it rested on the table, he told himself he was doing the right thing. You’d call when you were ready to see him again.

The lightness in your heart very abruptly turned to confusion when you arrived back home, just shy of an hour after you'd left. Frankie's truck was missing from your driveway.

Walking inside, you placed your breakfast and coffee on the table and had a quick look around for any signs of Frankie. When your search turned up nothing, not even a note back, you slumped down onto a dining room chair with a huff.

Had Frankie just got out of bed, grabbed his coat, and left? You tried to not read too much into it. Maybe he had run home for a shower? Or new clothes?

After finishing off your third cinnamon twist, you pushed the bag away from you in disgust with a little too much gusto and it thumped onto the floor. Heaving a dramatic sigh, you reached down to grab the muffins that had spilled out of the paper bag, and that's when you noticed the note that you had written to Frankie had fallen under the table.

Despite yourself, and what your therapist had cautioned you against, your mind automatically conjured up a scene. Frankie waking, glad that he was alone. Making his way downstairs, reading your peppy little note and throwing it away with a scoff. Leaving in a hurry, glad to be free of you and your issues.

Your heart sank, even while your brain fought against the imaginary scenario. Eventually, just barely, your head won. 

When he hadn't shown up after two hours you began to worry. The two extra-large coffees in your system, why let his go to waste? didn't help matters.

By dinner, you were miserably painting the guest bedroom, alone. You told yourself he just needed some space as he had opened up his heart to you in a way he probably hadn’t in a long time. You decided to wait for him to call you once he felt comfortable enough.

Part Seven

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[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt. 5

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of past abusive relationship, swearing, past drug use, alcohol

Word Count: 1.8k

Notes:

Parts ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR

Your injury, and consequential recovery time, couldn’t have come at a better time. The harvest was done and the apples had to rest before being pressed, which meant Frankie was now free to start working on your home. The work didn’t often require more than two hands so the days found you doing menial tasks being his gopher.

“You know,” Frankie had had to explain to you, “Go’fer this, go’fer that.”

This mainly consisted of you passing him tools while he was swearing under his breath in the attic, or groaning after rapping his knuckles under the sink, or white-faced and clinging to the weathervane on the roof. 

You had discovered Frankie’s sweet tooth on the first day of renovations, not noticing until after he’d left for the day that more than half the cookies you’d baked that morning were already gone. Making sure he was kept happy, you had a new treat ready for when he walked in the door. 

He was a coffee drinker though, and while you owned a coffee press you had never actually used it yourself, preferring tea leaves for your dose of caffeine. You’d tried, the first morning, to make a cup for him. You even googled How to Make a Cup of Coffee? to make sure you didn’t fuck it up. 

You could laugh about it now, but the look on Frankie’s face after he’d taken his first sip made you worry you had poisoned him. He had spat the black sludge out and handed you back the mug with a look of bewildered disgust. Apparently, you needed to grind the beans first, who knew?

An efficient, if not quite comfortable, rhythm had been forged between the two of you over the past week and a half. Frankie would arrive at nine in the morning, scarf down half a dozen treats while discussing the day’s projects. You would run to town in his truck (yours was still at the autobody shop awaiting parts) and buy any supplies that would be needed while he set up the worksites and organized the tools that would be required.

You had added popping into the local café for a large coffee for Frankie and a red rooibos latte with almond milk for yourself. The first couple of days you had bought him a brownie too but stopped after he’d only half-finished the first one and mumbled through the crumbs in his mouth that yours were better. It only took you three days before the owner had your order ready for you before you even walked in the door, five days before you noticed the sidelong glances the little old ladies were giving each other as you walked out.

Small towns, you thought to yourself, rolling your eyes, had the unique benefit and downfall of everyone knowing everyone else’s business. They’d quit with the hardly-concealed smirks if they knew how awkward working with Frankie was becoming.

You had been sure, in the immediate aftermath of waking up in Frankie’s arms while his truck sat in your driveway, that he was never going to speak to you again. The two of you and hopped out and began explaining away whatever conclusions Jacquie and Mark had made. Then Frankie, without even looking in your general direction, told Jacquie to get you inside and have your wrist looked at. 

To his credit, he had taken care of everything regarding your truck for you. The tow truck came and hauled it to the yard, Frankie had commandeered the inspection report and, after calling them out on trying to swindle you into buying unnecessary parts, had ordered what was needed and paid. 

You had, naturally, argued against this but you both knew you weren’t in a position to afford it. Frankie shut down your arguments gracefully, and broke his apparent vow of silence, with a gruff “I’m just doing it so I can drive my damn truck without you changing the radio station.” The absolute charmer.

It was your damn house, though, so you decided you'd talk as much as you wanted and it would be up to him to interact. Either that or you had music blaring from the radio, never playing his favourite country station purely out of spite. 

Never quite sure if he was listening or not, you rambled on about anything and everything. You explained your vision for the house and the plans you had for a greenhouse in the yard. Memories from your childhood were described in great detail, as were embarrassing stories from your year in college. Baking tips, waxing poetic about your love for sunflowers, interesting animal facts, you'd even downloaded a Word of the Day App and made a game of fitting the words into your daily uninterrupted monologues.

It took three days for Frankie to break.

You had been reminiscing about your trip to Disneyland as a child when he abruptly cut in, voice muffled due to the nails being held between his lips.

"You never talk about it."

You assumed he was referring to the little all-day nap you’d shared in his truck, as it had yet to be spoken of, but were taken aback by the slight accusatory tone.

"Talk about what?"

He took so long to reply, you started to think that he had interrupted purely to shut you up. The silence demanded an explanation though, so you kept your mouth shut and waited.

