#what is gigolo meaning

[ingravinoveritas]

Michael and David at the Lapland UK Christmas Entertainment Centre. Love that these pics look like a Christmas card... (Pics via VK DT Asylum.)

[lucy-sky]

Jon Bernthal as Julan Kaye in American Gigolo S01E04: Nothing is Real But the Girl

[uozlulu]

I mean like I know it’s been 19 - 27 years depending on where you want to start counting but like I think it’s difficult to overcome some forms of bullying from school when no one’s like ever properly refuted the most hurtful things.

Like I mean I know I’m not stupid. i know I’m weird and I like that I’m weird and I did get asked out a handful of times by a handful of boys back in high school. But like there’s no counterpoint to hearing how ugly I was daily from that time period, though at this point all these years later I’m not sure I’d believe someone who tried to be that counterpoint because it’s been such a long time. It’s also weird how people who have never seen me IRL try to counterpoint this because it’s like you can’t make a judgement call if you don’t know what you’re judging.

Though this kind of goes into my whole desirability quandary/midlife crisis? thing I’m going through right now and what makes that particular perseveration feel so pointless. Because it’s like this is a question I can’t actually answer, which leads me to think about undesirability and just bleh bleh bleh. I am tired of thinking about this, but my brain is perseveration station so alas I am thinking about it

[yinyuedijun]

ZERO-SUM GAME

It’s different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood. (Or: Aventurine wins you in a game of poker. He decides to cash out his prize right then and there—to enjoy you on the card table, laid out among all the chips and cards.)

8.6k words of psychological issues, explicit smut, and deranged characterization. aventurine tops, reader bottoms. public sex, voyeurism from strangers, piv, oral (reader receiving), fingering with gloves on, creampie. mild dubcon but the reader is ultimately into it. afab gn reader, they are playing a fem-coded role for an espionage assignment (dress, heels, makeup). themes of objectification. discussion of slavery and sa during slavery (not explicit). dead dove do not eat, mdni.

You are in the grandest casino of Kinyoshi Moon Colony, and Aventurine is running your latest husband into life-ruining debt.

You aren’t cut up about it. If your marriage (or concubinage, rather) were genuine, you'd maybe be annoyed about the loss of capital. But as it is, this relationship is an assignment from the IPC—one of the longest and most excruciatingly boring yet. Fortunately for you, Aventurine’s presence tonight means that you've finally gathered enough intel for Diamond’s needs. It is time for the IPC to terminate your latest contract, and Aventurine is here to collect you.

Which is a little funny, given your relationship. It is strange sitting across from your boyfriend, draped over another man and thoroughly ignoring him. You’re entirely focused on fawning over your husband instead—laughing into his ear, lighting his pipe and filling his whiskey glass, and oh, Mister Li, you're so funny, you're so clever, I think you should go all in!—but Aventurine doesn't react. He only smiles at the two of you, like he isn't bothered by the sight.

This is, of course, an act: when you came home from your last marriage (assignment), he'd made sure to pleasure you so thoroughly that you forgot all about your ex-husband (mark). Aventurine did not openly admit to any kind of jealousy at the time, but you could tell he hadn't been keen on letting another man touch you. He usually isn't too keen about anyone touching any of his things, in fact. Despite appearances, he always abhors the thought of losing anything important.

But any fears he might have are concealed right now. They’re always concealed. Hidden by the expensive suit, the countless stacks of chips, the golden walls and high-vaulted ceilings of the Venetian Zhijin, Masked by his generous gifts, his easy laughter, his careless frivolity. You can see right through his gilded smile. The rest of the table cannot.

They are all intrigued when Aventurine asks, a playful lilt in his voice, “How about we make this game a little more interesting, gentleman?”

The other players at the table consider him. The other plus-ones—concubines, courtesans, gigolos, and so on—look at him with calculated expressions of cursory interest. You do so as well, but only for a moment. Your gaze quickly returns to Mister Li’s face—your husband is meant to be your true focus, after all, not the game. You are not a player at this table, but an accessory. Closer to an expensive watch than a human being.

