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omgeto · 8 months

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☆ GIMME, GIMME MORE — GETO SUGURU

summary: you were just a stripper who had no desire to fuck with any customers, but there was just one you couldn’t shake. once he laid his eyes on you, he wanted you. and with every little piece of you he got — he wanted more.

wc: 6.5k (my longest fic ever, lord help me) its a lot of plot with a nice chunk of smut

cw: afab!stripper!reader, angst to fluff, smutty smut, you fuck in his car, you fuck in a private room (i remembered condoms this time) so mdni sassy geto, if you squint.

an: listen to this song to feel the vibe, I love me some geto and I’ve yet to do a fic for him so I hope you enjoy this one.

the entrance to the high-end club exudes an air of opulence, with its glimmering lights and sophisticated clientele. geto suguru strolls in alongside his best friend, gojo satoru, the low hum of the music washing over them. the glances around, a mixture of boredom and detachment etched on his face. this isn't really his scene, but gojo had insisted on a night out.

as they find their way to a table, surrounded by plush seating and an atmosphere of indulgence, geto's attention wanders. the dancers on stage move with practised sensuality, but his gaze remains distant. until, that is, a change in the music's tempo signals a shift in the performance.

the spotlight illuminates the stage, revealing a figure that seems to command the room's attention effortlessly. you move with a fluid grace, your body swaying in time with the sultry rhythm. the way your hips move, the confidence in your eyes, it's as if you own the room. gojo's earlier detachment gives way to fascination he can't deny.

he couldn’t take his eyes off the way you were sliding down the pole, leaning forward in his seat to see more of you. the star shaped nipple covers and the gem encrusted thong you were wearing left nothing to the imagination. but still he couldn’t help but picture it all off of you, leaning forward in his seat to try and get a closer look.

gojo nudges him playfully. "not bad, right?"

geto’s response is a low, appreciative whistle as his eyes remain locked on the captivating dancer. his heart races as he watches you command the stage, a magnetic presence that draws him in despite his earlier disinterest. he couldn’t help but feel that you were dancing for him, call him cocky but the way your eyes were locked on him as you threw your ass back against the pole — he knew that was just for him. he looked around the room and saw that everyone else was just as captivated by you as he was.

“she’s the best performer here, she doesn’t do private dances, she doesn’t even do a long set,” gojo brags to geto but he’s barely listening, his eyes too focused on you, “this is as much of her as we can get.”

as the performance reaches its climax, geto’s lips curve into a slow smile. gojo’s grin is knowing. "looks like someone's found their muse." geto’s tears his gaze away just as you exit the stage, his interest piqued.

“you’ve got a request,” your boss announces insistent and smug, cornering you immediately after you exit the stage.

“you know i don't do requests, i come here, i do a 30 minute set and i leave remember?” you retort, stepping to walk straight past him, but he stops you, standing in front of you to block your path.

“this is a request you can’t refuse,” he adds, a smirk forming on his lips. your eyes narrow at his words, already feeling a sense of unease.

“oh i think i can,” your intention is clear as you step forward, intending to brush past him and continue on your way. but he remains unmoved, determined to stand in your path, his stance a physical barrier you can't easily circumvent.

“there’s a special guest tonight, someone who’s willing to pay handsomely for a private performance,” he explains, his tone implying much more than his words reveal.

you pause, folding your arms, sceptical. “how much are we talking about?”

he names a figure that makes your eyebrows shoot up. It’s a significant sum, the kind that could cover your bills for months, or even help you save for a future beyond the club. but still, you hesitate.

“like i said, i don't take request,” you conclude, brushing past your boss.

“i don’t think this particular patron will like that,” he tries to argue, following directly behind you.

“ask me if i care,” with those words, you step forward once more, your purpose clear as you attempt to carry on. but his presence remains a persistent shadow at your side, his attempts to sway you far from over.

his argument falters momentarily, but he regains his composure quickly, his tone becoming insistent. "this particular patron isn't accustomed to denial. I don't think he'll take kindly to it."

a defiant smirk tugs at your lips, your patience waning as you find yourself driven further by your own principles. "well, here's a thought—perhaps he should learn."

with that final retort, you pivot on your heel, striding purposefully toward the locker room. the temptation of the significant sum and the vague promise of this special patron tug at the edges of your thoughts, but your determination remains resolute.

“if you don’t do it your fired.” he calls out after you, a desperate final attempt to get you to agree.

you knew you were going against your better judgement, but you turn back to face your boss and with a deep sigh you agree, “fine, i’ll do it. but you owe me.”

with simmering frustration bubbling beneath the surface, you push open the door to the private room, your entrance punctuated by the subtle swish of the heavy fabric. the air within was charged, a blend of anticipation and tension, as you found geto suguru lounging on the plush sofa, his presence an unwelcome sight that intensified your irritation.

your words come out abruptly, a firm reminder to both him and yourself, “i don’t fuck clients,” you state, a touch of defensiveness in your tone. you wanted to establish your boundaries, to make it clear you wouldn’t be swayed easily.

he chuckles, catching you off guard, his amusement evident. “thats nice…” he adds, with a hint of playfulness, “i just wanted to talk anyways.”

“to talk?” you question, surprised at his request, as you knew what went on in the private rooms and talking was far from that.

“yeah, just wanna get to know you,” he explains casually, his eyes studying you.

“i don’t do time wasters,” you complain, ready to leave the room, “and i don’t have time to waste.”

“even if im paying for your time?” he bargains, raising his eyebrows, “im sure your boss told you the pretty expensive bill im footing just for your time.”

crossing your arms, you met his gaze with a steady one of your own. “look, mr…?”

“just call me suguru,” he interjected with a smile that held a hint of charm.

“alright, suguru,” you continued, your tone resolute, “i'm not here to entertain idle chit-chat. i’ll dance for you for an hour and thats it. just abide by the club rules, otherwise im out.”

“why don’t you take private requests?” he inquiries, disregarding your comments.

“because i don’t have to,” you respond nonchalantly, “why are you so persistent that you pay for my time. there’s tons of other great strippers in this club.”

“because i want you.” he shrugs.

“well too bad,” you mock, “just because you have money doesn’t mean you can buy everything.”

“everyone’s got a price,” he argues, chuckling softly, a condescending tone underling his words, “ah, but isn't that the way the world works? everything has a price, even principles.”

the audacity of his statement ignited a fire within you, your voice heated with defiance and scorn. “you think im for sale? you think i’d compromise my integrity just for a fat stack of bills? you’re delusional.”

“oh but isn’t your integrity already compromised,” he teases, raising his eyebrows, “is miss, ‘i dont do private dances,’ not in a private dance with me right now?”

“you know wha–”

“i changed my mind. i don’t want to talk anymore,” there was a shift in his tone, amusement danced in his eyes, “strip for me.”

you were pissed. but you couldn’t actually argue – he was right. he was paying for your time and he could spend it anyway he wanted to. you’d rather have him silently watching you anyways than talking to you.

the music blared through the speakers in the room, and you immediately straddled geto, you could feel his dick harden underneath you. the only thing separating you two was the thin layer of fabric of your thong.

you could see him smirk at you, but you ignored him, grinding your hips down on him to the beat of the music. his starts to trail down your sides, but you give him a pointed look reminding him of the rules – no touching. he surrenders his hands placing them besides his head, content in watching you dance on his lap.

you moved off of him, using the pole that was in the room, his eyes stayed fixed on you. you wanted to put on a show for him, so you move your body expressing a mix of sensuality and power, your eyes lock onto his, daring him to challenge you further, to push your boundaries even more.

the hour was eventually up, and geto didn’t say anything as he left, he just leaves a fat stack of bills on the table, and for some reason you couldn’t bite your tongue, “is that it? you’re just going to leave?”

“well the hours up, no?” he responds, checking his watch, “and, i’ve paid you for your time.” you couldn’t argue with that, so you remain silent watching as he turns his back on you to leave the room.

“suguru,” you call out, getting him to pause, “wait.”

“i thought you didn’t fuck clients,” he smirks, coming up from in between your thighs, “but i am not complaining”

“s-shut up,” you exhale, you’d like to believe that you didn’t expect this to happen, but you knew that was a lie. you didn’t get far out of the club, in fact you didn’t make it out of the parking lot. the back of geto’s car seemed to be perfect with the way he was eating you out.

the feeling of geto sucking on your clit, had your head empty. his head being pressed between your thighs makes your back arch as you push up against his face. he laps against your folds, drowning in your wetness.

“‘i don’t do private dances,’” he mocks your previous words, amused with himself, “oh if only you could see yourself now.” he enjoyed you like this, pinned under him, your pussy dripping all over his face, you were a writhing mess; no longer complaining to him about his actions, you were reduced down to moans and incoherent sentences, the only thing he could hear clearly was his name.

“suguru ah s-shit,” you curse, as he presses down on your clit, “do you always talk this much?” you tangle your fingers in his hair, guiding his face closer in your pussy, his nose deep in your arousal. he was practically inhaling you, swirling his tongue deep inside, trying to taste every inch of you.

