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mistydeyes · 11 months

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opposite occupations

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summary: all the 141 boys have different plans while on leave, each having their own idea of how to spend the time. but when they run into a lovely civilian, they realize that all the long hours, deployments, and trainings worth it.

pairing: 141 x civvie!fem!Reader

warnings: swearing, all fluff :)

a/n: I love me a good little meet cute

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price - florist

Everyone knew that the minute Price went home, he would be making the trek to his favorite cigar shop. It had been one he frequented for years, the familiar sign welcoming him home. Most shops on the street stayed the same. He liked the constancy, the familiarity.

As he rounded the street corner, he noticed a new shop had filled the unoccupied next door. The pale pink awning and rose-tinted glass were a new sight to see. "Sentiments of Carnations" he read as he walked past. He could see through the window that the shop had not yet been opened, noting the smell of fresh paint and empty displays. He wondered what grandma had put their retirement money into this florist shop.

He continued, opening the cigar shops store and smelling the musk of smoke and tobacco. "Ah John, I have your regulars set aside," the old shop owner said with a smile. "Back again for long?" he asked upon his return with a dark oak box. "Just waiting for another phone call from his majesty," he joked and slid over the usual bank notes. "I'll be seeing you," Price said as he opened the door and exited with the familiar chime of the bell.

As he embraced the warmth of the summer England weather, he pulled out one of his fresh purchases, excellently wrapped and balanced. He flipped open his lighter from his pocket and sat down to have his first smoke at home. He closed his eyes and savored the notes of espresso and hickory. As he sat in his small nirvana, he heard the florist's doors open.

He turned as he saw you, a flower behind your ear and a pink apron that perfectly matched the outside of the shop. You were not the grandma he had expected and instead were beautiful, the sun catching your lovely features. You had placed an antique table outside, along with a bucket of a colorful array of flowers adorned with a handwritten tag. You hung a small sign on the table that read, "Take one for a friend, family member, or loved one." You smiled at yourself, proud of the little display. You turned your head and noticed the mature man enjoying his smoke only a meter away from you. You picked out a scarlet carnation and walked over to the man, handing it to him.

"Here, you go," you said as his calloused fingers held the flower delicately. "A flower to brighten someone's day," you said with a smile. "Thank you, although I am not a man for flowers," he replied and extinguished his cigar. "Well, flowers can be for a variety of reasons, a friendly gesture, a gift for someone you fancy, or even something to brighten up your flat."

You ended with a sweet smile and he could feel himself melt on the spot. Something about the floral aroma emanating from the flower behind your ear along with your soft voice and pleasantries added to his current state of nirvana. You were so radiant in this light and he appreciated the kind gesture, especially upon his return home.

"No one to give a romantic gesture to, but thank you," he replied. "Well if that ever changes, my shop opens later this week! The shop's number is on the tag" you said before giving him a small wave and wink. He could hear the shop's door close as you began to set up your display and paint a mural on one of the walls. As he twisted the carnation in his hand, he knew he would be adding your shop to his routine becoming your most frequent customer.

soap - tattoo artist

Soap looked at his phone, making sure he was in the right place. His favorite tattoo shop near his Scottish home had closed and he was taking a recommendation from Ghost.

"She's got an attitude but her work is amazing," Ghost had said before Soap's deployment. He couldn't deny the craftsmanship of her work on Ghost's arm. He marveled at the attention to detail as Ghost proudly shoved off his ornate sleeve.

Soap had an appointment for today, previously approving of the artist's rendition of his vision. A black-and-white thistle, a charm his mother had said. It was commonly known to keep its owner away from danger and bad acquaintances. Something Soap needed on the battlefield.

He pushed the maroon door open, admiring the many gold frames with what he assumed were some of the artists' work. He let out a light chuckle as he noticed a framed sketch of Ghost's sleeve. He was just about to snap a picture when a voice called out, "Hey Mohawk, this isn't a museum."

He turned around to see a woman, a gorgeous one at that. You were wearing a tank top that showed off a collage of various tattoos in different styles. You had been taking a break and relaxed, sitting behind a desk, feet propped up.

"Actually, lass, I'm here with an appointment," he said, walking over to you. "Name's John MacTavish." he finished with a cheeky smile.

"Ah MacTavish, one of Riley's military boys I'm guessing. How's that masterpiece of mine doing?" you joked, Soap didn't know what to say. Were you and Ghost a thing?

You laughed at his pause, "My tattoo, Mohawk. There's no way I'd be shagging his Halloween-looking-arse." Soap appreciated the heads up about your attitude and knew this was gonna be a fun session.

"Looks gorgeous, Sweetheart. Just like yourself," he poked back and you let out a loud laugh, almost doubling over. "Don't flatter yourself, you can go make yourself comfortable in my station over there. Looks like you're only getting a bicep tat, so I better not see your shirtless arse back there."

Soap made his way to where you motioned, sitting down in the black velvet chair. You came in a few minutes later with your sketch and supplies. You closed the scarlet curtains behind you before walking over to prep his arm.

As you sat in relative silence, Soap asked, "So what do the tattoos mean, Lass?" You finished your prep work and were working on the correct tattoo placement. "Travels from around the world. I took it upon myself to get a tattoo in every new country."

With that, you offered him a mirror so he could approve of the sketch and placement. The tattoo rested on his right bicep and he made sure to look at it at every angle and made sure to flex for your enjoyment.

"Alright, muscle man, this should only take a few hours as long as you don't pass out on me," you said and began to tattoo your next masterpiece. During the next two hours, you made conversation about the tattoos meaning, his life in Scotland, and you even shared more intimate details about your travels.

The hours flew by like minutes to Soap as you let him know you were finished. He admired the detailed flower and you handed him some care instructions with some cream. "And your buddy paid for you ahead of time, so you're all set, Mohawk" you replied and Soap got off of the chair.

"See you around, my world-class woman," he joked as he exited the door. You slightly cringed, wondering if writing your number on the tube of aftercare cream was a good idea or not.

gaz - primary school teacher

Gaz looked at himself in his flat's mirror. He brushed a hand over his freshly cut hair and evened out his dress shirt. "Just a favor for a friend," he said to himself as he walked to catch the next tram. Two days ago, an old colleague during his days working with the metro police force had reached out to him. They called in a favor, "Kyle c'mon it's just a couple of primary students, all you need to do is give a little talk about stranger danger." Knowing he had nothing else better to do, Gaz agreed.

As he signaled the tram to stop, Gaz looked at the brown brick building reminding him of his younger days. Gaz walked in, checking in with the receptionist who directed him to the classroom where he'd be giving his talk. He was early, the school had not yet opened but he was asked to have the presentation at the beginning of class before the children's lessons. He admired the walls filled with the artwork of the students, silly attempts at drawing their families. He finally reached your classroom, noting the smiling sunflower on your opened door. He knocked softly and he saw you lift your head to greet him. If he had known you would be so beautiful, he would have not needed his friend's encouragement.

"Ah you must be Sgt. Garrick," you said, beginning to get up from your desk to greet him. You smoothed out your skirt and placed your glasses down. "It's just Kyle," he said and returned your friendly smile and warm handshake.

"Well Kyle, the children should be arriving in a few minutes. I'll get them settled and introduce you for your small talk today," you said with a grateful nod. You motioned for him to sit at your desk as you stood at your door to greet your excited second-year students. Gaz played on his phone and smiled as he heard you return the children's happy good mornings with a similar high-energy one. The students began to file in, placing their bags in their cubbies, and sitting with their friends. You heard small whispers from the children, wondering what you were doing at their teacher's desk. He let out a chuckle when he heard one boy whisper, "Is that Miss Y/N's husband? He's sitting in her chair."

Finally, with all the children in their seats, you walked to the front of the classroom and greeted your students warmly. "Good morning everyone, today we have a very special guest with us. This is our friend, Kyle, and he's here today to tell you all a little something before we start our lessons."

Kyle knew this was his cue, he rose from your desk and swapped places with you at the front of the room. "Hi everyone, today I'm going to teach you smart kids about something called 'Stranger Danger'." The children oohed in response as Kyle waved his hands in a fake menacing manner. You smiled as he was a natural. The children were attentive, writing down the information as he spoke and working together with their classmates to fill out the worksheet answers. Kyle ended his talk and asked if anyone had any questions. One child raised her hand and Kyle called on her. "Is Miss Y/N a stranger? I'm confused."

"I'm your teacher, Amelia. Teachers that you know aren't strangers," you responded and Kyle nodded in agreement. Another kid raised their hand and asked, "But you aren't Kyle's teacher, so you're a stranger to him."

Before either one of you could respond, his friend boasted, "It's because they're married, your Mum and Dad aren't strangers to each other." Both you and Kyle shared a look and he saw the soft blush rise to your face. "Ah we're just friends," he said and saved you the embarrassment.

Little did Kyle know, his email would chime that night with a thankful message from you along with your number at the bottom asking him to breakfast that weekend.

ghost - veterinarian

Unlike most people, Ghost loved the quiet ambiance of London's rainfall. The streets were empty and peaceful as people were cozying up in their homes with a blanket. Enjoying the evening air and cold, he walked with an umbrella in one hand and a warm cup in the other. His boots resounded on the cobblestone street as he sipped his Earl Grey tea. His chest was warm from the bold citrus and bergamot liquid. This was, in his opinion, an ideal leave well spent.

The rhythmic rain fell and his walking was interrupted by a soft mewing. Simon hurried down the street to find the source of the noise. In front of a grocer's, he noticed a small cardboard box being drenched by the unrelenting rain. He placed his cup down and gently lifted the box. Underneath was a small grey cat, cuddled into a ball to experience some semblance of warmth. Simon placed his umbrella to shield the box and lifted the tiny meowing animal into his hands.

As he cradled the cat to his chest, he heard a click of heeled boots behind him. He turned his now-drenched head to notice you walking up with a bright orange umbrella adorned with cat paws. "Excuse me, Sir, but is he yours?" you asked gesturing to the ball of grey that laid meowing in his arms. "Uh he's not, I found this little fella underneath this box here."

"Ah a Good Samaritan, I see. Well, I own the veterinarian shop down the way, I can take him off your hands if you'd like and make sure this little lad gets the care he needs," you said and offered a hand to hold the kitten. You noticed his slight hesitation and said, "If you'd like, I'll give you my card so you can take the little one home when he's all better."

