#I HAD DINNER JUST GOT INTO BED AND THIS IS WHAT I COME BACK TO?!?

[yumiblaze]

Cursed - Saja Boys X Fem!Reader Part 4

Time for all the actual Saja Boys to be in a chapter together! (\(>w<)/)

WARNING: Slight perverted behaviour ¬w¬

PROLOGUE / PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE

NEXT PART

CHAPTER FOUR

The girls had left right after dinner that evening, leaving you alone. You decided to jump into the shower before going to your room to just chill and watch videos on your phone.

The warm water felt blissful against your body and the bruises you had gotten from the demon last night. You shuddered when you thought about how much worse your injuries would be if Abby hadn’t showed up to save you; sure Rumi would’ve been able to save you soul in time but you’d definitely be worse for wear.

You snapped yourself out of the negative thoughts and quickly finished up in shower. When you got out you realised you had been caught up so much in your own thoughts you had forgotten to bring any clean clothes in with you.

You sighed and towel dried your hair a bit before leaving the bathroom, a towel wrapped around you just under your arms reaching down to your mid thighs. It was a bit chilly so you quickly wandered down the hall to your room, eager to get some warm pyjamas on. However as soon as you swung open the door to your room you froze in shock.

Five men were seemingly waiting for you. Jinu was sitting on the side of your bed, Mystery was hunched up in a ball near your pillows, Baby was leaning against a nearby wall on his phone, Romance was nearby the youngest boy and Abby was leaning against the end of your bed. The five men turned to look at you as they heard the door open and they all immediately froze much like you. Most of the boys went red in the face, Jinu averting his gaze. Baby however just smirked started to raise his phone in your direction before Romance smacked the device out of his hands.

“What the fuck is going on?!” You squeaked your face feeling hotter than you thought possible.

“W-We wanted to come here and explain to you what’s going on but I didn’t know you were going to be practically naked!” Jinu explained still unable to look at you, his face as probably as red as yours.

“I think she’d look hot as hell naked.” Baby announced still smirking while looking you up and down.

“Stop it, that’s rude.” Romance told the youngest as he slapped him round the head.

“Get out of my room!” You told them all pointing towards the door. “You can wait out there while I get dressed then we can talk.”

The boys left the room one by one most embarrassed apart from the mint haired boy who was pouting as he reluctantly followed the others out of the room. You slammed the door after they were all out a long sigh coming from your lips before you began your search for cloths.

You put some random panties on followed by some pyjama shorts and a t-shirt. You pulled a hoodie on over the top, Baby was way too interested in you being naked for you not to have an extra layer on right now.

You took a quick glance at yourself in the mirror, trying to hype yourself up for your talk with five demons. You took a deep breathe before deciding it was finally time to get your answers.

You opened the door the five guys much calmer now you were actually dressed. You stood to the side of the doorway motioning for them all to come back into your room.

Jinu nodded at you as he passed you first, mystery just silently looking toward you as he came in next. Abby ruffled your hair on the way past a grin on his face, Romance gave you a wink and Baby didn’t even look up from his phone this time; obviously now you were dressed he no longer cared.

You pulled your desk chair over to your bed as the boys went back to the places they had been in when you initially walked in and sat down.

“So that explanation you were going to give me?” You said flatly staring at Jinu.

The dark haired man sighed seemingly trying to find the words to say to you.

“Well you already know who we are, what we are.” He started. “But you seem to have no idea why we are here right?”

“Nope.”

“This is going to sound weird but legends say each and every demon has a soul mate in the human realm, someone who they can just look at, someone whose scent they can smell and it makes them drawn to them. This soul mate makes them feel human, feel love again. Usually the human soul mate will be connected to several demons as they are a lot less of them compared to the number of demons. The other drawback is that these humans are born rarely and due to their scent drawing in all demons they usually die before they are old enough to meet the demons they are a soul mate too.”

You stayed silent listening to his story.

“And well it just so happens that you are a soul mate to all five of us.” Jinu admitted slowly looking directly into your eyes.

You tried to process what he was saying. You had known of your scent and there were always rumours of you being connected to a demon in some other way, but being a soul mate? A soul mate to five of them?

“Really?” Was all you could force out quickly looking round the room.

“Why else would we all be here and not have feasted on your soul yet?” Baby asked his bright blue eyes flicking up from his phone.

“Because you could use me to get to my adopted sister.” You shot back giving the young man a small glare.

“Sweetheart, we aren’t here because of the hunters.” Romance told you putting a soft hand on your shoulder. “We came here because we want to see you, to keep you safe from the other demons that smell you. We care about you.”

You stared into the mans eyes, you couldn’t see any trace of anything other than care and love.

“I know that you don’t want to believe us.” Jinu said looking down at the floor. “But I know you feel something when we’re around and we can’t leave you for the hunters to look after anymore.”

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“Since we found you your scent has gotten stronger.” Abby told you glancing out of the balcony windows. “Demons all over town are picking it up and coming looking for you. At least one of us has stayed on watch since last night making sure none of them get into the apartment.”

“How many have come so far?”

“I killed probably 12 or so after the one I caught in your room.”

“I killed 10 on my watch.” Mystery said quietly.

“I’ve been outside all afternoon and I’ve killed a whole bunch.” Baby chimed in.

You put your head in your hands, you’d never had this many demons wanted your soul.

“Isn’t there anyway to stop my scent from drawing them all in?” You asked desperately.

“Well that’s the vaguest part of the legends.” Jinu said grimacing. “It says that the human soul mate has to be given a mark by all of her demons, but it doesn’t say exactly what that means.”

“That’s all the legends say?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.”

“We can just try things until something works.” Mystery said matter-of-factly.

“What kind if things?” You asked.

“We all came up with different ideas of what giving you a mark might entail.” The quiet boy continued. “I thought maybe I could try biting you.”

You tried to stop your face from flushing at the thought of the boy gently biting your neck.

“As if it would be something that tame.” Baby snapped. “Usually claiming someone as yours would be sleeping with them no?”

You covered your face as it definitely went red from the thought of that act.

“I’m not saying I’m opposed to that idea but I think we should try other things before going straight to that Baby.” Abby joined in.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing from these hot demons.

“Maybe it could just be her returning the feelings of love or something simple like that?” Romance asked.

Your hearing started to go as your heart sped up. A heat surging through your whole body, your lungs finding it hard to take in air. You started to feel dizzy and slightly sick, your body starting to shiver on its own.

“(y/n) are you okay?” You heard Jinu ask, two warm hands gently holding your shoulders.

You tried to look at the man but your vision was blurry. You feebly reached your hand out to grab at his arm, trying to stabilize yourself. You saw his mouth moving but no sound seemed to reach your ears. You felt a bigger wave of dizziness wash over you before you finally passed out.

@ffcfffr @whimsiecat @gremlinartstudio @chugjugg @aerissblog @kitkatpattywack2808 @airwolf92 @fries11 @doggyteam2028 @downbadgirlypoo @kashasenpai @seung185 @faefanatic @izzieg3987 @lansy-4 @weponxwrites @bunniotomia @chaoticfivesworld @clmstorm @sra7riddle-malfoy @vi1326 @justanotherkpopstanlol @jaeyuuns @tikitsune @zzsloth

[laceyfaeryy]

FORGET ME NOTS

MDNI 18+

butcher simon x floralist reader

౨ৎ⠀ׄ⠀. ━ retired! simon riley who is a butcher in a small town suddenly finds himself infatuated with the florist across the road who gave him flowers on national flower day.

note: not proof read

cw: fem! reader, dom! simon x sub! reader, mentions of masturbation

i.part 1 ii. part 2

its been a weekly routine, you coming every few days to the butcher with simon’s best cuts already prepped and ready from the moment he opened the shop. he didn’t care if other customers asked or tried to bargain, it was yours and he didn’t care about what others asked for.

he found himself adding more to just the cut, personal seasoning, oil and small notes filled with tips on how to cook it perfectly. simon told himself that it was simply a kind gesture, and not because he wanted to smell the sweet scent of your perfume for a few seconds longer, or having a closer view of your glossy lips.

no. of course not.

“it should be perfect after you add this seasoning,” his gruff voice filling up the empty store. simon was a respectful man… when he wasn’t fisting his cock to the thought of your warm plush lips wrapped around his head with drool dribbling down your chin.

but the sight of you craning up your neck to look at him made his pants a little more tighter. it was something he was used to, being a man his height and size it was an every day occurrence of having his customers looking up.

but seeing your eyes so wide and trusting, listening to everything he is saying so intently rubbed his ego slightly, having the attention of a pretty thing like you all to himself. “this one will fill you up for tonight,” he spoke roughly, handing the bag to you. he loved the way your eyes sparkled, trusting everything that came out of his mouth. “thanks sir.”

the word made his cock swell ever so slightly, simon now suddenly grateful for the bench in between the two of you.

sometimes, he didn’t know if you were just a minx or a total airhead who was completely unaware.

“i got you some flowers, i hope the last ones i gave you are doing well.” simon stared at the colourful arrangement that was now placed on the glass bench. he was never a plant guy or a flower guy, he was simply simon.

but his once dull apartment was filled with flowers, watered carefully and strategically placed on his windowsill when it was sunny. “they’re doin’ great swee’heart.” the word of endearment slipped out like second nature, however the way you blushed shyly, your head looking down made his cock swell.

nervously he cleared his throat, “if you want i can cook something up.”

never in his life has he lost composure, but today might just be the day.

“of course.”

or not.

“i finish in an hour, then back in my apartment?” he eyed you carefully, as if he were expecting you to slither out. but instead you flashed him a warm smile, “sounds great sir.”

now he had an hour of his imagination running wild, you pinned down on his bed as he sank his teeth into your skin, listening to the sweet sounds of your moans as he was hurried deep inside you.

but he quickly brushed those thoughts away, after all, he had the most important dinner of his life to cook.

tag list;

@happysmappy @mydickishuge560 @dolli333 @madebyyicarus @l-otti @butlerslut @vampwifee @i-wanabe-yours @bluebarrybubblez @cinnamongrl2006 @akkahelenaa @yanfeiiiiii @actualpoppy @lilyalone @other-fandoms-reblogs @goonette6969 @doubledizzy22 @lucienofthelakes @arabellatreaty @tessakate @kayden666 @ghostsd8s @ama-eve @webmvie @your-internet-tenshi @novthewolf @1ilo @simpingreader @angeldoll1e @avgdestitute @anonymouse1807 @chaieanne @i-live-in-spite @angel-z-xdx @trashaccount19

[endahouselikecarpet]

Date Everything x Reader

Jokes about getting married

[Scenario is a friend who doesn’t know about the whole Dateviators thing jokes about you liking an object too much.]

[Slight CW- Sex joke in Daisuke’s section, but nothing explicit, and Kristof being a bit overprotective, but nothing unhealthy]

Betty- You had just lied down for the night when you got a call from a friend in a different time zone. “Sorry for calling! I just remembered how late it is for you there.” They apologized as soon as you answered.

“Hey, don’t worry about it! I’m always happy to talk to you.” You laughed.

“Still, being that late- and I’m sure you had a busy day- I bet you’re wanting to marry your bed right now.”

“I’ll be honest, I’ve thought about that more than once recently.” You laughed, your friend not knowing the truth behind your joke.

The two of you talked for a little while more with no major things coming up. Poor Betty though, was a flustered mess. She knew you were both close, but this was surprising for her. She knew you said it as a joke about the actual bed, and not her, but still she couldn’t get the thought out of her head.

Once you were done talking to your friend, you made sure to ask where she could hear, “Hey, um, maybe would could talk in the morning?” To be honest you wanted to talk to her about it tonight, but the Dateviators needed to be charged for the night. You wanted to be sure you could talk to her about it in person. As it was right now, you wouldn’t be able to hear her, and you certainly didn’t want this conversation to be one sided.

Hector- Your friend and you decided to go for a walk. It seemed like a nice enough day when you both started out, but soon enough it got pretty hot. By the time you both had gotten back to your house, you felt like you were going to melt. Hector, of course came to the rescue. Your friend flopped onto the couch while you went to get you both some fresh water from the kitchen.

“Man, your air conditioner is great!” Your friend sighed.

“Don’t I know it.” You agreed.

“I mean, with how hot I am right now, I feel like I could marry it!” They laughed then added, “I’m already taken though, so maybe you get that honor.” You both laughed at the joke.

Meanwhile, Hector was listening from the nearby vent thinking, “PLEASE, marry the air conditioner! Please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please-“

Daisuke- You were washing the dishes from breakfast and lunch at the kitchen sink. He appreciated this as you were always more careful and attentive to the dishes than Dishy was. While you were working, your phone rang. After drying your hands off your answered the phone and put it on speaker so you could still finish up.

“Hey, sorry if it’s loud. I’m doing the dishes.” You told them.

“You’re doing the dishes?!” The gave a fake gasp, “Shouldn’t you at least get them dinner first?”

“Yeah, yeah. Real mature.” You snorted before you both started talking about what they had called you for.

Daisuke was so confused. Why did you have to have dinner first? Wasn’t better to clean things sooner rather than later? Was your friend encouraging you to be less cleanly? That didn’t seem like it was a very good attitude to have!

Luke was the one that had to break it to him that it was a sex joke.

He is mortified. He cares for the human and would never assume that they would want to do something so personally intrusive as intercourse! Unless…

Mac - You were just messing around on your computer when you got a message.

“Are you still awake right now???”

“Yeah. Not ready to done for the day.” You replied.

“If you love your computer so much, then why don’t you marry it? xD” the sent back.

“That with the xD and everything? Are we 12 again???” You shook your head at the situation.

When you brought it up with Mac when you talk to them next, they tell you they saw it and they get a good laugh at it. In fact, it seems they’re laughing a bit too much at it.

That’s funny because it’s not like that would EVER happen, right? Like there’s no way that they’ve been thinking about that for a while or something. They haven’t been looking ring prices or anything. Don’t look at the internet search history real fast while they, uh, make sure there’s no extra cookies. Definitely, not taking online store visits off the list or something.

Kristof- He wasn’t a very jealous person. There was no need for him to be. He was very assured of himself and how much you care for him. However, there was something about the friend you were showing around the house that didn’t sit well with him. They seemed like they were getting a bit too close with you. Now, they weren’t, and he knew that. But, he still couldn’t help being suspicious and overprotective.

While you were showing them the workout room, they noticed your ring. “That’s a pretty ring.” They complimented.

“Thanks!” You beamed as you showed it to them.

“What’s with the decoration on the top though? Are you engaged to a treadmill or something?” They teased.

“As a matter of fact, they are!!” Kristof bellowed, not that either of you could hear him.

The rest of the room can, however, and they will not let him live it down. “Oooooooo, Kristof’s gonna get married!” Telly teased in a fake kid voice.

“Stop it," Fanita would scold, “That’s so cute!”

“Looks like the big guy has a soft spot after all.” Duncan chuckled.

“Speak of this, and I promise I will break you.” Kristof glared at all of them.

Shelly- Your friend had come over to help you reorganize a few things. While you were working sorting a box of old, family stuff, you started hanging stuff from an old, jewelry box on a few, little hooks that were on a nearby shelf. When you put a ring on one of the hooks, your friend jokingly said, “I now pronounce you person and shelf.”

You both laughed at the lame attempt at a joke and moved on. That’s all you thought about it…that is until you talked to Shelly later. She would be so serious, take you by the hand, and say, “I promise I will be the best partner ever. I won’t let you down.”

Doesn’t get that it was a joke, but doesn’t seem to mind. Of course, you two are married! You were pronounced and everything!

Have a good sit down talk with her and tell her that if she does really want to be married, the two of you should probably take a few steps back and handle things properly. She’ll certainly agree, but still isn’t totally sold on the fact that you weren’t married to begin with.

[yasministration]

two way mirror - bill weasley

a certain malfoy au summary: bill can't help but feel like a teenager again when he speaks to you past midnight using the new gift you got him — a double sided mirror. wc: 1.1k+ cw: mentions of sex but nothing explicit

Bill loved the new gift you got him.

Well, not him, but the both of you. The two way mirror was polished and pocket-sized, with a compact that allowed for it to be neatly put away when he wasn’t using it. He felt like a teenager again, giggling in his childhood room while speaking to you. When you usually spoke through the mirror, you’d have just come out of the shower, clad in a fluffy bathrobe as you combed through your clean hair. His eyes would dip too low, sneaking a peak at your chest and he would catch himself blushing at the knowing look in your eyes.

It wasn’t easy for Bill — beginning a relationship whilst moving back into the country, searching for an apartment. Bill was weak, almost taking your invite to stay with you until he found a flat of his own. Multiple times. But if he did, he knew he’d never leave. He’d gotten glimpses of your spacious penthouse through the mirror. In the mornings, as you enjoyed a coffee on your balcony, overseeing the bustling village of Hogsmeade below. At night, as you made yourself dinner in your kitchen, the mirror propped up on a jar on the kitchen island as you chopped away at vegetables. In the quiet afternoons when you did mundane chores, cleaning your abnormally large bathtub as you told him about your day. But his favourite was when midnight had passed, and you lay in bed, tangled in your sheets, giving Bill your undivided attention.

Bill knew you were successful; a hardworking woman in the ministry of magic, privilege easily coming to you due to your family name. But it wasn’t as though you weren’t deserving of the good things that came to you — if anyone in the world did, Bill thought, it would be you.

And your flat was proof of it. Living away from your parents as an unmarried woman was rare amongst pureblooded witches, but you liked the independence. You didn’t need a house elf to cook or do your chores. But for Bill, the best part about you living alone — aside from the independence and humble nature you had — was that whenever you were lonely, and you muttered “Can you come over and spend the night? I miss you.” He could come.

Albeit, he would have to sneak out of his window, fearing that his mother, or worse, the twins were still awake downstairs. It wasn’t that Bill wasn’t permitted to leave, he just wanted to avoid the questions about your relationship that he didn’t have the answers to. He knew that you were exclusive, but were you officially boyfriend and girlfriend? He had no clue. If it were up to him, he’d say yes. But he didn’t want to scare you off just yet.

And so that was his routine: to climb down the pipe along the outside wall of the burrow, apparating to your building the second his feet landed on the ground. If he apparated to yours from his bedroom, the pop would be too loud, and everyone would wake up instantly.

He always felt odd, standing in your fancy building, the doorman in the lobby greeting him with a familiar twinkle in his eyes as he made his way over to your apartment. You always made it up to him though, when you opened your front door in your comfortable pyjamas, a happy smile on your face when you saw Bill, cupping his face in your hands and kissing him deeply in the doorway.

Bill would melt in your arms, his hands resting on the curve of your hips, lips parting to try and deepen the kiss. But you would pull away, giggling and fisting a hand around Bill’s jumper, tugging him into your empty apartment. You would always feel warm in his arms as you laid in bed with him, a reminiscence of what it was like between you when life was so simple back at Hogwarts; sneaking into each other's dorms and being wrapped in each other's arms ever night.