Clambering down from the attic, where he had been strengthening the trusses throughout the sagging section of roof, Frankie pinned you with his gaze and softly repeated himself.

"You never talk about it. The time in your life when you were married." He must have seen your hackles rise because he quickly set down the hammer and held his hands up in a placating wave.

"You still haven't answered my question about being in the army," was your quick response, finished with an ever-so-mature, "so there."

With a resigned sigh, Frankie twisted his hat around backward and scrubbed his hands across his face. "Come on" -waving you towards the patio doors- "these kinds of conversations require fresh air and a drink."

Reluctantly you followed him outside but rather than sinking down onto the porch swing you opted to lean against the post facing it. Opening two ciders, which you now had free access to, you handed one to Frankie and watched him over the top of the bottle.

Half of your drink was gone and your mind had wandered to greenhouse and flower garden placement before Frankie spoke again. His voice low and quiet catching you by surprise.

"Yeah," he broke the silence with another ragged sigh, "I, uh, I served. Started in the Air Force, worked my way up to Special Tactics Squadron. Made enough noise there to get recruited to Delta Force."

"Oh, fuck," your exclamation was soft with shock "you've seen some shit then." Blast your runaway mouth and its inability to wait for your brain to catch up before blurting out your inner thoughts. "I'm sorry!-"

"No, it's okay" Frankie interrupted, trying to reassure you and remove the horrified look that had come across your face. 

"No, no, that was totally uncalled for. Brad, my um, my husband, he was a Marine. He hated talking about it, said no one liked talking about it. I should have known."

"It's not that," Frankie reassured you again, "You were the first person to ever ask me about it, in all the time I've lived here. Just took me by surprise."

Leaning over in the swing, Frankie pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and handed you a photo from inside it. Five men beamed up at you. You could recognize them from a few of the photos that had rested on Frankie's mantle, they looked older in this one.

"Tell me about them?" you asked, knowing that most of the request was due to curiosity but a small part of you hoped that if you kept him talking you could avoid the subject of your marriage.

The sun was beginning to set and you'd long moved inside to eat dinner by the time Frankie was done sharing. It must have been cathartic, you mused, for him to bare this much about himself. He had never looked more relaxed in all the time you'd known him, which wasn't saying much and it could just as easily been due to the amount of alcohol thrumming through his system.

The room fell into a companionable silence, each of you digesting the information that had been revealed. You were in awe of the fact that, despite the life of violence he had witnessed, Frankie still maintained his humanity. Even after a messy divorce and lost custody battle, Frankie continued to choose the path of healing. He was clean, was fighting for shared custody of his daughter again, running his own business, and still had found time to endear himself into the town's hearts.

Frankie was, for all his sharp edges and gruff words, a sweetheart.

It put into stark comparison how Brad had reacted to the lemons life had served him. Born into an upper-middle-class home, the only son, doted on by his parents, Brad had been raised into a life where every door was open to him. Despite this, or maybe because of it, he had grown hateful of those weaker than him. He was controlling but had just the right amount of charm to pass it off as caring.

"I've met men like that," 

You nearly jumped out of your skin from surprise. Looking at Frankie with wide-eyed shock you wondered again what the hell was in the cider. This was the second time you'd poured your heart out to a virtual stranger, but this time you hadn't even realized you'd started speaking your thoughts aloud. 

Squaring your shoulders and holding Frankie's gaze you continued, almost challenging him to find someone worse than Brad had been.

"He made me quit college because he said he wanted to start a family. Then berated me and acted like it was all my fault every time the pregnancy test came back negative. You know what that asshole did?" Tears were threatening to fall but you held on to Frankie's gaze, "He had gotten a vasectomy months earlier. I didn't find out about it until after he died; going through paperwork that had been stored in his desk."

Frankie was up on his feet now, pacing around the kitchen island, too distraught to keep still. How could anyone be so cruel? Let alone be so cruel to someone as sweet and pure as you. He hated seeing you cry but knowing you weren't receptive to people being in your personal space, wasn't sure how to comfort you. 

Acting on pure instinct he grabbed the kettle and started preparing you some tea, not allowing himself to ruminate how he knew which flavour you preferred. Setting your favourite pottery mug in front of you, along with the little honey pot, he also decided to grab the fluffy throw blanket off your couch. 

"I get it now," he thought to himself offhandedly, "why women have so many fuckin' blankets and pillows in every room."

Placing the throw around your shoulders he was preparing to say goodnight and let you have some peace but was stilled by your hand reaching up and covering his.

"Please. Stay."

Part SIX

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[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt. 1

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of past abusive relationship

Length: 1.4k

Notes: Okay, here we go! Giving our babe Frankie an ending he deserves, with a few bumps along the way for fun. Divider by @firefly-graphics 💛

It was almost comical, you thought, at how different the realtor's listing was, compared to the real thing. You’d seen it enough times in bad Hallmark romances: city girl buys a property, property is falling apart, city girl miraculously has the funds to fix it up with the help of the perfect farmer neighbour.

This was reality though and you had already poured your life’s savings, which amounted to very little after all the surprise debts had been paid off, into this farmhouse. 

The "Quaint New England farmhouse, filled with the patina of a bygone era" was a wreck. Nothing to be done about it now, though. The crumbling two-story, just a few minutes drive from the small Vermont town, hadn’t been occupied in over a decade and was now in a total state of disrepair. 

Swallowing back your tears, feeling the burn behind your eyes and the hot swelling in your throat, you told yourself there wasn’t time for a breakdown. You first needed to take stock of the depth of damage, decide which rooms were habitable enough for the time being, clean, unpack, and prepare yourself for this new life.