“‘m close suguru,” you whine, thrust up against his face aiming to reach your peak on your own.

“calm down princess,” he teases, pulling his lips away from your pussy, “didn’t know you were this eager.” he presses his lips down on yours, making you taste yourself as his hand goes behind your neck to hold you in place. “see how sweet you can be?”

he takes his dick out of his pants, quickly putting on a condom, not even giving you much time to think before he’s slamming into your cunt. your eyes widen as your pussy stretches, and geto can only bite his lip as he feels you clench around him.

“you feel so good, y’know that right” he murmurs, forcing himself into you deeper, “so fuckin’ tight.”

he was merciless, gripping his hands on your tits, as he pistons out of you. he could only focus on how your cunt tightens around him with every push. you were pushing yourself down on him, fucking him right back. you didn’t care for his praise, you just wanted to cum.

“‘you’re t-too much, i-it’s too much”

“but you’re taking me so well,” he argues, with a grin. peppering kissing against your neck as he fucks you to a hilt. your hands find their way back into his hair, pulling and tugging at it as you moan out his name.

his dick twitches inside you as you call at his name, you could feel that he was about to cum. his strokes were getting sloppier, and his mouth went from biting to sucking on your neck. you could feel yourself about to climax, clawing at his back, as he continues to hit your spot.

“suguru, i’m about to–”

“cum with me,” he demands, swiftly pulling out of and leaving his cum all over your stomach. you release onto his car seats, your cum spilling out of your pussy, pooling into his car seats.

after coming down off your high, you come to your senses. “this doesn’t change anything.” you remove yourself out of his hold, pushing him off you.

“you really gonna say that after i gave you the best time of your life?”

"'best time of my life?'" you echo, a smirk tugging at your lips as you gather your belongings, "someone's cocky."

“i'm starting to feel you like me that way,” he teases, his words a playful challenge.

you roll your eyes, not willing to engage in his banter any longer. "goodbye, suguru," you reply, opening his car door. "don't return to the club."

“oi princess,” he calls after you, “you left your thong.”

“keep it.” you wink as you step outside of the car, “think of it as a souvenir.”

“why would i need that, when im going to see you again?” you don't respond, shutting the car door with a smile on your face as part of you hoped that he did return.

geto did see you again, practically every day after that. it became a consistent routine, he’d book a private room for a couple hours, you’d fuck, you’d talk and see each other whenever he wanted. he came when he needed you – and he always needed you.

as a stripper, you’ve always had one rule ‘don’t fuck with clients,’ but the moment that geto suguru laid his eyes on you – you were his. there was something about him that made him different from all the other patrons, although they were all snobby rich guys, the way that geto carried himself made you feel like he was worth breaking your rule. or at least that's what you told yourself.

you didn’t just fuck each other – sometimes he just wanted to talk to you, to ask you about your day, to get to know you. and you could tell he was starting to catch feelings that you weren’t prepared to deal with. however, despite him being rich, there was something endearing in knowing that he went out of his way, every day, to pay just to see you. even when you were mean and standoffish.

you always spoke for longer than you expected – longer than he even paid for. geto surprised you, he was actually interested in talking with you. as the minutes turned into an hour, the conversations flowed in unexpected directions. you found yourselves sharing stories, discussing interests, and laughing at each other’s jokes. geto’s charming demeanour and genuine interest gradually chipped away at your initial reservations.

“did you always want to be a stripper?” he asks, you had just finished fucking and he still had an hour left of paid time with you, and he was going to use it.

“do you always pillowtalk?” you retort smartly, evading his question.

“who would’ve thought you’d still be this bitchy after being fucked so good,” he jokes, pulling you into his hold that you quickly ease into, “girl just answer the question.”

“i don’t know,” you sigh, “i needed the money, i loved to dance, so being a stripper was a no brainer to me.”

“do you like working here?”

you shift slightly in his embrace, your fingers idly trace patterns on his chest. "liking it? well, it pays the bills, if that's what you're asking."

his fingers brush against your hair in a soothing gesture. "but is that all? just a means to an end?"

you sigh, a mixture of vulnerability and honesty in your tone. "i mean, it's not like i dreamt of becoming a stripper when I was a kid. but it's a job that's allowed me some financial stability, even if it's temporary."

geto's voice was gentle, his curiosity evident. "temporary for how long?"

you hesitate for a moment, contemplating how much to reveal. "i don’t know, i haven’t thought that far. i just wanna make money.”

"well, if you ever get tired of dancing, i can always buy the club for you." his response was unexpected, a mixture of humour and absurdity. “i think you’d make a good boss.”

“ha, if you did that i’d know that you’re truly obsessed with me,” you chuckle, his words catching you off guard. “i know you enjoy this place, but that's a little extreme, don't you think?"

"maybe, but you're worth it." he grins, his playful demeanour unwavering. "you're more than what you do here, you know."

a soft, ironic chuckle escapes your lips. "funny, coming from someone who's always here."

his grip on you tightens slightly, his voice holding a trace of seriousness. "perhaps I come here because I want to be around you. not just the dancer."

it was as if his presence had chipped away at the walls you had erected, leaving you exposed to a whirlwind of feelings you hadn't anticipated.his gaze, unwavering and intense, held yours as if searching for a sign—a spark of recognition that you too were experiencing this undeniable pull.

"suguru," you begin, your voice a whisper that barely bridged the distance between you, "this... whatever it is between us, it can't be as simple as you wanting to be around me."

he smiles softly, a gentle curve of his lips that holds both understanding and patience. "you're right, it's not simple. but isn't that what makes it worth exploring?" his words were a delicate melody, an invitation to step beyond the boundaries you had created.

you met his gaze with a mixture of uncertainty and longing. the weight of his presence was undeniable, a force that had drawn you in and left you yearning for more. but your insecurities whispered caution, reminding you of the differences that set you apart.

"suguru," you admit, your voice softer now, "i've never let anyone get this close. it's complicated, and I don't even know where this could lead."

“it doesn’t matter where it will leads,” he says, “what matters is that you like me? right?”

his words hung in the air, a direct question that pierced through the layers of uncertainty and vulnerability that surrounded you. the room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of his question settling like a delicate veil over the intimate space you shared.

your breath caught, and for a moment, time itself seemed to pause. the truth, the raw honesty that had eluded you, stood before you—bold and unyielding. you looked into his eyes, his gaze unwavering and patient, as if he was giving you the space to find your own truth within the question.

your voice, soft and tinged with a mixture of trepidation and longing, finally found its way to the surface. "i..." you pause, the words catching in your throat. but in the depth of his gaze, you found a strange sense of comfort, an assurance that you could be honest without judgement.

"maybe," you admit, your voice a whisper that carries the weight of your emotions. "maybe i do like you, suguru." the admission felt like a release, letting go of the barriers you had constructed to protect yourself.

a slow smile curved his lips, a genuine expression that lit up his features. it was as if your honesty had unlocked a door, allowing both of you to step closer to a truth that had been waiting to surface. he replies with deep content, "maybe is a good start,"

the room felt charged with an energy you couldn't quite define, a tension that simmered beneath the surface. your eyes held his, a silent conversation that spoke volumes—an acknowledgement of the unspoken connection that had grown between you.

as you lay there, cocooned in the aftermath of both physical intimacy and heartfelt conversation, an internal struggle brewed within you. your heart was stirred by the sincerity of geto's words, by the connection that seemed to grow stronger with every interaction. yet, amidst the warmth and comfort, a sense of bittersweet uncertainty gnawed at you.

the boundary you had set, the rule you had vowed to uphold, wavered under the weight of emotions you hadn't anticipated. you were drawn to geto, but a tangle of reservations held you back.

in the embrace of the night, you found yourself torn between the allure of a connection you had come to cherish and the lingering fear of what being with him might entail.

“you’re here early,” you comment, seeing geto in his usual seat. at this point, you were practically excited to see him, happy to go to work knowing that he’d show up.

“i guess i thought i’d change things up a bit,” he mutters his tone of voice off, “we’ve got to make this quick, though” he starts to undo his belt, “i’ve only got an hour till my next meeting.”

“wow no talking today?” you ask amused. geto usually is the one that likes to take his time, he always says he prefers to stimulate your mind before anything else, but today was different.

he gives you a pointed look, not bothering to respond so you continue to say, “an hour?” smirking as you straddle his lap, freeing his dick, “i think that’s more than enough time.”

“new outfit?” he muses, pulling at the straps of the lingerie you were wearing. you nod, focusing on stroking his dick, “red’s your colour, i like it. but i’d rather see it off you.” suddenly, he rips off your bra and forces you up to take off your panties. you bend down to take off your heels, but he pauses you, “keep those on.”