And when Bill would try to leave in the morning, you’d snake your arms around his waist as you both stood in the kitchen, pleading him to stay. “Please, Bill. Just another hour.” And how could he ever say no to someone who craved his presence so bad? So, like the man he was, Bill would engulf you in his arms, bringing his lips to yours, lazily making out with you in your kitchen.

And then when it got too much, you abandoned the boiling kettle in the corner of the room, dragging Bill back into bed so you could properly kiss him. Then, when he insisted on having to go, you’d say “Okay. I’m going to shower. You’re always welcome to join, unless going home is too urgent.”

Bill would groan, catching the mischievous glint in your eyes, the cheeky smile you shot him, knowing just how little he could resist. He’d forget all about his rush when you had him moaning your name out in the shower, pleasuring him so sweetly before offering to scrub his back for him, as though you hadn’t given him an earth shattering orgasm moments before.

Then, with a crisp towel wrapped around his waist, Bill would realise just how truly hungry he was. And he couldn’t imagine that you weren’t hungry. He would scour your fridge before huffing, and deciding that his girl deserved more than just toast or eggs for breakfast. So Bill would kiss your lips softly, asking if you had a change of clothes for him (you always did), before going down to Hogsmeade and buying his favourite girl some fresh pastries. When he’d return, you’d have gotten dressed and prepared tea, ready to pepper kisses all over his face as a thank you.

But eventually, Bill always had to go home, and at the end of the night it was you, him and a mirror between you.

Until finally, you ask again “Can you come over and spend the night? I miss you.”

And somewhere along the road, Bill comes over, and he doesn’t leave to have lunch with his family. He doesn’t go back to the Burrow in his pyjamas, ready to be endlessly teased by his siblings. Because at some point, you become his, and he becomes yours, and when you ask one night if he wants to move in with you, not adding ‘Until you find a place of your own’, but for as long as he’s yours, Bill says yes.

And suddenly, you’re both getting dressed to visit his family together every afternoon, but eventually, you always return home.

Home, where it’s just you and Bill Weasley.

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @matcha-kitty13, @thenasoneshots, @slytherin-princess-x, @bxuzi, @rory-cakes, @dlljdhsh, @girlontheblock, @5sospenguinqueen, @bluebvrriee, @aouoo, @spider–girl, @fandomhoe101, @user010380, @simp-for-fiction, @selenewowww, @paytonluvxx, @sharkers00, @joonbread, @rhettsluvr, @gr1mesgirl, @ayayaaayyiire, @pain-in-the-ashe, @blueflowerpots, @shininjjongg, @rory-cakes, @szampon1, @bxuzi, @dlljdhsh, @5sospenguinqueen, @aouoo, @fandomhoe101,

[adultbabystories]

A Lesson with Mr. Peterson

“From now on, the boy will come to my private tutoring only with proper protection! I will not tolerate any accidents during my classes. Show Daddy what I had to put you into… and at your age…” Mr. Peterson said to your Daddy when he came to pick you up.

When the person you now only call ‘Daddy’ introduced you to the age regression kink, being his school boy seemed kind of hot. From comforting you to scolding you. Picking your clothes and telling you how to eat properly, and even dressing as a school boy. You were making up little stories about how your day was at school, while he watched you and listened. As time went by, from specific kink sessions, it developed into a lifestyle. He was the parental figure at home, the reasoner, and the one who made sense, while you became the cheeky boy who sometimes misbehaved. There were times he needed to force you to sit over his knee for a proper lecture.

There was one evening when you two had dinner, when Daddy opened a bottle of wine, drank two glasses, and put it away. You were not allowed alcohol at all. After dinner, he kissed you and went to bed early. The cheeky boy that you were, after missing the buzz from drinking, you went for that bottle and thought you could have a glass or two while Daddy was asleep. You didn’t know it was a special kind of wine, and it made you drunk after a couple of minutes. You turned the TV so loud that it woke Daddy up. He came to the living room and saw you drunk. He went to the couch, flipped you over your belly, and gave you two swats to your bottom.

“Go to sleep now!”

The morning after, you woke up and walked to the kitchen where Daddy was sitting and having his morning coffee.

“Daddy I’m sorr” “Stop it right there!” he said, “Sit”.

“Your behavior last night was unacceptable! Not at all. I thought that in time we’d laid the ground rules, but it clearly shows that we didn’t. Drinking?”

You looked down as he was speaking. You were a grown man, but felt like a kid whose father was parenting him. You didn’t want to disappoint him, you wanted him to be proud of you.

“I’ve talked to a private tutor who corrects the ways of boys like yourself, so go get dressed in your school boy uniform, because we leave in 30 minutes.”

You didn’t dare to say anything, you just stood up and went to get dressed. 

At the tutor’s door, you felt anxious, so you went for Daddy’s hand and held it.

The door opened.

“Hello Richard!” the man said.

“Hello Mr. Peterson,” Daddy replied.

“You must be our little trouble maker, I see,” Mr. Peterson said and pitched your cheek.

“Daddy, you can leave, your boy is in my good hands. Come back at four, we’ll have four hours, we will accomplish so much in that time.”

Daddy turned you to face him and said, “You will be a good boy and do exactly as Mr. Peterson says, do you understand me?”

The two older men looked at you.

“Yes Daddy.”

Mr. Peterson took your hand and walked you inside, as Daddy left and closed the door. As you walked, you looked at the man again, and he surely looked familiar. You thought you saw him in one of Daddy’s friends' meetings. His name was Mat, you recalled. 

Mr. Peterson got you in front of a wooden heavy table, with two chairs. On the table were a notebook with pens, a bottle of water with two glasses, and a wooden paddle.

“You will only refer to me as Mr. Peterson, and I will only call you ‘Boy’. You will do as I say, when I say it. The notebook and pen will be for our private lesson, we will do light math, middle school level, I bet you need it. We have water we can drink, and we will drink only water and not wine. The paddle, we don’t have to use, if you behave. If you won’t behave, we will use it over my lap.”

The paddle and Mr. Peterson frightened you. When Daddy smacked you last night, it hurt, but this man seemed to know what he was doing, and it looked like the paddle was his specialty. Maybe many boys were over his lap getting spanked. But after all, you are a man, you can get through the lesson without getting spanked.

Mr. Peterson poured water into one of the glasses.

“Sit and drink.”

As the hours went by, you two went through basic math. He figured out your level and began from there. You did exercises and you always referred to him as Mr. Peterson or Mr.. Every few exercises, he poured water into your glass. You were the one who was drinking, he wasn’t, not even once. Two hours had passed.

“Mr. Peterson, can I go to the bathroom, please? I need to pee,” you said.

“After this one, boy. We are in the middle.” “But we are fifteen minutes on this one, please, can I be excused?” you asked again with less patience.

“Boy, we are finishing this one, then you can go,” he said calmly without looking at you.

It made you mad. He wasn’t even looking at you. You are a man after all, he should give you a bit of respect, even in this scenario.

“Listen Mat…”

“Stop stop stop! How did you call me?!” He raised his eyes and his voice. You knew trouble was coming. Just from his authoritative voice and posture. 

“Sorry, Mr. Peterson.”

“Oh no no no, you called me by my first name. This is not acceptable at all in this household. Boys will behave here, they will learn in a good way or the tough way!”

Mr. Peterson grabbed the wooden paddle in one hand and pulled you over his knee with the other. He was surprisingly strong for his age and looks. Maybe it was the age regression or the scenario you were in, but you didn’t object, you went over his lap. From the man who said ��Mat’, to the boy who went over another man’s knees.

The frightens from before took over you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you yelled, “Please don’t”.

Mr. Peterson pulled your trousers down and left you bare bottom.

SMACK SMACK SMACK

“No, no!” you tried again.

He forced you to stand.

“Take off your trousers and underwear completely,” he ordered.

You did as he told, but whined and sobbed. He grabbed you again and pulled you over his knee. The fright was overwhelming, you didn’t want to get spanked anymore. Over his knee, you wet yourself uncontrollably.

“Oh dear,” Mr. Peterson said and stopped, “it appeared you learned your lesson”.

His shoes and floor were soaked, you were not, you peed all over but not on yourself. Your penis was pointing towrds the floor while being spanked.

“I will go clean myself, you’ll stay here and wait,” he said and walked to the hallway.

What was happening? What was going on? You just got spanked by an older man because you didn’t call him ‘Mr.’ during a middle-school math lesson, and it scared you so bad you had an accident over his knees. You new Daddy is soon to return and you are standing butt naked in stranger’s living room, only wearing a school boy’s top. Your pecker got shriveld. You not only felt like a boy, you looked like an overgrown one.

Mr. Pieterson, wearing fresh trousers, came back with a few things under his arm. A folded colorful kind of mat, baby powder, cream, and what looked like an oversized baby’s diaper. He went to the other side of the huge wooden table, unfolded what was a giant changing mat, and said - “Op on, the table can take it, trust me”.

Silently, you did as you were told. All was surreal, you saw the diaper, you saw the changing mat, you lay on the changing mat, and yet you still didn’t connect the dots.

“I knew you were a boy, but not a little boy. Little boys at my house need to wear diapers if they can’t control themselves”, he said as he raised the big and thick diaper in front of you.

“But,” you tried to say something.

“No buts. You’ve done talking, now spread those legs.”

With such ease, he creamed and powdered you. Lift and lower your legs. Taking care of your sore behind and crotch. In two minutes, you were thickly diapered and fully dressed in your schoolboy uniform.

Two knocks at the door were heard the moment your feet touched the floor again.

“Let’s go greet your Daddy.” he took your hand and walked you to the front door.

“Hello Daddy” Mr. Peterson said.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Peterson,” Daddy said.

Your eyes stayed on the floor, cheeks blushing red.

“What happened?” Daddy asked, not you, but Mr. Peterson.

“Your boy was such a good boy. We worked on his math, which is a little bit low level, but he’s a bright young fella. Then he got cheeky and called me by my first name!”

“He didn’t.”

“Oh yes he did. But I taught him a lesson with my paddle, the paddle you agreed was necessary in his lessons.”

“I did, he may have needed that, and he did.”

“But that’s not all. Boy, take down your trousers and lift your arms above your head,” Mr. Peterson commanded you.

With such shame, you did as you were told. Standing there, showing off your printed, thick, fresh diaper. The real shame came from the reality that you wet yourself over the man’s knees.

“Oh my boy, what happened?” Daddy asked, this time, you.

But Mr. Peterson answered for you - “Over my knee, our poor boy had an accident. I think the paddle scared him, like it does to little boys.”

“I didn’t think it would get to this point, but it has,” Daddy said.

The two men were chatting about you. But you weren't a part of that chat. You couldn’t say your side or how you felt. They didn’t ask, so you knew not to talk.

You were the one with a daddy.

You were the one who came in a schoolboy uniform for a math lesson with an older man. You were the one who got spanked and wet himself.

You were the one who wore a diaper.

Little boys stay quiet while the men are talking.

“From now on, the boy will come to my private tutoring only with proper protection! I will not tolerate any accidents during my classes. I have a new pack of diapers for him until you get him more. I have a feeling he’ll need it.” Mr. Peterson said and went to get the package.

When he came back, Daddy pushed your shoulder so you’d take the big cardboard box away from Mr. Peterson.

“Now say thank you to Mr. Peterson for the math lesson, spanking you, and diapering you,” Daddy ordered you, like a boy who needs his parent to spell it for him.

“Thank you, Mr. Peterson,” you said and blushed.

“No no no, the whole thing,” Daddy said, disappointed.

“Thank you, Mr. Peterson, for the math lesson, spanking me, and… diapering… me,” you said as you moved your body, hearing the crinkle of the diaper.

“Good boy” Daddy said.

“Good boy. I’ll make you my prime student. Okay, until next time,” Mr. Peterson said.

“Now go to the car and put your new diapers in the trunk. Go!” Daddy said and patted your padded butt.

As you walked away, the two men stayed and shook hands warmly. You were far away, sitting in the car, feeling the diaper around you. Embarrassed after your father picked you up for wetting yourself.

“Thank you, Mat, your methods are working,” Daddy said to Mr. Peterson.

“No problem, keep going as I instructed you, and your boy will show wonderful results. Now go along, we’ll set up another lesson for this week. Don’t forget to use enough baby powder!”

The men laughed and said farewell again.

----------------------------

So many private tutoring sessions are yet to come for @submissiveboyuk

[amatariki]

THIS LOVE'S POSSESSIN' ME 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ don't wanna fight the fall

(𝓐UTREMENT) — competitions with your boyfriend always end with endearment.

天使ℳade :: bf!nishimura riki x fem!reader ⋆˚✿˖° 𝒆𝒔𝒕. (740) (ℒ)lust. not much, kissing, skinship, regular making out stuff ig

ᥫ᭡⊹ ࣪ ˖ (1) notification! yumyumyumyum i love my boyfie. again, expect less updates bcs im working on a smau on the side + mathp. i will also be travelling soon so i wont have access to the internet most of the time.

💋 #reblog for kisses ☆゙ catalogue ˖°— 𝐕𝐎𝐋.𝐗𝐕

“Winner has to buy the other dinner.”

“Deal.”

Turning chores into little competitions was a pastime you and Riki had adopted, now a small tradition between the two of you as you ran to your shared bedroom with your arms filled with both of your respective laundry.

You pout as you watch Riki dart past you, his longer legs carrying him to your shared bedroom much quicker than your shorter legs could. As you stumbled into the room, he had already started folding his clothes neatly, despite how quickly he was doing it.

“Hey, no fair!” you whine, racing to fold your clothes after dumping them on the bed. “I deserve a headstart! You got here first, and I have more clothes than you to fold!”

“Mhm, no,” Riki replies coolly, continuing to work on his shrinking pile.

You frown, working even quicker, determined to beat him at least once.

Yet, once again, Riki wins the competition, shoving his clothes into the wardrobe in an organized manner after having stacked them into a folded pile while half of your clothes still lay in a mess.

You sigh, throwing the shirt in your hands onto the duvet, crossing your arms that were now reproachfully throbbing as a way of expressing how much you overexerted them. You flop onto the bed, burying your face into the plush expanse underneath you.

Riki follows suit, practically falling on top of you and lying there like a weighted blanket, one arm wrapped around your stomach, while the other spanned across the bed.

The two of you lie peacefully, taking a moment to come down from the adrenaline of competing against each other before Riki rolls off you. He tugs you along with him, pulling you on top of his chest so that you two were now directly facing each other.

You raise your head to stare down at him with a cold glare, only to be met by softness and devotion in his eyes. A hand makes its way from your back to your face as he caresses it solemnly: his slender fingers tracing the curve of your jawline, the softness of your cheek, the slight bulge of your eyes, and the bridge of your nose before finally making its way to the plush pink of your lips.

Your heart jumps at each movement, his finger igniting a searing fire beneath the surface of your skin as it traces over your face, your hair falling over your shoulders as if to cage this intimate movement between you two from the prying eyes of the world around you.

Your eyes met his brown ones. And just like that, you were gone.

One look into those endless brown voids and you felt like you were falling.

You were falling harder for this man than you’d already fallen for, if that was even possible.

Falling harder than you’d ever felt yourself fall.

“Stop,” you whisper.

“Stop what?” Riki whispers back.

“Looking at me like that.”

Riki didn’t reply. None of the usual witty remarks. This time, he just acted.

In a heartbeat, his lips were against yours, and your eyes fluttered shut. In that moment, the whole world was empty. Everything you felt and could think about was the way his lips moved against yours. It sent jolts inside you.

A small whimper broke from your mouth, matching your surprise, and you felt the corner of Riki’s lips lift into a smirk.

You pulled back to check whether he was actually smirking, but mainly to catch your breath.

“Shut up,” you mutter, face reddening even more at his cockiness, not the least surprised to see that a smirk was plastered on his face.

“I didn’t say anything,” he retorts smoothly.

“Yeah, but take that smirk off your face!” You stammer.

“Or what?”

“Or—”

Your words get cut off as Riki kisses you again, your heart stuttering as his tongue slips into your mouth this time. You melted into the feeling of his tongue carving the inside of your mouth, mapping it with the same dedication he would give a choreography he was learning.

Eventually, the need for air separates you two, pulling back to catch your breaths while both of you gaze at each other’s dazed faces, drunk for each other’s love.

“You were saying?”

“Huh?” you echo, your brain short-circuiting.

Riki just chuckles at your clueless face.

“You look like a tomato,” he hums playfully.

“Do not!”

------ᝰ‧₊ taglist open — nets! @k-films — ©amatariki 2k25

[mingapace]

What do you think pet!Remmick would do if someone broke into their home at night?

𝕳𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝕯𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝕾𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖈𝖊

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴅᴀʀᴋ!ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ(ɴᴏᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ), ꜱᴏꜰᴛ!ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ(ᴡɪᴛʜ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ), ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ꜱᴛʀᴏɴɢ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ.

ᴀ/ɴ: ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ, ᴋɪɴᴅʟʏ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʟᴘᴇᴅ ʙʏ @abbessofflesh ᴡʜᴏ ɢᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ɴɪᴄᴇ ꜱᴜɢɢᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴀᴅᴅᴇᴅ.

Oh, well, whoever had the audacity to do that, I hope they’ve already dug their grave and ordered the flowers for their own funeral.

It doesn’t matter if Remmick was dozing off in your arms or out on one of his hunting sprees—if anyone dares to trespass on your territory uninvited, he is already drawing the war axe (or claws, in this case).

If he were still clinging to you, he’d slip out of bed like the night itself, not making a single sound to wake you—because he knows you’ve got a long day of work ahead of you in the morning.

Remmick barely holds back a growl when your face is so close to his. He doesn’t want to leave the warm space between your arms or the scent of your skin—but he also can’t let someone walk into your home and stroll out like it’s nothing. He leaned down to your ear, whispering, “I’ll be right back, darlin',” before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead and slipping out from under the covers.

Remmick is a predator who enjoys playing with his prey, so he’d watch for a while, curious about what exactly pushed some complete stranger to break into your home.

But he’s not exactly the best at hide and seek with those big glowing red eyes. The intruder would notice him almost immediately—but before he could do anything, Remmick would already be there. One hand over the mouth. One on the throat.

“Ah, don’t be squeakin’, little mouse. I’d hate for me darlin’ to wake in the dead o’ night and drop dead of fright, all ‘cause some feckin’ gobshite thought it was grand to break into our home.”

Turning the guy was out of the question. Remmick considered transformation a gift to be granted, not a punishment. Letting him go? Just as risky. Who knew if he’d come back with a weapon—or worse?

So, he’d snap the man’s neck in under a second. No hesitation. No chance for explanations. Not even time for regret.

