#How to choose a real estate agent | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chronically-ghosted · 8 months

Text

in another life . . .

rating: explicit, 18+

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

word count: 7K

summary: Partner. That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself. And then he met you and the definition changed again.

warnings: domestic!frankie, marriage kink (if that’s a thing), oral (f receiving) but i think that’s an expectation from every frankie fic, improper use of a kitchen table, unprotected piv, no use of y/n, brief mentions of PTSD, improper use of Spanish, eating in bed

a/n: requested for my 100 followers event! Anon: hiiii firstly! congrats on the big one hundo you totally deserve it 🥂‼️ secondly wondering if I could rq a Pedro boy drabble with prompt number 12... I wanna do laundry for Frankie Morales :D “did you just wash these sheets?” “I did.” “they smell nice. and they’re still warm.”

🤍Masterlist

. . . I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.

Frankie fills the silence of the house without you in it with music. This house, it had been your choice, even though he never expressly made you choose, or even presented the dichotomy. This house, with its leaky faucet and janky AC unit and finicky pilot light, was what you wanted instead of a diamond ring, and so he gave it to you. First down payment, along with every other red cent you and he had both saved up, went into buying your first home together. This wasn’t forever, you both agreed (with only two bedrooms it wasn’t enough room for a baby, he often thought) but even as the real estate agent glanced around with disdain for the house and your budget, one look from you and it was settled.

“It has good bones,” you said, standing out on the concrete deck overlooking a postage-stamp-sized backyard. There were weeds in the corners and holes from some unknown animal but he could see the wheels in your head turning, imagining how you, like everything else you did, planned to tackle and wrestle control over it with your bare hands. “It needs work, but I think there’s something special here.”

“Yeah?” he asked, threading his fingers through yours, the real estate agent no doubt off somewhere inspecting the drains. “Is there something here?”

You grinned and shoved your nose then a soft press of your lips into his denim-shoulder.

“I’m sure of it.”

All his life, Frankie worked best in a unit. As children, his older brother, his younger brother, and him were practically inseparable, their physical similarities almost presenting as the same person but at different ages, and when that group disbanded because Oscar left for college, he went on to find another one. First, his army unit, then the boys. His boys. Left to his own devices, Frankie was terrible at remembering to eat, sleep regularly – focus on anything other than fixing cars and planes, really – but he’d do it for them. He hated to see that worried crease show up on Will’s brow when Frankie admitted he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He hated that Benny had to show up at his apartment to drag his ass outta bed to get him into the sunlight. And he hated when Pope felt obligated to take him out to bars to try and meet women.

“I’m not dating someone just so they can be my mother,” Frankie muttered into the lip of his beer bottle. “I don’t need anyone thinking I need to rely on them like that.”

“Yeah, but you do better when you have people relying on you.” Pope’s dark eyes flitted from a woman at the bar top to him, with intention and full of force. “And I’m not saying I’m trying to get you to fuck your mother, but you need a partner.”

Partner.

That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself.

And then he met you and the definition changed again.

You are his best friend. You are the woman he wants to fuck every day for the rest of his life. You are the first person he wants to tell good news to and the first person he wants to talk to when he’s had a shitty day. Your voice quiets something inside him that has been far too loud for far too long. You are a relief and a refuge. For all his faults, you love him and sometimes he can’t fathom why.

You are his partner – in life, in marriage (one day), and forever (he hopes).

“I might not always like you, Catfish,” you said to him in Will’s backyard for Benny’s birthday party. You had been drinking and every sip seems to bring you closer and closer to him. With your face tucked up into his neck, arms up under his flannel and hugging his waist, the only way he could be physically closer to you was if he was inside you – which he was about two seconds away from suggestion when you leaned in close. “‘M not always going to like you, but ‘m always going love you.”

And love him you did. You loved him when he decided to go back to school to get some additional certifications so he could maybe teach flight school. The army would pay for most of it, was a fucking relief to your shared thread-bare, cartoon-spider-web empty savings account. But what the army would not pay for was for you to go to nursing school. You worked in hotels for the events services branch, coordinating everything from weddings to conferences, walking (mostly running) from one end of the hotel to the next. Your sister got you a Fitbit for Christmas one year and after the holiday rush, you walked twenty miles in two days.

“After that, this nursing stuff should be a breeze,” you said flippantly as you signed your paperwork for admissions.

Of course you got accepted at one of the better hospitals in the city – he never doubted for a second you would – and as the fresh-faced trainee, you got stuck with most of the night shifts.

Which meant his days looked a lot like this: wake up at 6AM, drive an hour to the helicopter tour building on the coast, fly rich idiots around all day, eat the lunch you had prepped for the both of you on Sunday night, continue flying rich idiots around, drive home in two-hour traffic, change into his work overalls, go work on some cars Benny’s buddy had at the local garage for some extra cash, then go home, heat up dinner you also made Sunday night, and then attend to the most pressing thing you or the house needed.

Which could be:

Fixing the AC unit, resealing the back door so it would close properly, re-caulking the shower, building more attic space, repainting the back fence, or replacing the hand towel holder.

Frankie didn’t mind the hard work. It kept his mind and his hands busy. What he did mind was the house silent and eerily empty without you here.

He didn’t mind the hard work because even for a few hours, he got to hold you while you slept. He got to eat with you at 10:30 at night and it was the highlight of his day.

Pay your surgeon very well to break the spell of aging

Sicker than the rest, there is no test, but this is what you're craving?

Frankie bobs his head, his earphones carefully tucked up under his shirt to prevent the laundry from tangling up in them. He hauls out the latest load and moves onto the washer, fishing out one more sock when suddenly the lights go off. All of them. Total darkness.

And then light and he’s staring down the bottom of the drum.

Then dark. And light.

You. Your code. One you designed when you read that PTSD victims are often triggered into a fight-or-flight response when startled. You, who knew before he did, how to manage the symptoms, create workarounds, and find a pathway through, instead of not at all.

He takes out one of the earbuds and smiles.

“Hey, you’re home.”

You lean against the doorway, smiling that smile that is reserved for him and him alone. Sometimes he’s selfish and wants everything of yours to be only for him – all your smiles, your laughter, your sighs – but that’s like trying to capture sunlight in a butterfly net: too focused on the impossible and you end up missing the daytime.

“How goes this fucking Sysphian task?” You nod at the baskets of laundry at his feet, referring to how you’d often rant and rave about how laundry, the dishes, and grocery shopping were never tasks that could simply be done. He knows how much you hate being unable to cross things off your to-do lists, so he holds your hand during all of these rantings and kisses your knuckles when you take a breath.

“Good,” he shrugs. “‘Bout to fold your scrubs for tomorrow.”

“Ah, have I told you lately that I love you?” You swing into the room and kiss him on his cheek, on the division where his patchy beard meets his skin – the place that you most often claimed on him. Your fingers squeeze around his bicep as you pull away and your eyes fall to the basket behind him. You gasp with glee.

“Did you just wash these sheets?” You ask like you’d just uncovered buried gold.

He smirks, propping his hip up against the dryer. “I did.”

Without another word, you scoop them up in your arms and inhale sharply.

“Mhmm, they smell nice.” You bury your head in deep. “And they’re still warm.”

In the rare moments when you’re both home and going through laundry together, he never fails to scoop up a load of hot towels and dump them over your head, relishing in the girlish giggle from beneath the clean laundry. “It’s so toasty,” you whimper with glee.

“They’re not gonna be if you get your hospital gunk all over them,” Frankie tuts, going back to add a new load into the washer as you glare at him over the lump of sheets.

“Ha, ha. Move over, Mr. Morales, and watch a master at work.”

“Yes, Mrs. Morales.” It’s stupid but his heart always fumbles when he calls you that. It started as a joke, one that you initiated, but now it’s like berry jam on his tongue, sweet and sugary. He’s thought about calling you that while he’s inside you but figures he should save something for the wedding night.

He sidles back, giving you space near the dryer as you pick up a basket of t-shirts.

“You know there’s dinner waiting for you in the kitchen.” He shakes his head as you begin to fold the shirts with lightning speed and precision – a side effect of being the oldest daughter in a family of five kids.

“Yeah, but you’re in here,” you say and bump his hip. He bumps you back and helps with the load. “Besides, it’ll get done faster with two people.”

He can’t exactly argue with that, so he lets the silence grow. But it’s not silence, not really. In the distance, dogs bark. Outside the room, the temperamental AC grumbles, a sound he never thought he’d come to appreciate. Inside the room, fingers tug at fabric, the soft thump as the shirts grow into a continuous pile. Then there’s you, breathing in the lilac-scented air, the scent of his deodorant and sweat and something entirely unique to him– his Frankie-ness as you’ve called it many times without elaborating. I’d bottle it if I could, you told him, bathe in it. You’re kinda weird, he told you, and you know he likes it.

Every once in a while, his elbow brushes up against yours, yours skirting around his, but never colliding, an awareness of the other always present and attended to, a flow of familiarity and recognition he’s never felt before or known since.