Some business magnate from the Triangulum Galaxy leans back and raises a brow. “I'm listening,” he says. You watch a bead of sweat travel down your husband’s neck.

“How about we up the ante,” Aventurine says, his voice light, “but instead of betting more money this time, we bet our dates?”

You think, in other star systems, other worlds, such a suggestion would invite riot. But Kinyoshi Colony being what it is, and the Venetian being the establishment that it is, the other players at the table only laugh. Nearly half of them deal in the trade of human beings anyway—this is nothing novel for them.

“Well,” one of them says, “it’s not like winning more money’s gonna make a difference to any of us.” A round of chuckling. He turns to his date—some noblewoman from Jarilo-IV who seems greatly out of her depth—and says, “What do you think, love? How do you feel about being part of my wager?”

She doesn't like it. She clearly doesn't like it, and she also clearly doesn't know how to say it. Were you not on the clock, you might intervene. Maybe. As it is, though, all you can do is observe quietly. All the power in this gambit lies with Aventurine. Even when surrounded by men who manipulate the wealth of entire cities, planets, galaxies—he remains in full control.

“There’s never any shame in folding,” he says, magnanimous. Then he looks your husband in the eye, smiling conspiratorially. “But I know there are some of us who aren't afraid to take risks.”

Li laughs. “You’re right about that, Mister Aventurine.” He gives you a fond smile. And of course he does—you’re his last shot at winning back all his losses for the night. “I think you'd make a pretty little chip, don't you?”

Although Mister Li is clearly less distressed at the thought of betting you than he was at the thought of betting his company just last round, you notice, out of the corner of your eye, a muscle in Aventurine’s neck twitching. It’s very, very subtle, and he'd have never let himself do it if the table’s attention were on him, but he did it. Perhaps it was involuntary. Your mouth curls.

“Sure, darling.” You try not to sound too giddy. “I’ll be whatever you like.”

Ordinarily, you wouldn't be so happy about this farce. This is, put plainly, a stupid way to extract you from your mission. Were the cards in anyone else’s hands, your husband could win and you might be stuck with him for another several weeks, at least—assuming that you aren't discovered and killed first. Or you could go home with another man and be subjected to the kind of things that men do when they trade human beings, and you don't think the IPC would care too much if you were. You are an asset before you are a person, after all. At this table, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being—and at the Company, you are an overpriced knife.

But to Aventurine, you're a chip in one of his games, and you don't mind that so much. Men who only know wealth will throw around their riches thoughtlessly, but men who have endured poverty will hold onto them tightly—desperately. Aventurine takes care of his luxury watches, his elegant knives, his liar’s dice. His capital. And he never loses anything. He always comes to collect. You trust him to collect you, even with this stupid plan, so you are calm as you watch the dealer shuffle the cards.

The table makes their bets. Most of the players go all-in. A couple fold, perhaps feeling some degree of concern for their partners, but it's more likely that they just have shit hands. A lot of the ones who continue playing have shit hands anyway. Your husband doesn't do too badly—a straight flush. He seems confident.

Then Aventurine lays out his cards. Ten. Joker. Queen. King. Ace.

All hearts.

You have to take a sip of your whiskey to stop yourself from laughing.

Aventurine, himself, has the grace not to look too smug about the outcome. Or maybe it's very unremarkable for him, all these winnings being pushed over to him—poker chips and human beings. Some of the other dates are clearly anxious as they move toward him (they are expected to be loyal to their husbands), and some are clearly excited (they are expected to be frivolous, hedonistic playthings). He humours them all, for a little while. Puts on the usual show as they crowd around him, charms them because it'll be good for business partnerships in case any of their husbands care even a little bit about them. You'd do the same in his shoes. But in your current ones (six-inch heels, black leather, red bottoms, luxury), all you can do is seat yourself on the card table and light up a cigarette. Waiting.

Aventurine eventually sends them all off. All I wanted was to get to know you, he says cheerfully, which is probably not a lie. After they leave, he asks the dealer to close the table and go on break. Turn a blind eye. You raise a brow when they obey him.