The next few hours went by in an exhausting blur. By late evening, there was a larger-than-expected pile of rotten, broken, or otherwise unusable furniture in the driveway; your meager few belongings taking their place. On top of renovations and remodeling it appeared you would also be refurbishing. 

Sitting on the porch in the one spot where you felt confident the decking wouldn’t crumble beneath your weight, you looked over your list.

 3 cracked windows (can wait?)

 no running water in kitchen (ASAP FIX!)

 missing shingles (bad??)

 deck boards and upstairs bedroom floorboards rotten

 carpeted bathroom

 questionable smell coming from attic space 

peeling wallpaper/paint EVERYWHERE

Folding the list and slipping it into your back pocket, you made your way back inside to discover one last glaring issue, previously unnoticed until now. The electricity had been shut off.

Well, fuck me sideways...

Deciding it was too late and you were too tired to deal with anything else today, you settled for the flashlight on your cellphone for light. Eating the apple you had nicked from the motel lobby the night before, you laid back in your makeshift bed on the floor and gazed around your new home.

Your home.

The first thing you had ever owned on your own.

First, the corner of your mouth quirked up then you quickly allowed it to flourish into a grin. It may be a piece of shit, but then again, you were always attracted to broken things with the innate need to fix them. Maybe this time you’d actually succeed. With that sobering thought, you settled down into your sleeping bag and were quickly asleep.

Frankie couldn’t believe his eyes when he drove past the old McClure farm. Some fool had actually bought it! Chuckling to himself, he could already imagine the gossip that would spread through town tomorrow, everyone clambering to find out who had moved in.

He had moved out this way five years ago and was still considered the “new guy” in town. Hopefully, the new arrival would take that mantle and everyone could start using Frankie’s actual name. 

He’ll probably just be dubbed “newer guy”...

Breathing out a huff of a laugh at the thought, Frankie began to turn down his driveway. The long, meandering drive leads to a barn surrounded by rows and rows of apple trees.

Two weeks after having moved in, you’re certain you’ve met, or at least seen, everyone from the town. Muffins, pie, casseroles, and even a case of cider had been brought over by a few of the braver townsfolk who drove out to say hello. While they may have been thinly veiled excuses to come snoop, you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain. The food was delicious, and best of all, it was free.

She had stayed for most of the afternoon, helping you clean and setting her kids about to do menial chores. The eldest, Cole, was sent scurrying up the road to tell his dad to bring Gerta. ... You dared not ask.

The very first visitor was a neighbour from just down the road. “Jacquie,” she had informed you over the noise of her four kids running around the yard, “How do you do?”

She said it with the barest hint of a southern drawl and you instantly fell in love with the soft cadence of her voice. With a beaming smile and a surreptitious wipe of your dusty hand on your pant leg, you shook her hand and introduced yourself. 

A short time later, the most devastatingly handsome, all-American-looking man you had ever seen climbed out of a tractor and started carrying a large object towards the house, Cole at his heels. 

“Jac, babe, where d’you want her?” He called, voice straining a bit due to the weight in his arms. Smiling at you, he nodded his head in greeting, "Hiya, neighbour! The name’s Mark"

“Oh, I don’t need it,” Jacquie replied airily “I just wanted an excuse to watch your muscles at work.”

With a roll of his eyes, that did nothing to hide the adoring sparkle in them, her husband carried his load to the side of the house and with a thump, set it down.

Turns out that Jacquie had a fondness for naming EVERYTHING and Gerta was their gas-powered generator. Claiming they had no use for it, Gerta was yours to keep for as long as you needed her. Which, you had to be honest, was looking like a good long while. Willing away the tears, not for the last time you were sure, brought on by her kindness, you settled for giving her a bear hug. It wasn’t until you heard a little voice calling “Mama?” that you realized you had been clinging to Jacquie for longer than could ever be considered acceptable.

Pulling away gingerly, you started to apologize, quickly stopped by her hand coming up in front of your face, making you involuntarily flinch. 

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry!” She started to exclaim before taking a deeper look at you. Then, without breaking eye contact, she tilted her head to the side and hollered at Mark to gather the kids and head home.

“I’ll be back past bedtime, so come give me y’all kisses now!” She lovingly bossed her brood.

Once they had cleared out, she turned to you, gently taking your hands in hers, and said, “Now, where do you want to start?”

“What kind of voodoo, witch doctor, hippy-dippy magic do you possess?!” you asked with a laugh while sniffing back the lingering tears. 

You had just laid out your entire life to a complete stranger. She had sat there, the whole time, holding your hands and your gaze while you had talked. Everything, you had told her absolutely everything. From the California upbringing in an affluential family to marrying your Highschool Sweetheart days after graduation. The sudden move, his surprise enlistment, his changing demeanor, the beginnings of abuse, all ending with his death while stationed overseas.

The pathetic Death Gratuity from the military barely covered the truck. You’d had to sell everything in order to settle all remaining debts. Your parents had offered to move you back home but the thought just made you ashamed. Moving back home? Being seen as a victim, being pitied by those who had seen your potential wasted? No way.

“Nothin’ supernatural, Darlin,” she assured you, after taking a deep breath to steady herself. It appeared that your emotions had started to affect her as well, you noticed with chagrin. “just the power of a good friend and a strong cider.”