“get my fingers wet for me,” he commands, dragging you back onto his lap. you happily comply, taking in two fingers into your warm, pouty mouth. he caresses your jaw as you greedily nibble on his fingers.

he pulls them out thoroughly coated with your saliva and shoves them into your pussy. you gasp at the contact, and crumble into his side but he forces your head up with his hand pressing a rough kiss to your lips.

“w-whats with you today?” you query, as you see the look on geto’s face – something was off with him. although you couldn’t deny the pleasure you were getting from his current roughness, you were used to a gentler geto.

“nothing,” he dismisses you, slipping in another finger into your soaking pussy. his thumb rubs against your clit as his fingers easily glide in and out of you. you felt like you cum off of his fingers alone, you grind down hard against his fingers aiding yourself in reaching your climax. but just as you were nearing, he swiftly removes his fingers landing a fat smack against your clit, “i know i said i had to make it quick, but i didn’t think you’d be this excited.”

geto swiftly puts on a condom, raises you up slightly before slamming you down on his dick. he smiles as your legs wrap around his back, pleased by the sound of your heels clacking together. you shudder as he immediately fills you, your pussy stretching, taking all of him.

he thrusts into you hard, and you try to meet his pace and fuck him back as hard as he was doing to you – but you were no match for him. you were practically a ragdoll as he hammered into you, your arms flinging around his neck to hold yourself up.

“f-fuck,” you moan, clawing at his back, “im gonna cum.”

“hold it,” he demands, continuing to give you strong, relentless strokes. your head falls into his shoulder in submission, you were already gushing all over him, but he keeps going, hard and fast. he lifts up your head, and presses a soft peck against your lips before saying, “cum.”

geto movements turn sloppy as he finishes into the condom. you release all over his dick, shuddering as you feel your peak surge through you. he presses one more kiss to your neck, before you move off of him.

“are you good?” you finally ask him, as you put back on your outfit, “you seemed a little out of it tonight.”

he shifts on his feet, his restlessness palpable as he watches you. "yeah," he mumbles, looking around the room at everything but you, his fingers fumbling with his belt as if seeking something to anchor himself. "i'm alright."

"you sure?" you persist, a touch of concern pushing you to press further. usually, you wouldn't challenge him this way – because whatever he says goes in the time that he pays for. but the stark contrast to his usual demeanour gnaws at your thoughts. "i just want to make sure that you're okay–"

"didn't I say I was alright," he sneers, a defensive edge entering his tone, "it's like you don't listen or something."

“see, there is definitely something wrong with you,” you snap, screwing your face up at his tone, “since the usual geto that walks up in here knows that he’ll have my heel shoved up his asshole before he can talk to me like that.”

your words hang in the air, the charged tension growing thicker as you each hold your ground. he shifts his weight, his gaze flickering toward you briefly before skittering away. the air seems heavy with unspoken words, a tangible unease settling between you.

"i've actually been wondering how long we're going to be doing this for," he finally says, his voice low, almost as if he's reluctant to voice the thought.

“this?” you question, a confused look appears upon your face as you fold your arms. you knew what he was getting at – you just wanted to hear him say it, “you mean my job.”

his gaze finally lifts to meet yours, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips. "oh, I didn't know it was your job to fuck the customers here. I thought you were just a stripper… not a prostitute."

his words hit like a jolt, a rush of emotion flooding your senses as you absorb their implications. your jaw tightens, a surge of frustration warring with a pang of hurt. "don't be condescending."

he chuckles, the sound a mix of amusement and something else you can't quite place. "why not? you seem to be a pro at it."

“fuck you.”

“y’know, i’ve figured a lot about you in these times we’ve spent together – despite the fact that you don’t talk much,” he starts to say, his grin getting wider with every word, “i’ve worked out that you liked to be chased, you like the fact that I was intrigued enough to make you break your dumb ass rule, you like the fact that even after I managed to break down your pussy walls, I still wanna take your rude ass to dinner.”

his words cut deep, the truth laced with a mocking tone. you glare at him, the mixture of attraction and anger churning within you. he was right in a way – you did like the chase, the thrill of his attention.

"you really have it all figured out, don't you?" you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. his observations stung because they hit too close to the mark. but there was a small part of you that reminded yourself that he was just like the rest of the rich assholes that strolled through the club – and he was proving you right in this very moment.

“well suguru, i’ve worked some things about you.” you sneer, “you’re not the first wealthy lame that has walked into this club demanding more from me than a lap dance and some ego stroking–”

“but i’m the first to get it though aren’t i,” he interrupts, his tone teasing, “what does that say about me?”

you scoff, rolling your eyes as you cross your arms defensively. "it says that you're just like the rest of them, thinking you're different, thinking you're special."

his gaze narrows, the spark of something more intense gleaming in his eyes. "oh, I never said I was different. but I am special, darling, and you know it.” you huff defiantly, sitting back down on the couch – this was an argument you couldn’t. because although he was cocky, he was right.

geto joins you, his hand coming gripping your thigh to get your attention, “look i don't want to be doing this with you, all i want is to spend time out with you outside these four walls,” he says as you gnaw on your lip, considering it, “it would be nice to see you with some clothes on for a change.”

he holds your gaze, his fingers tightening slightly on your thigh as if trying to anchor himself in the midst of the storm of emotions you've stirred. his vulnerability is a stark contrast to the confidence he usually exudes, and it catches you off guard. for a moment, you're caught in a whirlwind of conflicting feelings – his words tugging at something deep within you that you're not quite ready to acknowledge.

but then, you remember the rules you've set for yourself, the boundaries you've fought so hard to maintain. no matter how much he may want to blur those lines, you can't afford to give in.

without giving him a direct answer, you shift slightly, his hand sliding off your thigh as you put some distance between you. your gaze flickers away from him, focusing on some distant point in the room as you compose yourself.

"well, hour's over," you finally say, your tone a touch colder than before. "leave the money where you usually do."

his face falls, the vulnerability replaced by a mixture of disappointment and frustration. he opens his mouth, as if he wants to protest or say something more, but the words seem to die on his lips. the atmosphere between you turns tense once again, the unspoken words and desires hanging heavily in the air.

you don't meet his gaze as you move to gather your things, your actions brisk and efficient. you've mastered the art of detachment, of creating a barrier between yourself and the clients who come and go, no matter how they may affect you.

as you head toward the exit, your heart beats a little faster, a mix of regret and longing that you refuse to entertain. this is how it has to be – business, no matter how much your heart might argue otherwise.

behind you, you hear him sigh, a sound heavy with frustration and resignation. the door clicks shut behind you, the echo of the room's tension lingering in the silence.

he never returned after that. days turned into weeks, and still, geto's presence remained absent from the club. while you hadn't expected him to return, a small part of you had held onto a glimmer of hope that he might. but the weeks turned into months, and the emptiness left by his absence lingered.

life settled back into its routine – the dimly lit stage, the rhythmic music, you danced, you entertained, you put on a show. yet, there was an ache within you, a void that refused to be filled.

as time went on, you found yourself replaying memories of his presence in your mind – the teasing glint in his eyes, the genuine concern in his voice, the way his smile could light up a room. the connection you had shared, brief as it was, had left an indelible mark on your heart.

you missed the daily banter, the way he would surprise you with his insights, the simple pleasure of knowing he was there. the club felt different now, as if it had lost a part of its vibrancy. the nights were quieter, the laughter more subdued, and the glamour that once surrounded your performances felt somewhat dimmed.

despite your best efforts, you couldn't shake the longing that had settled within you. you had a taste of something more with him, a glimpse of a world beyond the club's confines. and now, as you danced under the neon lights, you couldn't help but wonder if you would ever find that connection again.

the longing in your heart grew with each passing day, a constant reminder of what had been and what might have been. yet, even as you missed him, you were grateful for the moments you had shared – moments that had shown you a different side of life, a side you had almost forgotten was possible.

as you stepped into the club again to start your shift, an unsettling feeling settled in your stomach. the club, which was typically alive with the pulsating beat of music and the murmurs of patrons, was eerily quiet. it was as if the very essence of the place had been stripped away, leaving behind an empty void.

confusion crept into your mind as you glanced around, searching for any sign of movement or life. your footsteps echoed in the emptiness, the sound feeling unusually loud against the backdrop of silence. what was going on? had something happened that you weren't aware of?

just as you were about to turn and leave, the sense of unease growing stronger, your eyes land on a figure sitting on the main stage. your heart skipps a beat, a mix of surprise and a rush of emotions flooding over you. it was him – geto. he was here, his presence filling the void that had gripped the club.

he sat there, as if he belonged on that stage, his posture relaxed but his gaze intense as he watches you. the familiar, cocky smirk was ever present on his lips, and despite the confusion that clouds your mind, a warmth spreads through your chest at the sight of him.

as you draw closer, his smirk softens into a genuine smile, a glimmer of something unspoken in his eyes. the air was thick with tension, a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty hanging between you. your heart races in your chest, the space between you charged with unspoken words and unresolved feelings.