How interesting.

You're still enjoying your cigarette by the time he turns to you. You flash him a smile, one of the ones that you use for work. His expression doesn't change, but his thumb brushes against one of his many rings—switching off your synesthesia beacons for some privacy—and he leans back to study you. You know he's admiring you, but it could be mistaken for a leer.

“Well, well,” he says, “If it isn’t the esteemed concubine of Li Fengzhi.”

“The esteemed fifth concubine,” you correct. He hums, looking surprised.

“I thought you were the fourth. Did I misremember?”

“No, just misinformed. He took another concubine right before I arrived on Kinyoshi. He acquired a sixth just last week. Turns out he picks up paramours like they’re strays.”

“How inconvenient.”

“It made no difference to me,” you dismiss. “I’m his favourite anyway, but I’m sure you knew that already.”

“I’d have had to be blind not to notice it. You have the man wrapped around your finger.” Aventurine leans back, studying you as you smoke on your perch. “But before we continue—why don’t you come a little closer, esteemed Fifth Concubine?”

You make a face. “That title doesn’t sound as nearly as flattering in Avgin dialect as it does in Zhijinese,” you note, though you get off the table anyway. You don’t go very far, electing to seat yourself on his lap, your arms draping around his shoulders. The feathers of his jacket tickle at your bare shoulders; the satin of his gloves glide down the skin of your thighs before settling on your calves. “Since you’ve won my company for the night, though,” you sigh, “I suppose I can humour you, Mister Aventurine.”

“Lucky me.” He leans in, his breath sweeping the shell of your ear. His fragrance surrounds you, your body warming at the familiar scent of ambergris and vanilla. You realize, all of a sudden, how much you missed it. You have to stop yourself from pressing your face into his neck and melting—it would be a dead giveaway for your identity and also too revealing of your feelings. Aventurine might be endeared by it, but he might also find it disconcerting. He often needs to be tricked into intimacy.

He does enjoy being wanted though, and he can obviously tell that you want him. He pulls you closer, one of his hands giving your thigh a generous squeeze. It makes you throw your head back in a laugh, exposing the soft skin of your throat. You aren't surprised when he takes the opportunity to kiss it, his lips gentle against your pulse.

“You’re being very forward,” you tease him. “Did you miss me?”

“I’m just trying to be careful,” he defends himself between kisses, his breath warm on your skin. “We should try to conceal our mouths as much as possible. No one can intercept our synesthesia beacons, but someone could still read our lips.”

You give him a funny look. “We’re the only two speakers of Avgin in the known universe. Who could, other than ourselves, could read our—mmph…”

Aventurine has caught the rest of your sentence with his mouth. He’s hungry and wanting for you, the heat of his lips overwhelming. Your tongue is as practised as his, but you find yourself too distracted by your thrill to focus, your kiss wet and eager. Messy. Unprofessional.

You’ve never kissed any of your husbands like this. You’ve never kissed any of your other owners like this. You feel dazed when he pulls away.

You compose yourself. “So you did miss me.”

He smiles. “Guilty as charged.” A gloved hand rests on your face, satin tracing your lips. “How could I not? You’ve been away from the house for so long.”

Your eyes narrow. There’s no idiom for this in Avgin, so you flip briefly to Interastral Standard: “Pot, kettle, black. You leave home all the time.” You smack away the hand at your waist, petty. He looks amused. “And you almost always die.”

He switches out his smile for a pout. “Don’t tell me you’re still mad about last time.”

“You nearly got yourself blasted with atomics, so yes, I’m still mad at you.”

Now he’s frowning. “Am I going back to sleeping on the couch when you come back?”

“Yes,” you say. His deepening frown is meant to be read as a joke, but you know better. Deciding to throw him a bone, you lean in, whispering playfully into his ear: “You can still fuck me on it though.”