He wasn’t about to risk your wrath. And really, who would report a criminal missing? No one. So, out of sight, out of mind.

He’d dispose of the body—though not before draining it first (who was he to refuse dinner when it showed up at his doorstep all nicely wrapped up?).

Remmick looks down at the body, folded into an unnatural position, carefully wrapped in one of the rugs. Meanwhile, he sips slowly from one of the blood bags he’s filled, like a satisfied child savoring fruit juice while admiring one of his masterpieces. He glances down the hallway, but beyond the closed bedroom door, there’s no sign of movement. You were still asleep. He hadn’t woken you.

Then, muttering a few curses and careful to stay in the shadows, he would drag it out back—hoping no nosy neighbors was still awake and watching from their window.

“Not exactly the brightest choice ye made tonight, now was it? I mean, breakin’ into our house when old Mrs. Humphrey’s is just across the bloody road?! That deaf oul’ cow wouldn’t’ve even heard ye comin’ in.” He growls softly as he drags the rug by one end across the garden. He moves carefully, skillfully avoiding the small saplings he had so thoughtfully planted in the days before.

After burying it with practiced precision—years of experience had granted him a certain efficiency—he would head back inside without haste, wiping away every trace of mud his boots had left on the hallway carpet and then return to bed, completely at ease.

“Rem?” You mumble when you feel him slide under the covers again and press his cold nose to the back of your shoulder. A faint smell of earth fills your nostrils. “Did you go hunting?” “Sort of,” he replies. “Did you wash your hands and teeth?” You hear him growl in annoyance, but he gets up and goes to wash up just like you asked.

Then, as you drift back to sleep, he would gently run his claws through your hair—the very same claws that had just snapped a stranger’s neck.

But you’ll never know.

In the morning, you’ll only notice the antique dish slightly out of place on the hallway shelf, the door locked with one extra twist, and the neighbor's friendly cats keeping a very respectful distance from your back garden.

[heartofafiend]

No battery left. 

You were dead tired. The kind of feeling that was returning now and then. Everything just felt wrong. Awfully loud, extremely soft, overly idiotic, very annoying. 

On days like this you try your best to stay in the moment, just breathing, doing things on autopilot, like a plane hoping the master alarm will just pass and you will land safely. 

But there are days when even that isn’t enough. 

He saw something was wrong the moment he stepped into the room. There it was that absentmindedly lip biting. You were staring at the screen, no thought in that kitty head of yours. He exited without even being noticed. How could you, when all you had in your mind was a thousand background noises from the day. A deep sigh escaped you and before you could shut your laptop down, you were greeted with a steaming cup. 

Confusion on your face was met with a low chuckle.

He remembered that one time when you rumbled on and on, about what were the usual things you did when you felt a bit off. That’s how you put it. Downplaying the overwhelming mess, not something you were used to sharing. 

A small caress to your shoulder brought your attention to him. He was here for everything you were. Everything you slowly shared with him.

“Now tell me, kitten, how can I help?” 

Let’s be honest, you know that he knows what will happen. A light dinner was ready when you got back home. 

Lights dimmed, all the candles covered and a smell of cotton in the air. The moment you were in comfortable clothes, letting out a long sigh you were turned into a burrito, soft blanket wrapped around you. The next moment the ground was lost, as he carried you to bed.

You would just lay down, if you want to vent he will listen, making you pause now and then to take another sip of water. If you don’t mind he will make sure to put some soothing music on just a background. If not, he would make you have everything you needed. And if you wish to cry, let out the frustration of just everything going against you, he would be there. Supporting however he could. Making plans on how to cheer you up when the crash passes.

"Whenever you are ready, pips. I am not leaving you."

There was no rush. Not with him. 

He saw the signs before you probably could feel them. A bit too grumpy in the morning. The radio played quieter when he dropped you off. No message with what’s on the menu at lunch time was the last hint he needed. 

When you only hummed when he picked you up, he was ready. A small fruit salad ready for you to nimble on, some iced tea to keep you going. 

He let you change and made sure you ate something warm. When overwhelmed there is no point in punishing your body by starving yourself. He let you choose if you wanted to cuddle, or just sit there in silence. Making sure every now and then to ground you. A small question, reminding you to drink, not nudging. If you wanted to vent, he was there as well. 

“I am here if you need me, take your time, (y/n).”

You never realized that you were spacing out until the sofa dipped. The living room had a familiar smell of takeout you loved, boxes already set on the coffee table. Without a word you were handed the tv pilot - few of your favourite series lining up already. Cutest cartoon, most gruesome horrors or violent criminal shows and anything in between – your choice. 

Warm food, and familiar sounds from tv, one that you have heard a thousand times, made you drowsy. He would wait for you to come for the gentle hug, pulling you on top.  

“Do you want to take a nap?” soft rub to your shoulder and an even softer voice. 

Steady heartbeat, familiar scent with the quiet background lulling you to sleep. Reset the system, turn yourself off and on, that might be a good choice. 

The moment you grunt and flop down on the sofa like a salmon smacked by a bear, he would be alarmed. Perceiving. Trying to see every single tension in your body. The teary eyes avoiding his gaze would make his breath hitch. He was your safe harbor, there is no hiding from him. 

if the seagulls are too loud, he would make them shut up, if the dry land in general is the issue? It’s better down where it’s wetter. There is nothing more comforting than the sea, nothing more soothing than the caress of warm currents. Maybe a seal friend would be able to make you laugh, maybe you just needed some safety of dimmed caves underwater. But if you are unwilling, if that was too much as well, he would make sure to make it as comfortable as possible. Humming softly a melody of home, whispering sweet nothings, or just staying still with you. Whatever it is, he would not leave you to deal with this alone.

"I am here, cutie. I will always be."

And when you were a bit better, he would make sure to make you smile. He would pick the pieces of yourself that you lost.

Small little drabble while I write at the pace of a cosmic snail.

Beta? Who she?

A bit of comfort when the wheels are spinning a bit too fast.

[lpmurphy]

I don’t know if you do like one shots but I have this little head cannon of what if Beth went for Robby instead of Jack for whatever reason Abby would be so mad lol but at the same time I think she would recognize he is a good guy who would care for her and her mom hehehe but then she could get a cat

This has been living in my head rent free for DAYS, and I finally got a chance to sit down and get it out today. A few of you have asked to see what Beth and Robby would have looked like, so here you are. Thanks for such a fun prompt! Enjoy! 🫶💕

warnings: MDNI, 18+, light smut, oral giving/receiving, underage drinking

word count: 11,087

Saying Yes

Saying yes was the easy part.

It always had been. Yes didn’t ask for anything. It didn’t come with promises or meaning or any of the heavy things that showed up in the morning. It was light. Effortless. Just a whisper against someone’s mouth, the soft slip into hours where she didn’t have to think; only feel. Where instinct could take over and carry her through, endorphins chasing exhaustion, loneliness, the dull ache of being too much and not enough all at once.

Yes let her disappear for a while.

So, she said it.

Yes to Haggerty’s with a bunch of kids born the year she started high school. Yes to waiting by the bar long after she should’ve left, scanning the crowd for a face she knew wouldn’t be there. Yes to the text that finally came: I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I hope you can understand.

She understood. She learned long ago to stop expecting anything from him.

So she said yes again.

To another shot to burn a little warmth into her chest. Another drink, just for the weight of it in her hand, and the spin in her head that made his absence easier to forgive the second time around. Yes to the bet over the pool table with a guy who laughed like he was also trying to forget someone. They were both chasing ghosts. But he’d pressed in close when she let him adjust her grip, smelled good, and had big, rough hands that wrapped around hers like they had every right to. So she let him.

“Feel what you’re supposed to be doing with your hands?” he murmured against her ear.

She pressed her hips back into him and felt his whole body stutter. “Think I’m getting the idea,” she said sweetly.

He made a noise, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and she liked that a little too much. Which was why, when he said, “Last shot. If I make it, you owe me dinner,” she didn’t blink.

“And if I make it?”

“Whatever you want.”

She tilted her head, smiled up at him, and tugged playfully at his shirt. “Then you have to take me home, big guy.”

His eyebrows shot up. “And do what?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Ladies first.”

The eight ball dropped with a crack, and her hand was down his pants in the backseat of a dark taxi eight minutes later, laughing breathlessly as he tried and failed to keep a straight face. His head tipped back against the seat, knuckles white on her thigh, jaw clenched around the sounds she kept teasing out of him, desperate to keep it quiet, but she was not trying to make it easy for him. He looked at her like she was a fever he didn’t want to break.

They barely made it through her front door before she dropped to her knees in the dark entryway, his belt already undone, her fingers hungry and impatient. His back hit the door with a thud and his breath stuttered when her lips wrapped around him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, hips jerking forward, his voice gone gravel rough. His head fell back against the wood, threading his fingers through her hair. “Oh, I knew I was gonna like you, Baker.”

They didn’t talk much. Didn’t need to. The night unraveled in a blur of yeses and skin and heat. Her nails dragging down his back. His mouth on her collarbone, her stomach, her thighs. Yes to the hallway. Yes to the wall. Yes to the floor when they didn’t make it to the bed the first time when they were too drunk and too wrung out to care about anything else but the shape of each other. Or the second time, for that matter.

Just yes after yes. Both of them chasing the same high and pretending it meant less than it did. There were no promises. No questions. No thinking. Just movement. Just heat. Just yes. Yes. Yes.

At some point in all that yes, he stopped. She looked down at him, a moan caught in her throat and chest heaving, and found him looking up at her, something soft about the way he watched her between her thighs. She liked the way he looked at her; like he hadn’t expected to enjoy this as much as he did. Like she was a surprise. And she liked surprising people. It gave her something to hold onto, something that almost felt like control. That bit of control slipped away when he smirked up at her in a way that didn’t feel teasing and pressed his lips to the knee thrown over his shoulder, relinquishing it from her with another pass of his tongue.

That night? That night was easy.

It always stopped being easy in the morning when the bed was empty, and she woke up alone.

Her eyes opened to cool sheets and silence, and something in her chest cinched tight; because that was the part that never stopped hurting, even when she pretended it didn’t. The emptiness. The absence. The reminder that people always left.

And truthfully? That yes never felt as good crawling out of bed as it did when she was already in it, when someone was above her, breathless and warm, saying her name like it was something worth staying for.

She shoved herself upright with a sigh, hair a mess, makeup smudged, mouth dry and tasting like regret and cheap liquor. Last time, she told herself, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. This was the last goddamn time.

She froze mid-step when her foot caught on something soft on her bedroom floor. She kicked it in front of her and looked down at the dark mess of fabric tangled around her foot. A tee shirt. Too big to be hers. Still smelling like last night and cologne and him.

Then came the sound of voices from downstairs, too low to be Abby’s, the cadence too bright. The TV, maybe? A podcast through the kitchen Alexa? The news, or maybe some sort of talk show.

She blinked, heart stumbling over itself, and crouched down to scoop up the shirt. She pulled it over her head, pushed her hair out of her face, and padded downstairs barefoot. When she turned into the kitchen, that stumble turned into a stutter that would have made her order an EKG for anyone else.

He was in her kitchen. Standing at the open fridge in nothing but boxers and his glasses, sipping from her favorite chipped mug like he’d been there a hundred times. The morning light caught in his hair, tossing shadows across the tile floor, some Conan O’Brien podcast oozing from the kitchen speaker. He was humming — humming — like this was just a thing they did now. Like this was something he wanted to do.

She was used to exits. To fumbling with clothes in the dark, to doors that shut quietly before the sun came up, to never having to make awkward small talk about coffee or snoring or the fact that she hadn’t meant for any of this to feel like more.

Michael Robinavich wasn’t supposed to stay.

But he did.

He looked over his shoulder and smiled at her, like she was something he’d been waiting all morning to see.

“Morning,” he said, casual and warm. “Hope you don’t mind. You were out cold and your coffee’s actually decent, so.”

She leaned on the doorframe, crossing her arms. “You raid everyone’s kitchen, or am I just special?”

He turned, grin already creeping in. “Well, you did win the game of pool.”

“I thought you already paid up.”

“Who said I was done?” he said, shutting the fridge with his hip, smirking at her over the rim of his glasses.

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. Dangerously close to smiling. “You always this charming, or is it just the caffeine?”

“It’s the company.” He took another sip, then stepped in close and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her to his chest, and kissed her; warm, unhurried, like they had all the time in the world. Her hands found his waist before she realized they’d moved.

“You hungry?” he murmured against her lips.

“Starving.”

He winked, then turned back toward the cabinets. She hopped up onto the counter, watched him rummage through her cabinets for a pan, crack eggs one-handed like it was nothing.

And that’s when it hit her.

This wasn’t easy anymore.

But maybe… Maybe it still could be.

He stayed through breakfast.

Stayed when the eggs were too salty and the toast burned after they stopped paying attention to the cooking and paid more attention to each other. Stayed when she sat on the counter in his shirt, legs bare and tangled around his waist as he kissed her between sips of coffee and ran his fingers through sleep mussed hair. Stayed when breakfast led back to bed.

The plates never made it to the sink. Her shirt never came off, not at first; just got pushed up around her ribs, bunched in his fists as he kissed her like he hadn’t spent the whole night already learning every sound she made. There was less urgency this time. No rush. No trying to outrun anything. Just his mouth on her skin, her fingers in his hair, a slow, heady rhythm that made the rest of the world feel far, far away.

They dozed off that way, legs tangled under bed sheets that now smelled like his cologne and felt warmer than they had the morning before, fingers tracing lazily along her spine. Afternoon bled in through the blinds before they finally decided to shower. And still, he stayed wrapped up beside her just a little longer. Until she stood in the doorway wrapped in her robe, his fingers brushing damp hair from her cheek.

“I’m gonna go home,” he said, voice low, thumb brushing her cheekbone, “put on clothes that don’t smell like sex and booze, and then I’m coming back.”

She cocked her head. “You’re coming back?”

He grinned. “Unless you’re planning on locking the door behind me?”

She almost laughed. Almost asked what the hell he was doing. Almost stopped him. But she didn’t. She wasn’t sure what surprised her more. She tried not to stiffen. Tried not to brace for the backpedaling. Tried not to show that her skin had already started stitching itself around him in places she hadn’t meant it to, despite the way she told herself never to allow it to.

She nodded, managed a small, neutral smile. “Sure.”

He kissed her again, slow and deliberate. Like punctuation. He didn’t press. Didn’t make a scene. Just smiled back and disappeared down the walk, whistling to himself like he wasn’t knocking the rhythm of her entire emotional life off-kilter.

For the next forty-seven minutes, she convinced herself it didn’t matter if he came back or not. She’d showered again, telling herself that she was shaving her legs out of necessity and using Abby’s perfumed body wash only because it was in her shower. Cleaned. Changed the sheets. Told herself she was tired, and fine, and definitely not staring at the clock.

Then there was a knock. She opened the door, and there he was. In a clean shirt and sweats, hair still a little damp. Bottle of wine in one hand, takeout bag in the other.

Exactly like he said he would.

This time she didn’t hesitate. She stepped aside. Let him walk in. Let him take off his shoes and kiss her hello and set the food down, fill her home with the soft sound of someone settling in. She let herself want. Just a little. And fuck, if that didn’t scare her shitless.

For a while that evening, yes had stopped meaning what it used to. It wasn’t a breathless agreement between kisses. Wasn’t her back arching into someone’s hands. Wasn’t fingers tugging at clothes or bodies pressed together in the dark.

It just meant talking. Conversation, slow and easy. Laughter spilling over half-eaten takeout on her coffee table, unraveling hours without either of them noticing. Yes became a shared language between them for another night with her legs draped across his lap and his voice echoing down the halls.

Yes to a movie they found out they both loved while scrolling through the channels. “You didn’t strike me as an alien movie guy.” “You kidding? Who doesn’t love Close Encounters?”

Yes to pausing it halfway through because a line reminded him of a book he’d read, and she lit up because she’d read it too. “Our English teacher made us read War of the Worlds sophomore year. I’ve read it every fall since.” “Me too!”

Yes to the way he flipped through her vinyl collection and nodded approvingly, running his fingers along worn edges and cracking spines of old jazz and classic rock albums.

“Okay, that’s cool,” he said, lifting a Deep Purple album. “This is a little less cool,” he added, plucking one of her daughter’s Taylor Swift records from the crate.

“She’s seventeen,” she shot back. “And the heart shaped one was very difficult to find, I’ll have you know. I was mom of the year when I finally got my hands on one.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? And what’s your excuse?”

She tried not to smile. Failed miserably, which only pulled one from him. He was handsome when he smiled. “I’m an emotionally complex woman.”

“Obviously.”

They ate. They laughed. They kissed. And then they kept talking.

The afternoon light stretched golden across the floor and melted into dusk, but neither of them moved to turn on a lamp. They just talked; about the years before PTMC, what COVID had taken from them. Not just the jobs, the holidays, the funerals; but the quieter things, too. The versions of themselves that got buried under KN95s and fear and loneliness.

“I stopped writing,” she admitted softly, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. “I used to all the time; just for a few minutes every day before bed, sometimes more. Really just to get it all out so I could sleep. It made me feel… more like myself. Then suddenly it didn’t matter. Or maybe I didn’t.”

He didn’t try to fix it. Just nodded and pressed his thumb into the sole of her foot, like he understood. Like he’d felt that too.

“I used to be really good at making plans,” he said after a quiet moment. “For my life. For my future. Now I mostly make grocery lists and hope I remember to eat.”

They talked about the parts of themselves they missed. The rituals they abandoned and slowly tried to reinstate. The people they used to be and saw only in the mirror. They talked about fear, and laughter, and the weird comfort of grocery store rotisserie chickens. They talked like there wasn’t a clock ticking, like neither of them were planning what happened next.

When midnight came, she kissed him slow, hands sliding beneath his shirt. Not desperate. Not chasing anything. Just asking.

Stay.

That’s all she said, right there against his lips. Just that, the rise and fall of his chest solid under her hands. He pressed his palm to her back, fingers splayed across her skin as he brought his lips to hers again, his answer soft and immediate.

Yes.

Like it had never been a question.

He continued to stay. And she continued to say yes.

Yes when he’d lean across the nurses’ station mid-shift, smirking like he had a secret, asking, “Drinks after?” like it wasn’t the third time that week. Yes when they’d meet for coffee on their day off and found him at the same table tucked in the back with her cup waiting for her, already knowing how she took it; cream, no sugar, extra hot because she liked how it made her hands feel in the morning. The city was still quiet and they had nowhere to be but across from each other, sipping slowly and trading stories like neither one wanted to blink and miss it. When their fingers bumped across the table, and he curled his around hers, she let him. He didn’t let go.