"That would be nice," he smiled underneath his black face mask. Simon loved animals, never being permitted to have one as a child. As you held the kitten in your arm, you handed him your umbrella. He initially tried to refuse but you insisted saying, "You're soaked, I'll be alright." You ended with a small giggle which made Ghost warmer than his now cold cup of tea.

"The least I can do is walk you back to your shop," he replied a little too quickly. He instantly realized the surprising force he had said that with and followed up with, "You know, just so you and Earl Grey can make it there in this weather.

"Earl Grey, I like that. That's my favorite order, especially on days like this." Simon moved slightly behind you, holding the umbrella to shield the three of you on your walk. The air was filled with the familiar scent of rain and the notes of your floral perfume. "I'm Dr. L/N by the way, but most people just call me, Y/N," you said as you continued on your way. "I'm Simon, a pleasure to meet you doc."

Three weeks later Simon's house was filled with all the necessities for a new cat father. As he grabbed his coat, he pulled out a water-stained business card with the vet's office address and your number written on the back. He smiled to himself as he traced his fingers over the small handwriting saying, "To Earl Grey's owner, fancy a cup of tea with me?"

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daddyricsdoll · 2 months

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hey! could you write “If your parents weren’t here you’d be on your hands and knees.” for fernando maybe? 😁

˙✧˖°🌑⋆｡˚🥀꩜

My eyes glance to Fernando. His gaze unchanging from me. I didn’t know what kind of glint was in his eyes, but I had to look away before it turned into something rather ravenous than tamed. And this place being one we couldn’t act out in. All of my family crowded together in this hall, as the children ran around and the elders conversed. Fernando not really fitting into any of the groups, but instead followed me around with his hand holding my hip. Just until I had to disappear, leaving him sat at a table with husbands complaining about their wives. Ignoring every word because he couldn’t focus on a single thing except me. Alluding me to think something was wrong… or maybe right.

My body flushed every time I caught him staring at me. Fernando’s eyes a dark colour hickory, and it felt as if his stare created holes into me. Holes that he’ll take his time to fill.

Fernando stayed in my mind, even as I spoke to my mother, helped with food and stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. Just wondering what it would’ve been like if Fernando was standing behind me. Running his hands along my body and making me forget.

Maybe I hoped he followed me into the bathroom, wearing a dress short enough that he could flick it up to fill me up and then put it back down when we both had to make an escape.

Finally escaping my thoughts I tried to distract myself with the younger kids. Nearly melting when they shone their smiles at me and willingly jumped into my arms. Allowing me to hold them tightly, and imagine my own. The burn of Fernando’s eyes was threatening my back, and I just knew I couldn’t act normal. Bending down in such a dangerously risky way when I placed the child back on the ground. Letting Fernando see what he missed, and want it more.

Once I slowly stood up, I started striding my way to Fernando. A smirk curling on my lips at his clenched fists. Taking a seat right beside him.

“You ok?” I ask, acting completely oblivious as I hold his fists in one of my hands.

“Fuck, mi amor, if your parents weren’t here you’d be on your hands and knees as I fuck my kids into you.”

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thebohemianloner · 7 months

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Shades of Death Trail • Hickory Run State Park

#shades of death #shades of death trail #hickory run #hickory run state park #personal #me #adventures #nature #waterfall #hiking #pennsylvania #pocono mountains #poconos #waterfall hike #naturecore #fall foliage #autumn leaves #lake harmony

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grimesgirll · 2 months

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you look forward to your car rides with rick.

you love your group too but sometimes a long car ride helps you unwind and recharge when your social battery is low and you just need to stare out the window at some grassy hills. besides, most days rick let you choose the soundtrack for your drive so you could DJ.

the only cds you'd had when you met up with the group were your signed cds that you couldn't part with: your parents' favorite foreigner album and taylor swift's sophomore album. after playing those albums front to back and hearing "double vision" one too many times enough to nearly ruin the song for you - and rick too probably - you set out to find some new tunes. you and daryl came back from a record store with a crate of old cds - it was a shame that you couldn't preserve the records but you had yet to run into a working record player that was worth your time. nonetheless, you found fleetwood mac albums, soft rock compilations, and music to mellow your trips.

you were itching to see him today. you’d been preoccupied mass producing buckwheat cereal and it was never a good time with him. you lavished the opportunity to spend time alone with the perpetually preoccupied rick grimes.

rick is waiting for you when you climb into the car. hickory curls frame his face which is sunburnt from all the time spent outside finishing up the harvest.

“hey,” you greet, pulling the car shut and shifting into your seat.

“hey there.” the sheriff farmer replies gruffly, hands already tensed and gripping the steering wheel.

you don’t need to ask what’s wrong because you already know: carl.

you love the boy but he wasn’t playing the part of the pacifist farm boy rick wanted him to. you don’t blame either of them. rick was right to rein carl in after he fired on that boy from woodbury as he surrendered.

that shook you up a bit too, but you remembered that carl was young and after weeks of planting, it won’t hurt to let the boy kill a walker or two on fence duty. there’s at least no reason for rick to give him shit about it.

rick’s so pent up though. it could be not just carl but the young infant going through the four month sleep regression.

settling judith for the night seemed to be a never ending battle, every battle a losing battle. you’d managed to take the little girl off of rick’s hands so he could sleep but she rarely went down for you either anymore. the baby that was once happy to fall asleep in your arms before bed was now fighting bedtime with everything she had.

your leader was saddled with stress. you can see it in the white of his knuckles against the steering wheel and how he doesn’t say anything before starting the car and pulling out of the prison, the gate being pulled behind your car by glenn and daryl.

almost forgetting to put in the new cd in your lap, your eyes are glued to the steering wheel. navigating whatever you have with rick is treacherous when just the sight of his taut hands has your breath picking up.

the two of you had no opportunity to get away lately. it’s not like you’re going to pester rick or jump him in the fields.

you’d already heard a, “later, sweetheart” earlier this week and it made you want to curl up into a ball.

waving the cd so rick can see, you ask if he likes the eagles. he shrugs. not much of a response.

“i’m gonna pop this in,” you inform him and lean over slightly to eject the cd currently residing in the media console - one of daryl’s buffalo springfield cds - to slide in an eagles’ greatest hits album.

he doesn’t pay much attention, just keeps his attention on the road and his knuckles wrapped around the steering wheel.

the sound of a guitar transitions you into the first song, which you think is aptly named. “take it easy” is exactly what rick should do but the song doesn’t seem to lighten his mood.

you two sit in silence. this isn’t unusual for you guys. sometimes you go quiet on parts of the drive.

rick breaks the silence.

“you like older stuff?”

i like older, rugged, handsome ex-cops with hands that can-

“i like all kinds of stuff.”

the older man laughs. “just wouldn’t have pegged you for an eagles girl.”

“it’s dad rock. don’t you like it?” you ask, catching his blue eyed gaze.

he slouches his shoulders. “they’re not bad. i would’ve liked if you put on that fleetwood mac cd a bit more.”

you grin. “i’ll remember to put their greatest hits cd on next.”

what you should be doing is reaching back to grab the cd booklet from the backseat but you’re fixated on rick. he’s driving, hyper focused on being aware of his surroundings again so he doesn’t notice the path your eyes take from his hands on the wheel to his pants. he doesn’t see your eyes cloud with thoughts of you two.

“pull over.”

“what?” rick questions, shooting you a skeptical look. “why?”

“i really have to go number one.”

he scoffs. “that’s why you wanna stop?” he shakes his head at you. you’re always asking him to stop on the side of the road for you to pee or find a dilapidated bathroom to go in. “next time, you gotta go before we leave.”

you nod, working overtime to conceal the early signs of victory on your lips. rick heeds your request and pulls into a rest stop parking lot, telling you to make it quick.

“be right back!” you chirp and use the bushes behind a gazebo to maintain your angle - and actually empty your bladder.

then you’re hopping back into the car and pressing the passenger side button to lock all of the doors. your hand stops rick’s when he goes to start the car, using the other to unbuckle his seatbelt. you’re in his lap by the time you’ve gotten his seat reclined by pushing down the lever.

the dark haired man is chiding your name. “what are you doin’?”

“helping you relax.”

“we gotta get on with our run.”

“i think you having fun is a bit more important.” you argue as you undo his belt. “why don’t you just relax?” you smile at him while you turn up the music slightly.

the sheriff rasps your name. “we have to stay vigilant.”

you send him a look that his him straining in his baby blue boxers. “rick, the doors are locked. we’ll hear a walker if they come up and we can drive away. just trust me and relax.”

it’s hard to argue when you’re tugging down his waistband, hands finding him and fondling him until the only sounds coming out of his mouth are pants.

opening up nice and wide, you slip him into your mouth. you smile when your tongue on the side of his length is met with a breathy moan.

one of rick’s hands are on the back of the center console and the other is pressed against the driver’s side door. between you wandering up and down his shaft with your tongue, he feels cornered. even more so when you take the opportunity to guide his hands to your hair.

it takes a few minutes but rick is no longer preoccupied with scanning the perimeter or heavy under the worry you could always sense under his skin, distracted by the curve of your ass. just leaning with his head back, basking in the soft rock playing and the woman so keen on relieving the pressure that weighed down on his reddened shoulders.

“such a good girl,” he’s gasping.

you move faster. suction your lips a little tighter. you haven’t been fooling around with rick for long but one thing is true without a doubt for him; he’s long and thick. you still haven’t mastered what must be some kind of witchcraft to fit all of him down your throat without gagging, but rick doesn’t care. as long as his dick in your mouth, he’s not complaining. especially not when you look up at him with his cock halfway down your throat.

success bubbles in your core and even with rick stuffed down your throat, you’re beaming. you’ve managed to get him to sit back and take a moment to enjoy himself - to enjoy you.

but you realize that your work is far from done when your favorite farmer cums down your throat, relishing the moment despite his still rock solid cock. he pulls your mouth off of him after you swallow, seemingly relishing the sight of you, lips in a pout in his lap.

“it’s your turn,” rick growls before fervidly dragging you to the backseat to pin your hips down and return the favor.