Aventurine hums, as if considering. His hands traverse your sides as he contemplates your suggestion. You move to straddle him, your thighs squeezed around his hips. When you grind against him, you can feel how much he wants you despite his composure, his control—his length straining in his pants, pressed against the silk covering your core.

“I don’t think I can wait long enough to fuck you on the couch,” he says, voice teasing.

“No?” You hum as his hands travel upward, feeling every inch of you. “The ship on the way home, then?”

“We don’t leave until tomorrow. Do you really think I can wait that long?”

You don't expect to feel the warmth of his hands on your chest. Your breath hitches when he starts palming your tits through your dress, neon eyes admiring the curve of them. One of his thumbs skims over the peak of your breast, and his mouth curls when your nipple hardens. “No bra? That's convenient.”

“I—” You squirm in his grip, whining. It just makes you grind against his lap more, your cunt moving against his slacks. A wave of heat runs through your lower half, and you clench around nothing. You can see people from a nearby table glancing at you, doing double takes. You can feel their lingering gazes on you, and you know Aventurine can too.

“I—are you going to”—your voice shakes as he pinches your nipple, as his other hand moves to squeeze your ass instead. Your dress is short—designed for easy access—and his fingertips easily skim the underside of its skirt. You wonder if he’s going to pull it up. You wonder if he's going to go even further than that.

But that would be an absurd thing to do in the middle of the busiest casino in the colony, which also happens to be the busiest trade hub in its star system. It would be absurd even for the two of you. Nevermind the reactions of the other players in the room—the staff here would immediately blacklist you, and so would every other gambling house in Kinyoshi.

You try to calm yourself. “Are you—ah—going to take me upstairs?”

He's fully kneading your breasts now. You can feel your clit throbbing, your body responding to his rough and unrepentant touch. “Hm… I don't think I want to.” Aventurine’s voice drops. His smile takes on a distinctly wicked quality. “I think I'll take you right here.”

“But we’ll get kicked out,” you whine. Even as you protest though, you're panting and moving your hips now. Grabbing at his arms, rutting against him like you're in heat. His fingers hook around the thin straps of your dress, pull them down your shoulders, already starting to indulge despite your reservations. You bend into his touch.

“Kicked out? By who? The staff?” He smiles, as always. “I own the place now. I don't think they'll be giving me trouble.”

“Y—you what?” For a moment, you're too shocked to keep up the wanton show. “You do? Since when?”

“Since last night.” He thumbs one of the straps that's fallen halfway down your arms. The rest of your dress threatens to come down with it. “Technically it's the IPC who acquired it—or, well, their shell company did—but I'm their designated representative here. I signed the contract.”

“The IPC isn’t going to be upset that you're fucking a concubine, who's not even your concubine, on their new property?”

Aventurine shrugs. “They know the kind of establishment the Venetian is. People gamble with humans here all the time, you know, so this has definitely happened before. The IPC definitely expects it to happen again. And besides”—he returns his attention to your dress, starting to slip the fabric down your shoulders—“I'm just cashing out my winnings. I'm sure they wouldn't deny a gambler his vices. That'd be bad business.”

You want to say more, but then he tugs, suddenly exposing you. You’re bare in front of him—in front of everyone. You can feel eyes on you. Heat curls in your gut as he grabs your tits again, his satin gloves smooth across your skin, and your nipples pebble beneath them. “Hm… much better.”

“But…” You bite your lip, glancing around. There are so many people watching now—so many voyeurs, who've forgotten about their games and their slots. Though there are a greater number of people who are continuing as usual, studying their hands, smoking their cigarettes, unperturbed. All regulars and VIPs, you know from your intelligence.

Aventurine pauses as you catalogue the room, raising a brow. Probably he's surprised at your sudden modesty; you usually have none when his touch is involved.

“Of course,” he adds, “if you'd rather enjoy the suite upstairs…”

“No—I don’t mind staying down here… it's just that I’ve never…”

Your voice trails off. Your eyes traverse the space again. There are people who’ve fully thrown their cards down, greedily drinking in the sight of you instead. Even some of the dealers are watching between hands, glancing at you instead of watching for cheaters. Like this is public entertainment, like you're a show.