Yes to meeting him at that little record shop in Greenfield while Abby was off at a sleepover, both of them pretending it wasn’t a date and failing spectacularly when he found her by the grunge crates. Rain clung to his clothes, but heat radiated from him when he murmured, “Hey baby,” and brushed her hair gently out of her eyes before he kissed her right there between Nirvana and Soundgarden.

Yes to falling into his bed, or hers, whenever they ended up standing too close on the wrong side of each other’s front doors, neither quite willing to leave, both silently daring the other to be the one who stayed. Yes to movie nights that turned into mornings. To too many shared blankets and takeout containers. To half-buttoned shirts and sleepy Sunday kisses and a toothbrush he kept in his vanity drawer just for her.

Then there was the evening he walked her to her car after a long shift, the parking lot nearly empty, golden hour clinging to the tops of the cars. His scrubs wrinkled. Her ponytail half undone. He stuffed his hands in his pockets like he wasn’t sure he should ask; like it might shift something they’d been carefully pretending not to name.

“Let me take you out,” he said, quietly but clearly.

She tilted her head and leaned against her car door, looking up at him. “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?”

“Actually take you out. Somewhere nice. Real tablecloths. Bottle of wine. Wear something other than sweats or scrubs. The whole thing. What do you say?”

She looked at him for a second too long. Could already feel the smile pulling at her mouth. And then, like always, like instinct, like hope; she said yes.

But her yes wasn’t the only one that mattered.

It had never been that simple.

Because she wasn’t just saying yes for herself; she hadn’t been for the last seventeen years. There was someone else who would have to say it too. Someone whose voice had the power to end all of this before it really began.

Abby.

If Abby said no, then it stopped.

Full stop. No slow fade, no lingering maybe, no let’s just see where it goes.

If her daughter gave her even the smallest sign that she wasn’t ready, that she didn’t want this, then Beth would walk. She’d done it before. She would do it again. He knew that.

He’d known it before he ever kissed her. She’d made it exceptionally clear when he stayed the second night in a row. My daughter and I are a package deal. He knew it when he brushed her hair out of her face in that record store and watched her glance over her shoulder like there was a part of her always checking for someone else. Knew it when she hesitated at his door, when she fumbled with her keys outside her own and looked over her shoulder before letting him in.

He’d been here before. With Janie. With Jake. He remembered what it felt like to lose something not because the feelings weren’t real, but because the stakes were higher than anyone else could understand. Because it wasn’t just about chemistry or connection or compatibility. It was about trust. About showing up for someone’s whole life, not just the part that wanted to be held at night.

So he hadn’t rushed. Hadn’t pushed. Hadn’t asked for anything she couldn’t give.

But now… things were changing. Shifting. Getting closer to real, and she wanted it to. For the first time in god knows how long, she wanted it more than she could put to words. She was so tired of nights that felt too quiet once Abby went up to bed and the house fell still. Of a bed that felt too cold, of days that felt too lonely when the quiet felt too sharp. It hadn’t felt like that since he came around. It was quiet still, but in a way that felt kinder when night came and she spent it wrapped in arms that didn’t slip away when she opened her eyes and the dreaming stopped. He’d still be there, breathing evenly on the pillow beside her, sighing gently in his sleep when she traced her fingers along a bearded jaw before he’d make a soft sound and pull her closer. It was warmer, softer. In a way that just felt like him.

But that want was held in place by one quiet condition:

If Abby says yes.

If Abby sees him; sees the way he holds space for her mother like it wasn’t a burden, the way he watches her laugh like it’s something intoxicating, the way he doesn’t flinch at the hard stuff, doesn’t tiptoe around the name of her father, doesn’t treat her like an accessory to show off to his friends until he no longer found her shiny and new and moved onto something younger and newer and brighter. That he says yes when others said no.

Beth hoped she would. Hoped Abby could see what she saw. That it wasn’t about replacing anyone. That he didn’t want to step in and throw things off balance, but instead even the scales for the both of them. That maybe, finally, this wasn’t a risk, but a choice. Somewhere soft for them both to land with a man who was kind and becoming the reason why she didn’t skip every love song before they could even begin anymore.

She tried not to let it show. Tried not to hold her breath every time his name came up in the house, or read too much into the way Abby asked about him, the way she didn’t protest when Beth mentioned maybe seeing him again this weekend. The way she hadn’t yet said no.

Still, she knew.

If Abby said no, that would be it. And she’d let it be. But still, that hope remained, twisting in her gut like a tangle she couldn’t undo herself for fear of only making it tighter.

God, she hoped she said yes.

But yes was never an easy thing to get from her daughter.

Abby wasn’t stubborn, not exactly. Just careful. Guarded in a way most seventeen-year-olds weren’t supposed to have to be. She’d seen too much too young; enough to know what it looked like when people came and went. Enough to know her mother’s smile wasn’t always a guarantee that things were okay.

Fuck, who was she kidding? That child was the most stubborn person alive.

So Beth didn’t expect a yes outright. She just hoped.

Hoped for it that night as she dug through the closet for heels she hadn’t worn in months. Hoped for it as she poked at her reflection, frowning at the dress she’d pulled from the back of her closet that she hadn’t worn since Becca’s divorce party. Which one, she couldn’t remember. It was a simple thing; black and sleeveless, tight at the waist and far more low cut than anything she wore any other day. Maybe it was too much, she thought. Too tight. Too hopeful. She adjusted the neckline and smoothed the fabric over her hips, then reached into the neckline and adjusted that as well.

“You look pretty.”

She turned, surprised, and found Abby sitting on the edge of her bed with her good foot tucked under her, the other stretched out in front of her, brace half hidden by a purple fuzzy sock. It had felt like mercy last week when the ortho cleared her to remove the boot a week before Homecoming. She hadn’t even heard her come in.

Beth smiled softly, a little cautious almost. “Yeah?”

“You don’t look like a sleep-deprived raccoon that snuck into a hospital, so yeah. I guess,” Abby just shrugged.

Ouch. What a way with words, kid.

She tapped at something on her phone and didn’t look up. “When are you coming home?”

Beth crossed to the bed and sat down beside her. She tucked a piece of Abby’s hair behind her ear.

“I should be home by eleven,” she said.

“Wow, the nursing home lets him stay out that late? That’s generous.”

“He’s only two years older than me, Abby.”

“Whatever. Still old.”

Beth sighed. “Is that okay?”

Abby tapped something on her phone and bit her bottom lip before she shrugged again. “I guess.”

Not yes. Not no. Just that heavy, hesitant middle ground that Beth had learned to live in for years. She nodded.

“If you need me to come home sooner, just text me, and Michael and I will come back.”

Abby stiffened at that, like the sound of their names together was something offensive. “I’ll be fine,” she said quickly.

Beth watched her daughter, heels forgotten for the moment, the low stretch of tension pulling her toward her daughter like gravity. Abby had gone quiet, thumbs moving across her phone screen like lightning in what Beth was sure was a far more honest text to her best friend than what she was getting in the silence her daughter gave her. Not sulking. Not pouting. Just… clammed up. Guard up, chin down, picking at the frayed edge of her sleeve like it could unravel everything she didn’t want to say.

Beth knew that look. She’d seen it in her child’s face before, saw exactly where she learned it from every time she looked in the mirror. She reached out and took Abby’s fidgeting hand between her own.

“You okay, boo?” she asked softly.

Abby shrugged, shoulders small beneath her faded hoodie. “I just… I don’t get it.”

“Get what, baby?”

“Why you chose him.”

Beth let the question sit for a beat. Didn’t rush to fill the silence. Just reached out, thumb tracing an old snag in the comforter.

“You don’t have to get it yet,” she said. “I just… think you might like him. If you gave him a chance.”

“He wears cargo pants.”

“He’s a man in his fifties, Abs. They all do. I can’t limit my dating pool because of poor fashion choices. I will run out of options.”

Abby didn’t meet her eyes. Just kept picking. Kept tugging.

Beth waited. “Is that all it is?”

And then, in the smallest voice:

“I don’t know. What if…” she took a heavy breath and exhaled. “What if it’s like Ed?”

Beth froze and felt something twist just under her breastbone; not pain exactly, but recognition. The knowing of the shape of the question formed in her daughter’s silence. Ed had been gone over two years; plenty of time for her to pack up those years they shared before she sent that up in flames and walked away without looking back. Abby had never been his biggest cheerleader, but Beth knew that this had little to do with the police captain who once hung his jacket and service weapon by their door, despite how many times Beth got after him about it. No, there was a heaviness in that question left by an absence that stretched over the years when that jacket stopped sitting on the hook, and a new one didn’t come to replace it until a navy blue hoodie filled that space.

What if he doesn’t get me?

What if he tries and still gets it wrong?

What if we’re too much for him? What if he wants me to be less?

Beth took a breath. Let it out slow.

There hadn’t been anything wrong with Ed. He’d been kind. Soft-spoken. Thoughtful in the way someone tries to be when they know they’re out of their depth. But he’d never seen Abby; not the real Abby, anyway. Not the kind, sweet, brilliant girl hidden behind sharp edges and whip-quick sarcasm, the brittle wit she used like armor. Not the way her mind raced ahead of her words, or how she tested people with jokes that stung just enough to see if they could hold her weight.

Ed had tried.

God, had he tried.

But Abby made people work for it. Made them earn it.

And Ed… Ed just hadn’t known what to do with the pieces she gave him.

But, Robby? Robby was trying. He showed up. He took every bit of snark on the chin. He said yes. It had been a long time for them both since anyone tried.

Beth let her hand rest lightly on Abby’s knee.

“You know… I can stay home if you want me to,” she said softly.

Abby looked up, wary. “Like… you and Robby?”

“Just me,” Beth said, her voice gentle. “I can change into sweats, put on Gilmore Girls. We can eat ice cream straight out of the carton and order whatever you want for dinner. Just us girls.”

Abby chewed her lip, fingers stilling on her screen. She looked at her mom, considering the way kids do when they’re not sure whether to believe you or protect you.

Then she shook her head.

“It’s fine,” she said. Too quick. Too practiced. The kind of fine that always meant not really. “Go do… whatever it is old people do together.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, Mom. I’m sure,” Abby gave the smallest smile. “Can I fix your makeup before you leave?”

That made Beth smile for real. “That bad?”

“Don’t you think your eyeshadow is a little too smokey for a Thursday?”

“You think so? I think Myrna would approve.”

“That’s the standard now? Myrna? Tragic.”

Beth huffed out a laugh that felt a little more honest and nodded. They sat cross-legged on the bed, Abby squinting up at her like an artist with a canvas. She was careful, quiet, dabbing concealer and adjusting eyeliner like she’d been doing it for years. Beth stayed still. Let her do it. Let her care that way, because she knew Abby wasn’t always good with words, but she was good with precision. With making things feel right. And when she was done, she leaned back and gave a satisfied nod.

“Better,” she declared. “Less… whatever that was.”

Beth laughed. “Wow. Compliment and insult in one.”

“I have layers,” Abby said, dry as ever.

They both smiled. And it felt like maybe this was a little bit of a yes.

But when he showed up later, knocking lightly on the door with that lopsided smile and a bouquet of peonies that felt charmingly old fashioned, Abby didn’t come downstairs. Didn’t peek around the corner when Beth kissed him on the cheek and invited him inside while she found a vase. Didn’t hover or ask when Beth would be home or say have a good time.

Just stayed upstairs, silent and invisible.

And maybe that wasn’t a no. But it didn’t feel like a yes either.

Beth smiled anyway. Nodded and said yes when he asked if she was ready to go after she pulled him down by his tie for a kiss. Stepped outside, heels clicking on the porch, the soft thud of the door behind her feeling heavier than it should.

She didn’t say anything about it. But the whole drive to the restaurant, she felt it sitting with her in the passenger seat, as real as the weight of his hand resting on her thigh.

The almost. The maybe.

The ache of a yes she hadn’t quite gotten yet.

But Beth kept asking.

And Robby kept saying yes.

Every time she turned to him with that quiet, hopeful look — the one that said I know this isn’t easy. Please, keep trying, even if she didn’t have the words — he nodded. Came back. Showed up.

And he tried.

He remembered things; details Abby didn’t think he’d caught. Asked about the English assignment she mentioned in passing, listening to her reluctantly explain the character analysis that was due next week and asking questions about it that made Abby pause for a second before answering. Made sure there was always a pint of Ben and Jerry’s in the freezer after the fallout with her best friend she didn’t want to talk about, but hadn’t exactly kept private either, not with how loudly she’d vented to Beth one night at dinner.

When she came home from Homecoming two hours after she was supposed to and found him still awake in the living room, he didn’t say a word about how she was supposed to be home at midnight, or the way she reeked of wine coolers and was a little unsteady on her feet. Just made it sound like that night’s episode of Stephen Colbert was worth watching twice before he turned the lamp off and followed her up the stairs slowly, then made sure there was water and ibuprofen on her bathroom counter. He even asked about college stuff; letters of recommendation, essay deadlines, what she wanted to study. If there was anything he could do to help even when she told him no.

Not in a pushy way. Never like he was trying to impress her.

Just… curious. Present.

And even when she shrugged him off, rolled her eyes, or gave him that dead-eyed teenager glare that could drop a lesser man in his tracks, he still stayed. Still said yes. Said yes when Beth asked him to come for dinner again, even when Abby barely looked up from her plate. Said yes to movie nights where Abby chose the film and gave him shit for not having seen it already. Said yes to ordering pizza when her friends came over and teased him like they didn’t hate him but weren’t quite sure if they were allowed to like him either.

And when it came to staying the night, he never assumed. Not once. Beth didn’t have to remind him, he knew how those nights went. He waited until Abby gave the okay. It would come in the shape of a casual mention of a friend’s sleepover the same night he was supposed to come over, always just a little too convenient in the way it had her out of the driveway before he ever pulled in.

But still, he never pushed. Never commented. He’d come in and kiss her the same, ask whose house she was at and if one of them needed to pick her up in the morning, and if she had texted Beth that she had made it safely yet.

He kept trying.

Then one night, it landed. Just a little.

He was talking about work over dinner, something stupid one of the new med students had done in the ER that day. Beth was laughing, fork halfway to her mouth, and Abby was mostly picking at her pasta. Quiet, withdrawn in that familiar way that made Beth’s heart ache with how much of herself her daughter still kept locked up.

Abby glanced up and muttered, “They should’ve done a subclavian instead. Would have been a lot more stable. Obviously.”

Beth froze, fork suspended, and held her breath. She did this—this I know more than you routine like she was proving she was smart enough to be a part of the conversation. Abby knew that. Beth knew that. But Robby—

Well, Robby paused. He smiled. He nodded.

“Hell yeah they should have. That’s what I said, too. You wanna come teach the next round? I could use the day off.”

It wasn’t much. Just a twitch. The smallest pull at the corner of Abby’s mouth before she ducked her head and went back to her plate like nothing had happened.

Not a full smile. Not a yes. But something.

Abby still retreated to her room that night, but when she came downstairs after Robby went back to his apartment, she looked around like she was confused before she turned to Beth and said, “He left?” Beth nodded, and swore for a moment Abby looked disappointed.

“Oh,” Abby said simply. “I thought he was staying over. I wanted to make him watch Hamilton. He hasn’t seen it. It’s un-American. Is he coming over tomorrow?”

Beth sputtered over her words before she cleared her throat and said, “I think so.”

Abby nodded and turned to go back upstairs. “Cool.”

Cool.

It continued like that for a while. The slow thaw. No major declarations, no sudden shifts — just quiet changes in temperature. Abby wasn’t warm, exactly. But she wasn’t cold either. She stopped glaring quite so hard. Started lingering longer before retreating upstairs. Let herself laugh at a joke he made once, even if she immediately tried to smother it with a cough and rolled her eyes.

Beth knew better than to push. But still, she noticed the small things. Catalogued them carefully. Let herself hope, just a little.

Then, she almost ruined all of it.

Not on purpose. Not really.

Abby wasn’t home for the night — off to Mia’s for a sleepover after making up over a text that Robby helped her draft while they drove back from PT the other night. Something about compromise, or humility, or whatever flavor of empathy teenage girls tolerated when it came from someone who wasn’t their mom.

The house was quiet.

Dinner had been something simple. Fast. Something they threw together after a shift that had left both of them wrung out. A toddler with broken ribs and a mandatory CPS report. A father who’d spit in Beth’s face and threatened her with just about everything he could before Victoria shouted down the hall for help and Robby came charging in with Ahmad right behind him. A couple not much older than them, the wife crying in a corner chair while her husband coded, only to start wailing when Robby turned to her and gently told her that there was nothing else they could do. A GSW that had them all pacing and snapping at each other until the OR doors closed behind a gurney and the trauma bay was washed clean of blood but not tension.

Which, of course, was when he brought it up.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said casually, standing beside her at the sink, sleeves pushed up and a tea towel slung over his shoulder. That soft, even tone he used when he’d been sitting with something for a while. “We should probably tell Gloria. File the paperwork with HR.”

Beth stilled, a plate halfway between the rinse water and his waiting hands. “You want to tell Gloria?”

He dried the plate slowly, like he hadn’t expected the question to land like that. His brows pulled together like he didn’t quite understand why she was asking. “I mean… yeah. We’re not exactly subtle, Liz. Especially not after today.” He glanced at her, gave a small, rueful smile. “And I’d like us both to keep our jobs.”

Beth didn’t smile back.

He meant it as a joke. She could tell. Like it was no big deal; just the next natural step for two people doing what they were doing. It was sweet. The responsible thing for someone in his position to suggest. The kind of thing that should have made her feel steady.

Instead, her stomach twisted.

Because she knew what came next; the formality, the visibility, the acknowledgment of a we that reached past the walls of her house and into the part of her life she hadn’t let anyone else touch in years. And instead of reaching for his hand or kissing his shoulder or saying something normal like you’re right, she felt herself bristle.

She did what she always did when things got too real too fast: she picked a fight.

She didn’t even know why, exactly. Maybe it was the way he said we. Maybe it was the fact that it suddenly felt so official—like this fragile, undefined thing between them was becoming something permanent, and real, and visible to everyone else.

So she said something flippant. Something defensive. Something about HR not needing to know about every guy she lets into her bed. And the second it left her mouth, she hated it. Hated herself for saying it. For watching his smile falter and the crease between his brows deepen—not with confusion, but disappointment.

He set the plate down carefully on the drying rack. Took the towel off his shoulder. And in a voice much quieter than before, he asked, “Is that really what you think this is?”

“I just don’t see why we need to announce it,” she said, quieter now. “Why we need to make it a thing.”

“It is a thing,” Robby snapped, something tightening in his voice. “Liz, I’m not asking you to shout it from the roof. I’m saying I’d rather not get fired because someone sees me go ballistic again when someone puts their hands on you and puts two and two together.”

She crossed her arms. “So that’s what this is about? Your job?”