Bit by bit, you’ve taken pieces of him into you, picked them up, held them to the light and found them beautiful, until a second bit of his soul lives outside of his body. He knows every inch of you, how every atom calls out to him, begs to be close to him, and held tight. It’s not sunlight he’s trying to keep safe, it’s your heart. Your precious, wonderful heart that is somehow so full, it was enough to fill him up too. Gold filling in the cracks.

Kintsugi, Benny called it, when he got obsessed with anime for three months that one time two years ago. Frankie never could remember the actual name, and maybe that wasn’t the point and maybe it was a little ridiculous, especially when it was explained by a deliriously drunk and bleary-eyed Ben Miller at one in the morning on his brother’s lawn chair.

Maybe a better way of thinking about it was how separate, disparate, jagged and raw edges came to fit together. How someone like him got a do-over, another chance to be remade in the kiln, and how someone like you was allowed to love unselfishly, to ask for things and never be threatened with reparations of some kind – as if loving you deserved some sort of compensation.

Pieces, broken and scattered – he looked up and saw you carrying yours, and you witnessed the scars and blood dripping from the shards of his own past, his life, his love, and despite how slippery his pieces were, how dried and empty and wanting yours were, something pulled them together and made them stay.

Something stronger than light.

Stronger than gold.

You shook his hand and looked at what you built together, the pieces that came together, and in the end, that was your partnership. A creation of something greater – home, family, love.

So much fucking love.

In the end, Frankie Morales used love to build his life, not death, and you’re the one who gave it to him.

He drops the last shirt on the stack and he turns, his fingers seeking the drawstring of your pants.

You know what he wants. You want it too. A singular desire in two separate bodies.

The inherent closeness of domesticity draws you into him, closing the already limited space as hands find waists and lips find skin. He drags his nose against your jaw, somehow already shaking, his teeth grazing your throat, unwilling and unable to press his lips to you, wanting to drag this out as much as possible. He squeezes your hips, thumbs flipping under your shirt to touch, touch, touch, until his fingers wrap around your ribs and you make your first sound of the night. It snags at his restraint, pulling it threadbare.

“Frankie,” you sigh and he cannot fight the cataclysmic pull towards you – he stumbles, pinning you to the laundry room wall, his tongue cupping your earlobe into his mouth and he sucks. The next noise you make is high and keening and it turns his touch frantic.

Caught between the wall and his broad shoulders, he does with you what he wants. He nips at your cheek, your neck, the dip of your clavicle, as his thumb presses up each knot of your spine, drawing out the tension from your body like draining poisoned blood, and by the time he pinches off your bra, you’re all but hanging onto him.

“Baby–,”

He can hear you say, it’s late, we have work in the morning, you don’t have to do this,

I’m not worth this

With a low growl that is all possession, all anger that someone ever made you feel like your love was too much, he tugs your shirt off, knocking his hat off as he goes. In the drift, he sees your eyes flutter, mouth twisted in pleasure and guilt – you don’t want to be asking for things like this – and so he silences every doubt, every worry that he’s tired or it’s too late or his knees are aching too much to make you feel the way you deserve – he kisses you with enough force to knock out every unpleasant thought you’ve ever had about yourself and flattens you against the wall.

You let him pry you open, his touch fervent and insistent, tasting of iced coffee and gum. He licks into you, telling you things with his tongue, the way he tugs your bottom lip between his teeth, in the soft puff of breath that escapes him when you cup the back of his neck. Closer, he begs, closer.

His wide palm arching your lower back into him, he squeezes your ribs, up under your breast, before finally taking your nipple between his thumb and the meat of his hand and twists, just enough to make you break apart from his demanding mouth, gasping as if tapped by a live wire. But it’s him who is electrocuted, who catches fire, who wants to be chewed down and swallowed up. He shuffles and pulls you into him, the throbbing in his pants bordering on painful. He rubs himself against you once and you sigh like you know he hurts. You nod.

Your fingers peel your shirt up and over your head as he cups one thigh then the other until your hips hug his waist, smearing the hem of his shirt up over his skin. He feels the heat coming from between your legs, the slight dampness, against his lower belly and he groans, low, right near that source of warmth he wants to die in.

You curl above him, tipping his head back, as you dive into his mouth again, fingers twisting into his hair, thumbs brushing his temple right where you know he tends to get headaches. Your tongue brushes against his upper lip, tasting his mustache, and his knees threaten to buckle.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he laments, he praises, into the supple wetness of your tongue. You nod, pleased, and press your chest into him. He cannot fucking wait to get his mouth around your tits.

Mouth sealed to yours, hands cupping the meat of your ass, Frankie works entirely on sense memory to carry you into the kitchen, to a long wooden table beneath a wide window, white curtains closed and blinds shut.

This table had been one of the first purchases for the new house. Tan cedar boards with white knobby legs, it instantly reminded him of the one in his own childhood home, where he and his brothers fought over meals and did homework together. Where he held his mom after his father died and where he dropped his bag after coming home from a life too long spent fighting other people’s wars.

This table mattered to him and he’d be damned if it wouldn’t mean something to his own child one day.

That was something you too wanted to give your child, never having a table like this in your own life. You loved the stories he told about the table in his kitchen. How much it meant to him.

And now he was going to fuck you on it, this symbol of stability.

He just wonders how stable it really is.

His fingers clutching the back of your neck, arm running in tandem with your spine, he lowers you down, shifting your weight onto his arm so you don’t bump your head against the wood. He releases you but you protest, a muffled uh-uh, as he tries retreating. You loop your arms around his neck, tugging him flat against you and he feels your breasts mold against his chest, nipples already tight.

“Baby,” he breathes, sucking up and out of your mouth, “let me make you feel good.”

Behind him, he hears your sneakers clatter to the floor, your heels digging into his back as you toe off your shoes, and you shake your head.

“I am.” Kiss. A thumb under his bottom lip. “You do.” Breathless, reverent, grateful.

Grateful.

Grateful that he is kissing you.

Not good enough. God, he’s going to eat that self-loathing right out of you.

You whine, frustrated and hot, as he pulls back. He wants to go right for your pussy, but stutters at the sight of your unmarked tits. Smooth, flushed, heaving. There is no part of you he does not love, does not feel the need to worship on his knees.

But suddenly sour shame strikes him as he realizes enough time has passed since the last time you’d had sex for the hickeys to heal. He intends to amend that right now.

His thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips, to calm himself, he folds himself over you, dribbling kisses along your throat, over the wings of your clavicle, at the barest incline at the top of your breast, and then to the meat of your tit, the heaviness, the sway, and he bites down. Predictably, you yelp, nails scratching roughly into his scalp and that only makes him suck harder. You have very strict rules around where he can mark you, but on the places he can – oh, you beg him for it.

He palms your other tit, just to feel the goosebumps break out across your skin, to roll your nipple with the calluses on his palm. His teeth release, his tongue laving over that already pink and swollen skin, and he glances up, his other thumb coming to massage that fragile patch.

Being a pilot, a soldier, a brother, a son, those are the things he is. But Frankie lives – aches, pines, desires – to watch you come apart.

The purple bruise on your tit shining like a luxurious necklace, your eyes flutter open when you feel him pull up. Your fingers around his ears, your chest wet with his spit, you let him take you in. You give him this, because you know you’re about to get so much more. With your legs still wrapped around his waist, he can feel the soft cant of your hips, the quiet, patient begging, as you thought he needed reminding that you needed this. You rub up him, knees pinned to his ribs, and he lets you pull him into your mouth, grounding him. This kiss is brief, soft, a far cry from the tearing and biting that got you onto the table. Knowing exactly the state you need to be in to ask for what you want, he holds your jaw, thumb against the apple of your cheek and he slips his tongue out of your mouth. Again a protest, an instinctual reaction to the repeated pattern of abandonment, but like all cries for help, he quiets your squirming by sliding his thumb between your lips.

“Suck,” he murmurs gently. Your eyes flutter shut, your nails carving half moons into his forearm, lips creating a vacuum seal around his knuckle and you obey – you suck – and he rewards you with a trail of kisses across your sternum, over your breasts, to the soft swell of your stomach. He nuzzles your belly button and you groan, eyes still shut and his thumb still in your mouth. He bites, softer than before, just above the thatch of hair and you whine around his finger, body going supple for him. He slides his thumb out, dragging a shiny string of spit over your plush lips, down your chin, joining his other hand at the waist band of both your panties and your scrubs.

Any fast movement will awaken that anxious, overthinking, beautiful brain of yours, now that he has it fuzzy and unfocused, so he keeps kissing, keeps sucking and biting, that spot just above your curls. He tongues your hip, and then the other side, your bottom half wonderfully bare before you can open your eyes.

His shoulder bumps the back of your thigh as he stands up right, inhaling the sweat behind your knee, the pungent tang of your glistening curls, your almond butter body lotion. It’s hunger, he feels, but not a tangible hunger, one that can be so easily satiated. It’s not painful, or weakening – no, he is made stronger by it. He feels your blood pulse beneath his hand on your inner thigh as he opens you up and he’s made better by it.