Aventurine tilts his head.

“You've never had sex with an audience?” he guesses. He sounds surprised—perplexed. You don't know why. You know he knows it's a stupid question. You know he knows the answer.

You had sex in front of people all the time before you met him. You did it for the exact reasons that he’s almost certainly done the same. To this table of business magnates, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being; to the IPC, you are more like an overpriced knife; to this gambling hall, you're an interesting sideshow.

To your captors who fucked you in public, you guess you were something like a toy.

The thought sitting in your mouth is this: you've never had sex with an audience and enjoyed it. It was painful—not painful for the heart or the mind or anything else sentimental, but painful like it felt you were a fish being gutted open by a knife. And even beyond that physical pain, you simply didn't enjoy being passed around. You didn't like being owned by those people. You didn't like being an object for their entertainment, a spectacle to be consumed.

But it's different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You like being his plaything, spread for his viewing whenever he wants. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this commodity code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood.

You want him to own you too. You want him to show everyone that he won you, that he bought you, that you're his possession now. That he, and he alone, is free to treat you like a toy.

You're getting wetter just thinking about it.

“Nevermind,” you whisper. “Let's do it.”

His smile widens ever so slightly. Slyer than usual.

“Good,” he says. He guides you into standing. “Let’s get you settled then.”

You're seated back on the card table. The cigarette is forgotten in the ashtray next to you. Aventurine takes the time to straighten out your dress, lifting the straps back up and affording you some modesty—before he gently lays you out.

You look up at him as you're spread in front of him, laid out next to his royal flush and winnings. Like you're another chip in his stacks, the most expensive one. He puts a hand beneath your leg, drapes it over his shoulder. He takes the opportunity to kiss your calf, his lips delicate.

You glance at the tables around you. You watch the business owners and politicians as they watch Aventurine. You watch them as they watch your boyfriend pepper kisses up your leg, unless he's settling in between them. Your thighs spread easily for him, and you don't resist as he hikes up your skirt.

Then he frowns.

“I’ve never seen these panties before.”

“They’re new,” you relay.

“From your husband?”

“Yup.”

“I see.”

You can't see his face, but he sounds distinctly displeased. You expect him to complain, to say they're not expensive enough or not designer enough or just plain ugly.

You don't expect him to tear them right off.

“Aventurine?!”

You're so surprised you sit up, just in time to see him throw tatters of silk to the floor.

“What?” He looks up at you, expression unbothered, almost mild. “It wasn't your colour.”

Your mouth opens. “But it was still very nice!”

“I'll buy you nicer ones later. I’ll buy you a whole drawer of nicer ones later, when we’re done here.”

He looks down again, humming. Your cheeks flush as he spreads your legs again, baring your glistening sex to him—this time completely bare. Satin glides along the inside of your thighs, and your breath hitches when he reaches their apex. You feel the light touch of a finger along your opening, and you feel your body responding, tightening around nothing.

“Tell me,” he says, “What else did your husband do with you?”

His voice is casual, almost disinterested, but you know Aventurine is listening carefully.

“Not much,” you answer truthfully. “I haven't cum in months, you know.”

“Oh?” He sounds surprised. “You don't have sex with him?”

“No. He's fucked me a lot. It”—you whimper, pausing when you feel his fingers spreading you open, fluttering hole and swollen clit exposed to him—“it just wasn't very good.”

“Then”—you feel a thumb press against your clit, and you swallow—“he never touched you here?”

“N-no.”

“Stupid of him.” He’s drawing slow, lazy circles into the bud now, making you squirm on the table. You press yourself eagerly toward his familiar touch, having desperately missed it for months. Aventurine, perhaps sensing your neediness, asks, “And you didn't touch yourself?”

“He didn't let me,” you whine, and now he's frowning at you.

“I knew I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he says, and you have to bite back a laugh. Aventurine’s mouth curls at the sound, and he leans in to place a kiss on your thigh. “But that’s fine. I'll make it up to you now.”