“No,” he said, sharper now. “It’s about the fact that this is real. That you and I are real. And I’m tired of acting like we’re not just because you get twitchy any time someone puts it into words.”

Her breath hitched. “I’m not twitchy, Michael.”

He scoffed and gave her a look. Dry. Disbelieving. “You’re twitchy as hell.”

She hated that he wasn’t yelling. Hated that he was right. That he was staying so damn calm while her chest burned with a panic she couldn’t name.

“I didn’t ask you to do any of this,” she snapped. “To stay. To help. To deal with her—”

“I want to deal with her,” he said, stepping forward, his voice low. “I want to deal with you. All of it. I’m here, Beth. I’m part of this because I want to be. I’m just tired of having to pretend like I’m not in love with you every time we walk into that fucking hospital.”

Her breath caught.

It was a chance to walk it back.

To soften. To say she didn’t mean it. To reach for him and apologize and pretend like the words hadn’t already sunk in too deep.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she doubled down. Got sharper. Meaner than she meant to be. Defensive in the way that made her feel like she had control even when she didn’t. She accused him of pushing. Of wanting too much. Of turning something simple into something complicated.

He didn’t shout. Didn’t match her tone. Didn’t stoop to her level when she turned bitter and lashed like a cornered cat. But she saw it; the flicker of tension in his jaw, the way he closed his eyes like he was counting backwards from ten, like if he didn’t anchor himself, something in him might break.

“I can’t do this,” he muttered.

And just like that, her stomach dropped.

She’d seen this film before. Knew the cues. The rhythm. That line was always the turning point. The beginning of the end. She waited for it. Braced for the rest of the quote she’d memorized.

I’m done.

This isn’t working.

I should go.

But instead, he just sighed. Rubbed at his jaw like it ached. Then gestured toward the stairs, voice low and fraying at the edges.

“This is going nowhere. I’m going to bed.”

Beth’s breath caught. “You’re what?”

“I’m exhausted. We’re talking in circles,” he said, already backing away. “I’m taking a goddamn shower and going to bed. You can yell at me again in the morning if you still want to.”

She stood there, rooted to the tile, mouth parted like maybe she had more to say, like maybe she would finally say it, but nothing came.

Just the burn in her throat. The sting behind her eyes. Something hot and rising that wasn’t anger at all.

“Michael—.”

“I’m not doing this with you tonight, Lizzie,” he said, already heading for the stairs, the name only he called her sharper on his tongue. “Not when I know you don’t even mean half the shit you’re saying.”

And then he was gone, but not really. Just… annoyed. Hurt. But still here. No slammed doors. No parting shot. Just quiet footsteps on the stairs and the sound of the bathroom door clicking closed behind him.

She stood there for a long time. Her hands still trembling. Her eyes wet. She moved slowly, each step soft and unsure, half-expecting to hear the zip of his bag and the slam of the front door behind him. Half-expecting him to decide he’d had enough. But when she reached the bedroom, the lamp on the bedside table was still on.

He was still awake, shirtless and sitting up in bed, his hair still shower damp and glasses slipping low on his nose as he scrolled through something on his phone. He looked up when she entered, not surprised, not exactly inviting. Just… tired. His gaze met hers for a second, unreadable, then dropped again without a word.

She hesitated at the threshold, hands tight in the hem of her shirt, heart in her throat. He looked up at her again, noticing the uncertain way she hovered. He kept her gaze, reached down, pulled the covers back on her side of the bed, and patted the space beside him.

“C’mere,” he murmured.

Her throat burned. She crossed to him slowly, like if she moved too fast he’d vanish. Like she wasn’t sure she deserved the welcome. He shifted as she neared, reaching for her waist with one broad hand, guiding her gently into his lap. She folded into him automatically, legs draping over his waist, and let her head tuck under his jaw. He sighed against her temple, chest rising beneath her with something almost like relief.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” she whispered.

His fingers brushed along her spine. “I know.”

“I just… panicked.”

“I know.”

She closed her eyes and leaned into him, forehead to his shoulder. His skin was still warm from the shower, chest rising slow and even under her cheek. He smelled like her shampoo.

“I’m not good at this part. I usually… I don’t usually get this far. I don’t want to ruin this,” she said so quietly it barely registered. “I want you to stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to.”

They sat in the hush for a long time. Her head tucked beneath his chin, one of his hands resting warm and open on her back, the other idly tracing circles at the base of her spine.

Then he spoke; quiet and steady.

“You know what this is to me, Beth?”

She didn’t answer. Just looked at him, her breath caught somewhere in her ribs.

“This is the first real plan I’ve made for myself in a long time.”

Her throat tightened. Shame bloomed heavy and slow in her chest, crawling through her like rot. She blinked fast, but it didn’t help much. It was still there, thick behind her eyes, her chest. He reached up; that same, steady hand that had cupped her hip in his sleep, guided a syringe in a trauma bay, reached for her without hesitation when things got loud, and brushed his thumb across her cheek. Gentle. Sure. Forgiving, somehow.

She watched his face. All of it. The kindness he never weaponized. The exhaustion he never used as an excuse. The patience he kept choosing over pride. Over ego. Over the easy out. Saw the lines around his eyes that deepened when he smiled at her or laughed at something Abby said. The way he never flinched from her sharp edges. The way he kept showing up anyway. Even when she gave him reasons not to. Especially then.

The word she’d been running from for years sat squarely in the center of her chest; familiar and frightening and foreign all at once.

“I love you,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

His expression shifted. Softened like sunlight through gauze. His hand slid from her cheek to her back, pulling her in close.

“I love you too,” he murmured, low and certain. “Even when you’re being a giant pain in the ass.”

She let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Then she buried her face in his chest and let herself believe, for once, that someone might actually stay. Because they chose to.

They disclosed to HR the next morning. Walked into the hospital hand in hand, signed the forms without fanfare. Nodded through the conversation about ethics policies and conflict-of-interest protocols. Listened when they were told schedules would need adjusting. Promised not to share cases. Promised to be smart.

They were out of the office in less than an hour. He reached for her hand again in the elevator. She didn’t let go when the doors opened and walked through the Pitt on their way to his car. She smiled when Dana rolled her eyes with a smirk and muttered, “Fuckin’ finally.”

He had a key to the house by the end of the week, hooked to his key fob like it had always hung there. And when he mentioned needing to reup his lease in the spring—just in passing, over breakfast and bills—Beth reached across the table and took his hand. Told him maybe he shouldn’t. You know, if Abby said yes.

Abby said maybe.

Maybe stretched into a full thirty days of careful observation; of raised eyebrows and quiet calculations, of not-quite-smiles and definitely-not-approvals. A long, slow, quiet month where she didn’t roll her eyes every time she found Robby in the kitchen. Where she lingered on the stairs just a beat longer when they laughed about something she didn’t ask about. Where she let her gaze flick toward the front door when he didn’t come over, like she wasn’t keeping track.

But then one morning, Abby wandered into the bedroom while Robby was already gone, curled her legs under her on Beth’s side of the bed, and asked if he’d be back in time for dinner. Beth blinked. Abby shrugged. “You can tell him he can move his crap in, if he wants. Just don’t let him touch my shelf in the fridge.”

It wasn’t a yes with fanfare. But it was something similar.

After that, things didn’t change overnight. His apartment collapsed into cardboard boxes that filled the garage. His clothes sat with theirs in the laundry hamper. Yours and mine because ours. “See you at your place,” became, “Ready to go home?”

There were still quiet dinners where Abby kept her headphones in. Still movie nights where she watched from the armchair instead of the couch. Still long, uneasy pauses and half-smiles and unspoken doubts. No declarations. No grand gestures. No real affection. Not yet.

But the silence felt less sharp.

It wasn’t peace exactly. But it was a truce. And that was something.

And then one afternoon, the wedding invite came.

Becca and the nearly seventy-year-old boyfriend who filled her wrists with enough Cartier that Robby had once, on the drive home after meeting Becca for the first time at some wine bar downtown, jokingly warned Beth not to get any ideas. Beth couldn’t remember the man’s name until she saw it printed in gold script on thick, overpriced cardstock: Charles Something IV. Cabo, of course. Third time’s the charm.

She opened the envelope at the kitchen table, phone on speaker, Becca already mid-monologue about travel dates and dress fittings and how the welcome brunch was going to have a make-your-own chilaquiles bar because she was doing this right this time, Beth. Beth rolled her eyes and said that she couldn’t wait to see what she did right for the fourth one, snickering when Becca called her a catty bitch with a snort.

Abby sat across from her, legs tucked up under her, scrolling on her phone with the kind of studied indifference only a teenage girl could pull off. She didn’t flinch at the words “maid of honor for the third time,” though her eyes narrowed just a little when Beth repeated Becca’s breezy reminder that she’d be in the bridal party too; junior bridesmaid turned full-fledged bridesmaid by virtue of not being in a training bra anymore.

“Wow, thanks Aunt Becs.”

“Anything for my favorite neicey-poo.”

“I’m your only neicey-poo.”

There was a plus-one card tucked in with the RSVP. Beth didn’t say anything. Just turned it over once, twice, fingers curling around it absently. Becca kept talking. Abby kept scrolling. Beth barely noticed when Abby reached over and plucked it from her hand, holding it up like it was just another homework assignment before she grabbed a pen.

“Wait, should I put Robby? Or Michael?”

Beth looked up, caught off guard, and froze just long enough to give herself away. Abby looked up, eyebrows raised like it was a perfectly normal logistical question—no deeper meaning, no emotional weight—and when Beth didn’t answer right away, she shrugged and looked back down at the card like it didn’t really matter either way.

Beth cleared her throat. “Michael.”

“Weird. Why do you get to call him Michael? Nobody else does.”

“Because I’m his girlfriend,” Beth said, lips twitching like maybe if she smiled a little it would feel less terrifying to say out loud.

“Gross,” Abby muttered. She scrawled his name, pushed the card aside, and picked her phone back up. “Don’t say girlfriend. You’re old. It’s cringey.”

Beth bit back a laugh, shaking her head as she reached for her coffee, the sound of Becca’s voice still droning in the background about facials and pedicures. Across the table, Abby kept scrolling, expression neutral again, eyes back on whatever video or thread had her attention. But there was a softness to her posture now; not much, just a little. Her legs still curled under her, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands like always.

She hadn’t rolled her eyes. Hadn’t scoffed. Hadn’t said no. It wasn’t an open invitation, not exactly. It wasn’t an I like him. It wasn’t I’m glad he’s around.

But it wasn’t a door slammed shut either.

And for Beth, for now, that was enough.

Cabo started in airport security.

Which, of course, was a nightmare.

Beth was already sweating under her zip-up, her license between her teeth, trying to fish her liquids bag out of her overpacked carry-on with one hand. Robby leaned over and plucked her license out of her mouth, tucking it into his pocket while heaving his carry-on onto the belt, when Abby—barefoot on the cold tile and exuding teenage apathy like it was a perfume—leaned over and muttered, low enough for only Beth and God to hear, “So, pipe bombs are still a hard no, right? I might have to rearrange some things.”

Beth froze. “Abigail.”

But before she could level her with a mom-glare or hiss out the you-do-NOT-joke-about-weapons-at-TSA-be-normal speech she’d given exactly once before at LAX, Robby barked out a laugh. Not a chuckle. Not a quiet snort.

A full, startled, head-thrown-back, holy-shit-she-did-not-just-say-that laugh, loud enough to turn heads in line.

And when he caught his breath, still grinning, he said, “Jesus. Remind me not to fly international with you again.”

Abby blinked. Then, betrayed by her own damn reflexes, she laughed too.

Just a quick burst, small and sharp and real. Then she caught herself, looked away fast, and deadpanned, “You weren’t invited the first time.”

Robby saluted her with his empty sneaker. “Understood.”

Beth didn’t say anything, but she caught her daughter’s faint smirk as she tugged her hoodie back on. It wasn’t just tolerance anymore.

They got through security without being flagged for terrorism—a minor miracle, all things considered—and grabbed overpriced airport lattes before settling at their gate. Abby took the window seat when they boarded, earbuds in, hood up, legs folded beneath her like she was gearing up for war. Robby sat in the middle, all elbows and long legs and none of the spatial awareness he thought he had, nudging her every few minutes until she finally rolled her eyes, took one earbud out, and said, “Seriously? You’re man-spreading, Michael.”

“I’m not man-spreading, Abigail. I’m just taller than you.”

“Oh, okay. Whatever, Gumby.”

“You good over there, Thumbelina?”

Abby didn’t hide her laugh that time.

By the time they were taxing out of the gate, Abby was side-eyeing his neck pillow like she might steal it in his sleep, and Robby was muttering something about how if she tried, he was putting gum in her hair. Beth shook her head and told them to knock it off but smiled anyway. Something about the rhythm of it felt easy. Familiar. Like they’d done this before, or could again.

Once they were in the air, Abby let Robby plug in her charger without a single snarky comment. He passed her his unopened Diet Coke when the drinks came around and she didn’t roll her eyes. She didn’t give him shit for his movie choice when she leaned over to watch with him. Beth pretended not to notice, staring down at the copy of the Brandon Sanderson book she bought in the airport (that they both immediately gave her shit for) while a warmth bloomed in her chest; slow and quiet and stubborn.

It wasn’t perfect. It probably never would be.

But somewhere between the TSA jokes and that damn smirk Abby didn’t quite hide, it was something.

Cabo glowed golden and too bright to be real. Abby joked that it felt like it had been built for a postcard—white linens drying in a salt-laced breeze, seafoam-tinted light bouncing off infinity pools, the distant sound of tequila-fueled karaoke from someone’s rehearsal dinner that definitely wasn’t the one they attended. The wedding was still two days away, but the whole resort seemed to buzz around them; every sunburned couple and overdressed influencer acting like they were starring in a destination rom-com.

And in the middle of it, something started to shift.

Not fast. Not all at once. But slowly, the edges between them softened. Robby fell into step with them like he belonged there—quietly, without pushing. He got up early and walked the beach paths with Beth while Abby slept in, always coming back with coffee for her. He knew by now that Abby wouldn’t touch the scrambled eggs from the buffet, so he ordered the fruit platter without her needing to ask. Every time she offhandedly mentioned something like paddleboarding or ziplining, he had them signed up by lunch. Beth watched him stare down a middle-aged man in board shorts whose eyes lingered too long on Abby at the pool, holding his gaze until the man blinked and looked away before he sat down, still watching as the guy walked away.

They shared jokes now. Nothing huge. Nothing forced. Just the occasional smirk passed across a table, a quiet one-liner when someone said something ridiculous. Abby didn’t offer up compliments, but she didn’t ice him out either. She asked if he’d remembered to book the snorkel trip, and when he said, “Of course, Abigail, I live to serve,” she rolled her eyes and said, “H’okay, guy,” but didn’t argue.

Beth watched it unfold from the edge of her lounge chair, book open in her lap but mostly forgotten. It wasn’t a miracle. It wasn’t some grand, sweeping change. But it was real. Tentative, sometimes clumsy, still marked by careful distance—but growing, anyway. Like something tender beginning to bloom between long stretches of silence.

One night at dinner, under string lights and stars and the kind of humid breeze that only ever felt good on vacation, the waiter handed Robby a rum and coke when he came with their drinks. Without even glancing at it, he slid it across the table to Abby. She took it, eyebrows raised like she was waiting for a catch, and took a sip without her usual dramatic commentary.

Almost.

She coughed once, wrinkling her nose, and handed it back. “That’s disgusting. Tastes like nail polish remover and cough syrup.”

Robby just shrugged. “Yeah? Wanna try something else?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, why not? What do you want?”

“Michael Shai!”

“Oh, c’mon, hon.” He laughed, already flagging down a waiter. “She’s eighteen. It’s legal down here. Relax, Liz.”

“Yeah, Liz,” Abby echoed, barely holding back a smirk. “Relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

Robby leaned back in his chair, smirking. “You sure sound relaxed, telling me how relaxed you are.”

That finally cracked Abby, who laughed, real and unguarded, and leaned her elbow on the table like she was settling in. Robby winked at her and leaned over to kiss Beth’s cheek.

“Just one,” he murmured, low enough that only Beth could hear. “Enough to hate it.”

The tequila shots came a few minutes later, lined up like trouble. A good choice, she hated to admit. Nothing like straight tequila to turn someone off to alcohol forever. Beth shook her head, already explaining the order as she reached for a slice of lime, but Abby reached for hers with absolutely no hesitation. She downed it in one clean motion and set the glass down like it was nothing.

Both Robby and Beth stared. Abby cleared her throat, expression tight, and said, flat as possible, “Oh no. Gross. I hate it.”

Beth gave her a look.

Robby burst out laughing, dragging both hands down his face. “Oh, we are so fucked when she goes to college.”

Abby just beamed. Grinning wide, golden in the candlelight, and for the first time in a long time, she looked happy.

“Can we do another one?”

“No.”

Then came the cat.

Scrappy. Half-feral. An orange tabby with one good eye and a limp, like it had brawled its way through every alley in Cabo and came out the other side with nothing but attitude and a taste for bacon. It haunted the back steps of the resort’s open-air restaurant, scaring off the seagulls and meowing like it owned the place. Abby spotted him first, crouched low and offering up half her breakfast like a peace treaty.

Beth saw the look on her daughter’s face before she even opened her mouth.

Oh no.

“Can we keep him?”

“Abby…” Beth warned, already exhausted by the argument that hadn’t happened yet.

“Please, Mom! Please, please, please. He followed us to the cabana this morning! He likes Robby. We gave him shrimp. His name is Mango.”

“Mango?”

“Yeah, Mom. He’s orange. Duh.”

“Yeah, Beth,” Robby parroted from the chair next to hers, not even looking up from his phone. “Duh.”

Beth opened her mouth. Closed it again. “Sweetheart, he has fleas.”

Abby raised an eyebrow. “So does Robby, and you still let him in the house.”

Robby choked on a laugh. Beth turned to glare at him, but he just held up a finger like give me a second, still typing. “Not anymore. I had that checked out.”

“Oh, thank God. Finally.”

“I’m not sure we even can,” Beth said, trying for practical. “The airline probably won’t allow—”

“He meets the import guidelines for emotional support animals,” Robby interrupted casually, still scrolling.

Abby gasped. “Shut up, you’re joking. Be so for real right now.”

“I’m nearly done with the paperwork,” he added, completely deadpan.

Beth stared at him. “You’re not helping.”

He shrugged. “He’s a cute cat.”

That was apparently all Abby needed. She launched at him in a tangle of sunburned limbs and gratitude, hugging him hard before bolting down the beach after Mango with a triumphant, “You’re the best!”

Robby was still grinning when he looked over his sunglasses at Beth.

“Hear that?” he said. “I’m the best.”

Beth was already shaking her head, but she couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at her mouth. “Don’t let it go to your head, big guy.”