"suguru," you finally breathe his name, your voice a mere whisper in the stillness.

he stands, his movements fluid and confident, as he closes the distance between you. "hey," he greets, his voice carrying a warmth that echoed through the empty club.

"what are you doing here?" you ask, your voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

“let’s just say there’s new management here”

“you bought the club.” you interrogate, “why?”

“i don’t know, im a guy with a lot of money, so i bought a business.” he shrugs blatantly lying, “that’s what guys like me do…”

"you missed me," you conclude, with a grin.

he nods, "I guess I missed you...or whatever," his facade drops immediately. "it's just after you rejected me, i was pissed. all i wanted to do was to show you that i actually cared about you, for you to give me a chance.”

“and buying the club was the most logical way for you to show me that you care?” you argue. “you didn’t have to do that,” emotions swirled within you – a mixture of surprise, hope, and a spark of something you hadn't allowed yourself to feel in a long time. before you could respond, he took a step closer, his fingers gently brushing against yours. it was a simple touch, but it held a promise, a connection that went beyond words.

"why do you always have to be so difficult?” he questions fiercely, “why can’t you just let me show you that i do care about you?”

the weight of his words hung in the air, and as you looked into his eyes, you saw the vulnerability, the sincerity that had always been there, hidden beneath the surface. “why do you care?” you retort, almost childishly. you knew that he cared, you knew why he cared – you just had an affinity for making things difficult.

he rolls his eyes at your hard front “if it was anybody else, he would’ve given up a long time ago. but for some reason you were worth it. “because i see you for more than just the standoffish dancer who doesn’t let anyone get to her, im sure you know this by now.” he pulls you closer to him, into a strong hold. “now will you stop fronting and let me have you – all of you?”

you nod with mock reluctance, practically melting in his arms, “but what about my job? I’m not gonna stop being a stripper just because of you.”

“and i wouldn’t even ask you too,” he says quick with reassurance, “besides i find it hot that everyone gets to see you this way but they just can’t have you like i do.” he starts to work your top off your body, unhooking your bra, exposing your tits, “like just imagine, a crowd full of people watching me fuck the shit out of you — wanting you so badly, but not getting to touch.”

“we can’t do this here,” you gasp out as his fingers start to toy with your hard nipples, pinching and twisting them.

“why not?” he smirks, “you’re the boss aren’t you?”

“me, but i thought you bought the club.”

“you’re the one who said if i bought it you’d know that im truly obsessed with you,” he reasons, his lips pressing a kiss under your ear as he whispers, “do you get the picture now?”

“like I said you really d-didn’t have to do that,” you say, “i was the one that fucked things up here. you didn’t have to buy a whole business for get me to tell you that i like you.”

“oh so you do like me,” he comments sarcastically, “who would’ve thought.”

“shut up,” you grumble, swatting at his chest as he laughs, “i am sorry though. i don’t know why i pulled you into my little game, i knew i liked you a long time ago — but I just couldn't bring myself to admitting it. and I'm sorry for that .”

“it’s fine,” he reassures, “i knew dealing with you would be a challenge — granted i didn’t think it would be this hard — but i knew in the end it would be worth it.” his hands lower down your body, shimmying your pants off of you, “so now you gonna show me how sorry you truly are?”

AN: um so this was A LOT my longest fic ever, please lemme know what you thought since I am SOOOO UNSURE ABOU THIS ONE. thank you to my baessss @kazushawty @satoruhour for beta reading (I owe you two my life) also ur boss was pissed asf to find out that the club he owned was bought and given to you when he was the one that basically got you and geto together in the first place. ill make a part two where gojo comes back to the club to see the pretty little stripper who's got all of his besties attention looool jk

#stampedwithanE★#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto x reader #geto smut #geto suguru x reader #geto angst #jjk angst #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen angst #geto x you #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x you

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mythvoiced · 1 year

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-. no horror for me, please no convincingly convincing ghosts in houses because, coincidentally, i happen to live in one and have an overactive imagination but mmh~ (disgusting slurping sounds) do love me a good psycho thriller, gimme recs if you have any plsh~

#;ooc #don't mess with the light switches i've had recurring nightmares for large chunks of my child- and tweenhood and don't need that #recs for ANY type of media completely BLAST me off my chair #HAPPY HALLOWEEN TO THOSE WHO CELEBRATE/WHOM IT APPLIES TO BC TIMEZONES--#i do actually love ghost stories lmao would love to write one one day gimme a good plot where i get to write a WAIT I'LL make a sep post for

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undercoverpena · 10 months

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iii - just say that you need me

javier peña x f!reader | chapter three of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. an: the amount of people who look forward to tuesday's makes me grin. for those who are new, i don't have a tag list. wordcount: 2.6k.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

You should say yes more.

to you or to my pop

To your pop. I know you wouldn’t say no to me.

you sure about that

I’d bet my next paycheck on it.

for you I’ll say yes to him once

Good. Now we have that out the way answer what the worst date you’ve ever been on was

shit. going with the hard hitting questions today

Just getting you to share, open up

probably when I first came back from colombia someone from my town where I live

They a bad host, bad dinner guest? Gimme more Javi cmon. You said you’d entertain me.

baby, im trying to entertain you but you told me to stop

I said stop flirting while I’m eating and answer the question

she wouldn’t stop asking me for details on escobar

Ah. Yeah I can see how discussing that would be a mood killer.

yeah didn’t wanna go in the first place either

So if we ever meet, do not ask about your Colombian experience. Got it.

you can ask, doesn’t mean I’d tell you

Ha! Good to know. I wouldn’t though. If you wanna tell me, I think you will.

thanks, what’s yours?

Well I was stood up when we first began texting. Think that’s pretty bad, enough.

he’s an idiot because only an idiot would stand you up

You haven’t seen me, remember

statement still stands

Stop being so charming.

you still eating

No.

then I can flirt

Most of the time, he ignores the mail.

Lets it pile up on the entryway dresser until his pop makes another reference to it. Unlike his pop, he is never in a rush to open them, knowing no good comes from the contents inside.

The same people contact him. The bureau being one. Sipping his coffee as he glares at the usual federal sign on the envelope, wondering how many more times they’ll try asking him to come in for a chat.

This afternoon, though, the envelope isn’t brilliant white, but rather off-cream.

Peeling a bit, thumb digging in as he drags it across, the ripping sound filling the small space. It’s only as he opens it does he realise who it’s from.

His eyes stare at the letter, taking in the number—the one in triple digits with his phone provider logo in the top corner. The number which is making him feel sick, the more he stares at it over and over again.

“Fuck.”

Folding it, he swallows.

Shit.

Motherfucker.

He stuffs it away, tucks it under magazines and other leaflets, as though by keeping it out of sight, it’ll go away.

But it's there.

The edge of it sticking out. He even blinks, and the number is there, tattooed on the back of his eyes. Taunting him—the price of speaking to you.

It's not that Javi can't afford it. He’s had a chunk of money sitting, gaining dust, in his account since he came home. Only able to force portions on his pop as and when he felt he could get away with it.

But this was a lot. More than he’d bargained on, more than he even knew he could spend simply by replying to someone.

There's a chance your day won't be done just yet—his day beginning far earlier than yours even began—but he pulls his phone out, fingers pressing into the keys.

so apparently talking to you is costly Oh, you've had your bill. I feel I should ask whether I'm worth it?

It’s instant—the way you make the nauseous feeling vanish. How you force it to slide back to where it came from, and in its place, warmth spreads. All accompanied by a smile on his lips.

He doesn’t want to show his hand too much. Better at concealing, playing the long game when standing face to face.

This requires a skill he hasn't yet gained. Simply focusing on not sounding ridiculous, or over the top. Unnecessary. Like some of the desperate men, he's happened to arrest over the years.

Even if his chest flutters and his mind screams, of course. Wants to ask, isn't it obvious? But he chooses something easier, uncomplicated.

yes just didn’t expect it I had my phone bill the other day. I get it. did your heart fall out your ass No. But I will be eating ramen for the next month. We can stop texting so much though, if it’s costing too much. would rather my bill be double than stop talking to you You’re such a flirt.

He drains the rest of his mug, leaning back in the chair—hearing the sound of approaching boots from his Pop’s side of the house. Fingers typing, all hurried and determined

Don’t forget I’m out for drinks and a movie. I remember don’t worry

He remembers as soon as you remind him.

Realising it's the reason you're able to reply right now. You’d been telling him almost every night for the past week. All worried, as though hating the idea of breaking the nightly tradition the two of you have concocted.

In a way, Javi should have assumed the bill would be high with the number of texts the two of you have been sending. How frequent it’s been—how nice it’s been.

Nice things do usually come with a tag.

you decided on sweet or salty Verdict is still out. You sure about waiting to do the crossword? if we don’t do it tonight, we’ll do two the next day You sure? more than sure have a great time

“Y’sure you don’t fancy coming with me, Jav?”

He thinks of it, tapping his phone against his palm as he thinks of your text the other night. The one about him trying to say yes—something curling in his chest as he realises he’ll be alone, alone if he doesn’t.