Then came the aftermath. The debt collectors, the funeral without a body, his family claiming anything of value and you meekly allowing it, unaccustomed by that point to standing up for yourself. His grooming of you had started so early, and so slightly, that no one had seen it happen. He had controlled every aspect of your lives; it had made you feel like a fool during that first month as a widow. How could you not know about the multiple maxed-out credit cards? The ignored truck payments? The bank loans?! 

That comment made you look around and laugh, breaking the morose atmosphere in a flash. Scattered around the two of you were at least a half dozen bottles of the alcoholic beverage, which you had both sipped on during your sad monologue.

“Ahh, so it’s the maker of the drink I’ll have to kiss,” you proclaimed with a laugh. “I just saved a fortune in therapy bills!”

With a sly smile, Jacquie nodded, “That you will, send him my best when you do.”

Part Two

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper - Pt 19

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader Warnings: Alcohol, swearing, references to Backstreet Boys, references to past abusive relationship, pain Word Count: 2.2k Notes: I just whipped this up while the kids were at Jiu Jitsu and it’s also my son’s birthday so I’ll be spot-checking later. Do with this chapter what you will, just don’t come yell at me for answers

Series Masterlist

Getting out of bed, you struggled to hide the wince of pain that tightened the skin around your eyes. If Frankie saw it, he'd overreact and force you into another damn week of house arrest. Okay, maybe you were grumbling and being a tad ungrateful, but four weeks of sitting on your ass had made you stir crazy! The first week after The Incident, as you'd come to call it, you had been so glad for Frankie's hovering. Your whole body ached, you had suffered a minor concussion from the impact of your head against the truck door, and truth be told, you were slightly afraid of being alone. Margot had been airlifted to a hospital in the city where she was still being treated for the blunt force trauma her body had experienced. The sudden impact had caused upper spinal injuries, and while the doctors had assured you she would fully recover, it was still traumatizing.

While recovering at home, waiting for the bruising and pain across your hips and chest to fade, you'd had a discussion with Frankie and Annie regarding your loneliness. You hadn't wanted to make any important decisions without either of their input, for what you had planned to ask would affect both of them greatly. "Okay, so..." you had stalled, nervously, as you sat on the reclining chair Frankie had bought for you on your first day home from the hospital. "This is kind of a big deal, and I know one or both of you will have some objections or-" "Are we going to move into this big house with you?" Annie interrupted, and you wondered, not for the first time, how anyone could possibly assume kids didn't know what was going on around them. "No, baby, that's not-" "Actually, yes," you cut off Frankie's soft dismissal before he could say anything that could cause you to lose your nerve. The hope in Annie's voice gave you the confidence to continue. "That's exactly what I was going to ask. I, I mean... it makes sense, doesn't it?" Your eyes met Frankie's, trying to read his expression, but his face was like a mask and so you did what you do best, blabbered on. "I have so much space, too much space, for just me. Annie could have a proper bedroom! We could all have our own bedrooms... if that's what you'd want? And we're always together anyway. And when I'm not with you, both of you," you amended, not wanting to get too sappy and freak Frankie out, "I miss you." Silence hung in the air for an eternity. Your heart was beating so rapidly in your chest you wondered if Frankie could hear it, or if his was beating at all. He hadn't so much as batted an eyelash since you'd confirmed your reason for calling an Apple Family meeting. Slowly, the nervous fluttering in your chest turned to slow, heavy beats of dread. Oh god, you cursed in your head, this was too fast for him, too sudden after the first change in his life with Annie arriving. And now we just cornered him with this, in front of Annie. Fuck! Give him an out, give him an out! "It's okay if you don-" "I miss you too," He blurted suddenly, halting the words from spilling out of your mouth. "When you're not with us, we miss you." The look in his warm, brown eyes was so soft, so open and vulnerable, it took your breath away. With a stuttered breath you smiled, your gazes holding, so many unspoken words passing between the two of you in those moments. A high-pitched, ear-piercing squeal cut through delicious tension like a cold shower. Annie was on her feet and jumping toward you, her face was lit up with the same joy you'd expect from her on Christmas morning. Jumping over to kiss you on your nose, she ran upstairs and immediately yelled down that she wanted the bedroom with the gabled window, and began dictating how she wanted to redecorate everything. Frankie, Jacquie, and Mark had started the very next day. There wasn't much that Frankie needed to move from his loft to your house, thank god. Some basic furniture for Annie's bedroom, clothes, and a few cast iron pans you'd be extremely jealous of when you'd first eyed them in his kitchen. The loft remained passably livable, with the intent of using it for future farm-hand lodging once the orchard expanded beyond what you and Frankie could handle together.

With his close proximity, however, came his overbearing tendency to treat you like an invalid. You wanted to get back to work at the bakery, you wanted to get out and plant flowers in your garden, you wanted to enjoy playing with Annie outside and be more a part of her life in your home together! Which brought your mind back to the present, cautiously and carefully climbing out of bed and making your way to the bathroom without letting your boyfriend see any limping or evidence of pain. Today was Annie's school play and you were bound and determined to make it. It was also Jacquie's birthday and later this week was the bakery's 25 anniversary of being in business. While it had taken some time to adjust to living with another person again, never mind with a kid for the first time, you'd all been happy with the new arrangements. Annie had made a chore chart for herself, having already decided that she should get an allowance if she completed everything on the list each day. You'd agreed, after making a few amendments to her list, regretfully informing the child that eating breakfast and waking up in the morning weren't generally considered chores. Enterprising little thing, you didn't have it in you to be the slightest bit annoyed. When asked what she planned on doing with her earnings she had just given you a secret smile, which both alarmed and bemused you. Having made it through the entire day without showing an ounce of pain, Frankie had finally felt reassured enough to agree that you were ready for a night on the town with Jacquie and the girls. Not that you needed his permission, and he wouldn't even think of trying to stop you, but you knew he'd have been worried the whole night that you were pushing yourself and would come home in pain.