He kneels, a holy servant before the divine meal of their goddess, on shitty linoleum beneath harsh lights in a kitchen he can barely afford.

Frankie takes your hand, kisses your knuckles, and slides your grip into his hair.

“Recuérdame cómo te gusta, nena.”

He eats. He consumes. He licks. He sucks. He slurps.

He tastes your dripping wetness on the seam of your cunt, before his tongue ever gets the chance to explore, to open, to divulge. He licks until he feels your breath hitch – a curse in the shape of his name, as if he needs scolding for making you feel so good – and then he opens his jaw and tongues your hole.

In a lust-drunk haze you once told him he has something better than DSL – he has a pussy-eating nose. He prods you with that nose you can’t seem to get enough of, licking in as far as he can, coating himself in everything as it leaks out of you, and he moans as he can feel it on his chin. You vibrate with the sound and above him, your fingers clench down into his hair.

“Oh, fuck, holy – fuck, Frankie–,” your trembling shakes the bowl of your hips, spilling his meal, so he sucks your clit in a way that makes your body freeze and then melt. You go limp, pliable, and gushing. He gets a few more moments of twisting and sucking and swallowing, until by the third time he puts his lips around your clit, you open-mouth whine and it’s like his body violently remembers he has a cock. He is seized with such a need to fuck you in this warm, wet place he’s dug out with his tongue, he doubles over and rests his teeth against your thigh.

“Frankie, I’m so close,” you writhe, chest flushed and brow sweaty.

Before you, he never knew sex could feel like this, could do this. Sure, he used sex to keep away those circling, vulture-like thoughts from time to time. But this, this drawing out and unthreading, unspooling, of himself and someone else, tearing at ego-drenched threads until all that was left was a being of pure want and desire – he didn’t know this was possible.

He didn’t know he could feel like this.

One more broad lick, coating everything in what he hope fucking smells like him, and you arch, thighs shaking, his hair in danger of being ripped from his scalp. You gasp as you flatten, the first orgasm of the night rolling through you, sweat making your skin salty, as though you had been breached by the ocean.

He laps you through it, of course, a nascent smirk on his face.

You open your eyes to this self-satisfied Frankie, eyes only visible over the top of your cunt, and you whine.

You reach for him and he goes, smearing your slick over your face, offering it to you in supplication on his tongue. He tastes your rising desperation, the way you sharpen your teeth against his lips, batter his tongue into the corner of his mouth, try to claim what your cunt already has. His hunger is an infection and your fever has reached a boiling point.

Your trembling fingers curl his shirt up his back, passing over the ruddy scar on his shoulder where he got hit with a stray bullet, the jagged white line over his ribs where a knife nearly split him open. He used to only fuck with his shirt on. He doesn’t now.

His shirt crumples to the floor as he sits up, you following, eyes dark, and you bite his pec muscle, your love for him twisting you into an anthropophagist. You want to consume him, like your pussy swallows his cock. Having him impale you is not enough; you want intercourse with him on a subatomic level.

You inch back to give yourself enough space to unbutton his jeans and he sees the wet slick left behind on the table. The heat behind his groin shoots up his spine and he grunts, burying his face into your neck where he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth, hands planted on either side of you.

“Hurry, baby, I gotta fuck this pussy,” he whispers against the curve of your jaw. He wants to leave a giant purple bruise there, this instinct to claim, to mark, stoking the roiling heat at the base of his spine and drawing up his balls.

But his attention snaps back to your hands when he hears a click, the release of his zipper is almost euphoric. He moans in relief, unable to see through his half-lidded eyes the explosion of goosebumps over your skin as his breath tumbles over your back and down your chest.

His urgent hands overwhelm yours, one pushing his jeans down his hips, the other palming your stomach, pushing you back and you go willingly, but seemingly mesmerized by the sight of his aching, flushed cock springing up against his stomach. You lie down, but only barely, still on your elbows, as he tugs you by your ankles to the edge of the table.

Your uneven breathing could mean a lot of things. He thought you were being complementary the first time you told him he was too big, but your eyes always widened at the sight of his cock.

“Do you need to be opened up some more, cariño?”

At his rawest, Spanish came out of him like a spilled bottle of molasses, sweet, slow, rich.

“Hmm? Tell me what you need. Hable mas alto por favor.” He rubs your knees, your thighs, hoping you’ll ask for what he wants.

“F-fingers, Frankie,” you swallow, eyes still latched on to his now weeping cock. You glance up at him, face open and full of trust, and he feels his dick pulse. “Please, Frankie, put your fingers in me.”

“Fucking anything.” He plants one hand and cups your mound, lost for a moment in the soaked curls, before pushing two fingers inside and thrusting. “I’ll fucking give you anything you want.”

His hips jerking slightly in tandem with the pulse of his fingers, his slacked mouth an indication of how unconscious his humping has become, as he watches you dissolve with every stroke of his hand. God, he didn’t know they made things this pretty. His hand pushes your knee up and back, finding room for three fingers and your eyes roll back in your head. You scrabble for anything to hold onto, fingers searching for the ghosts of your bedsheets, but finding none, your arms curl over your head and latch onto the other edge of the table. You present your fucking tits to him like you’re letting him admire artwork.

It almost brings him to his knees.

“Oh, I’m coming, oh, Frankie, I’m gonna –,”

He pulls out his fingers just enough to let you gush down his palm, his wrist, and he licks it up like a glutton. It drips a bit onto the linoleum and he smears it with his bare feet.

Frankie slides two fingers back in, his brain going fuzzy at being away from the clutch of your cunt for too long, when you grab his wrist.

You can barely breathe, your skin a pale pink, your cunt no doubt must be sore, but your eyes are as hard as diamonds in your skull. He swallows the flush of spit in his mouth.

“Now, Frankie,” you plead, fingers tight around his wet wrist, the hairs on his arm standing up at the sound of your commanding voice. “Fuck me, now, I need you inside of me.”

It always makes him a bit dumbstruck, the way you beg, the way you let him and only him see this side of you – this side of you that is sick with wanting.

His hand squeezes the base of his cock once, eyes fluttering, to remind himself he cannot blow his fucking load the instant the tip of him is inside you. He taps your clit, once, twice, lubing himself up as if he hadn’t moved around internal organs to make way for himself. He notches, then slides, white-knuckling his impending orgasm in favor of making this good for you. He steps farther between your legs, hands sliding from your thighs, up to your waist. He thumbs your nipple and your pussy twitches around him. He swears his heart flat out stops for a concerning length of time.

“How is a pussy this good all mine? All fucking mine?” He rolls his hips, pushing deeper, movements marionetted by the high-pitched whimpers and moans of your mouth. He could catalog every single one of them, has done so in the deep recesses of his brain, and it takes just a second to know when it switches from pleasure to pain.

He bends over you, you choking on his dick, and kisses you hard, shattering the tense look on your face.

“I love you,” he tells you, a secret that despite being well-known to anyone who sees him look at you, still feels precious and fragile. His hand plasters your hair to your sweaty neck as he kisses you desperately, speaking a language only you understand. “I love you so fucking much.”

You sigh into his open mouth. “I wanna marry you, Fransisco Morales.”

He is covered in gold. Dripping with it.

His nails at your hip dig into your skin and you know exactly what you’ve done.

“Say it. Say it louder, nena,” he snarls, face pressed into your cheek, and he thrusts forward with enough force to rock the table. The table legs squeak as you pin him to you one more time and nip at his ear. The last drop in the well, the rope slipping over the edge, the coil locked into place.

“I wanna fucking marry you.”

With a breathy grunt, he yanks you down onto his cock by your waist and slaps your ass with his balls. It’s been a while since your cunt has taken a beating like this. You clutch at the edge of the table again, mouth torn open.

He knows you like it when he plays with your clit, and he will, but he needs to get this out of him.

“Yeah? You’re gonna marry the guy who’s fucking your pussy so good right now?” It’s amazing that words escape at all through his gritted teeth, jaw taut. He watches as he disappears and reappears in you, your lips puffy and pink already but he needs more. He doesn’t want you to be able to walk out of bed tomorrow.

“Yes, Frankie – oh, god, there, right there – yes, I’m gonna marry you.” He tips your hips up as he pounds down and you arch, crying out at the angle, the depth, how full you feel. He fucks like he’s trying to bruise your ribcage through your pussy.

The thoughts in his head collide with the others, knotting together, blurring, until the only noise he can make, the only thing he can verbalize is the tight grunts, the hm, hm, hm, as he focuses on chasing this fire.

He feels it approach so fast, he’s nearly taken under by the intensity of his orgasm so he slows, grinds instead, and with his eyes on your face, he cups himself around where he’s split you open, feeling your lips suck in and out with every thrust.

He closes his eyes briefly, helpless against the waves of arousal that coat his fingers. He smears your clit with his thumb and his name is a split, jagged thing that burns your tongue. He wants that taste on his tongue again.