A sentiment he didn’t mind on paper, but now confronted with, rather despised.

“Alright, yeah. Can—can I get changed?”

Mid-grabbing his own jacket, his Pop turns, surprise knitted into his wiry brows. “Y-yeah, sure, I’ll….”

“I’ll meet you at the truck?”

And he does. All without complaint. Plaid shirt on, a smile being forced as soon as the truck pulls off the drive. He doesn't even complain about the radio choice or the fact his Pop always takes the main roads when he could cut down the dusty roads.

When he arrives, he doesn’t mind how many hands he shakes, one after the next. He tries not to grit his teeth as each person says the usual things, they’re proud, he’s grown, when is he settling down? Each time he laughs it off. Spanish rolling from his tongue as he smiles and winks.

It’s performative.

The old version of him coming out from a hidden place.

Always there, ready, as his hand shakes another person's hand—one he’s already forgotten the name of. Someone he’s sure he’s met before, too.

It always happens. The small-town boy who took down drug cartels has become somewhat of a celebrity tale. A thing to gawk at when he visits the store. Chucho's boy who ran away to Colombia and now hides away on the ranch.

For the amount of time it's been, he'd foolishly expected it to die down—but it hasn't. Not enough, anyway.

After enough time, he excuses himself, sneaking down the corridor near the bathroom. Leaning against the wall, fingers trying to rub out a knot that hasn’t yet appeared in his skull. The one pulsing, threatening to build behind his eye.

He’s unsure what he wants to do, what he needs. Retrieving his phone, just clicking around, before finding himself on your texts—feeling better for it.

Reading them back, smirking at some, smiling wide at others. A shape forming in his head, little details he’d amassed to make up you. A person he was pretty sure meant more to him than evening company, but it seemed tricky to delve too far into it.

That is until his phone vibrated.

Just wanted to tell you I miss you. Even if that’s weird.

His fingers hover over the keys, a retort quick—there in his touch.

Slowly he presses it out, hearing the click even over the bar’s music as he double and triple taps each button he wants, until it forms what it is he thought:

not weird, you drunk I’m tipsy, not drunk. Still mean it. good cause i miss you too

you never said how the movie was

As someone who flies a lot, I shouldn’t have watched it.

that bad

Will probably have to hold the hand of my seat mate the next time work makes me fly.

I’m sure they won’t mind

Depends on the length of my nails I guess.

some people don’t mind nails clawing in certain situations

You trying to tell me you like nails down your back, Javi?

if the situation is right, yes

What about in your hair?

now who’s being a tease

I’m learning so much tonight.

and your putting images in my head

I’d love to know what I look like in it, since you haven’t seen me.

beautiful, you look beautiful

My face is burning.

your day been ok

Yeah, was fine. Work has been rough.

you want to talk about it

Not really, it’s stupid anyway. Plus, would rather do the crosswords and hang with you.

you do have two to make up to me

Best get giving me the clues then, Javi.

four letters, begins with f

Is this a Javi crossword or a real crossword

baby, cmon

Fuck?

fork

someone’s in a dirty mood

You’re such a dick. Give me a real clue.

There's not a point in time where he can track how his thoughts went from nothing to you. But, he thinks about you all the time.

Has been doing so constantly for the last two days, at least—the occasional vibrations from his phone making his lips twitch and his mind wander. Javi’s brain exploding with wonder at what your reply could say.

Sometimes, he tries not to check immediately. Test—see—how long he can go before he does. It’s not been going well.

An excitement dashing through his veins that fills his chest, warms his neck and makes a ridiculous grin appear (one he’s caught accidentally in the mirror).

The back and forth has been quicker—for as costly as it was—outside of routines and work. His fingers have even improved in the speed of tapping the same key to get one single letter.

Each text makes him feel like he learns a new nugget about you, gathering a new piece of the puzzle—an idea of you forming in front of his eyes. One he likes—craves more of—wishing for other tidbits similar to how you like coffee after breakfast, not before.

That you don’t care for birthday cake, but love cookies.

morning hermosa hope you managed to grab the coffee

He doesn’t expect to hear from you.

Remembering that your time management in the morning isn’t to be admired. You are someone who is either awake too early or too late—never in the middle.

But, when he finishes. Sweat clinging to every muscle, he’s surprised to find nothing.

Even a little disappointed.

finished up for the day, unsure whether to lounge around on the porch or push the boat out and lounge in the barn

You’ve become such a part of his day, his shoulders sink when he steps out of the shower to see nothing.

His heart slips down inside his chest, resting unsteadily on his ribs as he checks and checks. His fingers fluff his hair as he runs his fingers through it before finding a strand, twisting, and twisting.

I’m probably worrying about nothing but just let me know you’re ok

A part of him had worried this would happen.

That he would allow the attachment to grow—ropes and threads wrapping around him—and it would be taken from under his feet.

He has a history of becoming hooked—usually combining itself with his need to help, to make someone’s day better, easier.

And on paper, he knew it was odd. To care for someone he hadn’t ever even met. But he cares all the same.

Copious amounts, in fact.

Far past an, ‘I miss you’—something else entirely, not that he’d admit as much.

hermosa I’m really getting worried now

He doesn’t want to call.

Doesn’t want to invade your privacy, your space. But it’s knotting inside of him. The things he’s seen, rushing to the surface, pecking away, making him overthink.

His mind conjures ideas that you’re hurt, wounded. That you’re crying, alone. Each flash of his past has the curated blob-of-a-face he’s created for you, written over it.

His fingers twitch, hand moving to his pocket before remembering there are no cigarettes to be found there. He quit. Ages ago. Felt better for it—for the most part—until now.

Now when all he wants is to focus on the taste, the way smoke swirls with the warm Texas air—

Hey, I'm so sorry, I had a bad day. Just didn’t check my phone. shit hermosa, you scared me. almost called you. Really? yeah Would you? what call you Yeah?

[Dialing number…]

you declined I did

His heart sinks, crashes, and plummets.

Then a new vibration, one that travels down his fingers to his wrist, suddenly staring at an instruction: Give me your landline number, be cheaper. For both of us.

Glancing into the living room, he taps the number in for you. Hating each precious second he wastes by having to delete a letter that should be a number.

Pushing the chair back, hearing it screech as he hovers. Nervousness thumps through him, making him shake, vibrate.

Staring, willing the phone to ring.

Even as he tries to collect himself, his mind has already begun running away from him. Hearing his pulse thump in his ear, thump, thump—

And then it’s ringing—you’re ringing.

His voice shouts out he’ll get it as he picks up the phone from the hook.

“Javi… that you?”

Grinning, he laughs, light and airy. “Hi. Yeah, it’s me.”

Silence blankets his ears and the air, thumb circling a knot in his forehead.

Smiling, he changes the phone to his other ear. “Knew you’d sound pretty. You have a nice voice.”

“Shut up, Javi. I’ve said three words.”

“And a few more.”

He hears you suck in a breath as heat rushes to his ears, feeling the edges of his lips curl into a smile.

“You wanna talk about it or talk about something else?”

He hears you take a breath another breath. Different this time, all accompanied by a shuffling sound from your end.

“Something else. If that… that’s okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Alright, lemme… lemme think for a second—“

You clear your throat, “You have a nice voice, too, by the way.”

Pausing, he bites the inside of his cheek. “Like you imagined?”

“Better, honestly.”

“I could have called you. I have this additional thing on our plan—so my Pop could call. When I was away.”

“From when you were in Colombia?”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he nodded. “Yeah…”

“Well, if this conversation goes well, you may get a new number to add to your phone book.”

“That so? Who’s flirting now.”

You laugh, sweet—fluttering its gorgeous wings down the phone to his ear as he readjusts the phone.

Dropping his voice, he turns more to the walls. “So, what you wearing, baby?”

“Oh my god, Javi.”

He doesn’t even mute his laughter, just lets it flow from him—rushing through the house. Not even caring if his Pop can hear him in the next room.

"I'm wearing nothing."

"Hermosa, you tease."

You laugh, and it's different. It's rich, and makes the room glow around him, without you even being here.

"I'm not really, I'm in a baggy t-shirt."

"Not as sexy, but I'm sure I can work with it."

You snort, "Javi, stop."

He wonders if your cheeks are warm. He hopes they are.

Leaning against the wall, he smirks, if only to himself. "I like how you say my name, Hermosa."

an: thank you so much for all being wonderful, i heart you

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bananafire11 · 5 months

Text

Oh, Tents

A sequel to my previous one-shot, Squirrels, Squirrels, and More Squirrels Summary: Reader's having tent problems and ends up sharing Daryl's tent. TW: none!

Today was really not your day. Of course, living in a zombie apocalypse wasn’t really ideal all things considered, and while things were scary and new to you, but you'd held your chin high and tried to deal with it. Keep going forward, and stay alive.