Girl's night had finally arrived and you were giddy with excitement and nerves. You hadn't been allowed to have any close friends when married to Brad led alone the chance to have a wild night of dancing and drinking with them. The closest you'd gotten to an experience like this was when your college friend threw a Jack and Jill party before her wedding, and you assumed Brad's presence and heavy hand at your waist had dampened much of the fun you could have had. Jacquie's suburban pulled down your driveway, honking unnecessarily as it came to a stop. All the windows were open, 90's boy band jams pumped from the speakers, and at least 3 women hung out of the windows singing or calling for you to "get that tight ass down here!". Mark's apologetic grin met you as you hurried down the front steps, "Sorry about them," he called over the crooning voice of Nick Carter, "they started without you." Dodging a playful slap from his wife he shot a grimace towards Frankie, "Down for a beer and poker once I've dropped off the Golden Girls?" This time, the slap landed, followed by applause, jeers, and the general consensus that we were all Blanche tonight. Climbing into the last free seat, you waved goodbye to Frankie not even trying to hide the mischievous grin on your face. Tonight was going to be fun. Patio drinks and appetizers quickly turned into fishbowl-sized glasses of sangria and clearing away a few tables to make room for the impromptu dancefloor. A few patrons even joined you for a drink or a dance, or sometimes both. Eventually, the group, grown in size once more friends or new acquaintances were encouraged the join, made its way down the street towards the only bar in town. The bass was loud enough that you could feel it in your chest before the doors could even open, inside was a whole other story. The main body of your friend group was a good decade older than the patrons already inside but that didn't stop anyone from letting loose. Jacquie took you by the hand and lead you straight to the dance floor, white-girl dancing with zero shits to give. This was incredible. You were sweaty, too hot, and thirsty. Your feet were aching in your too-tight, too-high heels, the music was so loud you knew you were doing permanent damage to your hearing. A body dancing around you bumped into you, a spilled drink splashed your ankles, your damp hair was stuck to the back of your neck. Yet you had never felt more alive, more free, and the moment you closed your eyes and allowed your body to move and writhe to the music you allowed a single happy tear to fall. Multiple songs later you made your way to the bar for a glass of water, Jacquie and a few others trailing close behind. Finding a clear space at the counter, you turned to the bartender to place an order for the girls but he placed a shot in front of you before you could. "What's this?" You asked, laughing at the absurdity of it. He just shrugged and pointed over his shoulder towards a different section of the round bar, "Some guy sent this your way." You picked up the drink, casting your gaze across the row of people vying for a bartender's attention, expecting to see someone meeting your gaze or, you had the slightest odd hope that it was Frankie being a dorky sweetheart. Not recognizing anyone you brought the drink to your lips but quickly pulled it away with a grimace, the smell immediately turning your stomach. "What's that?" Shouted Jacquie as she grabbed the tiny glass and brought it up to her nose. "Prairie Fire." You said in a voice that sounded dull in your ears. "You gonna drink it?" She asked, eying it up. You'd barely shaken your head before the alcohol was pouring past her lips. "Gaaaaah, whatthefuckwasthat?" She hissed out, wide accusatory eyes turned towards yours as if you'd forced her to drink the tequila and hot sauce. "Someone ordered it for me," you yelled back, a pit in your stomach opening as the memories took root. "Brad used to order them all the time, would make me have a couple with him. Aren't they disgusting?" She looked like she was going to puke, dabbing her tongue on a napkin. "Then he'd play this stupid fucking song, and I knew it was going to be one of those nights." You should stop talking. Reliving the memories was putting a massive damper on the evening but for some stupid reason, your mouth just couldn't stop. "He'd put on this damn song about tequila mak-" The DJ's voice blared across the speakers, drowning out the conversation as he announced that the next song was a special request. As soon as the first refrain of 'Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off' began to play, the pit in your stomach became filled with lead. Jacquie took one look at you and knew something was wrong. Pushing her way through the crowd, gripping your hand, and pulling you with her, she had her phone to her ear and was telling Mark he needed to come to pick you up before you reached the sidewalk. "What kind of a sick fucking joke from the Universe was that?" She asked, her southern twang amplifying due to alcohol and rage.

It was Frankie who drove right up to the front doors, his face curious, then concerned when he saw whatever was written across your and Jacquie's faces. "Come on, darlin', let's get you home."

Part 20

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt. 3

Pairing: Eventual Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: Clumsy injury, more stupid fighting Length: 2.5k Notes: If these two dummies could have one (1) adult conversation they’d be in bed together by now. Instead, we get this! *waves around vaguely*

PART ONE, TWO

Money was tight. You had been trying to ignore the dwindling stack of cash, telling yourself that you didn’t actually need to fix the cracked drywall, replace the old oven, or fill in the missing patches of shingles. 

That ignorance had finally come to bite you in the butt. You were rudely woken at three a.m. to the clap of thunder and the pat-pat-pat of rain hitting the house. You loved storms, the excitement of the lighting, and how fresh the air smelled once the rain had passed. 

You rolled over onto your back so you could watch the lightning flashing between the cracks of your curtains. A tap on your forehead quickly destroyed the excitement you were feeling. The wet ‘splat’ was quickly followed by another, and another, and before you were able to scramble up and search for the closest thing resembling a bucket, it had turned into a steady stream.

“Fuuuuuuuck!”