Aventurine kisses are soft and precise. They pepper a path up your thigh while his fingers continue to play lazily with your clit. You want—need—to feel something inside you, but he doesn't oblige. His fingers merely run along your entrance, teasing your dripping pussy with luxury satin, and that's all they do, even as your hips buck needily toward him.

He pauses for just a moment. When you look at him, you see him staring at you—at the brand on your inner thigh, the commodity code that your captors left on you, branding you as a product to be used and sold.

His voice is almost soft when he asks, “And what did your husband say when he saw this?”

“He never did,” you reply. “He always fucked me from behind. And he never went down on me.” You pause, thinking about the way he spoke of his business. Of his trade partners. Of what your captors had done to your home when you told him about it, feigning intimacy only to be matched in cruelty. You think about the way he fucked you, how it felt to be gutted open on his expensive, silk sheets.

None of it matters to you, really. This is behaviour that you’ve long accepted, that your body always anticipates. But you always like to offer Aventurine intimacy, whether real or feigned, whether he returns it equally or responds with undeserved cruelty: “I think it wouldn't have bothered him if he had noticed it.”

You can't see Aventurine’s eyes, but you can feel his reaction when he places a chaste kiss on your product code.

“I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he repeats. Then he pauses. “Maybe I shouldn't have let you go at all.”

“I didn't mind,” you say. You aren't lying. “You gave me up for a reason.”

He stands. Cups your face with a palm, luxuriant fabric and gold rings pressed against your skin. Sometimes he's given up the aventurine stone temporarily for assignments, parting with it in elaborate gambles that he always manages to win. The way he’s touching you now reminds you of the way he holds the gem whenever it returns to his hand.

“Well,” he says, “I’m sorry it took so long to get you back.”

Aventurine tilts your chin up for a kiss. You meet it eagerly, and it's so tender in its familiarity that every memory of your husband fades. There's only Aventurine, and his gentle mouth, and the way his hands slide your dress down again, how he palms your breasts again. How he teases one nipple with his expensive rings until you're moaning into his mouth. How his other hand travels down until his gloved hand is cupping your heat. You drag your hips against his touch, desperately seeking some kind of friction, your wetness drenching the cloth. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your body aching to be filled by him, aching in a way that it does for no one else.

It’s one of the most addictive feelings you've ever known.

Aventurine only stops touching you so he can push away all the chips, clearing space on the table. He ignores the cacophony as countless stacks fall over, not sparing the plastic coins a single glance. Like you're the only prize that matters to him, even though the sum of his winnings come out to more than you ever were worth.

He lays you out on the table again, flat on your back, exposed, before kissing a path down your body—your neck, your breasts, your stomach, between your thighs. He deigns to give your product code one more kiss, his lips so gentle that it makes you tremble—and then he finally puts his mouth on you. He licks a hot stripe from your dripping pussy up to the crest of your sex, and your eyes close in bliss.

If you felt any uncertainty before this, it's completely gone now. Your hands ghost over your tits, playing with them as Aventurine’s tongue plays with you. He sucks on your neglected clit, fingers squeezing your thighs, keeping you spread open and still for him. He presses in, lets you drag your cunt over his greedy mouth and grind your clit against his face. Heat and pressure coil tight in your belly as he pleasures you, your body flushing with the kind of bliss only Aventurine can give you. You’re so lost in it that you almost don’t notice how quiet the rest of the hall has gotten, the cacophony of chatter and slot machines oddly subdued—almost missing. In their absence, the obscene noises that Aventurine is drawing from your mouth and body are louder than they should be.

The pleasure in your belly is just starting to swell when he pulls away. You give him a pleading look as he leans over you, but before you can start begging for more, you feel his fingers press against your heat. He watches you with keen eyes as he starts rubbing your pussy, maybe enjoying the desperate noises you make at his touch. You buck your hips, moaning as your clit and entrance grind against the fabric of his gloves, seeking friction. You’re empty, aching, desperate to be filled, but you think you can finish like this, just by rutting against his satin fingers—

Aventurine withdraws his hand, and you whine.