Today, though, was a mess. First, you’d woken up with a splitting headache, then you’d slipped right into the chilly creek nearby, and had to withstand the embarrassment of Carol getting both you and your clothes dry. The icing on the cake to finish the day was you tripping over a stone and falling onto your tent, collapsing upon it and ripping a ginormous gap in the fabric. So yeah, your day was going great.

________________________________________ You put off what to do about your predicament until after dinner. The least you could do was cook alongside Carol, who unknowingly calms your nerves enough to keep you from exploding half the time. Her easy-going mood mingled with your jumbled nerves, smothering the fire in your mind to ashes. Your cooking didn’t turn out to be a complete disaster, at least. After all, the amount of dead squirrels hadn’t exactly decreased. Daryl still left them for you and you used the meat to cook up something good for the group. It was routine now. The arrangement didn’t particularly mean you saw him much. He was mostly glued to his older brother's side or off on a few-days long hunt. It was pretty obvious he didn’t care much for human interaction, only smarting off to those who approached him or avoiding the spotlight of topics. This left a lot to be desired, which frustrated you to no end. You glanced up from your spot on your selected log around the smoldering fire pit and scanned the surrounding faces, finding yourself subconsciously looking for a certain head of ashy-blond hair and blue eyes. You knew a good chunk of the campers had gone on the supply run into Atlanta, but he hadn’t been one of them. It didn’t surprise you that he hadn't shown up for dinner though. You’d saved a bowl of food for him regardless. After you finished your helping, you slipped off into the darkness with his bowl and away from any onlookers wondering where you were headed. Daryl’s tent was set up farthest from the fire, shrouded by darkness and instead illuminated by moonlight. Merle’s tent was a few feet away, thankfully vacant. Your converses crunched through the fallen leaves and you knew if Daryl was in his tent, he’d definitely heard you by now. You paused in front of the entrance, staring at the glimmering zipper. The meat in your stomach seemed to come alive again with nerves, throat closing up. You gulped, breathing in once and then twice before calling out, “hey, uh. Daryl?” You listened over the faint sound of the group at the firepit laughing about some unheard joke and the everlong blaring of insects and critters in the surrounding trees. Sure enough, the light rustling of fabric could be heard inside and the zipper pulled toward the sky, revealing the mussed profile of the hunter. His hair stuck to one side of his face, flattened against his cheek. He’d most definitely been asleep and you’d woken him up. You pushed the thought that the image was cute because, what the fuck, this was Daryl Dixon, and glanced down at the steaming bowl in your hands. “I, uh. Well, I brought you your dinner, but I see you’re..busy sleeping so…,” you shuffled a step away before he blinked at you and held a hand up as if to tell you to stop, so you did. “Gimme,” he grumbled. You stared at him before processing what he’d said and quickly came closer, handing the bowl off to him, fingers brushing his in a fleeting moment. Daryl shuffled back on his knees and you scrambled for words. “Wait–” you choked out, watching as he paused and peered up at you from underneath his lashes. Here goes nothing, “my tent, well, it’s got a big hole in it and I don’t have anywhere else to go.” His eyebrows furrowed, but you pushed the idea that that was just his thinking face to the front of your mind and watched him chew his lip. “Can’ crash wit’ anyone else?” came the low mutter and you weren’t sure if your heart did a flip for his sweet morning voice or the possibility of rejection. You swallowed, chewing the interior of your cheek, “I don’t think anyone else has room,” you glanced back at the fire where most of the residents had gone to their respective shelters. “Otherwise I’d ask.” Daryl huffed, “Alrigh’, c’mon, ‘fore I change mah mind,” and he retreated back into his lair, food still in hand. Your mind raced because, underneath all your hoping you really hadn’t believed he’d cave and let you in.

You crawled in beside him, the space just big enough for the both of you. The smell, which you’d describe as deep forest and woodland, was all entirely Daryl. The man sat back against the sheets, legs crossed underneath him as he set the bowl down onto his lap. You scooched over to sit beside him with a good foot separating you two. You sat there as he downed the food you’d made and took in the off white walls and the dark covers you both sat upon, cushioning you surprisingly well. Your eyes roamed over to the prone weapon that was his crossbow set in a pile of bolts in the corner.

The scraping of the metal fork hitting the bottom of the empty bowl brought you out of your head and you looked over at the man, watching him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. He hummed, and your chest filled with warmth that he must have enjoyed your cooking.

He leaned forward and set the bowl down beside his crossbow, the utensil clinking against the rim. Daryl shifted back, lifting his hips to pull the covers out from underneath him and you fumbled to do the same. Fuck, could you stop being so damn jittery.

He lay back and you did the same, the two of you staring up at the tent ceiling, gazing at the shadows of the trees overhead, casting you both in a soft light. You glanced over at the man beside you to find his eyes drooping, and you raced out a, “thank you,” before they shut completely. He turned his head toward you, cheek pressing against the old, cigarette-burned pillow in a way you found endearing.

You held eye contact with him for a long few seconds, taking in the smokey blue of his eyes. He grunted, “yer welcome.”

You allowed a small smile to cross your features and his eyes flickered down to your lips for a brief moment before he looked back up at you, eyelids looking oh so heavy again. You pulled your gaze away and turned onto your side, facing him. You pulled your limbs in, knee nudging his hip for a moment.

You stole small glimpses of his face as he drifted off, one hand over his belly and breath evening out into deeper inhales and exhales.

Maybe today wasn’t so bad after all.

#daryl dixon #daryl twd #twd #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon x reader

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billlydear · 1 year

Note

Imagine the reader taking care of Billy when he's drunk at a party!! She gets to drive his car!! Take him back to her place!! Listen to his drunk ramblings !!

DISTRACTED DRIVING - BILLY HARGROVE X READER

W.C 690- INBOX (please request !) - GIF CREDIT TO OWNER

"Stop touching. Don't- Billy... stop touching!"

"I'm not- touching!" Billy huffs, seatbelt discarded so that the strap only lies around his waist, not over his chest. He's leaning into your seat, fingers poking and prodding at the earring you're wearing, face an inch away.

"You are touching," You grumble, stopping easy at a red light and pushing him back into his seat, "You're gonna make me crash your car, Billy."

"Don't," He warns, eyes wide with drunken terror, "Cause I paid a lot for this thing." He whacks the dashboard hard enough that he'll regret it come morning, "It's my baby."

"I'm well aware," You snort, foot heavy on the pedal as you turn onto country road. There's nothing for miles, only solitary offramps that you won't be needing for a while.

"Oh," Billy's been staring at the side of your face for a moment, and finally comes to some realization in his head. He sighs, a ditzy puff of air from his chest, "But you- you're my baby, too, baby."

It's a nice sentiment, but he pairs it with more flagrant disregard to his seatbelt, hoisting himself up onto his side. From there he leans in, lips puckered and glistening with spit that you can't afford all over your cheek right now.

"Billy, don't you dare," You warn, keeping one hand steady on the wheel while the other shoves at his chest, "I need to pay attention!"

"Pay attention," He tries to speak through puckered lips, failing miserably so that his words sound like they're coming through a pipe, "I'm not gonna- oop!" He slips on the center console, nearly face-planting. He rights himself, "Distract you."

"You are distracting me," You don't know how you manage to turn off of the road at the right offramp, but your house comes into view along the dusty dirt road, "Billy, I just need to park, can you please-?"

"Gimme a smooch," He grumbles, hands now braced on your thigh as you give up, veering to a stop twenty feet away from your driveway.

The momentum of the car jerking into a sharp turn makes Billy lose his balance, and he slips with a disgruntled squawk, landing face-down in your lap.

Once he's there, he doesn't want to leave, body slumping to lay flat across his seats. You sigh deeply, and more fondness seeps into the sound than there's supposed to be. You can't stay mad at him, not when his messy curls are calling you.

"Are we sleeping in here?" You inquire, twisting a curl of his around your pointer finger.

"Mhm," Billy hums into your thighs, his breath hot against your skin, "I'm comfy."

"I'm sure," You laugh, eyeing the various clutter he's smashed with his torso, a half-empty box of smokes as well as the mechanisms to raise and lower the windows.

You're surprised his belly isn't moving the switches as he breathes, and you giggle at the thought.

"Don't laugh at me," He pleads, pitiful voice muffled by your thighs.

"I'm not," You promise, scraping your nails down his neck and stifling a laugh when he shivers, just to be courteous, "I promise, Billy."

"I can feel it," He gripes, pinching at your stomach that's trembling from withheld laughter. You shriek, and he opens his jaw to bite your thigh. It's not a nip, he's got his teeth around a good chunk of fat against your inner thigh, but he backs down and kisses it instead of shaking you back and forth like a dog with a stuffed toy.

"You're an animal," You muse, stroking softly through his hair.

"I'm drunk," He helpfully supplies, and it pulls more laughter out of your belly.

"You are. So go to sleep, Billy."

"You too," He reaches up to pat your face, and without being able to see, he's lucky to sloppily make his mark, hand running into your jaw, "Stay with me, baby, sleep w'me."