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes imagine #twd imagine #twd smut #rick grimes smut #the walking dead #reader insert #still getting the hang of writing smut #not beta read #established relationship #ricky dicky doo da grimes #rick x reader #grimesgirll #blowy #prison era #mild taylor swift reference

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devnmon · 1 year

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You Deserve the World

Originally written by @avanatural; credit to her for the idea and inspiring me as well.

Summary: Daryl's been insecure about his age starting to show, and is worried he'll lose you. You show him every way he won't.

warnings: comfort, (a lil angst), fluff, implied smut.

wc: 3.4k

Daryl's back ached.

He slid the bow from his back and dropped it onto a wooden side table, letting it clatter loudly. His vest was the next thing pulled off his body, left on the chair beside his bow. Unbuttoning his shirt, the cotton tightened around his biceps, until he finally ripped it from his torso and left the shirt on the ground behind him.

Now freed from the confines of his tight clothing, his arms stretched out, muscles flexing in the process. Daryl glanced around the room per usual, until his eyes came across the mirror in the corner of your room. Slowly, he sauntered towards it, pushing his shoulders down as he approached.

The archer studied himself intently. All of his features remained as they were - same cerulean eyes, distinctive birthmarks, scar crossing over his left eyebrow and part of his cheek, and his rounded nose. Daryl couldn't help the fact of time passing, and he definitely couldn't help the fact that aging was catching up with him. A few new lines on his face became more prominent, and the bags under his eyes from minimal sleep only bore into him further.

He tried to force a smile, but stopped before the realization of wrinkles and other lines made him even more self-conscious. Daryl grunted to himself, before running a hand through the tousled hickory of his hair. Sunlight hit the crown of his head, illuminating its unwashed state, along with the few grey hairs that managed to show themselves. The hairs of his beard were the first on him to become grey without him knowing.

Aging was an aspect of life he couldn't get used to. He didn't want to get used to it either. Though it was only a part of growing older with time. Not only did he grow accustomed to working out more often in order to stay on top of his game, but his hunting agility was having a lower success rate each time he was out there.

On the contrary, he'd been worried about keeping up with his partner.

You, the one of his dreams. If his aging continued at the rate it began, he was worried that you'd grow tired of his older features and desire someone younger than him. Someone better than him.

Daryl knew you were popular amongst the men of Alexandria, those better options only poking at the back of his throat as if it were bile waiting to give. Being in a constant state of hyperawareness whenever you two were out in the community had exhausted him to his core.

Every time one of Deanna's sons or any of the other guys in the community even caught a glance of you from across the courtyard, Daryl wanted to pummel them into the ground, but push you into their arms from his all the same.

Although Daryl felt this way, he realized the strength of your bond with him went deeper than just physical attraction. The two of you cared deeply for one another, and you always tried to clear his mind of any negative thoughts.

You're enough the way you are, my love. I don't want you any other way than that.

With a deep breath, Daryl decided to push the nagging thoughts from his mind and trudge over to the dresser. He fidgeted with the button of his jeans, pulling them off his legs and ending up next to the shirt he'd tossed as well.

There was conveniently another mirror in the corner, one that took the full image of him into account. It was noticeable to him when he'd noticed movement from out of his peripheral vision. It would have only taken a glance to the left before seeing his figure in full length. Stood in only a pair of boxers, his hands sifted through one of the dresser drawers, pulling out a pair of black jeans. A glance downward at his body stopped his movements, and the pair of pants fell from his grip.

Despite everything telling him not to, his eyes drifted to the left. Once the full image of him in the mirror hit his eyes, the disgusting thoughts he had a moment before busted down the door in his mind. Daryl stepped in front of the mirror, jeans left on the dresser.

Cerulean eyes raked over every inch of his body as harmful thoughts flooded his head again. His thighs weren't as taught as they once were, his pecs weren’t as defined. His fingertips grazed over the expanse of his belly, where some scars lay not as prominent as others. Eyebrows furrowed and a scowl made its way onto his face.

His partner was perfect to him, and he wanted to be perfect to them, too.

As if you'd read his mind, you came walking into the room, same smile on your face that made Daryl want to live forever. He hadn't noticed you at first, standing against the doorway. You tilted your head to the side, taking in the view of him in only boxers, hands tracing his stomach.

"Checking yourself out?" you chuckled softly, picking up a book on a dresser near the door.

Daryl's eyes locked on his reflection, his button nose scrunching up.

When he didn't reply with one of his quips or side comments like you were expecting, you took notice of the furrowed eyebrows and slouched state.

You'd noticed something different in Daryl these days. One look at the displeasure on his face, and you realized something was up. More solo hunts, fewer intimate moments in the bedroom.

Daryl, of all people, was insecure about how he looked.

Your lip caught between your teeth, dropping the book back onto the dresser. "Daryl, are you alright?" Shuffling over to him, you placed a hand on his shoulder. The contact made his muscles flex, the warmth of your palm against him growing his enamor for you.

Daryl sighed, knowing he'd been brushing you off every time you asked him if he was okay. His avoidance level had dwindled down to nothing, not wanting to push you away any more than he already had. You were his person, the one he could always confide in, and you listened every single time.

"Do you- Do you think I'm gettin' old?" he questioned under his breath, eyes still unwavering from the mirror.

Your chest tightened at the mere suggestion of his aging. To you, Daryl was the most perfect anyone could ever be- his aura, his personality, his appearance, his quips, even his idiosyncrasies, but most of all, his heart.

"No, I don't," you replied honestly, "You been thinkin' about that a lot, huh?"

Daryl's shoulders stiffened as he finally ripped his eyes away from the view of the mirror, turning completely to face you. Reaching out to cup his cheek in a loving touch, he leaned into it and closed his eyes.

"What made you think about that?" you inquired, letting go of his cheek and trailing your fingers over the soft hairs that adorned his face.

Daryl's eyes opened again, lines on his face reappearing in the furrowed state of his eyebrows. "I know the way those pricks in the town look at ya.. Younger guys."

Your gaze shifted back and forth from his sapphire eyes, the realization hitting you. "Is this about Spencer?"

When you'd first gotten to Alexandria, your relationship with Daryl was just beginning. You hadn't told the rest of your group about it yet, but from the first time you saw the older Monroe, he had his eye on you. He'd admittedly been attractive to you at first, but he had absolutely nothing on your Daryl.

Spencer had pulled you aside the night of Deanna's party, asking you questions about yourself and wanting to get to know you better. His motives seemed innocent but there was a slight glint of mischief in his eye. When he suggested something more perverted, you knew he only saw you as a one night stand and nothing more. You explained to him that you weren't interested, on account of being taken by a different, better man.

Spencer Monroe could never compare to Daryl Dixon.

"He didn't want me like you want me. I could never want that asshole, and I don't." If Daryl knew the things Spencer said about him after you told him you were taken, he would have pummeled his face into the ground.

"I'm way older than you," Daryl mumbled, "One day ya might wanna take him up on that, or any of 'em."

"You really think I want them? That they're better than you?" you questioned, your hand grabbing his.

"Don't ya think so?"

You scoffed, "What could any one of them give me? I know for a fact that they couldn't be as good to me as you are. I'm a damn lucky person to have you. I scored you, Daryl Dixon. Not the other way around. You always had my back, every time I've needed you."

"'Course I do, an' you always got mine, too. I jus' don't see why," He shook his head, "You don't gotta settle for me-"

"You know what? Enough, look into the mirror right here," you stated, grasping his shoulders and turning him to see his figure. "Let's start with your shoulders." You gave them a slight squeeze, flesh emerging from between your fingers. "They're so big and broad, and I'm obsessed with them."

Your statement made a corner of Daryl's mouth jolt upwards, forming just the tiniest bit of smile on his face. His mind brought him back to the memories of you gripping them when intertwined in a hug or kiss, but especially when you were making love.

You shuffled to stand next to him, affectionately running your fingers down his thick forearm. Meeting his eyes in the mirror, you took his hand in yours. "These hands and arms of yours are so strong, especially when you're holding me close, when you touch me. You know I appreciate how handy you are, especially when you're using that crossbow of yours, and working on your bike or cars."

Daryl hummed, intertwining his fingers with yours.

Smiling at his reflection, you continued, "I adore your stomach, know that? You're all muscle and firm where it matters most, but the softness of your stomach doesn't compare to the rest of you. I find that so incredibly sexy, know that?"

"Ya really like that?" Daryl questioned with disbelief, locking his eyes with yours in the reflection.

You nodded, leaning your cheek against his arm before placing a soft kiss on his bicep. "Yeah, I do." You already knew the tension in his body was starting to dissipate. "You wanna know what else I think?"

"Mhm," He replied almost instantly. Daryl felt selfish asking for your compliments, but he knew you'd give them to him every time he asked. It was simply too fulfilling to pass up.

"Your thighs are perfect, and they're such a strong part of you. I love sitting on them in your lap. And this?" You dropped his hand from yours, sliding it behind him to lightly squeeze his butt. He jolted slightly at the contact and smirked. "This is firm and so cute. A lot perkier than mine, too."

Daryl opened his mouth to speak, but your hands began to play with the hem of his boxers near his crotch, silencing him. "I assume this morning is a good example of what I think about this?"

His smirk widened, filling him with satisfaction of the fact that he could still make you feel good in bed.

"Don't even get me started on your pretty face," You shifted, cupping his cheeks with your hands again. Your eyes trailed over his face, taking in his intoxicating features. "Your eyes are so deep, like the ocean. When you look at me, I forget what I'm going to say most times."

Daryl shifted closer, purposely to make you flustered. His eyes met yours in the playful way he'd done a thousand times before, and you recognized the expression immediately.

"Don't do that to me now.." You said, rolling your eyes.

A hearty chuckle erupted from him at your flustered state, wrinkles around his eyes emerging once again.

"Your lips are so damn tempting, pretty and pink like they were made for mine," you went on, "You have perfect teeth and whenever you smile at me, my heart jumps a mile high. I'm also jealous of your birthmark, and how it gets to go everywhere with you on that handsome face of yours. But this..." you took a moment to run your hands along the wispy hairs of his chin and jaw, "is my favorite thing to feel when we kiss."

"Oh, really?" He questioned, that signature smirk of his growing inch by inch, "Guess I better kiss ya more often."

You beamed at his words, a blush rushing onto your cheeks as you let go of his face. "I'm such a lucky woman to have you, such an attractive man, by my side. You say guys notice me, but you aren't aware of just how many women practically drool over you when you're around the town. Warms my heart and makes me jealous at the same time," you confessed.