“No,” you beg, “please, please keep going, I was getting close—”

He raises a brow, feigning surprise. “Keep going?” He brings up his hand, shows you his gloves. The satin is soaked, shiny and stained with your slick. “I don't think I should. Look at what a mess you’ve made of my gloves.” Aventurine hums, frowning. “These are designer, you know. And limited—there are only 95 pairs of these in the whole universe. And you're ruining them.”

“I'm sorry,” you say, mind so fogged with lust that you can't even return his teasing. “I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, I'll do anything, just—just let me cum—”

“Anything?” His smile is sly.

“Anything.”

“Well. I suppose if you help me clean this up, I wouldn't mind rewarding you with more.”

You don't need to ask what he means by that. When he holds out his hand to you, runs a finger along your lips, you obediently open your mouth for him. Your tongue slides along the wet satin, only making his glove messier—but he seems not to mind. He merely watches intently as your tongue cleans his fingers, taking in the obscene image of you hungrily lapping your own slick off the expensive fabric.

He lets you ruin his glove thoroughly before finally drawing back, peeling it off.

“I'm not sure that did any good,” he says, frowning. “I’ll probably need to buy a new pair. But”—he pulls away, and you feel him settle between your legs again, his hands spreading them. “I'll still reward you for the effort.”

Aventurine is quick about getting his mouth back on you. His tongue is hot on your skin, expertly teasing your clit. You feel his fingers running along your entrance again, growing sticky with his need. He laughs when you press your hips toward his hand, desperate to be filled.

Then he's pressing his bare fingers into your heat, and your back is arching off the table.

The moan you let out is obscene. It only gets worse when his fingers curl, making the pressure in your belly even heavier. Utterly shameless, you beg for him as he fucks you with his fingers: Aventurine, please, please, I need more, please, I'm so close, I'm so close.

As if taking pity on you, his mouth finds your clit again, his fingers pressing into your sweet spot at the same time. And he doesn't let up, pushing into it even when you think you can't take anymore—tongue swirling against your overstimulated bud, fingers making you gush uncontrollably. You practically sob when you cum, a noise of desperation that echoes in the gambling hall.

His smile looks a little fonder than usual—or maybe just entertained—as he stands again and leans over you. You taste your own release in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, and he strokes your face when he pulls away.

“So good for me,” he praises. “Are you going to let me do more?”

You nod eagerly. “Whatever you like,” you say, all sense of shame gone from your body, “and however you want.”

Aventurine’s mouth curls. “Your husband fucked you from behind, right? Why don't you bend over for me, then? Let's show him how he should have been doing it.”

You see the diamond pupils of Aventurine’s eyes glance off to the side, where, sure enough, your husband is spectating with some of his business partners. You force yourself to turn away before you can smile, hiding your expression from the other men. You’re not meant to derive any real pleasure from any of this, let alone pleasure of the vindictive kind. Your relationship with Aventurine is supposedly nothing but a gambler and his newly won, human plaything. It would be suspicious if you appeared to be anything else.

You slink off the table in a distinctly performative way, and Aventurine plays equally into the show—probably an act as familiar to him as it is to you. He guides you into turning around, your eyes falling on the scattered cards on the tabletop, the casino’s eyes falling on you. His hands waste no time in pulling down your dress and reaching around to knead your breasts, in full view of the rest of the gambling hall. You're only vaguely aware of your audience now, registering the interested, hungry stares, but not really caring. You're too focused on the way that Aventurine is tugging and twisting at your nipples, at how he’s pressed up against your ass, his cock straining through his pants. You grind needily against him, whining.

Aventurine kisses your shoulder. “Poor thing. You've been neglected for so long, haven't you?” His hands retreat, and you hear the sound of a zipper being undone. Then your skirt’s being pushed up and you're being bent over, your dripping pussy fully presented to him. When you feel the press of his cockhead against your entrance, you desperately try to push yourself back onto him. But he doesn't allow you to—only running the tip along your wet folds, still sticky from your release, while he stills you with a gentle touch on your hip.