Not while you're drunk! You think, but joking will only get him riled up again, and he needs to rest. So instead you kiss the palm of his hand, nodding, "I will, Billy. I promise."

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove oneshot #billy hargrove blurb #billy hargrove drabble #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove x reader fanfiction

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dixonsemoboy · 9 days

Text

daryl's sweet little boy 🧸

Daryl woke up to the sound of clinking in the bathroom. It was early in the morning, the sun just starting to rise and shine through the curtains. Nobody was usually up this early.

He shuffled out of bed with a grunt and sauntered to the bathroom, placing his hand on the cold metal knob, twisting it open. There he found his 'girl', face scrunched up, tears running down her chubby baby cheeks, clippers in her hand. Her hair was clumpy and shorter, pieces of it on the floor from where she attempted to cut it.

"Whatcha' doin?" he said out loud, pulling his girl closer by the shoulder, using his thumb to wipe the tears from her eyes.

She sniffled, trying to speak through her tears. "Dada, I don' wanna be a girl," she whimpered, clinging onto Daryl like her life depended on it.

Daryl hummed deeply, pulling him into his chest, stroking his hair to calm him. There was a long string of silence before he spoke. "Here, gimme tha', baby."

He took his face out of Daryl's chest with a sniffle and handed him the clippers, still on and vibrating in his hand.

Daryl took him by his forearm and gently pulled him further into the bathroom, so the mirror was in front of them.

"Stay still, 'kay?" he uttered, putting the clippers up to his boy's hair and starting to shave, chunks of it falling to the tile ground, each stroke making the once nonexistent joy grow bigger in his boy's heart.

Daryl switched the clippers off, the buzzing sound that once fulfilled the room coming to an end. The tears on his boy's face were dry by now, a big smile spread across his baby face.

Daryl smiled back, looking into the mirror and running a hand through his now short hair. "Ya like it?"

"Mhm!"

"Thought ya would, sweet boy."

He was Daryl's boy, and Daryl's boy forever.

inspo: @norman-fucking-reedus

it changes from she to he because you know TRANS, just incase your confused

#i need him as a father figure #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x ftm reader #twd daryl #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x male reader #norman reedus #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon drabble #moodboard #dixonsemoboy

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brisquad-unit-4402 · 9 months

Note

Hey! I love your headcannons and stuff for njsj! Idk if i will do this request thing right but can i add like some numbers for 1 headcannon/drabble?

If i can i would like 20+23 with maybe a 18+ 12 ;) for shu and alban, idk if you want to add anyone else but i love those 2 sm so anyone with them!

Also congrats on 100 followers!!! Here's to many more to come!! You definitely deserve it !

thank you for the encouragement, i’m flattered. and yes, i’m alright with adding prompts into one entry! i couldn’t tell if 12 ;) was implying you wanted form the mature list or not, so i just went with 12 from the basic list. if you meant that you wanted mature prompt 12 let me know! kind of my fault for making both lists have numbers instead of a better way to specify mature from basic. regardless i hope you enjoy

ah... i feel like i took too long of a break from writing after stars above your skin and now i'm out of it... maybe i'll take some of my own ideas in my notes and write them in 3rd pov instead of 2nd, because i feel like my 3rd pov is getting stunted... you get that feeling after not practicing a skill for a while, right? i need to get better! i always want to get better!!

tags: established relationship, gender-neutral reader, fluff, off-collab, cuddling, sleepy kisses

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

🎭 Alban Knox

20. secret relationship + 23. off-collab

The thief leans over your shoulder as you cut, and the knife drips. Residue sticks to your hands as you draw gashes along the flesh. The smell is pungent, and the chat frenzies at the revolving massacre even though you have yet to notice your witnesses.

Alban crinkles his nose. “You seriously cut garlic like that?”

You pouted and continue to fumble over the clove of garlic. “You said you wanted to see me cut it!”

“Okay, but I didn’t expect it to be that bad.”

“It’s going to get minced anyways, I’m just, um, preparing it!”

“Mincing is preparing it. Gimme some of that.” You pause so Alban could pick out two pieces and hold them up to the handcam. One chunk was so big that the camera could pick up the details of the center of the clove where it had been cut, and the other was miniscule in comparison. “You see this, chat? Reader’s cutting it like it’s supposed to get diced, but it’s not even in cubes. Just weird shapes.”

“Don’t shame my garlic! They can be whatever they want to be.”

“They look like they want to die. Here, let me try.”

Alban takes the knife away and chops the remaining garlic. He’s no Michelin star chef, sure, but he’s much faster than you, and with much better technique. In just a few blinks, the clove is nothing more than tiny, evenly minced pieces.

“You’re so cool, Alban.” Your eyes practically sparkled as you focused on his work. For a moment he’s glad there isn’t a good way for your models to track on stream, because with you distracted and the chat unaware, there’s no one to see him turn his head away bashfully at the sudden praise.

You take the knife and get started on the next clove. You still have a couple more to go. Unsteady hands try to replicate Alban as much as you can. “Is it like this?”

“It’s more like…”

Alban grasps your hand, still over the knife, and guides you along with slow motions. The clove slices apart into coins, then the knife turns and cuts into strips. Afterwards, he places one of your hands along the blunt edge while the dominant remains in the handle, and chops through the pile of garlic until there’s nothing but small, even bits.

He retracts one of his hands, but his grip is still firm on top of the handle, above yours. You realize that even though the chat is likely freaking out over the hand holding, his arm is still bent out as if it came from beside you, and not from where he stands flush against your body.

Then he plants his free hand along the side of your hip, drawing you closer, and your face goes hot. Even if there’s no way the camera could pick it up, you can’t help but feel exposed. You lost count of how many live viewers you have, but you can only imagine thousands of people watching your every move, and how if that camera moves even an inch, you and your boyfriend would be in danger of getting caught.

Alban perches his head on your shoulder, coy as ever. “How’s that?”

“It’s…” You smack your lips and say the first thing on your mind before anyone can get suspicious. “Garlic.”

“Evenly cut garlic that won’t have weird cooking times,” he boasts. “Do you remember how to do it?”

Though you do have to admit, smugness is a good look on Alban, especially when he can embrace you like this.

“Nope,” you lie. “Show me again?”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

18. wearing their clothes + 12. kissing before leaving for the day

Alban takes his coat off and on so often that there’s no real need for a coat hanger, even when he’s not wearing it. He tends to leave it draped in whichever room he took it off, and leaves it there until he wants it next.

This morning, it’s placed along the back of a chair in your room. It’s more of a nuisance moving it than leaving it where it is, so you continue about your morning routine as you get ready for the day ahead. You walk past it time and time again as you pace around and get yourself together.

You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. It’s an off-day, so you plan on getting some errands done before the afternoon rush. You’ve finished everything in your routine, but you look down at your outfit. Something feels… incomplete.

Your eyes slide over to the coat hanging off the chair.

On Alban, the coat covers almost his entire frame, and on you it’s no different. It works really well with your clothes, though, and you can understand why Alban wears it religiously. The fabric doesn’t impede your movement, but weighs down on your shoulders like a heavy blanket, and feels just as comfortable and soft as one. You bury your nose into the baggy hood. Smells ambery, just like him.

You step out of your room, still buried in the hood of his coat, and prepare the last of your things before you leave the house. As you grab your keys, you see a figure enter the room, with a fluffy bedhead and oversized sleepwear.

Alban yawns like a housecat. One eye cracks open as he does, a chocolatey brown that droops a little with drowsiness. “Good morning, Reader.”

“Good morning, Alban.” You swipe your keys into one of the coat’s many pockets with one hand, and pat Alban’s head with the other. The sleeve slides down as you reach for his messy hair. “Sleep well?”

“Mhm, really well. I didn’t want to get up at all—” He stops himself. He blinks the sleep away, then focuses on your sleeve as it rolls back down your arm, one chocolate eye and one neon taking in your appearance. “Is that my…?”

“I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, why would I?”

He makes grabby hands at you, and when you get close enough for him to touch, he fiddles with how the coat lays on your body, an affectionate look on his face. He finally decides on zipping it up most of the way and flips the hood over your head. It flops over your eyes.

You reach up to readjust it, and when you regain your eyesight, you’re greeted by Alban rocking on his feet with a sweet smile. His voice is still sleepy and low, but excited. “Aww, Reader, you look so cute!”

“It’s so comfy.” You hug your sleeves and nestle into the coat, proving both your and Alban’s points. The hood flops over again, so you brush it up with one hand, resembling a cat pawing at its ear. Alban coos. “All set? I’m about to go do some errands.”

“Wait, before you go! Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He cocks his head, waiting for you to answer. Instead, you rest a hand on his shoulder and lean to meet your lips along his own. The taste is crisp and fresh, and even though you can tell he started his morning routine, Alban’s lips are slow, sleepy, and savory.

