No one ever says married life is easy, which certainly isn't true for Ray and (y/n).
After finally tying the knot, Mr. and Mrs. Manchester said goodbye to Henry and their old friends and welcomed four new ones: Mika, Miles, Bose, and Chapa. The kid...
*Just a lil smutlet to start us off. I know it's short, like 1500 words, but I've been trying to be a bit more concise. Like, do people want to read 30,000-word chapters? Probably not, so I'm economising. And I'm like exhausted. I am genuinely so tired, but I want to get this out so you guys can enjoy it.
I've brought you all some presents to apologise for my disappearance. First, we have this meme I saw on Tumblr and edited to fit our doofus and sweet girl cos this is so them-coded:
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SECOND! I was messing about with ChatGPT, and when I asked it to try writing some DF fanfics, it instead summarised the show and well...let's just say AI doesn't watch Nickelodeon.
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I love this summary. I vote that we change the show so Schwoz has laser hands.
Anywho--smut is starting. Don't read if you're anti-filth or young. I will not be held responsible for anything. Soy inocente.
He really was a sight for sore eyes.
Ray Manchester was hot. No questions. End of story. He was God-like: made from chiselled muscle, supple, golden skin, and gorgeously floppy hair with a face made by angels. In uniform, out of uniform, tight t-shirt or no tight t-shirt, he was handsome, and the world knew it. He knew it. But there was only one person who he truly loved to hear it from.
He closed his eyes and groaned, hips snapping to bury himself deeper, floof falling into his vision with each punch of effort. His nose scrunched, lips pursed, eyebrows rumpled together, biceps bulging near his ears; he looked good like that. More than good. Really fucking hot as a shimmery sheen stuck to his wrinkled forehead, gasps falling from his mouth with each...heavenly...movement.
And if he was in heaven, there had to be an angel. And there was.
She was perfect--but when wasn't she? She cried out for him so sweetly, pressing her palms to his clammy chest and abs, rolling her hips into his; he couldn't ask for more, yet he did. Begged, even. She was sweating too, warmed by the close heat of the room and the mid-morning sun streaking through windows. Another morning where they'd lost themselves in the moment.