The next morning, the sun rose and shed its light upon a beautiful scene. The leaves, now free from dust, were beginning to turn, the grass glimmered with raindrops, and the sky was clear. You, on the other hand, were a verifiable disaster. 

Hair unkempt, heavy bags under your eyes, and wearing the first items of clothing you could find in your scramble last night. Your exhaustion was so complete, it hadn’t even dawned on you to change or freshen up a bit before going out into the public eye. All you could focus on was getting to Hank’s Hardware and buying all the shingles you could get your hands on.

Once again, however, you were harshly reminded of your dwindling savings and just how expensive fixing up a house could be. The owner, Allan if you remembered correctly, had shown you the right size and style for your home’s roof and you nearly choked at the price.

“You know,” he had said gently, “we do have the option of a payment plan. I don’t let just anyone use it either. It’s for trusted customers. I have a good gut on who I can trust.”

“Really?” You asked, feeling a little pathetic while also knowing now was not the time to let pride ruin such a good thing. “And, um, what does your gut tell you about me?”

“Welllll,” he smiled, hooking his thumbs into his suspenders and leaning back a little to size you up. “You’re hard-working, feel like you have something to prove, won’t back down from a challenge, and are in way over your head with that damn old house.”

“Oh.”

“No offense, ma’am! Sometimes I forget myself and talk to strangers the same way I’d talk to my friends.” He patted your forearm gently then hooked it back into his suspenders, pretending he didn’t notice you jumping at the physical contact. “But it’s true. No denying you won’t be able to shingle all by yourself. I’d offer, but I’m in no shape to be climbing up roofs.”

“That’s very sweet of you, truly. But I’ll manage! I doubt I could afford a handyman, so it’ll be me and my stubborn self scrambling around up there.” You joked, but it fell a little flat since the both of you knew it was the truth.

“I’ve got an idea...” Hank trailed off, his gaze searching around by the till. “Maybe you two can help each other out?” He fiddled at the computer for a minute, then grabbed a flyer from the corkboard mounted behind the counter before handing you two pieces of paper. One was a receipt of what you owed him after this latest excursion and a detailed timeline of when small payments could be made. 

Glancing up at him, you gave him a watery smile and thanked him for being so kind. Allan waved you off and pointed to the second paper.

‘Help Wanted’ it read, ‘Morales Acres. Light physical labour, quiet environment, rate of pay dependent on quality of work.’

“So friendly and welcoming,” you murmured, sarcastically, under your breath. Not quietly enough though because Allan snorted out a laugh and agreed that the ad was worded very abruptly. However, he vetted for the owner of the farm and suggested you head over to see if he would be willing to trade labour for labour.

Or at the very least, you thought, pay you so you can afford a roofer.

Following the directions Allan had provided for you, you quickly found Morales Acres. Surprisingly, it was a very short distance from your own home, making you wonder if the owner had been one of the people to drop by during your first weeks here.

The driveway was a beautiful, winding drive. The view of the farm was obscured by thickets of trees on either side of the road but you managed to catch glimpses of a pond and a few bales of hay before rounding a bend and driving into the yard.

A small gasp left your lips at the sight. It was picturesque! Something out of a travel magazine, or on every city girl’s Pinterest board. The driveway came to an end in front of a statuesque barn painted in the classic red and white, stone walls cordoned off certain areas that, from where you sat, looked like they could be used to house sheep or hens. A few small sheds were lined up along the other edge of the yard but the main attraction was the neatly lined rows of apple trees all heavy with fruit.

Climbing out of the cab, you slowly made your way into the yard with your mouth hanging open dumbly. It was just so peaceful here and it was obvious that the owner cared deeply for the property. You were enchanted and fell immediately in love.

“You must be the help Allan called to say he was sending over,” a warm voice rang out.

Looking around for the source your gaze widened, then immediately hardened, when you caught sight of who was talking to you.

“You!”

“You?!”

To say it had been a smooth business agreement would be a total lie. You and Market Asshole, Frankie you reminded yourself to call him, had bickered back and forth for the better part of an hour before shaking hands. Surprisingly, you had both argued more for the other person’s benefit, something you had been mulling over since.

If this guy was such an ass, why was he also acting like his help with your renovations wouldn’t be worth as much as you picking apples? You knew your presence disturbed his peace, and that you weren’t as strong as he might have hoped his helper would be, and he still hadn’t trusted you with all the workings of his orchard. 

So, while you weren’t going to argue anymore, you knew you were getting the better end of the deal: you help him gather his harvest and get it safely stored in the barn, then he spends the same amount of hours helping you. While the weather during September was prone to drizzle, you had convinced him that a tarp thrown over the baldest patches of roof would be fine and that the apples couldn’t wait. 

He had grumpily conceded your point but had sworn that as soon as the last of the fruit was picked he’d be over to do a proper job of it. So continued the uneasy truce between the two of you for the past four weeks. The first week was the hardest as your hands, unaccustomed to work, blistered, and your muscles ached from sudden use. You had initially tried to pass the time by making conversation but you got the hint and stayed quiet once Frankie started choosing trees farther and farther from yours.

Slowly, however, the blisters healed and gave way to callouses. Your muscles became accustomed to the work and you were able to carry twice the amount as you had started off with. Your home could now boast electricity and running water everywhere it should be, and the pile of discarded furniture had been reduced to ash by a spectacular bonfire which Jacquie and her family had joined you in admiring.

Today started off as a normal day. You showed up for harvesting at the break of dawn, having discovered you much preferred the cool morning air over being up on a ladder with the midday sun beating down on you. The trees were obscured by a low fog that had yet to burn up, but you knew what section you needed to start on. 