You throb once, a sharp climax warming your pussy, and he backs out, drops to his knees, and licks you up again. He can taste his sweat there this time and he groans. His hands slip over your skin from the sweat in the crease of your thigh.

The cries from your mouth are wet now, on the curve of a salty tongue. You tremble like your orgasm is a physical thing, thrumming under your skin, warming your blood and you claw at his forearm.

“B-baby, please–,”

Wiping his mouth on your inner thigh, then licking up the mess he made, Frankie stands. He swats your bottom lightly, tutting. He’s a mad man, he knows it, he can’t tell if it's delirium from the rough ache of his balls or masochistic joy in hearing you beg, but again he rubs himself through your folds. It’s not the same, not nearly enough, but it helps last just a bit longer.

“No crying until after I’ve made you come.”

“I’ve already come twice,” you whine as you buck your hips, trying to take him in deeper. “You said I can have anything I want.”

“And what does princesa want?” Yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with him.

Your eyes flash as your nails dig into his shoulders, that fire he so loves to stoke flaring out.

“I want to come on your cock, Mr. Morales.”

And he unravels, divinity calling his name.

His pace is slow, then rough, then deep.

The table is just the right height. He balances on knee on the lip, bending your knees over his shoulders, and fucking down into you. He’s going to snap you in fucking half and maybe he does but he’ll be there to seal you back up again.

Pour himself into you. Fill you. Make you whole once more.

Baby, please.

The first drip of tears starts out the corner of your eyes as you come, open-mouthed, throat exposed, a cry loud and in the shape of his name tearing from your lips, your body locking up, cunt squeezing him until he feels himself burst.

With a shudder and a groan, he spills, hot and flush into you. He comes, and comes, and comes, until his gooey spend is forced out of you and down the crack of your ass. He can’t see anything past the white spark in his eyes, feel anything but you and the tingle of his limbs.

The excess of you and him is everywhere, leaking out onto the kitchen table, soaking the wood. There’s a ringing in his ears he can’t quiet.

Your breath is hot on his neck, sweaty skin stuck tightly against his, he knows he’s crushing you, his arms given out at some point, but he really doesn’t think he can stand up right. He kisses your cheek by way of apology and thanks but you don’t seem to mind, your own gaze unfocused on the ceiling.

“Fuck, Frankie . . .”

He laughs, realizes his legs aren’t working, so trembling and uneasy, he slides out of you and manages to make it to the floor. He blames the sudden dizziness on a lack of food and then blames the dizziness for lying down on the floor.

His eyes flutter and somehow you’re suddenly curled up next to him, your palm resting over his pounding heart. His fingers find their way up into your sweat-damp hair, thumb gently rubbing against the knot at the base of your skull.

“Your back is gonna be killing you in about fifteen minutes, sweetheart,” you grumble sleepily into his chest, a grin on your face.

“I can’t feel anything below my waist right now.” He yawns. “So, we’ve got some time.”

You nod, absentmindedly stroking the dark hair on his chest.

“We need to talk about Pope’s birthday party this weekend. Will put us on drink duty . . . but I can’t really focus on anything right now.”

“Good,” he smirks with his eyes shut. “That was some of my best work.” And then he frowns. “You need to eat.” He pokes your side and you huff.

“Okay, if you’re awake enough to berate me, we can at least go to bed.”

Groaning, you pull him up and he threatens to stumble you both into the wall, but he kisses your cheek and swats your ass, before snagging a tub of ice cream and a spoon. He meets you in the bedroom with the cap off and a smear of chocolate around his lips.

You’ve got one of his shirts, grinning up at him from the center of the bed, and he’s torn about whether he likes you in his boxers, or nothing at all.

You take the ice cream from him before he has a chance to flop down on the bed.

“Not exactly a nutritious meal,” you mutter around the spoon and he turns his face from the pillow to glare at you.

“That’s the other dinner I made for you, so eat.”

Your giggle is all you can give to show your thanks.

He rolls onto his back, groaning theatrically, before tucking his hand behind his head, and his fingers coming to rest on his stomach.

Behind the lids of his eyes, he can feel you watching him.

“What?” He grumbles, feeling around for your foot to pinch your ankle. He hears you move so he knows he’s close. “Not the right flavor, princesa?”

“No,” you laugh and prod his hip with your toe. “It’s just . . .”

His eyes open, finding yours in the half-lit gloom. You’re grinning the spoon in your mouth, eyes bright with something unnameable. You shrug, eying his hand between you both.

“I just never knew Fransisco Morales could be domesticated.”

He wipes the chocolate off your chin with his thumb.

Yeah, who knew?

#frankie morales #fransisco morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales smut #triple frontier #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #frankie morales x f!reader

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phoebejaysims · 7 months

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Real Estate Mod - DOWNLOAD

Jump into the world of buying and selling. You can now play as an active real estate agent, selling properties to sims throughout the town.

As is my style, this mod is made with rotational play in mind, so there are unique interactions for both buyers and sellers, if you want to play both sides.

Become an estate agent and choose from residential and valid community lots to list for sale. You can appraise residential lots, edit the details of lots, and gain a rating that will unlock more interactions.

Buyers can put in offers for properties, visit listed lots to check them out and get information about houses from both estate agents and sellers.

Once offers have been accepted, close on the property, pay up, and do with it what you wish! Move in, fix it up and re-sell it, rent it out...

Realtors will get a nice commission with each sale and you can track your sales to see your stats.

Recommended accompanying mods (aka optional):

Missy Hissy's Real Estate Career

Roommates and Apartments Fix Mod

My Social Clubs mod

NRaas Tagger

Please see the included documentation for more information on why these are recommended.

Compatibility:

This is a module for my Go To Court mod, so that's required for this mod to work. See mod requirements there.

Made on version 1.67.

Thanks to:

Big thanks to @aroundthesims for allowing me to use her objects in my mods. All credit for the objects goes to her.

Thank you to @desiree-uk for testing the mod with me and for contributing ideas that I put into the mod.

Shout out to the Sims 4 Rental mod by SimRealist as I looked at this page for ideas: Rental Lot Mod For Sims 4: How to Rent & Own Lots (snootysims.com)

Questions:

Check the Q&A part of the documentation, I may have already answered your question!

Download Here (simblr.cc): Simblr.cc - Real Estate Mod - Become an active realtor!

Please enjoy the mod! If you'd like to donate anything as thanks, you can do so at my Ko-fi.

Thanks!!

Phoebe.

#ts3 #sims 3 #sims 3 mods #sims 3 real estate mod #sims 4 for rent #you better come with good animations so i can convert them #sims3cc #sims 3 modding #phoebejaysims #phoebejaysims real estate #ts3 mods

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feelo-fick · 7 months

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WELCOME TO PHIO'S EXTREMELY SELF INDULGENT AU HOUR!!!

"Oh, FINALLY, another visitor! It's so quiet in here, it's unnerving..."

—

This AU was meant to be posted on halloween but eh.... Happy Thanksgiving? HAHAHHA

still dont have a name for it, but basically, back in october i was suddenly hit with the need to have a halloween au, so now we have ghost-ified prismo and vampire/witch-ified scarab :D ( although didnt finish the scarab reference spread in time because uh, school and i lost motivation unfortunately )

au synopsis and rambling below the cut!!

the premise of this au is simple : scarab is a real estate agent whos known for his manners ( never barges in, always waits to be invited! though it is a little weird how he keeps asking to be let inside even if they already agreed that he was going to come over... ) and efficiency at his job - that is, convincing people to buy high-end housing for a good price. although his social skills need some... work, his ability to persuade people isnt something to be laughed at.

unfortunately for him, persuading the higher-ups is a completely different story - which he learned the hard way after flunking something big for the company. they dont choose to fire him, no. instead, they put him through a trial, assigning him to sell their most unprofitable property : the mansion in a small town locally known for being haunted by an "evil spirit". if scarab manages to sell it (for good profit) within six months, he is excused and is able to go on with his job. if not... well, best not to think about it, yes? after all, he'll succeed with ease - all he has to do is dispel any worries about some fake "ghost" that only exists as a result of filthy rumors. maybe clean up the place. not too hard, right?

meanwhile, stuck inside said mansion is an extremely bored prismo. hes been hangin around this place for like... how many years now? forty? a hundred? meh, all the same, lately the place has been quieter than usual. i mean- of course people dont just walk into a creepy mansion every day, but there would usually be at least a few bold kids or vloggers coming in now and then for him to entertain but even then they wouldn't stay long ( for obvious reasons ). and now, just some unbound spirits or dumb animals would pass by and thats about it. a guy can only entertain himself for so long, yknow?

that is, until today. when some posh-looking business man entered the premises and started snooping around ( whats the deal with that, by the way?? ). must be prismo's lucky day!! this is the perfect chance to pull out all the stops and play the FUNNIEST prank ever! hah!

... oh. looks like things've gotten a little out of hand.