“Too late.”

By the time they boarded the flight home, Mango Robinavitch-Baker had a collar, a flea bath, and a $78 soft-sided carrier Abby refused to let out of her lap. She cooed at him like a newborn, slipped scraps of turkey into the mesh sides, and called Mango her “son” so many times that Beth stopped trying to correct her. Abby had clearly won. Or Robby. Or maybe it was Mango. At that point, Beth was too sunburned and travel-worn and deliriously happy to care.

She was on her way back from the bathroom somewhere over the Gulf when she spotted them two rows ahead and stopped.

They were asleep.

Abby in the window seat, curled into Robby’s side like she’d done it a thousand times. Her head tucked against his shoulder, one earbud in, hoodie strings wrapped around her fingers. Robby was leaned slightly toward her, chin resting gently on the top of her head. His arm rested beside hers, just barely touching, like the contact wasn’t even something to think about anymore. Like it was natural. Expected. Wanted.

Beth stood there for a long moment, just watching.

Six months ago, Abby wouldn’t have sat at the same dinner table as Robby without a fight. Wouldn’t have let him pour her coffee or help with her homework or offer an opinion on anything without rolling her eyes so hard Beth worried about long-term damage.

Now?

Now she was asleep on his shoulder, a shared bag of half-eaten gummy worms between them and the second act of Hamilton still playing to an audience of none on Abby’s laptop. The mangy little cat she swore was fate was snoozing happily at her feet like he’d always been part of the family.

Beth slipped back into her seat without saying a word. No photo. No comment. Just that quiet warmth spreading through her ribs like the sun had followed them onto the plane. And a whisper of a thought she’d been too afraid to voice before now:

This is what yes looks like.

A cat. A shoulder. A breath of sleep shared at 30,000 feet.

A few minutes later, Robby stirred. Turned his head groggily, cracked one eye open, and reached across the space between them to brush a kiss to Beth’s temple when she leaned her head on his other shoulder.

A cat. A shoulder. A maybe that turned into a yes.

No big declarations. No orchestras or spotlights. Just a nap in row 18 and a girl who’d finally let go of the fight and a man who cared enough to stay.

Beth smiled to herself and closed her eyes.

Yes, she thought. Quiet and certain. Yes.

[ohyoufool]

Putting my Jack and Bitty wedding staff AU in a blender on high and walking away:

Jack Zimmermann, noted editorial wedding photographer who trained under Annie Leibovitz (gasp)

Eric bittle, founder and head chef at one of the most highly requested catering companies in New England

Lardo is jack's second shooter and usually captains a film camera while jack shoots digital

Shitty, local ordained minister, law school dropout, frequently viral on tiktok for his heartwarming ceremonies and iconic flow

dex, chowder, and nursey working under bitty to varying levels of chaos. and that means one time bitty got a call from them on the side of the road trying to hitchhike with a cake to boston bc they got a flat tire.

anyways jack and bitty ALWAYS end up at the same events. to bitty's incandescent rage, because when he was still new to the industry and overbooking himself like crazy, he was running late to a wedding one time and jack parked his stupid car in the catering spot. and bitty couldn't find him to move it so he had to carry EVERYTHING and dropped a tray of appetizers on the floor. he cried in a puddle of bruschetta and the olive oil stains never came out of that pair of jeans. jack walked by, stared at him, and then kept going. and EVER SINCE THEN bitty has been Mortal Enemies with Jack Zimmermann, photographer, hot guy, parking spot stealer.

Jack doesn't help this by being any less awkward. he doesn't really know what to do with bitty, who always has gorgeous food but is running around the kitchen at subtronic speeds and jack is always ABSOLUTELY LOCKED IN when he's at work. if it is not in his viewfinder, he does not see it.

(read: this feud is deeply one-sided)

however.

bitty's good friend lardo who has worked as jack's second shooter is GETTING MARRIED. SURPRISE! bitty is like "I will avoid actively lightly undersalting the food I make for staff at events just to piss him off. I can put this behind us."

he is Formally Introduced to Jack at a very fancy wedding in the Hamptons that they are all there for the full weekend of. jack is super #awk. turns out lardo is marrying his ex girlfriend camilla.

ENTER. SHITTY BYRON KNIGHT. officiant of the wedding who is there playing the role of camp counselor to 75 uber-rich wedding guests while a beautiful lesbian art mogul and a professional tennis player are getting married and oblivious to all the mayhem happening around them.

bitty runs out of mint for mint julips and doesn't have a car. doordash won't deliver. he's PANICKING. jack offers to take him to the grocery store. instead of the car (evil, bitty's mortal enemy for aforementioned reasons) jack hops on a MOTORCYCLE and tosses bitty on the back and they literally speedrun the corner store for herbs. dinner is saved and bitty's hair has never looked worse but. whatever. jack must not be that bad, after all.

and then bitty is struggling to get a good video of himself assembling breakfast the next morning, and jack comes in and wordlessly takes his phone and films a GREAT VIDEO. which shouldn't be surprising, but bitty is surprised anyway.

shitty gives half the wedding party edibles and everyone starts STARVING. shitty is too high to solve this problem. bitty and jack jump in all-hands on deck to make as many dinosaur nuggets and pizza rolls possible. horror story: grocery store is out of ranch. jack comes in clutch and hand whisks a gallon of the stuff with his big strong biceps that bitty does NOT stare at through his shirt.

so the feud is over. jack zimmermann, against all odds, seems to actually kind of be a nice guy, who is tall and sweet. they go swimming in the ocean with the rest of the folks working the wedding when everyone else has gone to bed. they get drunk on the roof. they discuss taboo topics including how bitty was once runner up on chopped and gets SO mad he lost in the dessert round that he crashes out every time it is brought up. jack laughs and is like "at least you aren't getting paid to shoot your ex girlfriends' wedding." and bitty is staring at him with moons in his eyes and then comes crashing back down to earth because RIGHT. jack zimmermann may be nice and take him to fancy grocery stores and help him polish water spots off glasses and taste test his lamb sauce, but he is still STRAIGHT.

bitty: *heart breaking live in front of everyone* so like um how is that

jack: "I think I only dated her to get over my ex boyfriend"

bitty: *to the tune of YMCA* THIISS MAN IS GAAAY

so he laughs it off and everyone ends up going inside eventually and bitty stays awake and stares at the ceiling in "jack zimmermann is bisexual" font for 8 hours.

and then. *alanis morissette voice* RAAAAAIN ON YOUR WEDDING DAY!

days of setup and bitty planning ways to keep liquid nitrogen bubbles on cocktails for nOTHING. wedding = moving inside. bitty is clearing the library shelves to create silverware rolling stations. jack is cursing about not bringing a rain shield and they fasten one out of piping bags and meat twine. the whole atlantic ocean is roiling outside while camilla and lardo giggle over tea and talk about how it looks like a Rembrandt Van Rijn outside.

spoiler: NO ONE ELSE IS AMUSED. EVERYONE IS FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.

the rare mushrooms that bitty orders as the main dish GET THEIR CARDBOARD BOX RAINED ON and they are no longer safe to eat. he is freaking out. they go to a gas station and all they have left is hot dogs. bitty is like "buy them all" and gets back to the hotel and is like "lardo I am about to ruin your wedding" and lardo is like "are you kidding me WE LOVE HOT DOGS"

against ALL ODDS and everything going 500 shades of wrong again, everyone manages to crowd into the hotel atrium in a venue and bitty makes hot dogs and his grandmas coleslaw and baked beans and it ends up being the happiest he's ever seen his guests eating his food.

and after all of it is done and they're tipsy on a few glasses of champagne and misty eyed about lardo and leaning against the back of the room while everyone gets down to low by flo rida in this expensive ass hotel when Jack puts his camera down suddenly and turns to bitty and asks him to dance.

THERE THEY ARE. formerly venue #enemies now #bonded by their mutual love for their friends and two left-feeting their way across the dance floor to 2010 frat music and bitty looks up into Jack's big ol cow eyes and is like "I could kiss him right now."

It's like Jack can read minds. He leans in, wraps a hand around Bitty's jaw, and kisses him like he means it.

[frankskaren]

frank castle | lady lady

authors notes..: it’s past 4:00am for me and i’m all sleepily & fuzzy at the thought of this - hasn’t been proofread… ps; happy superman day!

you made a goal at the start of the year to quit getting so many manicures, if you weren’t tired of what it did to your hands then it was a minor heart attack remembering how much you must spend yearly on it… and for what felt like nothing at that.

but you couldn’t live without any length, so, you settled on growing your own nails - and frank fucking loved it.

sure, you got into bickers about him taking his assigned job to say something if he caught you biting and a couple broken nails took place with day to day activities, which frank took over in a heart beat until you found a couple products to strengthen your nails with.

frank even missed the scratches for a while, almost felt like a cat in need of a scratching post now that you were living without acrylics or builder gel, but it was like christmas when your own nails gained a little length.

and by the six or seventh month mark it was plausible that frank was giddier than you over your nails — you had allowed yourself a salon appointment, to have someone besides yourself neaten up your cuticles, file your nails into a flattering almond shape and paint them a sheer, barely there, milky pink.

"where've you been, huh?" frank asked when you walked in the door, the daily site of him in his black sweatshirt and joggers, drinking a coffee with a book either in his hand or his lap still just as heart warming as the very first time you saw him like that.

he sighed when you announced you’d been inside a salon, his book gently dropping onto the coffee table with his coffee as he stood up from the couch, "bunny, you better be lying to me."

frank almost went on a tangent about the situation until you held your hands out in front of him, causing him to breathe a chuckle as he examined the fresh shape and colour of your nails.

"you like them?" you asked, frank was never one to demand he had a say in the choices you made with your appearance, if it made you feel better it made him happy, but he always appreciated your ways of making him feel involved.

"course i do baby," he spoke, his thumb pads gently running over the glossy but natural polish on your nails, "brings out your freckles." his thumbs now carefully counting each freckle on your hands.

frank was barely patient enough to let you shower in peace after dinner, which he had cooked - of course he cooked often for you, but he was especially pleased to when he wanted something in particular… and you knew that when you’d come downstairs to a homemade dessert post shower.

tonight it was gooey chocolate brownies, topped with caramel and a glass of milk, in your favourite glass with hand painted art work on it.

"this - this is what you buttered me up for?" you spoke, now sleepily laying on the couch with a bloated belly containing a comfort meal of your aswell as your favourite dessert - that the plate of now sat empty on the coffee table.

"mhmm, 's so fucking worth it too," he groaned, his words were more accurate to a kittens purring than it was a coherent sentence as he nestled his face into your waist, as he laid shirtless with his upper body over your lap, "scratch a little harder baby, you won’t hurt me."

you complied, pressing your nails into franks back just enough to cause a shiver from him as you spent the remainder of watching bridget jones’ diary for the millionth time, scratching franks back.

he had you do it that night too once you headed to bed together… then he had you do it again the morning after… you actually don’t remember a time where you went a night or a morning without scratching franks back or head or arms in the end.

and let’s not start on the sex, constantly guiding your arms over his shoulders so you’d scratch his back - it would frequent when he realised how hard you’d scratch while on the brink of an orgasm, and god, the excited glossiness in his eyes when he got a look of his back all red and scratched up it’s shocking he didn’t pounce back on top of you like a puma.

[loceiswhereyouleastexpectit]

Soon enough - Chapter 1

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: after being on the same team for 4 years neither could figure out there feelings and now it might be too late, the draft is on its way and there is no way to stop time.

a/n: this is my first time writing so be nice :)

word count - 1.4K - sorry this one is short, promise the others will be longer.

Paige POV

Paige had always imagined herself being in the big leagues. There was something scary about coming into a new environment and realm of expectations. But most of all she was scared to lose the thing she wanted most in this world. Her. The only girl who made her feel soft and loved and crazy all in one second.

Of course they would figure all this out together, like they always did, but the funny thing is that after 4 years of being at UCONN together, she never said how she felt. The nonchalant final boss couldn’t show hee emotions on the court and yet was filled with them off the court. Constantly staring at the beautiful point guard always on her right waiting to sink a 3.  

However, she kept those thoughts in her head, trying to constantly ooze confidence. But mostly Paige never said what she truly wanted because she was always scared of the possibility of losing her best friend and soulmate all in one go. 

There was countless opportunities to say something, to beg for just one chance, one kiss. But then Paiges mind would catch up to her telling her “if she felt something wouldn’t you think something would happen by now”, snapping back into reality, causing her to back away whenever she felt more than she should.

Now, it was just days before the draft, days after winning the national championship with her teammates and her best friend but all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and forget about all the missed opportunities she didn’t take.

She wanted her best friend not only as a girlfriend but truly as her partner for life in every way possible. 

Suddenly there was a knock at her hotel door , knowing who it was already made her feel worse, knowing that beauty, patience, love and care was waiting for her on the other side. 

“Paigeyy” Azzi called. 

Paigey, what a stupid nickname, but the look on Azzi’s face was worth it when she called Paige by her nickname so she never once complained about it. 

“Paigeyyy wake up its 3 pm, we have to go”. Paige sighed, knowing Azzi would soon bang down the door if she didn’t open it. She knew Azzi would want to go to the team dinner but truly Paige had no energy for that. The last few days of press and interviews and commercial shoots were more than enough for her. 

“Coming Az, Give me a second”. Paige slowly walked to the door, knowing Azzi would already question why she looked a mess, hair down, sweats dirty, room completely torn up even though they only got here yesterday. 

As soon as she swung the door open she felt the sent of vanilla creep up nose. Azzi leaned against the frame looking gorgeous as ever. 

“Hi” Azzi said softly. “Ive been calling you, and texting, almost thought u were mad at me but that didn’t make any sense because what did I do, you know, I mean you did say we should have separate rooms which is fine but idk I just-”. 

Azzi was cut off but a bear hug from Paige. Paige knew that as soon as she mentioned separate rooms Azzi would have more than enough questions, her excuse was simple, she had a ton of clothes for the draft and events leading up to it. She had no room, but she knew she could have made room for Azzi. She always did, even in there small dorm rooms back at Storrs. 

“Azzi” Paige whispered softly, “Im not mad at you, promise, I just have so much here and I know you like a clean space, I didn’t want to make u feel so overwhelmed” which in reality was partially true, she just hoped her best friend would believe her. 

Azzi pulled back and stared at Paige. She could look at her beautiful brown eyes, just the way they make her feel immediately at home even though she was miles away from Minnesota. “Are you sure? Because if you are you need to tell me, we are best friends and we need to learn to be better communicators since your gonna be so far”. That stung Paiges heart, knowing in a few days she would be in Dallas without her. 

“Azzi” she gently cupped her face “I promise on everything I ever own I am not mad” (Bit dramatic Paige calm down). 

Azzi slowly started to smile, knowing Paige would never lie to her. (Even though she’s been lying since the day they met). “OK Paige”.

“Soo……. What are we doing today superstar, we are in NEW YORK” Azzi screamed. 

“Azzi, im tired, im not really up for a night out, can we just stay in please, I want to rest for just one day” 

“Ok”, but there was a quote concern in Azzi’s voice. She felt something was off with Paige. 

“Can we order in and just watch a movie” Paige said, days like those were her favorite where she could just have Azzi tucked to her side laughing and admiring the girl without the looks of all her teammates knowing that she was whipped for the younger girl. 

“Ofc, I wouldn’t want it any other way Paige”, Azzi softly claimed. It was words like those that made Paige think that may Azzi did love her back. But she never had time to focus on those words because she knew Azzi was kind, kind enough to say words like that and mean it to anyone, even a stranger. 

——————————————————————————————————————————

Azzi POV

Paige and Azzi stayed in as usual, it started off with pizza and ice cream, and when one movie finished the other began but neither of the girls were focused on the movie, they were both just used to talking over the movie, never really feeling tired of discussing everything and nothing at the same time. 

“$100 Geno will cry” Azzi said. “Nooooo, he doesn’t cry, everyone keeps claiming he did when I had my final minutes but I swear on my life he didn’t Azzi he doesn’t cry. I have never seen him cry ever”. 

“OKayyyy superstar, but hes gonna cry”.

What Paige doesn’t know is that after the National championship, Azzi silently caught coach crying, she herself already had tears in her eyes and she felt that he shouldn’t be embarrassed so she walked over and hugged him knowing that after 5 years with the blonde, there was bound to be tears for one of the best players in the nation. 

She pat him on the back and gently he pulled away from her grasp “Dont tell Paige, her ego is already to big, her head won’t fit through any door if she found out” Geno said, knowing that Azzi was the most loyal person in the world, she wouldn’t tell a soul. 

“Azzi” Paige said drawing Azzi away from her thoughts. 

“Yea, what’s up”

“Did u hear what I said?”.

“What”.

Paige was twisting her fingers on the sting of her sweats. “Wi-will you sit with me, at the-um the table”.

“Huh”.

“Azzi, will you sit next to me at the draft table” Paige said sternly. 

“HUH”

Azzi was in utter shock, she knew that she wanted to be at Paiges side but she never thought she would ask her and since it was so soon she already though she would be next to Jana and Caroline, cheering on Paige from the audience. 

“If you dont want to thats ok, I just thought that yk, idk, nvm” Paige said sadly. 

“Paige wait no, I mean yes, yes I want to sit next to you. I mean yes at the table, doesn’t have to be next to you I know u have ur family and im sure Drew would be there” Azzi knew this meant a little more than she wanted it to mean to her but being next to the blonde on the biggest night of her life meant more to Azzi than anything in the entire world. 

“Azzi, you sure, you really dont have to”

“Paige shush, ill be there, I want to” and there goes Azzi’s heart for the third time today, speeding up way to fast for her to even register.

She knew she loved the girl, she just didn’t know how to say it. 

[heldbybarnes]

Just for the Mission

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader, Fake Marriage

Warnings: fake marriage dynamics, mild language, unresolved sexual tension, forced proximity, one bed, mention of past trauma

----------

The ring on your finger weighs heavier than it should.

It’s fake, of course—plain silver with a clean-cut shine—but Bucky keeps fiddling with his like it’s made of lead. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or disdain. Probably both. He’s wearing the expression he always reserves for you—tight jaw, narrowed eyes, like he’s wondering what sin he committed in a past life to get stuck with you as a partner.

You roll your eyes and adjust the strap of your overnight bag.

“Keep glaring at me like that and the bellhop’s gonna think we had a fight in the car.”

Bucky’s jaw ticks. “Maybe we did.”

You shoot him a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Save it for the honeymoon.”

The front desk clerk looks up as you both approach, eyes flicking between you and Bucky. “Checking in?”

Bucky slides a hand to the small of your back like it doesn’t burn him. “Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. Reservation under James.”

The name tastes weird in your mouth when you repeat it later in the elevator. “James.”

“That’s my name.”