Enjoying the way the fog enveloped you, making you feel like you were in a magical world, you began to hum and your steps took on a dreamy dance-like quality. You had never taken lessons or had even been allowed to make such a spectacle of yourself while living with Brad but now you felt free enough to spin, twirl, and glide. Overcome with the joy your freedom gave you, you began to belt out “These Are a Few of my Favourite Things”, The Sound of Music having been played on repeat when you were a child. 

Once you reached the ladder, you hoisted the basket onto your back and continued to sing whatever songs you could remember while you worked. A particularly boisterous rendition of “Do Re Mi” had you flinging your arm out wide and leaning back on the ladder for a dramatic finish.

The apples threw you off balance. 

With a screech, you fell backward, managing to twist yourself around to land awkwardly on your hands and knees instead of on the basket of apples strapped to your back. You seemed to have come away unscathed, with just scratched knees and a throbbing in one wrist. Thankfully it wasn’t your dominant hand.

“Whoa!” Frankie called out, catching sight of you on the ground with the ladder tipped on its side, “Everything okay? Are you okay?”

Coming to a skidding stop next to you, he grasped the basket and slipped it off your back with ease. 

You took a few deep breaths and nodded. “Fine! Fine, just bruised knees and ego...” you assured him.

“What were you thinking?!” He tore into you, “You could have broken your neck! Or ruined a whole barrel of apples! Then what would I do?! This job doesn’t come with health insurance for Christ's sakes!” Running his hands through his curly, brown hair he let out a huff of air and walked over to where your ladder lay on the ground.

“Un-be-fucking-lievable!” You called out, incredulously. While trying to get to your feet, to march over and wag your finger in his face, you put too much pressure on your injured wrist that caused pain to scream down your arm.

You managed to mask the cry of pain as a cry of frustration and got to your feet. Surreptitiously cradling your hand against your chest, you grabbed another basket and walked past Frankie to start climbing the ladder again. Looking at the ground so he wouldn’t see the tears of pain in your eyes, you mumbled, “I’ll be more careful, alright? I’m sorry.”

Stopping your ascent with a hand on your arm he stuttered out what might have been the beginning of an apology but he couldn’t quite seem to put the right words together so he just cleared his throat.

“Just...” he said in a much softer tone, “just be more careful. Okay? I can’t lose my best worker.” 

The lame joke made you smile despite yourself. 

“Employee of the month,” you replied in a dry tone, “hurrah.” 

You shared wry smiles while a silent apology passed between the two of you. His dark brown eyes held a warmth to them you had never noticed before. Their hue reminding you of every tree in the orchard from the early light to the sunset, golden flecks reminiscent of the sun. His face, weathered from so much time spent outdoors, was marked with laugh lines, worry lines, and a small scar gracing his left cheek. 

Your eyes wandered past the scar to note how long his scruffy facial hair had grown and how it had started to obscure those pleasantly pouty lips. 

Then, with a start, you realized you were staring at this infuriating man’s lips like a hormonal teenager. With an embarrassed squeak, you quickly scurried up the ladder, hooking your elbow around each rung to avoid any more pressure on your wrist.

To say Frankie was coping well with having someone around would be a gross overstatement. 

It’s not that he didn’t like the company or wanted to be alone. The problem was that he was starting to like her company too much, to care too much. And caring too much had been the root cause of all Frankie’s sorrows.

First, there had been his Dad, trying to impress the man who never even wanted kids. Then the force, always feeling like he needed to prove himself and desperate for praise. After that was his wife, ex-wife, and trying to be someone he wasn’t so she would stay interested and in love. The pressure created by caring about these people and the expectations they had for him drove him to abuse drugs. Then his friends came calling and Frankie went against his gut because they had cared so deeply about something and he had cared deeply for them.

His wife, his kid, his family, his job, his friends. He had cared more than they did and he had come away worse off. At least now he was clean and sober, and was very aware of the irony of him now making and selling an alcoholic drink.

No, it was best to stay alone. He loved too freely and put too much stock in being loved back and every. single. time. it hurt him.

So, he closed himself off from you. Initially, he didn’t think it was going to be an issue, especially considering how you two had met. But then he found himself smiling at your stories, idly leaning against a branch so he could watch your graceful moments. He hated watching you leave, knowing you were going home to that piece of shit house that he should really be fixing up for you.

He recognized the signs and nipped them in the bud; working farther away, replying to questions with the fewest possible words, focusing purely on work, and maintaining a professional relationship. It pained him to push you away but deep down he knew it was best for the both of you.

Which brings him back to this moment.

Frankie was too stunned to notice your awkward climb up the ladder. Standing there, dumbly, for another few seconds. Wondering, all the way back to the idling tractor, what the hell had just happened.

One minute he was just driving the tractor minding his own business and the next he was having a mild heart attack after seeing his only worker laying limp on the ground. Then, after arguing like usual, you had shared a...a moment and stared at his mouth almost long enough to tempt him to use it.

Part Four

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[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper - Pt 15

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Talk of past abusive relationship, swearing

Length: 1.2k

Notes: Rollin’ rollin’ rollin’, keep the story rollin’. More plot, lack of smut, surprise guests, it’s all coming together now I promise. Since tags don’t work for me, like AT ALL, I’m going to attempt a posting schedule! Which is laughable if you know how I story-board. Every Tuesday night at 7pm MDT

Series Masterlist

You needed to get laid.

No, not just laid. You needed to get fucking dicked down. 

You needed it so hard and rough that you couldn't walk the next day. 

It had been seven weeks. Seven weeks without an orgasm.