Daryl's head tilted to the side, "You got nothin' to worry about, sunshine."

"Well, neither do you, got that?"

He sighed, meeting your gaze with enamor filled eyes, another smirk tugging at his lips, "Yes, ma'am."

Daryl leaned down to your face and attached his lips to yours. His kiss was soft and slow, a low hum escaping you. His toned arms surrounded your waist, pulling you in close to his chest.

Your hands flew up around his neck, toying with the long strands, "I'm obsessed with your hair, too." You told him after pulling back from the kiss.

His grasp only tightened around you, arms flexing around your waist, bodies pressed together. Your foreheads slightly touched as you talked quietly.

"I gotta few gray hairs..." He retorted, those large hands of his snaking behind to your lower back.

"Yes.. and? You'd look so hot with gray hair."

"You sayin' ya wanna grow old with me, hun?" He inquired, hands squeezing around your butt now.

You grinned up at him through your lashes, "Of course. That is, if we live long enough to do so."

Daryl sighed, "Sounds good to me, darlin'. Now, I believe you were talkin' about my hair.."

You took the opening to run your hands through his bangs, pushing back the strands of hair that framed his face. "I love your long hair, It's so pretty and wavy, for a man like you. I'd love to braid it sometime, if you'd let me. Don't think a guy like Spencer could pull it off as well as you do."

"You love playin' with my hair, don't ya?" He questioned, voice lowering. His large palms rested comfortably on your behind. Daryl enjoyed touching your butt, even when it wasn't in a sexual way. Because of you, he craved intimacy in its most raw form, and with you, it came even easier.

"Absolutely," you responded, taking away what little distance was left between them and rejoining your lips with his. Daryl picked up on the change in tension between you two and grasped at your behind a lot firmer than before, using his strong grip to push his crotch against yours.

You mewled into his mouth when she felt the tent in his boxers against you, but you weren't done yet. You placed your hands on his broad chest, and pulled back.

"You okay?" Daryl asked, eyes darkened with lust.

Your fingers found the tattoos on his chest, the heart and other small ones littered across his collarbones. "I have more to say, that's all."

"An' what's that?"

"Your body isn't the only thing about you that makes me crazy for you."

The thought of you worrying about him in this state made his heart race, since he hadn't been thinking very highly of himself. The truth was, Daryl had been thinking that way his entire life, and couldn't help it. Brought up by people who only put him down and made him think so little of himself, he weighed his decisions with every one he made. When he met you, though, was the first time in his life he'd witnessed genuine love and support. You managed to bring him back from those moments every single time he got trapped in one.

You knew he deserved to be loved the way he was, with nothing standing in the way between you and his true self. In this world, he deserved to be given the same amount of love and support that Daryl gave to everyone in the community.

Just hearing about what you thought of him, in every way possible, kept him going in the darkest of times.

"Daryl, there's never been anyone in my life like you, you're so good to me," you said, tone in your voice filled with disbelief. "You think anyone else could treat me the same way you do? Those pricks only want to get in my pants, and dropped me like a fly when they realized I wasn't interested. But you, you became my best friend before anything. You became the one person in my life who knew me. Like, really knew me. And then I just.. fell for you in the process. I'm the luckiest person in the world to have you."

You could've sworn a blush crept its way onto his cheeks, but he dropped his head before you could see better. Two of your fingers looped under his chin and lifted it again. "Don't ever hang your head, Daryl Dixon. You are the best man I know. I've never met anybody as caring as you. I see it in everything you do, the way you care about Rick, about that little girl, Jude? It warms my heart to see. You deserve the world, Daryl."

Daryl knew every word out of your mouth was true. He knew you would never lie to him, and even then, you were terrible at it. The minute you got lost in his ocean eyes, every little fib crumbled to nothing. Like all things, Daryl was better at expressing himself with actions, and not many words. He pulled you into another kiss, and it took your breath away. His strong arms hooked under your thighs, scooping your body up into his arms. A squeal threatened to leave your chest, but it only got swallowed by the archer's lips on yours.

Without restraint, he carried you over to your bed, one you both shared on many occasions, letting his weight fall back on top of it. You giggled as you landed on top of him, taking his pretty face into your hands again and slipped your lips between his. He groaned, hands attaching to your waist as you attempted to deepen the kiss.

Daryl slid his tongue across your bottom lip, making you moan into his kiss. In response, he opened his mouth to you, tongue gliding across yours with desire. A moment passed before Daryl pushed you over onto the bed, now hovering over you.

All the kissing made you hot, and pretty soon your hands were clawing at Daryl's boxers, chuckling at you as he pushed them down his legs, leaving him bare between you both.

"Hey, now. Tha's not fair at all, is it?" Daryl questioned, very upset with the fact that you couldn't be more clothed. His hands immediately went for your shirt, tugging it over your head. Your pants and underwear followed, placing hungry kisses along the expanses of your skin. There was something different about Daryl now, he hadn't resumed the usual acts of self-consciousness he had recently been taking part in.

Though his hand reached out to turn the lamp in your room off, he felt a restraint when his fingers met the button. Since the days of his insecurities, he felt safe in the darkness while making love to you. It meant security, and kept him from the nervousness that came with the thought of being judged by you.

But now, he didn't have a reason to hide anything from you anymore. His hand resumed his loving touches on your skin. You loved all of him, every single part. There wasn't anything luckier than that.

"How 'bout I leave this on?" he declared, locking his eyes with yours.

"I'd like that."

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fanaticsnail · 3 months

Text

A Small Kindness

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 8,088

Notes: The clown needed a little bit of love, I think. This is a gift written for the lovely @sordidmusings. Let's love on the failing-forward man. Image Source link.

Synopsis: A blue-haired man with a round red nose is down on his luck. He's lost everything, not a single berry to his name after being defeated again by the straw-hat crew. A small kindness from a stranger propels him to get back on his feet. How could he repay you? Surely you needed something in return.

Themes: homeless Buggy, pathetic-leaning Buggy, MDNI, smut, p in v, afab!reader, angst-smut-fluff sandwich, one-bed-trope.

In the corner booth, resting with his chin on the heels of his palms, and staring at the cool droplets of the condensation running down the water decanter of the tavern he sat. All majesty, all tom-foolery, all wealth, fame and power flung from him the moment he was defeated, yet again, by that stupid kid, with a stupid grin, crowned with that stupid hat he got from that stupid rat.

A stray hair fell into his face, prompting his pouty lips to huff out a puff of hot air at the strands to push them away from vision. He’d lost it all. His crew dispersed among the seas, his big top sunk and in dire need of repair with no means to finance such a feat.

But you didn’t know any of those things.

All you saw was a blue-haired man with a shiny, round, red nose sitting alone and down on his luck in that booth; yet to order a single thing from the menu. You noticed the way he attempted to hide his hunger, clutching at his stomach and cursing under his breath for it to stifle its incessant groaning.

Brows arching in a triangle at the peak of your forehead, a thin, lopsided smile danced on your lips as you took out a large, ceramic dish from under the benchtop and drew it to the stove. You ladeled into the dish a large portion of the lentil, split pea and hickory ham soup you had been lovingly caring for throughout the day into the bowl and sliced up two pieces of sourdough to place atop flames to char its surface. Sorting out a small ramekin of soft, salted butter, you placed it on your tray alongside the bowl of soup, completing your assortment of food to lay before the somber stranger.

“Excuse me, sir?” you smiled down at him. He lazily lolled his head up at you and stared blankly through half-hooded eyes. His eyelashes danced as they battered up at you, his frown still ever present at the peak of his brow.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m movin’ on, Doll. Don’t you worry yourself, I’ll be out of your hair in a-,” he began, dismissively waving his hand only to be cut off by you placing down your tray atop the table and beginning to silently arrange the elements in front of him. His eyes widened at the harvest, his lips automatically opening and beginning to salivate at the aroma wafting to his large nose from the soup.

“This is for you, sweetheart,” you beamed at him, a genuine and polite smile cooing down at the man in the booth, “I hope you enjoy your meal.” Turning away from the blue-haired man, you began collecting emptied pint glasses and tankards from the adjoining tables throughout the room. You gazed at the man over your shoulder, watching as he apprehensively removed his pale gloves from his hands and placed them beside him.

Taking the silver, round, spoon into his hands, he took a small portion of the soup into it and darted his tongue out to take a small lick of the stock. His eyes widened before rolling back into his head, his lips smacked together as he savored the first gulp of soup. You thought you heard an utterance of an “Oh, fuck,” under his breath before he began horking down the assortment of treats you had presented to him.

Allowing a small giggle to escape your lips, you fished around in the front of your apron in search of a few of your personal wage to pay for the man’s meal to place in the till. Down to the last note of your berry, you had yet to break-even on this shift. Feeding this man had put you behind on your pay, but it was worth it to see the small twinkle in his eye at each spoonful he threw back into his open mouth.

After bidding the last patron farewell and beginning to close down the till, the man wandered over to the counter and placed down his empty bowl; completely licked clean, and with no crumb nor smudge of food left atop the plate and ramekin. Your brow arched up at the discovery of how little remained behind before you drew your eyes up to meet with his.

And what magnificent eyes he had. Although they seemed rather frantic, sheepish and darting; his eyes held a deep sorrow behind them. The tone of his eyes danced in the flicker of the flames initing the tavern walls, in some lights: a calming blue, and in others: a spark of green.

“Was that okay?” you asked him, your knowing smirk rising to a grin to bare your teeth at him. He held his teal eyes to the floor, meeting his gaze with anything other than your own in the process. His teeth bore themselves into a thin line, grimacing a small smile through a sheepish expression.

“It was-,” he began, sighing in the middle of his thoughts as he found the correct word, “-Nice.” You flung a hearty laugh into the air, shaking your head at his curt response as you took the dishes and placed them in the pass behind you to clean once he had exited the premises.

“I’m glad you thought it was nice,” you teetered off your laugh into a small giggle. His face held no humor, no longer depicting the twinkle in his eyes as he pouted and held his eyes away from yours. He grumbled under his breath before elevating his tone, curling his lip before snarling at you.