“I know it’s your name, Barnes. Just weird hearing it when it’s not yelled in annoyance or barked in a debrief.”

“Would you prefer I start calling you Mrs. Barnes?” he fires back, and the smug twitch of his lips tells you he’s enjoying the game now.

“Only if you want me to puke on your boots.”

The elevator dings.

Your room is at the far end of the hall. The suite. One bed. Of course. You’d read it in the brief, saw the underline Fury had added: you two are married, make it look convincing.

You step into the room first, scan it. Bed, couch, small kitchenette, balcony view over the city. Enough space to exist without strangling each other—but barely.

You both stand there in silence.

“So,” you say after a beat. “Left or right side of the bed?”

“I’ll take the floor.”

“Suit yourself.” You toss your bag onto the left side. “You always this chivalrous to your fake wife?”

“I’m not chivalrous to people who call me a meathead in every debrief.”

You laugh. “I only called you that once.”

“Once per mission.”

You shrug, peeling off your jacket. “Then maybe don’t act like one.”

He doesn’t answer. Just tosses his own bag down and disappears into the bathroom.

It’s a weeklong op.

Pose as a married couple. Make nice with the couple next door—they’ve got connections to a weapons buyer SHIELD’s been tracking. Dinners, casual interactions, pretending to love someone you can barely tolerate. Simple.

Except nothing’s ever simple when Bucky Barnes is involved.

By day two, you’ve mastered the role.

Your fingers slide effortlessly into his when the neighbors step out into the hallway. He brushes a kiss to your temple with all the ease of a real husband. You laugh too loud at his dry jokes and smile up at him like you didn’t just threaten to drop a hairdryer in the bath with him in it two hours earlier.

But alone? The gloves come off.

“I swear to God, Barnes, if you keep leaving the cap off the toothpaste—”

“Maybe if you brushed your teeth like a normal person and not like you’re attacking your molars, it wouldn’t matter.”

“Wow. What an incredible insight from someone who shaves with a combat knife.”

He glares. You glare harder.

The tension builds like static. Every touch you give each other in public feels like it sizzles against your skin in private. Neither of you dares mention it.

The turning point comes on day four.

Dinner party. The couple next door—Melissa and Carter—invite you over. They’re warm, chatty, suspicious in the way most informants are when they think they’re untouchable. You charm. Bucky keeps quiet. His hand rests on your knee under the table.

You should hate how natural it feels.

The conversation turns toward how you two met. Melissa is all bright eyes and romantic sighs. You try to laugh it off. Bucky beats you to it.

“I asked her out three times before she agreed.”

You blink.

Melissa gasps. “She made you work for it, huh?”

Bucky smiles, small and private. “She still makes me work for it.”

They laugh. You’re not sure what to do with the flutter in your chest.

Later, in the hallway outside their apartment, you round on him.

“What the hell was that?”

“Keeping up appearances,” he says, shrugging.

“Since when do you improvise that well?”

He leans in slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Since you started looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re not sure if you want to slap me or kiss me.”

The silence crackles between you.

You go for the door. “Go to hell, Barnes.”

“Already there, sweetheart.”

That night, you both end up in the bed.

It’s late. You’re tired. The floor’s too damn hard, and Bucky’s not a total masochist.

You lay back-to-back. A safe six inches apart.

The silence is heavier than it should be.

“Why do you hate me?” you ask into the dark.

Bucky doesn’t answer right away. You wonder if he’s asleep until—

“I don’t.”

You blink at the ceiling.

“I thought you did,” you murmur.

“I just hated that you always seemed to see right through me. Like you knew something I didn’t want to admit.”

Your throat tightens. You swallow.

“I hated that you never flinched around me,” he adds. “Not once. Everyone else did. You didn’t. You just fought back.”

“I figured if you were gonna kill me, you’d do it fast.”

He huffs a laugh. “Not my style.”

You both lapse into silence again.

But something’s different now.

You fall asleep facing him.

By day five, the tension is unbearable.

He brushes a crumb from the corner of your mouth at breakfast. You don’t swat his hand away.

Your thumb strokes over the fake ring as he talks to Melissa. You’re not even aware you’re doing it.

You’re losing track of what’s fake.

It comes to a head that night.

You’re brushing your teeth. He’s in the doorway, arms crossed.

“You wearing that little black dress again tomorrow?” he asks.

You raise a brow. “You got a preference?”

He shrugs. “It’s just—it looked good. On you.”

You freeze for a second, then go back to brushing. “You feeling okay, Barnes?”

He steps forward. “I meant what I said. I don’t hate you.”

You turn to face him, toothbrush still in hand.

“What are we doing?” you ask quietly.

“I don’t know,” he says. “But I don’t want it to end when the mission does.”

You blink, slowly. “You’re saying that now?”

“Would it have mattered if I said it two years ago?”

You pause. “Maybe.”

He steps closer. “You gonna make me ask you out a fourth time?”

A laugh escapes you. “Maybe I just needed you to mean it.”

“I do.”

You search his face—steel blue eyes, sharp jaw, softened edges.

“Then kiss me, James.”

He does.

Slow. Certain. Nothing fake about it.

You’re still tangled together on the bed when the mission wraps the next day.

Carter’s in custody. Melissa’s crying. The intel’s recovered. Fury’s pleased. Mission success.

But what matters most?

You and Bucky walk into HQ still wearing the rings.

And this time, they don’t feel heavy at all.

[pannman]

What’s On Your Mind

Yandere Radioapple x Telepathic Reader

Masterlist Here

Part 13

THE END PART 1

TW: toxic relationships, yandere themes, choking, biting, blood consumption, blood, forced cannibalism

you grew more tired of fighting every day. It was hard enough dealing with ONE of them. Alastor was the one with conviction who punished you often. Lucifer was reluctant but almost MORE OBSESSED. You fell into the routine of eating whatever poor sinner they dared to serve you for breakfast, lunch and dinner. All your resistance had been warred down over time. You felt yourself slipping into a compliant state of mind

One day Lucifer and Alastor came in together. They were looking kind of strained you couldn’t help but notice. They didn’t often come to see you together often but it was usually either to punish you or tell of a change that was happening. You worried about which one it could be

“My little pet, unfortunately Lucifer will not be seeing you as much. He has been slacking on his kingly duties out of devotion to you. But now he is leaving me to do all the work” Alastor spoke spitefully. “Hey! I WISH I could have no responsibilities so I could spend all my time with them but SOME OF US don’t have that luxury” Lucifer shot back. “Excuse me? Did you happen to forget I’m helping your daughter with her ridiculous hotel? I’m sure it didn’t slip your mind. I mean it is YOUR daughter. You wouldn’t forget something like that” Alastor replied coldly

You breached Lucifer’s mind

*what an asshole! Of course I care about my daughter! Maybe this partnership was a bad idea..*

You suddenly remembered how badly you wanted out. You felt your energy and motivation to fight back return. Looks there’s trouble in paradise, you thought. You needed to take advantage of this somehow. “So Lucifer is leaving?” You asked all innocent. Lucifer looked sadly at you. “No… not leaving… just… not gonna be around as much. But Alastor will take good care of you I’m sure…” he didn’t seem so sure. “But he’s cruel to me. How’s that taking care of me?” You asked

Alastor gave you a dirty look. “Talking about me like I’m not in the room? Remember it’s just going to be you and me for a while. You might want to stay on my good side” he threatened. Lucifer grew upset with him. “You are far too hard on them! You say you love them but then you go and hurt them!” He argued. Alastor laughed at him. “As if you haven’t hurt them before as well. Take a look at their left arm in case you forgot!” Lucifer was suddenly riddled with guilt

“I… you… I should not have done that. I know better now” Lucifer looked down at the ground in shame. Alastor tried to maintain his composure but he was clearly a bit worried about his deal falling apart. “It worked! They have been behaving so well lately. They are going to be everything we both want. We could both get what we want. Trust me sire. Stay the course. I can handle them” Alastor assured him

You knew Rome wasn’t built in a day but you were certainly impressed with how easily you could get them to fight. Though you worried about being stuck with Alastor

After they left, you ate your lunch (reluctantly) and relaxed on the bed reading a book Lucifer had brought you. Suddenly the door opened as only Lucifer stepped inside

“Hey, I know you are worried about Alastor. I am too. I’ve got something for you” your eyes practically popped out of your skull at the sight of an old flip phone. He continued “this phone can only call or text one number. Mine. You can text me whenever I’m away and tell me if Alastor does anything to hurt you. But don’t tell him about the phone. This is just between us” Lucifer handed you the phone. You held it in your hands and felt such an urge to dial Charlie’s number. Or try it at least. But with him right there you simply nodded and said thank you

After he left you immediately attempted to call Charlie but it definitely was a phone that could only call ONE number. Still. Lucifer was keeping secrets from Alastor. This was something you could use to turn them against each other

After Lucifer went away for the day to take care of some royalty business, Alastor spent the whole morning with you. Eating breakfast with you, telling you about the latest shenanigans at the hotel, and gossiping about Vox and other overlords. You wondered if he really actually cared about you on some level. It had been so long since you tried to read his mind you genuinely forgot the affect it had on you

Your head throbbed and your ears rang as you tried your best to read his mind without giving indication to it. But you felt groaning in pain despite your best efforts. Alastor turned to you and his horns grew large. His eyes turned to radio dials and his body morphed into a creature of horror. “Reading my mind? That’s not very polite of you…. I think this deserves a punishment don’t you?”

You jumped off the bed and ran but there was really nowhere to run. His tentacles sprouted out and threw you on the bed. Something made a clunk sound when it fell out of your pocket

“What… is this?!?” He sounded furious as he shoved the phone in your face. You fear for your life as you spoke “Lucifer gave it to me… so I could contact him if you hurt me!” You admitted. He immediately froze. “L… Lucifer… he gave this to you without telling me? How dare he! He knows! He knows my methods get results! He’s just too weak!” Alastor looked absolutely unhinged. You were at peak terror in this moment

Alastor turned his attention to you. “I will talk to him about this when he returns but until then you MUST be punished.” He crawled onto the bed still in his monstrous form. Tentacles kept you pinned while his enormous body surrounded you. His clawed hand made it a way to your throat. You felt his grip tighten and his nails dig into your flesh. Suddenly he bit down onto your shoulder. You cried out but couldn’t make much noise

He then licked the blood up from the wound. He turned your head to the side and without hesitation bit your other shoulder. The sharpness of his teeth felt like you were being cut with a jagged blade. You felt blood trickle down your body and then his tongue as he lapped it up

He bit all over your body until he got his fill and finally he returned to his normal form and left you crying on the bed covered in your own drying blood

That night you could hear them fighting. Suddenly Lucifer entered the room and saw the state of you. “Oh my! Look at you! Look what he did to you! You poor thing! I’ll heal you!” Lucifer said. And he did. You felt your wounds close up, including the brands they put on your arms

Alastor suddenly entered behind and was visibly upset with what he walked into. “You are going to undo ALL of our hard work!” He said. Lucifer turned to him to argue. You noticed something loosely hanging half way out of his pocket. A phone… HIS phone

Lucifer and Alastor threw shots at each other arguing without paying you much mind. You decided it was now or never. You reached and carefully slid it out and placed in your arms crossing your arms to hide it. To them it just looked like you were hugging yourself to self soothe “that’s enough already” Alastor shouted

Alastor grew so frustrated he fled the room with Lucifer following close behind insisting on carrying on the argument

You immediately texted the only number you felt you could

Charlie, I know this is going to sound crazy but this is Y/N. Your dad and Alastor are keeping me prisoner at his castle. I know it’s hard to believe but I swear I’m telling the truth. He’s changed. I need your help

You waited anxiously for a reply

I’m coming

@geminipridekitty @yourmom132 @scenteddelusion5 @fandoms-that-hold-me-for-ransom @epitomeofultimatechaos @a-midwinter-night-dream-86

[john-get-the-salt]

Polaroids

⤑ aka Headcanon #1

SO! having a spicy Polaroid in his wallet

(a/n: anyone I missed that you would like in future headcanons? lemme know)

Michael Robinavitch:

-Though initially shy about it, Robby would love having a Polaroid of you in his wallet. He’d be very secretive, never opening the wallet around other people at work. He’d wait til he was alone in the break room, or the bathroom, or taking a breather in the staircase. Then he would flip it open and let his eyes trail over your skin.

-You made fun of him once when you’d walked in on him staring at it with his glasses on, as if studying for an anatomy test. He wasn’t embarrassed, and didn’t hesitate to show you just how much he could see with his readers on later when he pointed out of some of his favorite freckles on you.

-He may be secretive but he also wasn’t very subtle about it at work-because if someone walked in he’d flip it shut so quick it was quite obvious he was looking at something he shouldn’t.

-But that didn’t stop him.

-One day, when it was nearing Christmas, you slipped a new Polaroid into his wallet without him noticing. It was one you took yourself, featuring some precariously placed garland and bows. You thought it was hilarious when your phone blew up later that day with texts from him, but the surprise was quickly reversed when he got home from work three hours early. Who would have thought?

Jack Abbott:

-Jack was a smug son of a bitch, and that only grew when you first presented him with the Polaroid. You took plenty of pictures of the both of you, both scandalous and normal, but they usually got put into either a scrapbook or a special box in the bedside table. You picked one of his favorites, made a smaller copy, and gave it to him. He was thrilled, and stared at it long and hard before tucking it into his wallet.

-He was not afraid to look at it at work, because most everyone knew to stay out of his business. You didn’t worry, because you knew he’d sooner break someone’s jaw then let them see you like that.

-He was also not embarrassed to have it, and wouldn’t deny anything when someone teased him for smirking at his own wallet. He felt proud and lucky to have you, so why shouldn’t he admire you every second he could?

-He also had a tendency to stare at it to calm him down, to remind him why he did this. Especially in between chaotic traumas. He’d hang back from the team for a second, dig his wallet out of one of his many pockets, and admire it for a few moments before he was off. And he was always rearing to go again.

Frank Langdon:

-You gave Frank the naughty Polaroid for Valentine’s Day one year. You wrapped it up all nice with a ribbon and gave it to him while you were out to dinner at a fancy restaurant. His jaw dropped and he nearly bit through his lip.

-“Someone could have seen!” He exclaimed while subtly checking you out. “Could you have blamed them? I look amazing.” “That you do.” Safe to say dinner ended shortly after.

-Frank was also a cheeky bastard. His colleagues knew he had an inappropriate picture in his wallet and he didn’t care. He could often be found on the clock staring longingly at the picture, dreaming of being in bed with you.

-Someone, usually Robby, would have to come hit him upside the head and remind him he was, indeed, on the clock.

-He was such a big fan that it became a Valentine’s Day regular. Every year he got a new one to add to the collection, and it quickly became his favorite tradition

Dennis Whittaker:

-The first time he opened his wallet and found his girlfriend staring back at him without a shirt on he choked on his own spit. He texted, “you nearly killed me.” And you couldn’t help but respond, “death by tits? Not the worst way to go out.”

-He was terrified of anyone else seeing it or knowing it was there, but he also didn’t take it out. It was comforting, in an odd way. He was never very sure of himself, but he was now sure of this-no matter what stupid things he did or said, you still loved him.

-And he couldn’t lie, it felt good to look at after getting shit on by Santos or someone similar. He was proud to have you

[secondlife-stories]

My husband Troy and I spent our honeymoon at a luxury resort in Hawaii. It was everything we could've dreamt of. Buffets opened from breakfast to dinner filled with delicious food. Activities to never get bored. Adventure or relaxation, the resort had anything you wanted. The suit bedroom was amazing with a california king size bed and tropical motifs on the walls. But our favourite place was the pool. A purified sea water pool surrounded by sun loungers and a bar where always was happy hour.

Our schedule was: morning sex, breakfast, activities in the morning, lunch, more sex, laze around the pool all afternoon, dinner and more sex. We have never been hornier. The sun, the sea, the free time with no worries and the fact that we could call each other husband, got us constantly wanting to touch, kiss and undress. But in all fairness there was another reason. During one of our activities, a trail up the volcano, we met another couple also in their honeymoon. They were Brazilian. She, Eliza, was incredibly attractive, blonde with fake but sexy tits and a huge ass. She was super friendly and funny and we became besties almost immediately. Her husband was from another planet. Troy and I hit each other with our elbows when we first met him. His name was João, and was an adonis. A tower of Brazilian muscle with tanned skin and dark hair. He sported a beard, which I loved, and had his whole arm tattooed, which Troy loved. He was always incredibly nice to us, and very talkative. We were never bored hearing him talk. He was the reason we were always horny. Since we became friends with them, we spent most of our time together and went on the same tours, and after a whole morning looking at those huge arms and sexy face, we reached the room all horned up and needed to release the pent up lust. It didn't help that when we hung out by the pool, he only wore a tiny black speedo that held his bulge and showed his tempting ass.

About a week into our trip, we all went to a bar after dinner to party. We were having a blast and the drinks kept coming so we had a nice buzz going on. Eliza was the naughtiest of us and was always making inappropriate jokes, and the alcohol only accentuated that so she managed to stir the conversation into the topic of sex.

"So who's the top and who's the bottom?" She asked shamelessly.

"Eliza! You cannot ask that question!" João scolded her.

We laughed and didn't take offence to the question but we didn't answer directly. "Let's just say we know how to take the most pleasure our bodies aloud us". Troy said mysteriously.

"Right?! I am so sad for the men that don't explore all the possibilities to gain pleasure", Eliza continued. "I remember the first time I asked João to play with his ass. He was like: no, no, no. But then it was only: yes, more, please!"

"Eliza!! Don't tell them that!!" João was blushing and Eliza started to reassure him and downplayed the issue.

Then she started to kiss him sensually and he didn't look mad anymore. I took advantage of the fact that our couple of friends were busy to give my husband a knowing look. Finding out that this Brazilian stud liked his hole played with would fuel that night's fantasies. When they came back to the conversation, I wanted to keep the topic going.

"I'm glad you're open minded. Most straight guys don't know what they're missing just because they think anything related to the butt is gay"

"Yeah. I guess I have to thank this one for being kinky enough to convince me", João said hugging his wife.

We kept drinking and talking when a different song started and Troy took Eliza to the dancefloor. They had discovered their mutual love for that group during one of our hikes. That left me talking alone with João, looking at our spouses grinding on each other.

"Your husband is a great dancer" told me João.

"Yes, he loves it. I can barely keep up with him. Thank god for your wife to keep him entertained. She can move!"

"That's what made me fall in love with her. I saw her dancing in a club and thought: if that's how she dances, I only can imagine how she fucks! Hahahaha. And I was right!" We both laughed at his inappropriate comment. "Does it happen with men too?" He asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Does Troy fucks as good as he dances?" I looked deep into his eyes, trying to decipher his thinking, but only found drunken bliss.