Sure, you'd tried to get off on your own fingers but after the delicious stretch from manual-labour-thickened digits how could yours ever compare? You had gone so far as to order a vibrator, something you’d never even consider for fear of getting caught, but your body always stalled out just on the cusp of an orgasm. 

You needed Frankie and you were going to get him,

Date night was back on the table, and hopefully, you'd be getting railed on said table before the end of the night. Frankie had been very reserved when you'd brought up the idea of a sleepover for Annie, but once Jacquie had assured him for the fifth time that she knew how to take care of children, seeing as she had four of them herself, he had agreed.

The scheduled day had arrived, legs were shaved, an amazing meal was cooked, and a sweet little babydoll dress was purchased that you knew would drive him crazy. You even went the extra mile and set up your old record player and had Johnny Cash crooning at you from the living room.

Finishing the final touches, you surveyed the table setting, trying to decide between using your nice plates to complete the aesthetic or just putting down plastic so you could sweep the table clear and mount your boyfriend on it without fear of broken ceramic. 

Finally deciding on the first option, presentation is everything after all, you were digging through your china cabinet when the doorbell rang. How formal of him, you thought to yourself, glad he was playing along with the unspoken mood you'd set for the night.

Opening the door, your gaze widened a comical amount and your jaw went slack. There was nothing in the world that could have prepared you for this.

"Close your mouth dear, before the flies get in."

"MOM?!"

It really shouldn't have shocked you, knowing the woman as well as you did, that she would show up unannounced like this. Ever since you'd let it slip that you and Frankie were in a relationship she'd been dropping hints that a visit was due, and you, not wanting to deal with her, had been blatantly changing the subject every time.

Then, Frankie had to go and tell her that an adorable little girl was now involved? That's not something she could ever resist, even if it wasn't exactly being offered to her.

Finally coming to terms with the fact that you weren't going to get railed tonight, and instead would be spending your week fending off your mother's well-meaning but entirely outdated advice, you opened the door wider and welcomed her into your home.

"Where's Dad?" You ask, glancing behind her onto the porch, noting a distinct lack of other vehicles. "Did you get a cab here?!"

"Sweetie, honestly, you know I don't like to drive and he doesn’t like to leave home," came her answer from your dining room where she was already adjusting your place settings to her standards. "Besides I wasn't sure how long you'd need me here for so I decided to fly and will just borrow your truck if need be."

So matter-of-fact, as if it was the simplest notion in the world, and said with such nonchalance, your mouth was back to hanging open again from the sheer audacity of the woman.

"Mom, no, wait, what?" You were floundering, completely at a loss for words. "Why would I need you here right now? I needed you when I was young, dumb, and blindly in love with Brad. I needed your guidance and concern when I was being manipulated-"

"Oh come on-" she tried to interrupt you with a wave of her hand.

"No! You keep trying to tell me he wasn't that bad but you weren't there. You didn't hear how he talked to me, how he treated me." You were over your shock, residual hurt and betrayal were now rearing their ugly heads. "Don't you shake your head at me! How dare you chose his side over mine! I was your daughter, your little girl," the words were getting stuck in your throat now, burning so hot with emotion you could almost see the pain they were inflicting as they landed on her ears. "and you chose to ignore the signs, the cries for help. You were only there for me when he died, but even then it was just to send your regards!"

"We really didn't know..." she answered in a small voice, so quiet it barely registered through the roaring in your ears.

"Denial, maybe? I don't think we could bear the thought of anything but a fairytale being true, so we willfully ignored the signs." She waited for a beat, probably giving you time to yell back at her but when you stayed silent she continued, "I don't think it truly sank in just how badly you'd been treated until you moved away. We thought quitting college was you just deciding you wanted to start a family. Then when you stopped calling friends and family, we hoped it was because you were making new ones. Then your weight loss and depression we blamed on infertility, and then again from the grief of his death." Lifting your head up and wiping away the tears that had streaked your cheeks, she smiled sadly at you while tears fell from her own eyes. "I'll never forgive myself."

"How could you not?" You sobbed, letting yourself sink onto a dining room chair.

Your mom tentatively made her way over to you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and hugging your head to her stomach.

"Oh, Mom," you couldn't finish the sentiment, but you didn't need to. Springing up, you enveloped each other in a tight hug and rocked back and forth until the tears dried and your breathing was almost back to normal, save for the occasional hitch and sniffle.

Breaking apart, you were just about to ask if she wanted some tea when the front door flew open.

"Where's my pretty pus- oh! Oh."

"Frankie," you said calmly while your eyes screamed ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME at him, "this is my mother."

"So this is the handsome face behind that gruff voice!" God bless Margot and her ability to ignore the obvious, sometimes it actually came in handy. "And I suppose he's the second place setting for a lovely night I seem to have interrupted."

"Oh, no, Mom it's okay-"

"Nonsense! I'll check myself into the sweet little bed and breakfast I've booked for the week and see you both tomorrow!"

"It is nice to see you, Mom," you admitted, finding yourself meaning the words more than you expected to. "I'll meet you in town tomorrow and show you around?" Maybe having her here for a while would be nice, if the week went as well as tonight had, your relationship with her would be salvaged.

"You really don't need to do that, you just got here!" Frankie tried to reassure her, having noticed the red, swollen, tear-streaked faces and assuming there was unfinished conversation to be had.

You knew your mom was immovable once she had made up her mind, however, so you just followed her to the door and handed her her coat and your truck keys.

"Marvelous!" She pats your hand in thanks before a sly smile quirks her mouth up to the side and she winks, "Have a good night, Pretty Pussy!"

Part Sixteen