“So what’ll you have me do, huh, Doll?” he spat, his eyes now agitated as he rotated his neck to rid it of a small click, “I gotta repay you somehow, don’t I? Ain’t nothin’ in this life come free, and that meal was worth a bit, wasn’t it?” He began dancing his eyes around the room, frantically moving to meet his gaze with anything other than your own. His anger began to grow more heated with each thought processing through his mind at a hastened pace.

“It’s on me. Really, I assure you-,” you began, shaking your head and reaching forward to press the heel of your palm against his re-gloved hand. You thinned your lips, holding firm to your resolve and dancing your eyes between his; which continued still to not meet your gaze. It was when you began to retract your hand from atop his that he returned your grip and firmly squeezed your hand into his.

“I ain’t got a thing on me, Sweets. I have nothing I could offer you. I have nothing. I am nothing-,” He spoke at you, using you to verbally process everything plaguing his mind. Expecting hatred reflected back at him, as all those who listen to his woes often depict in their eyes, your empathetic gaze held no such complex. “-I-... I have-...I-...It’s all gone. Everything is gone. I’m nothing. Not a damn thing.”

The man in front of you had tears beginning to threaten its hasty downfall from the corners of his eyes. He winced back the sting, sniffing and grunting through his nose noisily and disguised it with a cough. He attempted to laugh through the pain of processing his emotions, inhaling a shaken breath and hoarsely beginning the teeter of his laughter. He cackled his laugh, messily allowing a small amount of gloss to fall over his waterline and litter his lengthy teal eyelashes with the dewdrops of emotion.

Bowing his head, his shoulders began to quake as the mental process had finally solidified its place within the forefront of his mind. There was nothing he could do about the situation, not a prayer he could pray, nor a song he could sing to break him through this. He was completely alone. Not a single berry, not a place to sleep-.

“-It’s okay,” you quietly reassured him, stooping your head down to seek out his eyes. His gaze snapped to you, shocked at being brought back out of his circulating thoughts of doom and gloom to meet with your eyes. Kindness, sweetness, empathy and humility were the only aspects he met with your gaze as he reveled in the feeling of human contact. Your thumb circled itself over the tips of his knuckles, feeling each bone beneath stiffen slightly before relaxing into your touch.

“I mean it, Doll. I’ve got nothing,” he whispered, his tone continuing to hold a raw raspiness beneath the hiss. A small shake in his head and a quiver of his lip had your heart swelling in pity before it began to hammer within your chest. Upon listening to his small tirade, your adrenaline propelled your small question.

“Have you got a place to stay for the night? Somewhere safe you can wake up in the morning?” Your quiet question had Buggy’s heart filling itself with dread at each beat of the rhythm within.

“I-I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he confessed in a low tone, his eyes falling to rest on your hands intertwined on the benchtop, “This is the first time I’m spending a night in civilization for a while. I think I was going to go and sleep on the beach near the docks-.”

“-A terrible idea,” you cut him off, pulling your hands out from his and removing your apron from your neck, “There have been numerous reports of violence by the docks in the quiet hours. If you start with not much, you’re left with even less. Sometimes, you’re left with not a breath in your lungs to breathe with.” You hang your apron behind the emptied till, the berry stashed within the safe under circular and rotational cogs and locks, and brushed over your thighs to rid itself from any cotton strands fallen from the material.

Buggy’s brows furrowed, searching within his mind for a safe alternative. He’d walked for half a day to reach this town; now too late to walk back to the grove he was sleeping within. Raking his gloved fingers beneath his bandana and removing it from his lengthy, cerulean hair; dampened with the grime, grease and sweat from weeks of ill-maintenance.

Turning back around, you began a slow and pointed trail of reading the body language of the man in front of you. He was lost, in every sense of the word. You could see the thoughts ticking behind his teal eyes, written all over his face. You sighed, bringing your right hand up to the scruff of your neck and giving it a small squeeze.

“Look,,” you addressed him, prompting his eyes to snap up to meet your own. You offered him a small, apprehensive half-smile with your brows lifted in a small peak in the middle of your forehead, “I don’t normally do this, so please don’t think so low of me.” Buggy watched as you began walking around the bar and ushered him towards the door with a coax of our hand.

“Let’s go home, okay?” you offered, opening the door and nodding your forehead towards the threshold for him to cross it with you, “I don’t have much, but-...” as he exited the door, you closed it behind him and fished your keys out of your pocket. The jingle of a few keys echoed in the quiet of the night, the dimmed lampposts had locating the correct key taking a small while.

“-I can offer you a bath, I think my ex has some spare clothes that could fit you if you’d like me to wash and dry what you’ve got on you?” You turned back around, noticing the bright-nosed man staring at you. His eyes were unblinking and wide, his mouth hanging slightly ajar as he processed what you were saying. You sighed through your nose, a downturned smile offered at his shocked expression.

“W-...” he began, struggling to find the words he wanted to ask you. He shook his head, stuttering on, “-Why are you doing this for me? What have I done to give you any reason to offer me kindness? Me? I’m an idiot, a fool, a no-good outcast, a good-for-nothing-.”

“-Because I know what it’s like to be all of those things and then some,” you shook your head, reaching your right hand out for him to place his left within, “And I know how hard it is to climb that mountain alone. And you, my friend, are not alone. Not tonight, anyway.” He looked down at your extended hand, reaching slowly down to take within his left and allowing you to lead him up the windy, dirt path towards where he imagined home to be.

And home was more than what he had expected. The small, open-plan room had the kitchen, dining room and lounge space all interconnected to suit the needs of one or two people. The couch took up the majority of the space with a small side table with a draw beneath it, and a coffee table with an assortment of notes and books laying askew with pens, pencils and paintbrushes and a small pallet of rapidly drying paint.

“I would’ve tidied if I’d known I was having company, I’m sorry,” you confessed, closing the door behind you and locking the door with your key, and a balled latch and chain. Your kitchen had a few tarnished bowls from a hastily consumed breakfast, the drying rack had a few clean dishes fully air-dried and stacked neatly.

“It’s nice,” Buggy confessed, nodding as he took in each area. He noticed a few den-den-mushi pictures printed and hanging by nails and tape throughout the walls; the corners littered with sketches of the subject matter contained within.

“Are you an artist?” He asked, leaning down to take in more of the sketches within the margins of the images. You giggled, taking out your hair and giving it a small shake to rid the pressure gathered behind the entanglement.

“I was once,” you confessed, “Traveled the seas with my partner. Always looking for inspiration wherever the seas took us.” You headed to the sink, pouring a small amount of water within the sink and beginning to rid the morning dishes of their grime and stack at the sink.

“And how did that go? Did you find inspiration?” Buggy asked, looking over to watch you roll your shoulders in agitation.

“No, but he did,” you grumbled, old wounds beginning to resurface, “Several times, in fact. A rotation of inspiration hopping like rodents in and out of the house while I was working hard to support us both at the tavern. A variety of men and women-; fishmen at some stages. He would always deny doing it, until I saw the amassment of paintings he produced by rolling his and their bare skin in paint on stretched canvas over the floor, making art as he lay with them naked and thrusting against the-...” you huffed out an exasperated breath shaking your head and turning back to face the stranger you had invited into your home.

“-I’m sorry. That was likely a little much to place onto you so late,” you softened your eyes, noticing a small pink hue rising against his cheeks and ears, “You're likely exhausted. The bathroom is that way,” you gestured to the small room, “latrine, bath and shower all in there. The other is the bedroom. I’ll get some fresh sheets for you to lay on while I’m washing your clothes, if you like?”

Buggy was processing too much information all at once. His kind hostess, an artist in disguise, was offering him more kindness than his heart could take. Not only were you beautiful to look at, but your artistry now showcased your soul beneath the surface. He hesitantly took a few steps towards the bathroom, looking over to watch you beginning to pack up the coffee table of your tools and rough sketches.

“I’m sorry you didn’t manage to find inspiration of your own while he did all that, Doll,” Buggy murmured as he passed you. You stiffened in your movements, barely visible to the eye, before you continued collecting your arrangement.

“If that comment was regarding artistry: inspiration can be found everywhere you look. If it was regarding looking outside the relationship to give in to lustful advances,” you huffed a humorless laugh through your nose, “One of my many flaws is I’m loyal to a fault. I don’t cheat. Not in art, not in cards, and especially not in relationships - no matter how angry he made me, nor me having the right for vengeance. Better off leaving than making the pain worse, right?”

Buggy hummed in response, opening the latch to the bathroom door and pushing the door open. As he stepped through the threshold of the bathroom, he turned to face you, raking his eyes over your body as you reached up to place your artistic tools atop a high shelf. Your lower stomach exposed itself as your shirt stretched upwards, the small glimpse of your flesh had his heart beating and mind foggy.

“Towels are in the cupboard beneath the sink, if you’re looking,” you called over to him, stooping below to collect a small brush that managed to escape your clutches. Buggy now had a clear view of the roundness of your subtle flesh, his foggy mind turning into the smog of lust. He shook his head in an attempt to rid it of the unruly thoughts.

“Thank you, Doll,” he called, beginning to shut the door only to find himself halting at the last moment to meet his eyes with your smile.

“You’re welcome, Sweetheart,” you shot him a small wink as he closed the door, leaving you to continue fussing over the mess you were attempting to tidy.

You heard the water start to run, the shower’s steam wafting below the crack in the door alongside the scents of shampoo and conditioner mixing with the floral assortment of body washes and scrubs. Smiling to yourself at the knowledge that he was using every kindness you’d offered to him, you began collecting some clothes for him to change into for the night and swapping out your bedsheets for fresh linen and toppers.

If you were offering this man the luxury of sleeping in your bed, he should be privy to the scents of fresh-laid sheets of satins and silks. You heard the shower halt its rapid pour, the tap squeaking as your guest turned the handle.

“Uhh…” He called, his voice halting as he gruffly cleared his throat to ensure he wasn’t imposing on anything important, “Did you say somethin’ about clothes?” You laughed, nodding as you collected a white cotton shirt and soft, gray trousers and walked over to the crack in the bathroom door.

“I’ve got some things, if you want to trade?” You reached your hand behind the door, thrusting the clothes behind them without glancing through the crack to offer your guest some privacy. He huffed out a laugh, taking the objects before giving you the pile of his soiled clothes for you to take.