—

WOOT WOOT WOOTTTTTTTTTTT!!! im so so happy to finish this because ohhhhh my god this has taken ages for no reason other than the fact that ive been really dragging myself to make presentable art JSNDJSJXNSJX.... i realize that i have never worked in real estate ( or at all ) which means i have probably fucked something up but uhh um ill deal with the backlash later :"D im also realizing how many odd unanswered bits and bobs this au is going to have in the future, which... i am ignoring for the most part for now, but there are SOME things that i DO have figured out like ghost lore... but thats for another time, for now i leave you with this >:)

#again i do apologize for not including scarabs reference SOB it was taking so looooong and if i didnt finish it by now i wouldve just never #posted it at ALL so im glad im able to get this out now #again still dont have a name... but would love suggestions if people have any :D #ive been thinking so hard about the name and havent landed on aaaanything dude #creepy crawlies? tell-tale?? witching hour?? GAHH THERES SO MANY OPTIONS AND I DONT KNOW WHETHER I WANT TO GO WITH SYMBOLISM OR SILLY SIMPL #but anyways time for real tags #prohibitedwish #prismo the wishmaster #scarab the god auditor #uhh idk what else to put HAHAHHA #dont wanna tag fionna and cake cause i feel like thats just a lie idk #ACKKK I CANT BELIEVE IM FINALLY POSTING THIS I AM. SO NERVOUS MY HANDS ARE SO SWEATY YOU DOTN EVEN KNOW #okay okay. sending post now oh god

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nagiiizsq · 6 months

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Can you do Sae x female reader x Rin? The Itoshi brothers are fighting for her love.

ok so firstly i feel like reader is a childhood friend that they met in school their families are close and they’ve all just known each other for a long time

the younger itoshi brother had a crush on you for a long time but made sure to hide it from you and everyone else afraid you’d reject him and choose sae over him his older brother who is chosen for everything and obviously the favourite in his family

Sae knows about this little crush and honestly thinks it’s stupid he just sees you as his little sister nothing more and nothing less

when something happens to your mother you and you fly back to japan to support her the itoshi brothers find this out through their parents and decide to pay you a visit sae comes to see you first he doesn’t know what he was expecting but it wasn’t this you’ve lost all your baby fat carry yourself with much more confidence and have just matured he’s taken aback is this the y/n he used to know ? You tell him all about what its like in the states how your a real estate agent and life’s been going good but he honestly can’t focus have you always looked this good ? when he leaves all he can think about if you he just cant seem to get you out of his head

then comes rin he brings a big bouquet of red roses (or your favourite) and you instantly become shocked he still remembers what kind of flowers you like after all these years ? He even brings your mother a gift he’s still as thoughtful as he used to be

as you talk to rin and ask him questions about his football he also realises you’ve changed your not the shy insecure nervous girl he used to like for a while you even notice him staring at you and you just giggle he just starts to smile hearing you laugh warms his heart and its almost as if you two are back in Highschool when he had that crush on you

when the two brother find out they have a crush on you they both try to impress by buying you gifts

sae gets you materialistic gifts like if you’ve been eyeing a bag for a while he’ll get it lets say you mention those ysl heels in a conversation find them outside your door with a small note saying “from sae” hes got the money why mot spend it on you ?

rin however is a bit more thoughtful if you’re on your period and have cramps he’s outside you door with some paracetamol and your favourite snacks to watch a movie if you’re craving something or want to watch a new movie in cinema he’s already got the tickets and snacks with him his car parked outside ready for you guys he’ll always have time for you no matter what

both want you to pick them instead of the other but how will you when both are so sweet to you ?

(team rin loll but anyways this got a bit longg hope this is good enough)

#blue lock #blue lock imagines #blue lock x reader #itoshi x reader #rin itoshi x y/n #bllk rin #rin itoshi x reader #rin x y/n #rin x you #rin itoshi #rin x reader #sae itoshi imagines #sae blue lock #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi #sae imagines #itoshi sae #sae x reader

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 7 months

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A walk in the woods

Week 1 of the Winter Writing Challenge

Prompt: "I can't believe you talked me into this"

Summary: Frankie talks you into taking a walk to the local farm to pick out a Christmas tree.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem. reader

Wordcount: 1.3k

Rating: G

Warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff

If you want to get notified when I post new fics follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications

This was not how you had planned to spend your Saturday. It had been snowing all week. And with having to leave the house for work every single day, you were looking forward to catching up on housework and not leaving the house. Or wear pants.

People were going fucking crazy the closer Christmas came and you were looking forward to not dealing with stupid people for at least 48 hours.

Maybe bake a cake.

Or talk Frankie into spending the whole day cuddling on the couch while watching some shitty Christmas movie on TV.

Frankie and you had only moved to this neighbourhood three months ago.

You had gotten the job offer you had always dreamed of. The only problem was that it was in another state, far away from all your friends and family.

Ready to decline the offer, it was Frankie who told you to take it. Who made plans with you, talked to real estate agents to find the perfect home for the two of you. More than once you asked him if he was sure it was the right thing to do.

And he, like the perfect man he was, told you everything would be okay as long as you two were together.

Moving states also meant moving to a whole other climate with actual seasons, leaving you to experience your first real winter in twenty years.

„I can’t believe you talked me into this,“ you pouted, zipping up your winter coat. Frankie grinned at you, wrapping a scarf around your neck, kissing your nose.

Bella, your three year old Jack Russel terrier was already excitedly circling around the two of you, waiting to get outside.

„Come ooon. It stopped snowing for the first time in days. We’re just walking up to the Farm to find the perfect Christmas tree, and then we can go home,“ he hummed.

You sighed.

„I put on pants for you. I was looking forward to no pants today,“ you dramatically whined.

He grinned.

„I’ll help you get out of them later,“ he winked before he kissed you.

Okay this… wasn’t so bad.

When you got to the farm they had hot drinks and some snacks. The area was huge, so you did not see many people on the hunt for the perfect Christmas tree, which you found rather quickly, letting Frankie handle the reservation and making a date to pick it up at the end of the next week.

You powered out your dog in the meantime. Forming and throwing snow balls for her which she tried to catch with her little snout, barking at you when it disappeared and coming back for more.

You picked her up after a while, just in time for Frankie to be finished, making his way back to you.

„Ready to go home?“ He asked, taking your hand. You nodded and he took Bella from you to set her down, taking her leash.

„Let’s take the way back through the woods,“ he kissed you softly and you smiled.

„Okay I gotta admit, getting out of the house wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,“ you said as you slowly walked through the woods, back to you house. You looked up at Frankie who was still holding your hand, smiling up at him.

Sometimes you were scared of how much you loved him.

Things hadn’t always been easy, but you grew with every challenge, choosing to work through your problems, coming out stronger every single time.

Frankie was your person, and he would not get rid of you so easily.

„Told you so,“ Frankie said. Bella barked in that moment, making you both laugh.

„You know I have to admit I was scared to just pack up our life and leave. And sometimes I miss our life back in California, well, I miss the people but… I’m glad you talked me into taking the job.“

„Couldn’t let my girl say no to her dream job. You are killing it. And honestly, I miss our friends too, but it’s also nice to have you all to myself,“ Frankie stopped walking and pulled you into his arms, kissing you. You wrapped your arms behind his back, smiling against his lips.

„I’m so proud of you baby,“ he whispered and you pecked his lips.

„Proud of you too. Three months and already getting promoted. We are killing this adult life thing,“ you kissed him again, both of you chuckling. Frankie had quickly found a job as a helicopter pilot for local emergency services.

Parting from him you took his hand and started walking again.

„I’m freezing. Let’s get home,“ you said, only to cry out in surprise when the wind picked up and a whole bunch of snow from the trees above dumped down on both of you.

„Oh my god,“ you began to laugh, wiping your eyes with your glove, Frankie’s hand still in yours.

„What the fuck?“ Frankie laughed and you shook your head to get the remains of the snow off of you. You were still laughing when Frankie let go of you hand, and you looked at him just in time to see him dropping down to one knee in front of you.

First alarmed that he had hurt himself you frantically searched for any injury when you noticed the small velvet box in his hand.

Eyes widening your mouth dropped open in surprise, watching him smile cheekily up at you.

„Frankie…“ you whispered.

„Baby… I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask this question. I should have done this a long time ago, because I knew you were the one on the day that we met. I was pretty much in love with you the moment you walked through the door of the coffee shop where we met. These last years… Fuck I’ve never been so happy in my life and I keep waking up every day next to you, waiting that something is gonna happen, but all you do is love me for me. It’s… I love you. So much. And I want to spend the rest of my life loving you and making you smile and laugh and cum…“ he winked and you laughed, tears in the corner of your eyes.

„I love you baby, will you marry me?“ He finally asked and you nodded.

„Of course I’ll marry you Frankie,“ you smiled and he seemed to breath out relieved. It was only then that you realised he had opened the box, revealing a beautiful ring. He got up from his knee, taking your hand and slowly pulling your glove off.