"Better. We have clicked in bed in a way I've never felt with anyone before. And he always wants it."

"See, that's the best thing about being gay. Men always want to fuck, so if you're two men, you'll always want to fuck. Women don't always want to. We've been two days without sex, here. And it's our honeymoon!" he confessed to me. I couldn't understand Eliza. If I had that man sleeping in my bed I wouldn't leave the room. I tried to lift his spirit.

"Well, if you want my opinion, I think tonight is your lucky night. By the way she is dancing, she is horny as hell". I pointed at our spouses while they moved their hips and twerked to the rhythm of the music. "And speaking about dancing and sex. How about you? I thought every Brazilian knew salsa".

"Oh I know how to dance very well. On the floor and in the bed". He said arching his eyebrows.

"I don't believe you". I said as I joined my husband and started to dance with him. João quickly came and showed us how he danced with his wife. It was a very sexy scene to watch and I could very much imagine how they fucked.

The four of us danced together and, after our conversation, the heat was off the charts and our hornyness showed. Me and my husband grabbed each other's asses and we discreetly rubbed our bulges. I saw how our friends were in the same mood and I felt happy for João so he could finally get some.

We were having a blast. We could very well seem like teenagers in heat, but sadly all fun must come to an end. The last drink didn't sit well with Eliza and she started to feel sick. João decided to take her back to the hotel and told us to stay but we decided to accompany them. We went to their room and helped João to put his wife to bed after a quick shower and drinking lots of water. She was feeling better and told her husband to go back to the party, not remembering that we had to take a taxi to go there. I felt bad for João and I suggested one last drink in our room, which was down the hall. Your husband gave you a look because all he wanted to do was pin you to the bed, but he enjoyed the company of our friend too.

We entered our suit and Troy went to pour us some mojitos. João looked around surprised. He didn't know we had such a big room and kept making comments and complementing everything. The bar where Troy was making the drinks; the area with the couch and the coffee table; the lamps with the big fan over our bed; and the california king bed itself. It was way bigger than his and he was fascinated.

"With a bed like that, I'm sure Eliza would want to have sex all the time" he complained and I laughed.

"If you like that, come see the bathroom". Said my husband bringing the drinks.

The three of us went to show João the bathroom. Once he saw the jacuzzi and the enormous walk in shower he swore.

"Man, this isn't fair. This room is way sexier than mine. I got hornier just walking in. I'm sure you're always fucking in here".

We laughed and looked at each other with lust and camaraderie.

"It's true", I confessed. "We barely can keep our hands from each other since the wedding".

We took off our shoes and sat on the couch. We continued talking about everything when the heat became unbearable, and I decided to take off my shirt. It was my room, after all. João also thought it was a good idea and asked me to leave his on the bar. Troy immediately felt overdressed and decided to go shirtless as well. Having my hot husband and our new friends partially undressed on both sides was making me extremely horny. I mindlessly caressed Troy's inner thigh and he was stroking my back, making my dick harden. João continued to be fascinated by the room and kept asking questions.

"How come you guys can afford this suit? It must be very expensive."

"Well, business has been very good the last two years and we wanted to have a special and memorable honeymoon so we decided to book the honeymoon suite no expense spared". Answered Troy.

"The honeymoon suite! That's why it's so sexy. It's built for romance and to make love. I bet you have fucked on every surface of the room". Troy blushed but the conversation was getting me hornier and the alcohol had taken all my inhibitions away so I followed the game.

"Let me think. We fucked in the shower as soon as we arrived; in the jacuzzi after the trail to the volcano; on the bed, of course; on the balcony, the first night; and yesterday we did a little bartender roleplay on the bar. That's it".

"You sucked me off here, on the couch, right before getting out tonight". Said Troy bashfully.

"That's right! So I guess the only place we haven't had sex is... On that table." I said pointing at the table we had in front of us.

"Well, I know what you're gonna do as soon as I leave". João laughed and we followed. "Ok, another question, and I hope I'm not being disrespectful because we're friends. Who's the top and who's the bottom?"

I chuckled after the question. Every time you befriended a straight guy, sooner or later, they ended up asking the same thing. They can't conceive sex without penetration and obviously one must be the man in the relationship. Troy answered before I could.

"We're actually vers", João made a face, clearly not understanding. "It means versatile," explained my husband. "We like both, giving and receiving. Some times we change roles in the middle and other times we're not in the mood for something and the other one does it. Get it?"

Our new friend nodded still deep in though. Troy had lost his shyness and I could see by the bulge on his pants that was as horny as myself. He decided to flip the tables and began our own interrogation.

"Ok, my turn to ask the questions. You know about our sex life, now we want to know about yours. We are very curious about something your lovely wife said earlier. How exactly do you like your ass played?"

João smiled and stretched his arms along the back of the couch, showing his sexy pits.

"Well, as you might've realized, Eliza is pretty kinky and one day she told me she wanted to eat my asshole. At first I told her no, but she is very persistent and finally I let her. And thank God I did because it was amazing. And she loves to do it so it's a win-win." He looked proud of himself as he said it.

"I feel you, man. We love rimming too", I told him. "And Troy is amazing at it. And then the prostate massage, ufff. I'm getting excited just thinking about it." I visibly adjusted my hard dick.

"Prostate massage?" Inquired João.

"You've never had a prostate massage?" We said in unison.

"What is it? Is it good?"

"Man, if you like your ass eaten you're gonna love it". Said Troy. "It's when someone puts a finger up your butt and touches your prostate. It's where our g-spot is located. You cum so hard when done right."

"And Troy is the best one I know". I added.

"I just know where and how to touch." Said my husband humbly.

"Now I'm really curious". João's bulge was getting bigger by the minute and the shape of his dick was visible through the thin fabric of his trousers.

My husband and I looked at each other with mischievous eyes and smiled. This opportunity didn't present often and we weren't gonna miss it.

"Would you like to try it?" I asked. I touched his arm sensually.

João looked at me, nervous but with curiosity. He didn't move his arm, a good sign. My husband put his hand on the hunk's thigh and continued.

"We could do it just like a massage. To relive the pent up tension."

"I don't know..." He was playing hard to get, but we knew he was already convinced.

"Come on! Let us help you. Then you'll know what to ask Eliza, and believe me: you will ask her to do this". I explained.

He finally complied and we almost jumped from the couch. We moved to the bed and João laid face down after removing his pants. We looked at the dick print on his underwear without hiding our enthusiasm and took off our pants as soon as he didn't look. I grabbed my husband's dick and squeezed as I gave him a quick but passionate kiss. We placed ourselves at each side of our straight friend and began the massage. We didn't have any oil so we used lube, sure that he wouldn't notice the difference. We gave his muscular back and thick legs a quick rub to make him relax but we were both impatient so I was soon taking his underwear off. Our erections were at full mast and I could see Troy's cock head peeking through the leg of his underwear. I reached out and grabbed it with one hand while I stroke our friend's meaty ass cheeks with the other one. Troy sighted at the feeling of his dick getting attention. That was the drop that he needed and desire took over.

He positioned between João's legs, spread his ass and dove in. João's head raised as soon as my husband's tongue made contact with his asshole. He looked like he was about to complain but a loud and long moan escaped his mouth. I watched how my husband ate João's ass with hunger. I had been on the receiving end of Troy's rimming so I knew, however good Eliza was, João was now in heaven, getting a pleasure he had never imagined was possible. He was squirming and huffing clutching the sheets with his fists. Troy was lapping like a thirsty dog and I saw the hairless hole winking with anticipation. I stopped pretending this was a massage and got rid of my underwear. I stroke my cock with energy while I pressed my husband's head against the muscular straight ass.

Troy came up for air and I immediately took his place between those glutes. He tasted amazing, musky and masculine, with notes of orange that I recognised from the hotel's shower gel. Troy had done a good job and his ass was pretty relaxed and I could push my tongue deep inside his rectum. João moaned because of my invasion of his virgin hole. I watched from the corner of my eye that my husband was finally naked and was jerking his perfect cock. He had continued the massage and was sensually caressing his back and arms.

"Your ass tastes amazing", Troy said. "Eliza is one lucky woman. We would be all over you if we were her". Stroking their ego as much as their body is how my husband conquered any man he wanted. It worked with me all those years ago and still worked whenever we invited a third into our bed.

I felt how the resistance of his ring on my tongue had reduced enough and signaled Troy it was time for the next step.

"How are you, handsome? Enjoying yourself?" I asked João.

He looked at us over his shoulder with cloudy eyes and heavy breathing.

"That was one of the best things that I've ever felt", said the Brazilian hunk whose taste was still in my mouth.

"Don't say that, yet. That was the appetizer, now comes the main course", interjected my husband. "I need you in all fours to have better access to your perfect ass". He slapped his ass to make the point.

Our straight friend flexed his knees and raised his ass but kept his chest and face to the mattress like a professional bottom. From my position I could see his balls dangling between his legs. I couldn't resist licking them before giving my spot to my husband to do his magic.

Troy coated his fingers with lube and extended it over João's asshole. The Brazilian hunk shivered at the cold liquid. Troy put the tip of his middle finger right at his entrance and started to apply pressure. I saw how the finger started to disappear inside without any reaction from João's part until the second phalanx was completely immersed. João then sighted and closed his eyes with pain. My husband stopped and started to rotate the finger to let him adjust. Me, not wanting to be left out, I grabbed that Brazilian dick and started to stroke it. That was the first time I saw João's dick fully and honestly I couldn't understand how his wife wasn't fucking him every hour of the day. A beautiful uncut rod of meat, tanned like the rest of his skin, with three veins winding over its surface was now throbbing in my hand, hard as a rock and oozing precum to show his excitement. He left a weak moan and relaxed a bit, letting Troy continue. Once his finger was buried to the knuckle, he let João get used to the feeling before moving again. Then, he started to extract his finger and insert it again once it was almost completely out. The next insertion was easier, and so on. Soon my husband's finger was going in and out of that hole as if it was coated with butter. João was liking this new experience but he was promised a prostate massage and he got impatient.

"Not to be a pain in the ass, no pun intended, and I'm loving this, but I don't feel what you have described before with my prostate", he said.

"Soon, don't worry" assured him my husband. "I needed to be able to move easily back here".

I saw then how Troy twisted his wrist and flexed the tendons in his forearm with the middle finger completely buried inside the straight guy's rectum. He was searching for the sweet spot and I knew he found it because João jumped and raised his chest from the mattress. He turned his head and looked at me with his mouth and eyes wide open with surprise. His cock, still in my hand, jerked by itself a couple of times and a new glob of precum dripped between my fingers. I smiled at him and nodded, knowingly.

"Enjoy the ride, big boy". I encouraged him.

His eyes rolled up inside his head and he moaned as my husband continued his massage. I watched how my husband performed his magic ritual on that beautiful ass. João moaned and shouted what I think were some bad words in portuguese. His breathing was heavy and deep and hi had his fists clenched.

Troy was fisting his cock furiously with his free hand and I knew he wouldn't be satisfied with just fingering the straight married hunk. I nodded to him and signaled to go ahead. I wasn't gonna be satisfied either.

I leaned down and placed my mouth beside João's ear.

"We're going to turn it up a gear, ok big boy?" I asked him.

"It feels like I'm about to cum. I don't know if I'll be able to endure another gear". He confessed.

"Trust me, you will." I sentenced and nodded to my husband.

He took his finger out of the Brazilian's tight hole and brought it to his mouth. He coated three fingers profusely with spit and went back to our friend's entrance. As he started to push two fingers inside, João flinched and I went to work. I laid on the bed under the married man and put his dick inside my mouth. I immediately started to suck. His cockhead filled my mouth almost completely but I was good at this so I swallowed him deeper. My job was to make him feel so good that he didn't realise my husband was working his sphincter wider for the next step.

As I was trying to deepthoat his massive cock, I felt someone grabbing my throbbing boner. I looked down and saw that João was jerking me off. Probably he felt he owed us, or maybe he was just that horny. I could see my husband's progress as I devoured that delicious slab of meat. He had three fingers completely buried and was working the Brazilian's love nut like crazy. I could tell because of the amount of precum I was savouring and how hard he was squeezing my dick. When I saw the three fingers entering and rotating without effort and João moaning with delight, I knew it was time for the finisher.

I got up and placed myself in front of João. I grabbed his face and looked at him deep into his eyes. I could see how my sexy husband was lubing his cock and biting his bottom lip.

"You've been loving everything we've done to you. You're gonna love this even more". I told João.

"What do you mean? What are you gonna do now?" He looked like a puppy, pleading an answer with his eyes. He tried to look back but I held his head in place. I pressed our foreheads together.

"Trust us. You will beg for more". After saying that I kissed his lips and parted them to slip my tongue inside his mouth. He felt hesitant at first but ended up responding to my kiss. As we were making out he closed his mouth abruptly which meant that my husband had probably put his cockhead inside him. I looked up to see my husband with his eyes closed and a blissful face pushing his hips against João's ass. I stroked his cheek and told him: "you're doing great, big boy. You're a natural. You're gonna love this".

I stayed up because I didn't want to miss the show. My hard dick was right beside João's face and his beard graced my cockhead from time to time, sending shivers through my spine. I was still caressing his cheek with my thumb when Troy's pubes made contact with the hunk's tailbone. My husband exhaled a delighted moan and opened his eyes. He found my sight and smiled devilishly. Then, he started to move.

First he pulled to take out half his mast and then he pushed energetically all the way in. This made João moan. I felt his warm breath on my balls. My husband repeated the move again and again, making our new lover roll his eyes as he kept moaning. Troy was now getting all of his long dick out, except for the glans, and pushing balls deep harder and harder.

"Ou meu Deus, si! Fuck me!" João surprised me with his plea. My husband was more than happy to comply and fuck the married stud faster. I observed with delight, not getting very involved when I felt João's hand on my dick again. He was looking at it with curiosity while enduring my husband's thrusts.

"Do you wanna try this? Maybe you will like this too." I told him as I swiveled my hips a couple of times.

João looked up and opened his mouth. I didn't waste any time and placed my hard meat over his tongue. He licked the tip shyly and then kissed it as if it were a lollipop. I grabbed the back of his head and pushed my cock deeper, trying to pace my thrusts with Troy's. Spit roasting a straight Brazilian married hunk was light-years away from our wildest dreams but here we were. I saw my husband sweating over João's back hitting his prostate with his perfect cock, almost as we promised. João wan now sucking my dick almost as if he had done it before. A guy always knows how to do it. My husband made a face that I recognised from our bedroom. He was about to cum. It was too soon so I intervened.

"Honey, let me try our guest. And work my ass. I've got an idea".

Troy frowned and reluctantly obliged. I quickly abandoned João's delicious mouth and rammed my cock into his hole. My husband was soon licking my ass and pushing lubed fingers inside me. Troy was a little thicker than me but João's ass felt incredibly tight. My dick seemed more manageable than my husband's, or maybe he didn't have a dick in his mouth, because João became extremely verbal while I was fucking him.

"Porra, que pau grande! Yes keep going! This is amazing! Caraio! Fode- me com mais força, mais rápido! Thank you for this!"

I reached around to feel how excited our friend was to find his dick harder than ever and dripping precum over the sheets. I stopped my thrusts and extracted my cock, leaving a gaping hole begging for more. Lucky for him, I had planned a big finish.

"On your back, big boy. It's time for the finale." I ordered him. "You've been such a good sport that we're going to reward you with something not many can get."

João turned around and looked at me with excitement. He placed each leg on my sides but that wasn't my plan. I straddled him and placed his big throbbing cock between my ass cheeks. I Rubbed along my crack and placed the tip right on my entrance. I looked back and signaled my husband. He took that Brazilian dick and guided it inside me. I felt how it slowly buried inside my guts. I never broke eye contact with João who looked at me like a child that got the puppy he always wanted. After two days without sex, I knew my ass was feeling like home for him. Once the dick was completely inside me and I sat on his hips, I waited a moment to enjoy how full I was feeling before I started to ride like a crazy cowboy. João threw back his head and huffed. He grabbed me by the hips and accompanied the motion.

I felt movement on my back and turned around. My husband was lifting João's muscular legs and preparing himself to fuck him again. I helped by grabbing the legs and stopped briefly to ease the penetration. I knew when Troy was inside because João's eyes rolled back and he moaned with pleasure. We both resumed our activity and fucked the married hunk with everything we got. I jumped up and down impaling myself with straight dick. My husband was on frenzy mode, moving his hips with a speed I hadn't seen for a long time. João didn't know how to cope with all the pleasure he was feeling. He didn't know what to do with his hands. He grabbed my waist and an instant later threw his hands over his head. Then, he caressed my chest and pinched my nipples, making me squirm. Finally he decided to grab my pole and jack me off, returning the favor I had done before.

After a few minutes I felt we were all on the edge so I put in motion the last part of my plan.

"Are you about to cum, big boy?" I asked João biting my bottom lip and going deeper with his cock. He nodded and whimpered without saying a word. "Do you wanna cum inside me? Flooding me with your cum? Feeling my wet ass until the very end?"

"Fuck yes please! Let me cum inside you!" He shouted, eyes open like crazy.

"Then you have to let my husband seed you too" I ordered. I knew he wouldn't say no right now but it is always fun when a straight man begs to be seeded.

"Yes, fuck me and seed me. I don't care. Just make me cum. I'm so close!"

He was now jerking my cock so good I was going to cum too. I felt how Troy changed his angle to beat that Brazilian prostate how it deserved and I started to make circles with my pelvis, maintaining the married cock deep inside me. João opened his eyes to the max to then rolled them up inside his skull. He howled something in Portuguese and then I felt his cock getting bigger and spitting a copious amount of jizz inside me. His abs convulsed with each shot I felt. Troy grabbed me by the chest and pinched my nipple while biting my earlobe. He pushed balls deep into the straight asshole and seeded the virgin hole. Between the cum I felt dripping outside my sphincter, João still jerking my cock and my husband pushing my erogenous buttons I went over the edge. I shot five ropes of thick white cum over our Brazilian friend. Two of them reached his face and I saw how he took his tongue out to savour it.

I let his legs fall and turned around to kiss my husband. While we were making out, João raised his torso and joined the kiss, sharing the cum painting his handsome face.

"You were right. That was the best orgasm I've ever felt". Said João pausing our kiss.

After a well deserved shower João said his good nights and went to his room with the promise of a surprise for us. Troy and I were too horny to just do one round so we kept fucking almost until morning. The next morning we skipped our morning activities and just went to the pool. There was João waving enthusiastically at us. Thank God he was still in a good mood. The surprise he wanted to share was that, he had told Eliza that we had proposed to have sex with him but he couldn't decide without her knowing. Apparently, Eliza loved the idea of watching his husband fuck with us and was preparing everything for that afternoon. Troy and I kissed deeply and smiled. Who could ask for a better honeymoon?