When you part, Alban playfully bats at your hood and knocks it back over your eyes. He chuckles. “Be safe, okay? I’ll see you later today.”

With a huff and clumsy hands, you push it back up while Alban’s sleepy smile turns into a smirk. In his hands is something you didn’t notice before: an old but cared-for leather wallet folded up in his grasp. Alban’s wallet.

“When did you get that?” You ask. You could’ve sworn he was empty-handed when he greeted you. Realization strikes you. You pat down the pockets on the bottom of the coat, where you last remember the wallet, and when those turn out empty, you search all the other small pockets along the coat. “Wait, don’t tell me.”

“Did you think you could pull a fast one on me?” He teases.

“No, I just—didn’t realize! Did you grab it while we were kissing? I didn’t even notice!”

“Heh, you know me! I’m an elusive, badass phantom…” Alban trails off into a massive yawn. ”…Thief. I’m a phantom thief.”

“Sure are.” You ruffle his hair. “Cutest elusive badass out there. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Come back faster. I’ll miss you.”

“Before you know it,” you repeat. “Besides, I’m wearing your coat. I’ve got a little bit of you with me today.”

He kisses you again, this time on your forehead where the hoodie rests. You can still sense the faded toothpaste smell. “Okay. Now get out, I need to make some coffee.”

“Screw you too.” You have a hand on the doorknob. “I’ll be home soon!”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

👟 Shu Yamino

20. secret relationship + 23. off-collab

“Okay, they should be able to hear you now.”

“Eyyyy, guys. How’s my volume?”

“Chat says you’re good, Shu. What about me?”

Shu’s streaming laptop is gingerly placed in the center of your impromptu studio. This off-collab was rather impulsive, and the only place in the vacation home with enough outlets for all the stream equipment was on the floor, so you dumped a bunch of blankets and pillows over the floor for both sound preservation and comfort.

At first the setup on the floor was scuffed. It took nearly an hour before stream to get things organized with PNGs instead of your models, and the first ten minutes were full of chat mentioning someone was too far away to hear.

“Too quiet,” Shu says. “I think you need to get closer to the mic.”

You shuffle forward. “How about now?”

Still, the chat can’t quite understand you. Ready to readjust, you get to your feet but Shu tugs on your pant leg before you can fully rise.

You cock your head, trying to figure out his game, but it falls into place when he lightly pats his leg. He’s sitting on a pillow with his legs folded underneath themselves, the picture of elegance without even trying. His sorcerous nature tends to make him graceful even when he’s casual, including the relaxed position during the stream.

“I think I have an idea on how to fix it, Reader.” One pointed fingernail beckons you. “Come here.”

Curious, you scooch over inch-by-inch, closing the gap between you and Shu. That is, until Shu reaches out, scoops his hand by your shoulder, and brings you down in one fell swoop. Your body is placed along his lap, with your head resting along his thighs.

Shu reaches for the mic across your head while you’re too caught off-guard to react, and fiddles with it while you watch his focused face and elongated muscle above you. The mic stand lowers. “Say something now, Reader?”

“Um…”

Does he seriously expect you to stream like this? You may be dating, but this has to be unprofessional on so many levels, especially since there’s no way chat could know your position with those PNGs on screen. Is the audio okay? What happens if you bump the mic or it picks up a weird sound that clues your audience into the secret streamer relationship scandal of the year?

The paranoia is getting to you, but you can’t deny it; Shu’s lap is really comfortable. His calves fold at just the right place so that it serves as an incline for your body.

Shu's fingers rest on your hair, and it rustles as he begins to comb through. Your heart soars.

“What was that?” He says out loud in response to nothing. He’s obviously bluffing, but he looks so at peace with his hands in your hair and the stream online. This might be his perfect element. “Reader, can you repeat that again?”

“…Right.” Screw it. If Shu is this calm, then maybe there’s nothing to fear after all. You close your eyes as Shu strokes you, and you launch into your default greeting as your role in the company.

When Shu smiles, you can hear how his voice lifts. “Chat says it’s all good. Welcome to the stream, everybody.” His nails travel to your jawline. One finger lightly scratches along while the others prop along your face, and the action is so tender it almost feels religious. Shu watches you exhale, appreciating the moment to relax even while the stream is running, and when he continues, only one person listening can recognize how his voice clouds into cotton candy. “I have Reader with me today.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

18. wearing their clothes + 12. kissing before leaving for the day

Shu’s sleep schedule is, as you know, a mess, but last night was probably one of his… messier moments. He scheduled a late-night membership stream, and only hours before he went live, he made a members-only post for the waiting room. The thumbnail and title both had soju in it.

Long story short, the stream ended in the wee hours of the morning with the Yaminions happily fed and Shu satisfied, but barely able to keep his eyes open until he raided another stream. You were asleep for the majority of the stream but woke up just as his head hit the pillow, still in his daytime clothes and not a single step of his nightly routine done. You gently jostled Shu to get himself ready for bed, but the sun was rising in the sky by the time he fell asleep properly.

The day doesn’t stop for anyone. A few hours later, you wake up well-rested and in time for your plans for the day. Shu is still sound asleep, however. He stole the covers and nestled up in the warmth while he was asleep, and you could barely see his face through untamed dark hair. Even in deep sleep and all covered up like this, he’s adorable. He doesn’t stir a bit even as you climb out of bed and get ready.

After brushing your teeth, you pass from the bathroom to the bedroom again and think on your outfit, before you see a plume of fur out of the corner of your eye.

The memories of last night—this morning?—Return as you examine the dresser, and the fur on top of it. It’s the loose black sleeves from Shu’s newer outfits, and on top of it is a large bat wing wrapped in a black-and-white fur pelt.

You take the sleeves and pelt in your hands, intending to put them away where they belong, but the fur is so inviting and cozy you don’t want to let go. You bury your face in it. It’s so fluffy! And it smells just like his everyday fragrance, subtly sweet while undeniably human.

The sleeves are adjustable, and slide in place on your arms easily. You think to yourself. His accessories are pretty wild, but you could tone these down into something a lot more casual streetwear with your outfit today. Besides, it’s your day off and you’ll be meeting up with some friends to hang out. It wouldn’t be inappropriate.

Shu probably wouldn’t mind, either.

You slip the pelt over your shoulder and fasten the sleeves as you finish up your breakfast, just about ready to leave the house. The pelt is surprisingly light, and the bat wing conserves your heat without getting sweaty.

The last thing left to do is to grab your keys. You head over to the bedroom and find them on your nightstand. Shu is exactly where you left him, the hair in front of his face swishing along to his gentle breathing.

It parts out of his face as you reach out. Your hands stroke his hair as you examine his sleeping face. His lips are slightly open, and whenever he exhales, you can see a flash of teeth between his blanket nest. His banana rests between his ear and the pillow.

The closer you get to him, the more your smile grows. He’s… really adorable. Everything about him right now seems soft, almost cherubic. He looks like a stuffed animal. A plush cat! You have to fight the urge to squeeze him like one.

Instead, you brush some of his hair out of the way, and press a kiss to his temple.

Shu doesn’t move. He’s still as plush as ever. Even as the kiss ends, he’s so warm that you want to stay nearby.

“Sleep well, sweetheart,” you whisper, close to his ear. “I’ll be back.”

A lock of pink hair curls under your fingers as you tuck it behind the ear. Shu’s eyes are closed, but you hear him drowsily grunt. Is he awake? “Mm-mm.”

You stifle a giggle. “You want me to stay?”

“Mm-hm.”

“But I have things to do.”

“Mm-mm.”

“I’ll stay a little longer if you wake up. Are you awake?”

Shu finally opens his mouth. “Noooo.”

“Then I’ll let you rest while I’m out.” You kiss him again. “Goodnight. Bye-bye, Shu.”

“Wait.” Shu blindly feels around with his free hand, and finds yours. He takes it, groggily but gently, guiding you closer to him even though his eyes are shut. The back of your palm goes velvet pink, and you hear a small chu as he parts.

Then he tucks your hand in his grasp like a stuffed animal. You’re trapped.

“Shu,” you whine. You try to wriggle out, careful not to disturb him. No avail, however. You’re stuck, and the sleeves drape along his body like even more blankets. “I have somewhere to be!”

He cuddles up to your forearm, and his head meets the fur of his pelt. “Soft.” He nuzzles closer, considering your shoulder as a suitable pillow, before fully resting his head on you.

You call his name again. It’s a really strange position for you, and besides, you have plans!

But then you look down. You don’t remember seeing that light smile on his face when you first kissed him goodbye.

You can make five minutes for that smile.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ event post ✧. ┊ ⁭masterpost ✧. ┊ ⁭kofi

#alban knox #alban knox x reader #shu yamino #shu yamino x reader #alban knox fluff #shu yamino fluff #nijisanji en #luxiem #noctyx #nijisanji x reader #luxiem x reader #noctyx x reader #4402 writes #100 followers for 4402 #writing this while wearing a new oversized orange and black hoodie. the longing. man #hiqhkey

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