„This ring was my grandmother’s. She and my pa were married for 64 years before they both died,“ he explained, taking the ring out of its box.

It was a golden band with a small green stone.

„It’s an emerald. Apparently it’s known as a symbol of truth and love,“ he explained while slipping the ring on your finger. It fit perfectly.

„It’s beautiful,“ you whispered and he looked at you.

„Yeah?“ He asked.

You nodded.

He kissed you then, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you as close as possible.

„We’re gonna get married,“ he whispered in between kisses.

„We’re gonna get married,“ you giggled back, your hand playing with the hair that was in his neck.

Bella barked and you both looked down at her, having forgotten about her for a moment. She had found a huge branch, her whole body shaking excitedly as she nudged her nose against it, waiting for someone to throw it for her.

You both laughed.

„Come on, let’s get home,“ you said and he nodded. He carefully helped you put your glove back on, kissing your hand, before one of his arms pulled you against his side.

„I gotta get my fiancé out of her pants,“ he whispered against your ear and you let your head fall against his shoulder.

Happier than ever before.

#my fic #stephswinterwritingchallenge #Frankie morales #Frankie Morales x fem. reader #Pedro pascal #fanfiction #fan fiction #francisco morales

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oliversrarebooks · 6 months

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General Masterlist

Here are all my stories not directly related to the Rare Bookseller series:

fuck you, I'm a goddamn menace

The story of a half-redeemed villain and the hero team determined to protect him.

part one

part two

the truth is...

passengers

A world where alien parasites take excellent care of their hypnotized human hosts.

chemical imbalance - A passenger struggling to control their human host visits a doctor for answers.

corporate retreat

An anxious IT person working for an underground supervillainy organization gets sent to their brainwashing department for a mental readjustment.

masterlist

one-offs

Whumpy one-offs, primarily featuring hypnosis, drugging and psychological whump.

lay down on the operating table (sedation whump)

listen to my Voice, hero (mind control villain)

the defiant princess (princess hypnotized by her advisor)

walk home late at night (classic vampire kidnapping)

get lost (a hapless wanderer and the fairy who collects them)

we'll make great pets (an owner of a human pet finds the tables turned)

simple word problems (hypoxia)

test tube fairy (sedated fairy captured in a test tube and drained of magic)

chloroform rag (winner of the sedation vending machine poll)

cyoa

Whumpy choose your own adventure stories

brainwashing chair

the fairy king and his real estate agent

The story of Benjamin, disillusioned and unhappy real estate agent, and how he becomes the consort to an egotistical, annoying fairy king.

Smartphone

fanfic

Falsely Persuaded (for whumpsday's Kane & Jim)

My ask box is open as well, if you'd like to ask the characters anything or talk about whump tropes.

#masterlist

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hlficlibrary · 1 year

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HL Fic Library 🌸 Short Fics

(Part One - Under 5k)

Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find our other recs here.

🌸 Stealing Flowers by @lululawrence {NR, 4k}

When Louis finally arrived, he walked in and grabbed an apron. Without even saying hello, he immediately approached Jesy and said, “Sexy Stranger steals flowers.”

She kept pouring the Tanqueray shots she had lined up in front of her, but her face screwed up in confusion. “I’m sorry, he what? Did you finally talk to him and that was what you learned?”

He nodded to another couple of tourists and welcomed them to the Way Station as they eagerly made their way to the Tardis restroom.

“No, I didn’t actually talk to him, but—”

“Then how do you know he steals flowers?”

She was wiping down the bar and stacking the empty glasses to take back to the dishwasher when Louis realized maybe he should help too. After all, he was there to work, not just talk to her about his maybe crush.

“I saw a poster.”

Or the one where Louis pines after the Sexy Stranger on the Subway and almost asks him out. That's when the strange posters start showing up around Brooklyn.

🌸 More in these bones by SunTomato / @sun-tomato {NR, 4k}

"This isn't a social call, is it, Curly?" Harry's gaze drops to the floor. "No." Harry takes a deep breath, fists clenching at his side, before he looks up again. His eyes meet Louis’ with a mix of fear and determination. "I want to make a deal."

OR The one where demon Louis really doesn't want Harry to trade away his soul, even if he can't explain why.

🌸 Tech Support (series) by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird {G, 4k}

Harry calls the HP customer service line very late at night expecting to get redirected to a call center far away. Instead, the person on the other end of the line is a little closer to home.

🌸 cursing the cosmos by @hogwartzlou {NR, 4k}

In a world where people have timers counting down to when they meet their soulmate, finding love is easy. Harry meets Louis in a coffee shop one day. They slowly fall in love, the only thing holding them back is that they aren't soulmates.

🌸 you and I love like it's a secret by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed {T, 4k}

Louis swallows, looking at Harry, who grins at him as though nothing’s wrong. He’s leaning against the door of a wardrobe, his long hair having lost some of its curls due to the amount of times he’s run his fingers through it. Louis is still where he was the moment the door got closed behind them, all but pressed up against the wood, trying to keep as much distance between him and Harry as possible.

His heart stutters in his chest as he looks up at his best friend. He’s known Harry since he was barely out of diapers, and Harry gets him in a way that few people ever have – or have tried to. He knows him, to the point where sometimes Louis worries that he’s able to read his mind.

Or: It's Seven minutes in Heaven, but Louis sort of feels like he's ended up in Hell instead when he's forced into a small bedroom with his childhood best friend slash long time crush.

🌸 they’re laughin’ and drinkin’ and havin’ a party by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou {G, 4k}

When Louis decides he has to get away, he chooses the next best town in Texas, as far away from his ex as he can get. The real estate agent tells him it’s a quiet neighborhood, yet somehow the sound of a champagne bottle popping from two doors down followed by the roar of a party, sends him spiraling. That is, until a deep voice calls out a tentative “heey” from the darkness.

🌸 The Hidden Hills Restaurant by amomentoflove / @daggerandrose {E, 4k}

“Are you sure you want to hear about this? Wouldn’t you rather hear about what I’ll do to you? How often? How long? How many fin—“

“I like to get to know my potential clients before agreeing to anything,” Louis says and lays down the menu. He’s thinking of steak. Something meaty, juicy, and hearty.

Harry’s arched eyebrow at the word ‘potential’ doesn’t escape Louis’ notice.

or the one where Louis is a personal feeder and Harry is the vampire to be his next client

🌸 Into Always by @jaerie {E, 4k}

Harry finds his ex's knotting dildo and gets a little curious. Louis is more than willing to help out.

🌸 Fakes (Streaming Live) by @allwaswell16 {E, 4k}

Alpha camboy Henry Steel has a rather unfortunate crush on omega camboy Luscious Lucas. He also has a rather unfortunate secret that's about to be revealed.

🌸 Heels Over Head by @kingsofeverything {E, 3k}

Louis Tomlinson returns from tour to find that his new next door neighbor doesn't realize his backyard is not completely private.

🌸 No One But You Got Me Feeling This Way by @runaway-train-works / runaway_train {E, 3k}

Harry is well aware he should be studying or watching T.V or cleaning the kitchen or doing literally anything from a list as long as his arm instead of this, but he is. The list of reasons why he shouldn’t be doing this is probably at least double that, but here he most definitely is. He’s sitting on his bed, legs straight out in front of him, back propped up against the headboard and some fluffed-up pillows and his MacBook is resting on his thighs. His jittery fingers drum lightly on the edge of the keyboard as he stares at the tiny digital clock in the top right-hand corner of the screen, willing the seconds to tick by faster. He wants to get into this and get it over with in equal measures.

Or The one where Harry has a particular desire that only Louis can fulfill.

🌸 nobody knows like me by enbyharry / @non-binharry {G, 3k}

Harry does his best to cope with a secret life in the summer of '74.

🌸 Gonna Dress You Up In My Love by @fallinglikethis {T, 3k}

Harry decides to take up knitting. He's horrible at it. Louis wears everything anyway.

🌸 the most fantastic things by bluegreenish / @greenblueish {G, 2k}

When he reads a fairy tale today, and it’s one about love, Harry will find himself in it. Because in all the fairy tales about love that exist in the world, he knows that a little part of Louis and him is written in between the letters, hidden between every page that curious fingers turn.

or, Harry's version of the fairy tale Thumbelina, minus marrying toads or moles, plus waxing poetic about Louis.

🌸 as we move slowly by snsk / @snsknene {G, 2k}

"You know what color your wings are?" Harry asked conversationally, on his stomach at the tattoo parlor, while Louis played absentmindedly with one dangling hand and flipped through some designs.

// Alternatively: Louis grows wings. Harry is the only one who can see them.

🌸 maybe by @gaycousinlarry / momentofclarity {G, 2k}

I cannot not see you again. I cannot.

🌸 On the Go by @phdmama {T, 2k}

louis owns a landscaping company called MANSCAPE and harry thinks it’s some sort of in-home pubic hair grooming company

🌸 Check, Check, Checkmate by nonsensedarling / @absoloutenonsense {E, 2k}

Harry and Louis play chess... until another game becomes more interesting.