“As long as I get ‘em back, you can take ‘em,” he laughed. You allowed a small giggle to exit your lips as you drew the items into your arms and began readying them for a wash cycle within your hand-cranked barrel.

Filling the brim with water and some shavings of velvet soap, you lathered each item within the barrel and began rotating it within by winding the handle beside it. Yawning, you looked at the clock hanging above your small, two-burner stove and noticed how late it had gotten. You were well pleased that the big boss had decided to gift you with two days off in a row tomorrow, hopefully just enough time to sort out the remainder of household chores and aid your guest in any way you could.

Draining the liquid from the barrel, you hung each item of clothing on a line out on the back porch. The overlook of the ocean was one of the reasons you had opted to choose this as home for yourself. The soft scent of the sea always carried towards the windows, the warmth of the sun dampened by the coolness cast from the waters on the shore. After hanging the last item, you turned to witness the guest you had invited into your house; standing tall and firm in his rigidity, hands clapping his thighs awkwardly as he danced his eyes around the room.

“Something the matter, sweetheart?” you asked him, reentering the room and closing the back door behind you. He offered you a half-smile which almost looked like a wince as he articulated his thoughts cohesively.

“Where am I sleeping?” he cringed, his brow knitting together as his teeth bore themselves in a straight line. You giggled, gesturing to the bedroom with your right hand.

“Right there,” you shook your head at him, walking over to the sink and taking out a glass to fill with water. You turned the tap, filling the container to the brim with the cool liquid and turning to face him again. Maintaining eye contact, you began gulping down the water, draining it of its contents and wiping your lips with the back of your forearm.

“And w-where-...” he began, trailing his words off as he looked around the room for a suitable explanation. You chuckled, walking over to the bathroom and readying yourself for a shower by removing your socks and placing them in the hamper to the side of the room.

“I’ll take the couch,” you giggled, stepping within the bathroom and peeking at him from behind the door. He looked beautiful; a work of art come to life. His beautiful blue hair, his rubied rotund nose, the way the white shirt and gray pants clung to his body; he was absolutely stunning. “I’ll be out in a moment, okay? Make yourself comfortable and I’ll check in on you before I go to sleep.” He nodded, his eyes a mix between sheepishness and a deep sorrow. You flashed him a reassuring smile before clicking the door behind you.

Stripping yourself of your clothes, you relished in the warmth of the scorching water drumming against your flesh and removing the grime from the laborious shift you had undertaken moments prior. You lathered soaps, scents, oils and nectars to dance and soothe your aching skin. Reveling in the final moments of the water cascading against your body, you quickly turned the tap off and began the grueling task of drying yourself enough to be able to get into your sleepwear.

After prying the small shorts and oversized shirt combination, you stepped out of the bathroom while drying your hair with your soft, microfibre towel. You noticed the bedroom door was slightly ajar, but your guest had taken residency against your couch as he sat, staring at the sea through the window.

“I thought you’d have gone to bed by now,” you sighed your smile at him, shaking your head and approaching the blue-haired man. He turned his head over to you, eyes taking in your dressed-down form and offering you a small smile in return.

“I couldn’t, Doll,” he shrugged, looking longingly towards the bedroom before coming back to meet your eyes once more, “That’s too good for the likes of me. Even this couch is too good for me to sleep on. I’m better off lying on the floor-.”

“-Go and take the bed,” you ordered him, pointing to the bedroom with your index finger extended towards it, “I didn’t go through all that trouble of washing and changing over fresh bed sheets, at near midnight, for you to not sleep in it.”

“I’m not gonna sleep in the bed,” he stood to his feet, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing you dangerously, “Contrary to what you might think of me, I do have some manners. It’s not right for me to take your bed and you take the couch, no matter how much I’d fucking love to sleep in those sheets-.”

“-So hop to it then,” you huffed, tapping your left foot with your eyes holding firm against his, “I got out my nicest sheets, and I sprayed the pillowcases with lavender and eucalyptus oils to aid with your sleep.” He stepped towards you, walking around the couch and getting closer to you.

“Stop being nice to me, Doll. You’ve already offered me too much, and I’m not worth all that,” Buggy continued, prompting you to step closer to him and square up with him. You looked up into his face, cocking your head to the side and pursing your lips.

“If you feel that strongly about it,” you floated your eyes down to his lips and drew them back up to meet his eyes as hastily as you could, “Share it with me.”

Buggy’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening at the thought. He began to stutter and stagger with his words, jumbling his disagreements with an assortment of “couch” and “floor” suggested once more.

“No, no, sweetheart,” you shook your head, “No. You said you didn’t want me to sleep on the couch, and I refuse to waste all of that hard effort on just me alone. Knowing that the couch would be less desirable than the silks, satins and cotton blend I paid a lot of money for to get a better night's sleep.” He growled, his lip curling at the corner and his eyes narrowing.

“I snore,” He spat his taunt at you.

“I hog blankets,” you retorted, stepping closer.

“I grind my teeth,” he cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes and arching his brow upwards.

“I sleep talk,” you shrugged, giggling as you watched his pointed look turn more playful.

“I’m a hugger,” he sneered, his mouth pursing in the center. He stepped his body closer to yours, but still remaining a whisper away from your body.

“I make a wonderful snuggling companion,” you leared back at him. Reaching out, you took his hands within your own and gave them a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

“I haven’t slept beside someone in so long, I don’t think I remember how,” he confessed below his breath, hanging his head low enough he almost brushed his forehead against your own.

You smiled, standing up on the tips of your toes to close the gap between you; closing your eyes on impact while genuinely smiling, “I need to relearn that skill, myself.”

Buggy’s spine tingled at the contact you gave him, shuddering from his skull to his coccyx and turning his body jelly beneath your words. He smiled back, his own eyes closing as he did so. You relinquished the contact between you, rocking back onto your heels and looking up at him with fondness.

“So, how do you wanna-...” he trailed off, watching as you shook his head and lead him by the hand into the bedroom. You placed your towel against the bedside table and pulled the sheets back, scuttling your body beneath it while watching him remain awkward and rigid watching you.

“Get in the bed,” you ordered him with a smile, patting the vacant space on the large bed beside you.

Buggy couldn’t stop his mind from racing far further and drawing unwritten conclusions where there ought to be none. You were so beautiful, inviting a perfect stranger into bed with you to just sleep and enjoy each other’s company, nothing more. But what if something more did occur? What if he accidentally got so excited his body didn’t only flood his heart, but the other head that did half his thinking located beneath the waistband of the borrowed trousers-.

“-Sweetheart?” You broke him away from his thoughts, his eyes not once leaving yours while they glazed over, but finally drew themselves back into reality.

“I didn’t get your name at the tavern,” he nodded, walking over to the bed and drawing the sheets back. His nose was immediately hit with the warm and welcoming scents of soothing lavender and eucalyptus as they wafted through the smooth sheets.

“I’ve gone by a few over my travels, and you can take your pick of them,” you smiled, relaying the amassment of names you had gathered for yourself over time. He chuckled at a few of the alliterations and augmentations as you drew the list to a close. “Although, admittedly,” you bashfully began confessing, “I do like the way you call me ‘Doll’. It seems natural, or something.” You began lying beneath the sheets, lying on your side to watch him settle himself below them, “And what do I call you?”

“I’m in a similar way, Doll,” He smiled, reaching up and moving one of your rapidly drying strands from your face and tucking it behind your ear, “I’m the flashy-fool, the genius-jester, the clown-captain, the chop-chop devil-fruit eater, the infamous Buggy D Clown, but,” he floated his eyes over your hairline and drawing them over your exposed ear and traced down your jaw to settle on your lips, “I like the way you call me ‘Sweetheart’. Makes me want to believe it to be true.”

“Well then, Sweetheart,” you commented, prompting his eyes to once more meet with your own, “I hope you’re able to get to sleep, some. You deserve to be well rested after everything you’ve gone through.”

“As do you, Doll,” he smiled at you, his eyelids heavy and overburdened with the sultry song of sleep lulling him into its peaceful bliss. As Buggy closed his eyes, he felt the small brush of your fingertips as they met with his in the center of the bed while listening to your breathing become heavier and elongated between each inhale and exhale.

It was nice, lying beside someone and enjoying their presence while you slumbered. Movements were, you thought, very minimal throughout the night. The way his body was draped over yours, his arm over your waist as your back was pressed firmly against his chest, told a different story. His lips were pressed firmly against your neck, the small swell of breath hovering over your skin in a repetitive and slow manner had you almost lulled back to slumber.

Buggy’s bottom leg was straight, his top thrust between your own, prompting your knee to bend to make room for his thigh. You noticed your bottom hand had drawn up to collect the hand lying around your waist and lace your fingertips between them while the other was braced against his forearm. The softness of the experience had your heart swell, the morning bliss of a night of slumber free from expectation from one another had a smile find residency against your lips.

“G’mornin’ Doll,” a lazy voice drawled from behind you, his lips pressing a small kiss against your exposed skin before his mind caught up with his foggy thoughts to tell him not to. You giggled at his kiss, allowing your heart to flutter and soar at the feeling of his lips brushing against you.

“Good morning, Sweetheart,” you whispered back at him, refusing to roll over to break away from the comfortable embrace. You felt his lengthy eyelashes dance against your neck as he fluttered them to break from his slumber and relocate his mind as to where he was.

“O-Oh, I’m sorry, Doll!” He flinched away, breaking from your embrace and scuttling away from you. You turned over to face him, a broad smile on your face as you shook your head at him. “I warned ‘ya I was a hugger. I didn’t mean to kiss you, honest! Shit, I’m sorry. You must think the worst of me: inviting a stranger into your house after feedin’ ‘em, bathing and sharing a bed. I’m so, so sorry. It just felt natural-.”

You took the opportunity to collect his cheek beneath your palm and draw his face close to yours, pressing a small kiss against his lips; prompting a muffled groan to depart from his lips and into your own. You smiled, attempting to withdraw from your claim on his lips, only to find him angling his body above your own. He rested his weight on his forearm and deepened the kiss you invited him to share with you.

Pressing down further, he ushered you onto your back to continue to place open mouthed and dangerously seductive kisses against your lips. His chapped lips danced expertly against your own, the laziness of the morning all but halting as the fire of desire began to build between you. He collected the scruff of the back of your neck beneath his fingertips, lacing them in your hair and tugging lightly on it, eliciting a gasp of shock from you.