🌸 Zoey by @wabadabadaba {G, 2k}

Harry knew his first name, but he liked the way Dr. Tomlinson sounded more. Harry watched as Louis unclasped her harness and set it aside and pet her back and under her chin. Louis kissed the top of her head and murmured sweet nothings to her- mostly about how pretty she is and how well behaved she is. Harry wished it was him.

or Harry has a huge crush on his cat's veterinarian and finally decides to do something about it.

🌸 What About Tonight by @taggiecb {G, 2k}

Louis loves his new career. It might just be killing him, but he loves it. What he doesn't love is how easily the boy he cares most about seems to move in and out of his life.

🌸 you don't have to wear (your best fake smile) by coffeelouis {T, 2k}

When Harry was 12, he moved to Holmes Chapel and broke up with his first boyfriend.

When Harry was 20, he sat next to said boyfriend in class, and although he continues to wear Harry's parting gift of his beloved Manchester United sweatshirt every goddamn day, does not seem to remember Harry at all.

🌸 Moon Dances Over by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup {G, 2k}

Louis knows that his tail is, frankly, stunning. His iridescent blue scales shimmer in even the slightest sunlight, and his fins have grown since he presented, delicate and almost transparent in their webbing.

He also knows that that means he’ll be one of the first to pick tonight, as the most beautiful omegas are blessed to pick their mates first. It’s considered a huge honour, since the guppies they’ll eventually birth will certainly be beautiful as well, bringing favour on the whole clan.

Louis has a stubborn streak, though. He’s always been rather a fan of mating for love, and there’s someone he’s had his eye on for a long time now.

🌸 an honest mistake by @disgruntledkittenface {NR, 2k}

“You look different when you’re not covered in come,” he blurts out, immediately regretting each and every life choice that has led to this exact moment. Elevator Guy is going to hate him.

Louis has ridden the elevator with his neighbor all week. The first time they speak, there’s a misunderstanding.

🌸 Stole My Heart by @haztobegood {NR, 2k}

“Oh my god, Niall.” The door slams shut as Harry rushes into the flat. He’s still panting from his rush to get away from the scene of his crime. “You won’t believe what just happened!”

Niall is sitting on the couch in their tiny living room. He looks up from his laptop. “What happened?”

“The worst thing. I’ll never recover. I just reached into a box of free samples outside that new chicken restaurant. Only it wasn’t free samples. It was a man. Holding a box of chicken nuggets. His chicken nuggets. I stole this man’s food, Niall!”

🌸 Simply the Nest (Better Than All the Rest) by @homosociallyyours {G, 2k}

It's been a few months since Louis moved to a new town, and he still hasn't managed to get his nest to feel as comforting as he'd like it to. When his therapist suggests he might need some new materials, he's willing to give it a shot. Wandering into Harry's nesting store turns out to be just what he needed.

🌸 the prettiest customer (and the cutest barista) by fearsparks / @onlythebravest {G, 1k}

“So there’s this guy,” Harry repeated. “And I really like him.”

“Is he cute?”

“The cutest,” Harry said with a bright smile, turning around to face Louis. His cheeks felt warm, but he ignored it, pushed past it. “Prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.”

“Ooh, tell me more.” Louis rested his head in his hand.

(Louis is the pretty customer that comes in and orders hot chocolate while Harry is the cute barista that takes his order.)

🌸 A+ Patient by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf {G, 1k}

Harry hated everything about the dentist—the antiseptic smell and the bright light in his face and the disappointment in himself and the suction thingy that kept his mouth too dry. But the thing he hated the most was how in love with his dentist he was.

🌸 Needle by @nouies {NR, 666 words}

“You didn’t deserve this,” he muttered between hiccups. “She didn’t have the right.”

🌸 there’s a house in english bond (somebody planned to stay) by @muldxr {T, 666 words}

The Hotel dates back to the mid-17th century, and the owners have invested dearly to make it a home away from home. Please mind our building rules written below in order to have an exceptional stay.

🌸 Swings Said by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright {T, 500 words}

A love story told by five swings who each were there to see a piece of it unfold.

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gracethyomen · 6 months

Text

“Vague Job Description”

Natalie is the paralegal that's been in love with Matt since she's known him.

Unbeknownst to her, Matt knows all too well how she feels about him, but tries to keep her at arms length to keep her safe.

When she starts to get dragged into the underbelly of hell's kitchen he calls home, some things can no longer remain hidden, and some emotions aren’t so easy to control.

Summary: It’s literally the pilot. First installments are always iffy just bear with me.

Warnings: Mention of death, mention of blood, mention of homicide, SO MUCH PINING. Matt being a human disaster, Natalie being a simp. Matt also being a simp but quieter. These two idiots can’t express their feelings for the life of them.

"Foggy." The automated voice on his phone droned. "Foggy. Foggy."

Matt sighed, reaching to accept the call before sitting up. "Hello?" He answered, yawning widely.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Foggy chirped from the other side of the line. The sounds of other peoples' footsteps and the general business of Hell's Kitchen coming with it.

"What time is it?" He fingered the silk fabric of his sheets, savoring the feeling between his fingertips. Far too happy to lay back down for the time being.

"Half past get the hell up," Foggy replied. "Let's go! We gotta meet the real estate agent in..." He paused, Matt assumed to check his watch. "45."

"Usually, Nat calls me when i'm late." He pointed out, effectively ignoring Foggy's instructions.

"Nat's not answering her phone. She's probably already finding stuff to do." Foggy rationalized, the sound of people talking now starting to overcome him. What he said was odd. Nat usually always picked up her phone, even when she was so hungover she sounded like she'd been hit by a train. "Must've stayed out too late."

"She tell you about any dates or something last night?" Matt pushed, feeling an unwelcome dart of worry run through him for a split second.

"Aw, Matt, you do care. I'll need to get that in writing and give it to Nat for her birthday. She might cry." Foggy said sarcastically. "Seriously, get moving. I've got to go bribe a cop."

"Ah, Foggy." Matt warned, standing up to grab his phone, wandering into his living room.

"Kidding, NSA, if you're listening. But really, yeah, I gotta bribe a cop."

Matt shook his head smiling, and started his morning routine.

"You've got a reception area, a conference room and two offices. Corner suite has a view of the Hudson..." Natalie was only partially listening to the real estate agent giving them a tour of the floor, her fingers clenching around her black folder she was holding to her neatly pressed pencil skirt. She looked around, pushing up her glasses as she ran her eyes over the yellowed molding on the floor, looking for loose nails or lifted floorboards. Anything a cane or a shoe might catch on.

"You can flip a coin with your partner for it." Susan joked, gesturing to Nat.

Natalie fought a flush as she spluttered a little. Holding up her hand and laughing awkwardly. "Oh, I'm not-"

"Uh, he can have the view." She heard a familiar voice and a creak of the door before turning to see Matt entering through the door. A small smile on his face.

Susan, the realtor, immediately widened her eyes. plastering a charming smile over her face. "I'm... So sorry. I didn't mean to-"

Matt smirked, standing just ahead of the door holding his cane. "Of course not."

Susan chuckled, taking a step forward and extending her hand for a shake. "Susan Harris. Midtown Property Solutions."

"Matt Murdock."

Susan seemed to realize her mistake and dropped her hand, choosing instead to do an odd knee-bend. Nat fought not to roll her eyes. Somehow Matt always found a way to make the gorgeous women in his vicinity turn into bumbling fools.

Foggy saved them both from the palpable awkwardness. "She just curtsied. It was adorable."

Matt chuckled, turning his head briefly to the floor. "Well, it's nice to know Chivalry isn't dead." Matt lifted his chin, turning his head in a way that Foggy recognized was him listening for something. "Natalie?"

She turned from the window with an audible, "Hmm?" Matt smiled just a little, turning to face the sound. The action causing her heart to flutter momentarily. She convinced herself over the years that she imagined it, but part of her leapt at the way he always seemed to smile when he recognized her presence nearby.

He lifted a hand, palm up, a silent request that she had become accustomed to at this point. She immediately walked from the side of the room to Matt, taking his rough hand in hers and guiding it to her side, where he instinctively curled his fingers at the spot where her bicep met her elbow. She tried not to shudder, like she always did, when he touched her skin. Hoping the goosebumps didn't feel as obvious as she dreaded.

"Susan, if we could continue with-" Natalie urged, looking briefly at Matt before turning back to the agent expectantly.

"Yes of course, my pleasure. As I was telling your associates, Mr. Murdock, this office was barely touched by the incident, which is why it's on the market already. The neighbors weren't so lucky."

Matt snickered softly. "'The incident'? Is that what we're calling it now."

Natalie scoffed. "Well, it sounds so much better than 'death and destruction raining from the sky, nearly wiping Hell's Kitchen off the map'." She murmured.

Matt laughed aloud. Something she didn't expect. "Shorter, too." He quipped. Making her smile.