Groaning against your lips, you couldn’t stop your fingers from reaching themselves below his shirt and raking your hands against the cerulean hair beneath the cotton. He jittered away, a portion of his abdomen ticklish beneath your dancing fingers. You drew them over his back, scrawling them upwards to cradle his caging body further into you as your lips continued their heated connection.

Before you truly knew what had become of you, you found yourself collecting the cotton material of the shirt within your fingertips and prying it off his torso and casting it to the side. You took the time to enjoy the artistry in the marble figure adorned with a soft margin of blue hair dancing atop his dewy flesh. His heart soared at the feeling of adoration beneath your gaze, but quickly his pride was eclipsed with lust once more as he witnessed the small peaks of your nipples hardening against your own shirt.

Hastily, he lunged at you, removing your own shirt as hastily as you did his; although he opted to continue by prying off your shorts alongside them. Now in your nudity, he drank in every inch of you; from your toes, up to your calves, to your plush thighs that had his jaw clenching in anticipation, to the top of your groin presented to him. You held your thighs shut, not quite exposing how truly aroused you were by his actions. He drew his eyes up to your breasts and sighed, much akin to when he took the first bite of the meal you offered him the night before.

A simple “oh fuck,” was all it took for you to remove the band of his pants from their place on his waist, the tip of his cock meeting his lower stomach with a small slap. Your face depicted your wanton desperation, your pupils blown to eclipse the color of your irises, as your hand drew itself to circle the base of his incredibly sensitive cock. The tip shuddered as he sighed out a shaken breath, the dewy drops of precum already coating the slit with its lubricants, swaying your body to respond by coating your entrance with a fresh wave of your own slickened arousal.

You sat in silence, enjoying the exposure of your bodies in the light of the rays of the dawn. Buggy’s hands shook a little, static of anticipation depicted in the way his fingertips opened and closed with anticipation. You were both unsure how to progress from this point; Buggy with not having access to this type of affection in a readily way, and you also not having a romantic partner since your ex left.

“Can I-?” He began, halting his words as you spoke at the same time.

“-Do you?” You asked him just as curiously as he did, halting as you heard his voice halt.

Both of you laughed at your awkwardness, you scrunching up your nose as you sat upright. Hooking your arms beneath his shoulders and pulling him against yourself, falling backwards to meet your head with the plush pillows once more. He chucked as you drew him in once more for another kiss, his chuckle halting and evolving into a low, shocked groan as you opened your legs to him and hooked your left knee over his right hip. You ushered him closer, his body halting its decent and him sucking in a breath at your actions.

You broke your kiss, sensing his apprehension and gazed up into his wide, teal eyes. You darted your eyes between his and floating down to his kiss-bruised lips before back up to meet his shocked expression once more.

“We can stop if you want?” You both asked at the same time, eyes cracking in and upturned smile as you checked in with each other. Buggy placed a chaste kiss against your nose, trailing a sporadic fluttering arrangement of kisses over to your cheek and down your jaw as you both laughed.

“Just thought I’d give you one final out, before I s-sink-...” he began, the tip of his cock twitching itself against your clit and brushing down your glistening entrance, prodding at the opening, “-In.” He groaned as he felt your body stretch around his tip, a small gasped whine pulling itself from your lips as the initial sting eased into the pleasant feeling of stretching wide to fully accommodate more of him.

Your eyes clamped tightly shut, wincing a little as he eased more of his impressive girth into you, his own eyes rolling back as he slowly sank into you. Crying out a little at the stretch, Buggy’s breath hitched, prompting him to lean up on his hands to hover over you once more.

“Are you okay, Doll. I’m not hurtin’ you or anything, am I? I wouldn’t bare the thought of givin’ you any pain,” he cupped your cheek, coaxing your eyes to reopen under his palm and meeting his concerned eyes.

“I-It’s just been a little while, Sweetheart. Just need t-,” you arched your hips upwards, your needy walls sucking more of his length into yourself. A low, rumbled groan pulled itself from your guest as the small patch of hair above his shaft met with your clit; fully sinking down into you, “-to adjust a little b-before you move, okay?”

Buggy drew in a shaken breath through his parted lips, his eyes shutting tightly closed as he relished in the feeling of your warm core sucking him in so beautifully. The contraction of your walls as you adjusted to his length had him fall from his forearms, head finding residency against your neck and placing a flurry of open-mouthed kisses against your neck and shoulder. You whimpered at the sensation of being full as he lovingly grazed his tongue over your pulse and down to your clavicle bone.

“You can move, if you want,” you whimpered, grinding your hips upwards to coax him on to move.

“If I want?” he murmured into your shoulder, brow arching up as he circled his hips against your core, prompting a small cry to fall from your lips in bliss, “No, Doll. I want you to want it. I need you to tell me you want me to move. You need to tell me what feels good for you so I can treat you right, okay?” You whimpered again, crying out his name as he ground himself against you in a circular motion.

“Tell me what you want,” Buggy groaned his hoarse voice into your ear, his teeth nipping at your lobe and jaw, “Tell me.” His light whine had you throw your head back as you hooked your right leg over his left hip and grasped his ass-cheeks in fistfulls to hold him against you. You relished once more in the small twitch of his cock within your walls, quivering and awaiting instruction with anticipation.

“I want you to move,” You whispered in a breathy whimper, “I want you to fuck me.” You sought out his gaze with a small nudge of your forehead meeting with his, ushering him away from contact with your neck. He moved his head, gazing down into your eyes as he tested withdrawing his cock partially before resheathing itself within your warm walls. You mewled in bliss, his shuddered low groan mixing harmoniously with your tone.

“Oh, f-fuck-...” He uttered, again testing a small thrust within you before immediately beginning a low and rolling rhythm of pistoning within your core. The flutter of your walls circling his cock had his eyes rolling back as more groans were pulled unrestrained and crying into the room. Your tone was not much different, crying out your bliss as you watched his face begin contorting in pleasure.

“O-Oh f-fu-... ngmm-f-... you’re s-so good at this,” you complimented him, his eyes snapping to meet with yours once more as you continued to praise him, “And you’re s-so pretty.”

“P-Pretty?” he laughed, picking up his pace with the rough clap of his hips meeting yours, “You think I’m pretty-... mm-ng-... like th-this?” He picked up his pace, his balls slapping against you with each powerful thrust of his hips. He relished in fully sheathing within you, grinding his hips against you to stimulate your clit as he pulled more pretty sounds from your lips.

“I th-think you’re beautiful,” you confessed, your voice higher than you thought it ought to be as you cried out in bliss. Your stomach began to twist and contract, the feeling of an overwhelming blissful ignition of pleasure beginning to tighten. He groaned into you, his shuddered tone lulling into a soft growl at your compliments. His balls began to tighten against his flesh, feeling the stampeding approach of his own bliss beginning to hasten. His knob twitched within you, prompting a gasp to fal from your lips as you threw your head back.

“Y-You’re-...ah-h, fuck-... gorgeous, Doll,” He complimented you, your eyes meeting as you felt the familiar tingle in your toes as they curled behind him. You smiled as you hooked your ankles within one another and slowly drew your hands up to pull his neck into you for another meeting of your lips with his. He groaned and whimpered into your mouth, his staggering movements alerting you of how close he was to his release.

“W-Where c-can-... fuck me-e-... I-...” He continued plunging himself into your walls, his jaw staggering as his glazed eyes began to prick at the corners as he concentrated on not finishing within you, no matter how much he desired to. Holding onto the approach of your own pleasure, you refused to have him pull out of you and release his seed over your stomach or into his fist. Feeling selfish, you held a seriousness in your eyes as you uttered your commands.

“I want you to fill me. I want you to empty yourself into me and keep fucking me through it until all I can think about is how good you feel,” you demanded, rocking your hips up to meet his stuttered movement. His eyes were wide, wild and frantic as he heard your confession continue, “Don’t you dare think of pulling out. I-I’m too close for y-you to stop. Please. Please, Buggy. I n-need you.”

“O-Oh, fuck. I-I’m cumming. Doll, I-I’m-... nmngh, fuck-... I’m f-filling you up. You f-feel it? I’m d-doing what you told me,” Buggy cried your name as he rocked his hips against yours as he emptied himself into you.

Unsure if it was either his whimpered cries of bliss, the particularly hard slap of his staggered hips meeting your own, the ropes of his thickened load splashing within your walls with his cock twitching within you, or his admission of following your orders flawlessly; you clenched around his shaft in bliss as your walls contracted with a rhythmic thump as you allowed him to usher you through the waves of your high.

“Such a good boy,” you praised him, prompting him to wince out another broken whimper at your utterance. You cried out in your own bliss as the woven coil shattered and warmth spread throughout your abdomen to coat your body with the sparked radiance of your bliss. A sharpness of a bolt of lightning from a particularly harsh snap of his hips had your eyes rolling back and mouth hanging ajar as the plush trail of blue hair met with your clit and provided stimulus to have you scream his name.

“Oh, fuck, Buggy! I-I’m-... I’m-,” you laced your arms around his shoulders and pulled him against you, his whimpers due to the staggered overstimulation of his rapidly reducing cock thrusting messily within you. He continued to shepherd you through your high as you arched your back into him, grinding your hips and thrashing below him as your ankles unhooked from behind his back.

After your bodies rode through their mutual bliss, you gazed lovingly into the perfect stranger now coated with the beaded dewiness of the afterglow of a passionate entanglement. He managed to halt his panting breath to smile at you, collecting your cheek beneath his palm and drawing your forehead against his own with his eyes lulling closed.

“Was that okay?” He asked you, his cock remaining sheathed within you and twitching within your final thumps of your orgasm. You laughed at him, scrunching up your nose with a simple: “It was nice.” He laughed at your echo of his own words back at him, the corners of his eyes cracking at the corners

“Thank you for taking me in and showing me there’s still kindness in this world, especially for the likes of me, Doll,” he brushed his large nose against yours, prompting a small giggle to fall from your lips as your breath caught up with you.

“You’re welcome, Sweetheart,” you whispered up into his face, brushing your lips gently with his, “And you’re welcome to stay for as long as you like.” You made to move away from him, only for him to wrap his arms around your shoulders and pull you in close as he could, burying his forehead into your neck.