Foggy crinkled his nose a little, pointing out the window. "Owner figuring in the delightful view of cranes and scaffolding?" He asked, eyeing the construction work outside distastefully. "Feels like we're getting pre-incident prices."

Susan flashed him a smile that was more teeth than anything. "They're a quarter of what they used to be. Hell's Kitchen's on the rebound, Mr. Nelson." She took a step closer to the group. "And in eighteen months you won't be able to rent a broom closet at this price point."

Matt squeezed her elbow, and she tried to tell herself that the touch was unconscious as he stated. "We'll take it."

Foggy snorted, looking quickly at Matt. "We will talk about it. Because we're not sure we can even afford this palace." He said pointedly.

Nat looked between Foggy and the man holding her arm. "Unless you both make some changes to your current clientele policy." She pointed out.

Matt nodded, turning to 'look' at the realtor. "My partner and I are having some disagreements over the direction of Nelson and Murdock." He clarified, his free hand fidgeting with the handle of his cane. "I believe we're here to defend the innocent."

Foggy sniffed, smiling with a strained expression. "And I believe the innocent includes everyone not yet convicted of a crime."

Natalie coughed, "You know, as the law states." Matt shook his head, not acknowledging her comment.

"He likes to use fancy terminology."

"And my partner fails to recognize that, as attorneys, we're never gonna be able to keep the lights on, waiting on a horde of innocent souls to stumble into our loving arms." Foggy sighed, exasperated.

Matt blew out a quiet breath. "At this point. I think i'd settle for just one."

"Foggy called to drag my ass out of bed this morning." Matt spoke into the quiet space. Natalie looked up from her new desk to see him standing in front of it. The suite only had two offices, and as they had decided Matt utilized her the most, she would share with him. Instead of his normal glasses she was met with his brown, unseeing eyes. Looking somewhere past her head.

"Sounds about right." She said, bending down to pick her little plant out of the cardboard box she'd put it in for the move. Along with the dainty watering can.

"Usually you call me." Matt continued, folding up his cane and placing his hand on the thin wood of her desk. She didn't respond. "And Foggy said you weren't answering the phone."

Natalie closed her eyes for a moment. "Did some meditating last night and forgot to turn it back on." Not quite a lie, but not quite the truth either. She did turn her phone off so she wouldn't be bothered. But not for meditating. And she didn't forget to turn it back on.

"Nat..." Matt murmured.

"Matt, I didn't get abducted. I don't see why you're so upset about this." She said testily, standing from her desk to connect her extension cord to the outlet.

She heard a soft sigh, and when she stood back up she saw Matt was rounding her desk to lean against it, next to her chair.

"You're not just my associate, you're my friend. It's normal for me to care about your well-being. Especially in Hell's Kitchen." He spoke mildly, but she could see his fingertips squeezing the lip of her desk.

Just like many times before, she was grateful Matt couldn't see her wince slightly at the word friend. She forced a laugh, but it sounded strained even to her own ears. "I'm touched, Matt, but i'm fine. Just a mix up."

"Natalie."

"Matthew." She countered, trying for a playful tone.

"I missed your call." He confessed quietly, and her heart lurched. A soft blush climbing high in her cheeks. It was moments like that that made it hard for her to go on blind dates. To text the barista who wrote his number on her coffee order. She was fucking pathetic...

"Also, it's really hard to find a good paralegal who is pleasant in conversation and can take notes in braille." Matt added, breaking some of the awkwardness. Nat laughed. Staring at her stupid little plant instead of the incredibly oblivious, gorgeous man leaning against her desk.

Foggy burst through the office door, phone still in hand and eyes bright. "We have a case!"

Matt raised his eyebrows, reaching to unfold his cane. "Since when?"

"Since that cop I bribed fell in love with me!" Foggy exclaimed, waving anxiously for them to follow him. "Come on, come on! Homicide! Suspect doesn't remember anything! Let's go!"

"Go where?" Natalie huffed, grabbing her notepad and folder as well as Matt's briefcase.

"Precinct two blocks west of here! Let's go!" Foggy urged, practically dragging Matt by the elbow out of the office.

The sight of a thin, blonde woman practically shriveling behind the metal table was the first thing Natalie noticed when she entered the room. The second was the metal cuffs digging harshly into her wrists. She immediately looked at the officer standing to her side.

"Can we please take the cuffs off the 110 pound suspect?" She gestured to the blonde. "Poor thing's literally shaking."

The detective who showed them to the room gave Natalie a strange look, then proceeded to look at Matt and Foggy skeptically.

"Miss Page, can you tell me who these men and their... associate, are?" The gruff man drawled, looking entirely displeased with the new arrivals.

"We're her lawyers." Matt said, before turning his head towards Nat. "This is Ms. Bishop. Uncuff our client and give us the room, please." Matt's tone left no room for disagreement, and Nat watched the officer free Miss Page.

"And a chair for Ms. Bishop, if you don't mind." Foggy added. Matt nodding at him gratefully.

The detective huffed but dragged one of the aluminum chairs loudly to the edge of the table. The four of them stood in awkward silence as the detectives left the room, the lock buzzing ominously as the door closed.

Matt wasted no time. "Ms. Page, my name is Matt Murdock. This is my partner, Foggy Nelson and-"

Ms. Page zeroed her gaze in on Natalie. "Are you a lawyer, too?"

Natalie cleared her throat, smiling nervously. "No, i'm, uh-"

"Paralegal." Matt said, at the exact moment Foggy said, "Assistant."

Ms. Page looked between all three of them confusedly. As Matt angled his head at Foggy for a moment, before lifting his chin back to where Ms. Page's voice was coming from.

"It's a... Wide job description at the moment." He clarified, before gesturing in the direction of the chairs. "Do you mind if we sit?"

Natalie watched her adjust in her seat, dropping her gaze.

Foggy tilted his head towards Matt, whisper-yelling in an effort to break the tension. "She gave a vague shrug, I say we go with it." Matt nodded and all three of them promptly sat in their respective chairs. Natalie took out the physical notebook to start writing things down.

"We understand you're in some trouble." Matt began, bracing his hands on the table. "We, uh, may be able to help."

Foggy also got right down to business. "Can you tell us what happened?" He held his hands out, "Why don't we start with what we know, then?" He sighed, searching the woman's blank face. "You were found in your apartment with one..." He checked the name on the report he'd been given. "Daniel fisher."

"Who appears to be the victim of a homicide," Matt continued. "And, currently, you're the only suspect, Ms. Page."

Ms. Page looked between the two of them incredulously, and Natalie noticed that not only did she have blood stains on her hands and forearms, but her eyes were also red and rubbed raw from crying.

"Who the hell are you guys?" She breathed, gripping her arms to her body tightly.

"I'm Matt, he's Foggy." Matt said; matter-of-fact. "She's Natalie." He nodded his head at Nat, who had been waiting for something important to be said.

"Who sent you?" Ms. Page continued her questioning, leaning her head forward just enough for her wheat-colored hair to fall forward in a curtain around her face.

"No one sent us." Matt reassured her. And almost before he could get the words out Ms. Page started to speak again.

"So, what?" She laughed humorlessly. "You're just a couple of Good Samaritans? Todays just my lucky day?"

Foggy chose this moment to say, "I bribed the desk sergeant with a box of cigars for his mom." As a way of explanation.

Matt took a classier approach. "Our practice is relatively young, Ms. Page, and we are aggressively pursuing new clientele." He sighed and turned to Foggy. "You gotta stop giving Bess cigars."

Foggy scoffed. "She likes to smoke, Matt. It's a free country."

Natalie watched as Ms. Page observed the exchange. Clearly at an impasse as to what was the right decision here. She swallowed hard. Looking between Natalie and the two lawyers.

"So..." She began. "How long have you been practicing law?"

Matt turned his head towards Natalie. "What time is it?" She and Foggy checked their watches at the same time but Natalie replied first.

"It's 12:22 AM." She murmured to Matt.

Matt cleared his throat and turned his head back towards Ms. Page, folding his hands neatly on the table. "About seven hours." He said firmly.

Nat scoffed quietly. "Well, if you go from when you passed the bar-"

Matt pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I was going from when we got our own desks."

Foggy nodded as if that was the most logical approach to the situation. "Oh, then, yeah. Seven hours." He turned back to Ms. Page with a proud smile. Natalie rolled her eyes with a faint smirk playing on her lips.

This was going to be a long night.

a/n: WHOO BOY this one is chunky. 2.5k words. I know this bit is kind of dull but I promise there’s more Nat and Matt next time. Getting a story going is incredibly boring sometimes. Thanks for reading! If you feel like it consider dropping a note or a follow for more of this story. Have a good day/night!

As always, special thanks to @abucketofweird for your support in this series. You’re currently the proud owner of the dedication for it. <3

- Sybil

#matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x ofc #matt murdock #matthew murdock #matt murdock x oc #marvel #daredevil x ofc #daredevil x oc #daredevil #daredevil x reader

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