“I’d like that,” he hushed his tone to mimic your own as he placed one more lengthy kiss against your flesh and held you firmly.

As the day floated into night once more, you ensured your guest was fell fed and watered throughout the hours he shared with you. His clothes hanging on the line still remained slightly damp, although you were certain he spilled a small amount of water on them to elongate a reason his stay with you further.

Lounging casually with him on the plush sofa, you rested your head against his shoulder and began coloring a small sketch you managed to produce of him. There was something in the color of his eyes, something about the way his lengthy blue eyelashes framed his beautiful orbs within his sockets had you hypnotized as you shaded the circular lines you produced of him.

He gazed half-lidded over your shoulder, watching as you captured his likeness within the parchment paper with pencils, brushes and charcoals littering the page. He hummed softly, pressing his cheek atop your hair as you held firm your focus against the sheet.

Relishing in the bliss of sweet domesticity he never expected to come from a small kindness offered towards him, he allowed a small amount of sorrow to release from his heart as he heard the call of adventure on the seas whispering his name.

“When I go,” he whispered into your hair, prompting you to halt your sketching with your ears pricking up, “Will you come with me, Doll? Sail with me and seek out inspiration?” You mulled it over in your mind, weighing up the consequences with the bliss you knew sailing brought you.

“You’re all the inspiration I need, Sweetheart,” you confessed, leaning up to glance lovingly into his face, “And I’d be glad to sail with you. It’s been a while since I’ve traveled, you might have to help me get my sea-legs back.” You giggled, pressing a small kiss on his jaw with him sighing out a small laugh at you.

“I’d be happy to carry you everywhere until you do, Doll,” he uttered while closing his eyes, “repay you somehow for the kindness you’ve given me. Plus,” he arched his back down, brushing his lips against your neck with his mouth partially agape and leaving a small trail of his breath pricking your skin up beneath it, “I do love your legs, and I’d love to feel them wrapped around me again in any capacity.”

Tag List: @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @vespidphoenix @feral-artistry

#one piece #opla #x reader #opla fic #one piece live action #buggy #captain buggy #buggy x reader #buggy smut #buggy x reader smut #buggy d clown #op buggy

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zu8her · 10 months

Text

✧･ﾟSuna Rintarou | Sweet — just suna being extremely horny

✧･ﾟtags — lots of cum. like a lot. an ungodly amount. non penetrative sex. video call. audio porn. nudes. black!reader. thick!reader. fantasising. switch!suna. no beta. maybe a part 2 if im feeling up to it. masturbating. cock fisting. cock. cock. cock. whiny!suna. Virgin!Suna switch!suna. voicenote.

✧･ﾟnotes — this is the fastest fic i have written thus far. it's inspired by @chrollohearttags and @forusomimiya (y'all are fucking amazing). i dabbled a little bit and added some of my own characterisation to suna. i really hope yall like it.

✧･ﾟ— word count: 1.6K

She's cute. So fucking cute. He thinks staring down at a picture she recently posted. Her hair’s in mini twists. She has on a cherry pink dress with a white-ish nude pink corset outlining her waist. She lays on her signature plaid punch pink picnic mat, snacks surrounding her with a porcelain vase in the centre containing sweet pea vines. She looks up at the camera with a smile. Her hickory skin producing an angelic luminance under the sun's honey glimmer.

Her friend's rust coloured hand can be spotted at the crook of the photo with their glamorous green acrylics in view tapping against the mat.

But his eyes only fixate on her. Her glistening skin, her chest pushed up with the help of the corset (he questions if it was deliberate or not), her thighs in view as her dress is hiked up slightly and her alluring smile.

His eyes has been taking in every tantalising detail of her body. He grunts, a moan or two slipping out, stroking his cock faster. Hissing at the cum seeping down his shaft.

He'd like to say that this doesn't happen often but it does. Him relentlessly stroking his cock for her, because of her, is a near daily occurrence for him. The mere thought of her would make him palm his cock through his sweatpants. The mere sight of her as he scrolled through his phone would make him throw his head back closing his eyes to filthy images of her.

Like right now, viciously fisting his cock. He groans as yet another shaking orgasm washes over him. His cum running down his hand gathering with the previous spurts of cum and precum. It landing on his tile floor and droplets on his phone. It rolls down from his cum-covered balls onto his sweatpants he pulled down a good 2-3 hours ago. His mind too dazed to even conceive the time or how many times he had cum.

To overwhelmed to hold it, he drops his phone. Shutting his eyes, he envisions her with his cock in her mouth. Teasing him with little licks at his tip and her hand running up and down his cock.

He’d always think about her. During practice, lectures, at some of event where he sat for hours, at home, with a smirk planted on his face as she scolds him after finding a piece of her clothing he had hidden in his room after she forgot it there. "You think this is funny? I thought someone stole it. I've been looking for this."

His thoughts would be filled with her. Her in utter ecstasy. Her flowerful voice always in his head, dripping with lust as it whines, moans, gasps and giggles.

“Fuck me, Rin.”

“I’ll make you feel so good, baby.”

“Be a good boy and let me fuck you, Rin.”

“Touch yourself for me, baby.”

He’s been violently horny, since he became her boyfriend. She knows his for a fact. He's always teasing her. Pressing his hard cock against her ass and whispering the things he'd do to her. “What about we get out of here and you show me what you're hiding under this shirt, hmm? Would you like that?”

This is especially enticing for him because he has not done anything with anyone yet. She has. The thoughts of his 'extremely fucking attractive and experienced' girlfriend fucking him, would rile him up. It would have him in the bathroom rubbing one out with images of her between his legs lapping up all his cum and him fucking her pretty little throat, filling it and watching her swallow.

He'd spent hours fantasising about fucking her in everyway imaginable.

With her bent over his knee as he fucks his fingers into her. Licking off her cum. How would it taste like, he seldom ponders. Would it be as sweet as her.

Her legs over his shoulder, while he moans her name and fucks his cock into her wet cunt. Rubbing her clit as he feels her cum on his cock. How would that feel like?

With her laying on her stomach, drool running down her cheek as he fucks her from behind. Watching her ass repeatedly bounce against his cock.

From the side, holding her leg up as he plunges every inch of his cock into her. Sloppily kissing her. Looking through his mirror at her tits bouncing with his thrusts.

This is torture. Depriving him from fucking her (even if it was him who said he'd like to take things slow). Surely, she had to suffer alongside him. Probably with her wand, pressing it against her clit. Her ass up, legs spread rubbing her clit and teasing her soft fingers inside her slit.

He often wonders if she fucks herself to the thought of him. Does she grope her tits and press her thighs together at the photos she has of him, at the photos he sends?

These thoughts would send him into a frenzy, that leaves him with his cock hard again. Then he'd retreat to his bed or bathroom with his trusty phone and the baby wipes she had left in his dorm and forgot about.

He'd like her to experience and bare the brunt of the disgustingly lewd lust she brought onto him. He'd be cruel, evil even. Torturing her by sending her pictures of his hard cock with his pretty pink tip, audios of him moaning for her, videos of his throbbing cock. His cock twitching with cum all over it, his hand too, holding the base while cum drips onto his stomach. Deliberately but vaguely placing emphasis on his hand or taking it out of the frame entirely because he knows how much she loves his hands.

This night. This normal, Sunday evening, he felt particularly needy. He came, and came, and came. To the point that a small puddle of his cum formed. The ache started when he woke up scrolling through his phone to find a voicenote she had sent to him, of her quiet moans and whimpers with the sound of her vibrator accompanying her, in retaliation. He listened to it on his way to the bathroom. Which is where he stays currently, stroking his cock again after finally ceasing stroking his cock an hour ago.

He cleaned up. Throwing his dirty sweatpants in the laundry hamper. Just then is when he caught a glimpse of her underwear and hot pink towel hanging over the rack.

So, he sits on his toilet with her towel wrapped around his neck inhaling her scent and rubbing her thong against his cock.

While he continued to indulge in his fantasies, she sat by her desk with scented candles, her computer in front of her as she finished her paper. She hums to the music slightly bobbing her head feeling her twists brush against her cheeks.

Feeling her phone vibrate she picks it up. She has notification. A message from: ☆*: .｡.Rin🤎.｡.:*☆ with a video attached to it.

Seeing that, she stops. It’s either him beginning his tirade of bombarding her with videos he found funny (his humour is quite... stale but she loves him for it), the practice match footage, random volleyball plays he wanted to try or him begging her to come fuck him. He’d done this many times. She’d respond with a picture of herself effectively worsen his problem, sometimes she'd be kind and send him a message telling him to care of it himself/ to fuck off (which she found he enjoyed) or her laying in bed with her vibrator between her folds rewatching the video, over, and over, and over again.

She sits thinking. Finish the essay now, but she does have 3 more weeks before she has to hand this in. Her eyes snap to her phone when she receives yet another message from him. She discards all reason and opens it. Clicking on the notification the video automatically plays.

Her screen is filled with his cum-covered cock. It would be abhorrent how much cum covers his cock and hand if she did not find it attractive, which she does. Over her speakers softly plays the sloppy sound of him rubbing his cock and him moaning. She presses her thighs together when he finally speaks.

“Hey, baby.” His husky voice greets.

“Look what you’ve done…” He sniffs. “You did this. Fuck- You have me stroking my cock like this… You won’t even help me… Look how hard it is… I just need- just- fuck- please, please come fuck me, baby.” His deep voice whines.

“I’ll do anything. I’ll be good. Just please let me fuck you." His voice softens. "I'll be good."

He continues, unable to form a coherent thought or sentence with his mind dazed in a haze of pleasure. Just blabbering whatever slips out with his moans.

“You’re so pretty y/n. So fucking pretty. Just thinking about you… Fuck-” He whines as cums spurts onto his stomach and drip down his hand.

Hearing only his whimpers for a few moments as he gathers himself. Then he slips into a domineering tone with his sly chuckle.

“Please, come fuck me. Just your tits will be fine. Or let me eat you out. Or just come watch me. Watch me fuck myself for you. Just for you.”

The camera flips and she's met with his face. Sweat runs down his face, his yellow eyes dull with lust as he gives a fucked-out grin before his face twists and he deliverers a deep moan. She hears him continue to sloppily stroke his cock.

“Fuck, I’m still cumming for you.”

He pants, him biting his lower lip. With a chuckle the video ends.

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