You make a pathetic, desperate noise. Aventurine chuckles, though there’s now a breathy quality to his voice.

“Be patient,” he chides. “I'll take care of you.”

You know he will. He always takes care of you, in a way that no one else ever has. Even when he gambles your life for some mission, even when he can barely afford you the barest hints of intimacy, even when he displays your body to an audience of slave traders and murderers—he always takes care of you. Even if you are only a knife or a wristwatch or a chip in one of his games, he still treats you like you're worth holding onto.

Aventurine finally moves. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his cock sliding into you. Usually he needs to be careful after your long missions away from him, knowing you'll be tense. He understands that your body always anticipates being in pain after being touched by other people. But he has you so worked up right now—still dripping from your release, still pliant from his fingers, still eager to please him before the crowd—that your cunt easily swallows his length. The stretch is pure bliss, pleasure unfurling in your body as you're filled up properly for the first time in months. He's just as affected as you, breath shaking as he bottoms out.

“Fuck,” he breathes—laughs. “Nearly forgot how good this feels.” He pauses, his breathing slowing—almost stopping each time you squeeze around him. You turn back, throwing him a pleading glance, and he meets it with an endeared smile. “Eager today, aren't you?” He hums, a hand sliding along your waist. “You really do need to be properly fucked.”

He's stalling. Trying to give you a moment to adjust, but you don't need it. “Yes,” you encourage him. Aching for the press of his cock against your walls, you grind against him, and you hear a strangled groan as you force him to move inside you. “Please, Aventurine—please, please fuck me, I need it so badly—”

He hums, both hands grabbing your hips, his fingers sinking into you. “Well. Since you asked so nicely.”

The first thrust has your eyes going wide, your hands reaching for the card table as you’re forced to bend over. You spread our palms next to the mess of heart cards and shiny tokens, bracing yourself for the way your body’s about to be used. He doesn't give you time to breathe after, each stroke filling you deep and fast. The rest of the gambling hall grows very, very quiet as Aventurine fucks you, and suddenly all you can hear is the appreciative murmur of the crowd, clink of ice cubes in aged whiskey, the noisy flick of lighters as more patrons opt to pause their games and enjoy the show. You hear the shattering of all the stacks beside you, hundreds of thousands of dollars in chips fall over beside you, tokens clinking as they roll across the tabletop. But all of that is soon drowned out by the wet noise of your pussy being fucked open, the squelch of your slick around his cock. You moan each time he bottoms out, eager to be filled.

When you feel his cock press into your sweet spot, your moans quickly turn into cries.

You hear something like a breathy laugh from Aventurine. Your body always reveals itself so easily to him, and you know he enjoys it. He hits that spot again and again, builds an agonizing tension in your body with every thrust of his hips. It has your pussy gushing around him, your thighs growing wet and sticky with your need.

Just when it feels like you can't take anymore, he reaches down and presses his fingers against your throbbing clit. Your knees buckle as he toys with you, chest heaving against the table as he sets a brutal pace. You're—overwhelmed, mind going hazy as you're fucked mercilessly. So far gone, you can hardly register the disgruntled expression of your husband, the hungry gazes of his companions, the way that other players are starting to shift in their seats, palming themselves at the sight of your pussy being split open. There's only the tight coil in your gut, the chips between your fingers as you grab uselessly for something to ground you, the cock that's filling you over and over and over—and oh fuck, you’re going to cum, you're really going to cum after being won in a game, from having your pussy used like a sleeve, from being watched by men who will never own you no matter how many times they trade you, no matter how many times they fuck you, no matter how many times they pass you around, because you'll only ever belong to Aventurine—

Your orgasm crashes through your body, and you sob.

It's a broken, blissed out noise. Your pussy is equally shameless, gushing as you pulse around Aventurine’s cock. You go limp as he fucks you through your orgasm, uncaring about the mess you're making. He only groans as you squirt all over him, hips stuttering as he reaches his own peak—spilling himself inside you, pumping you full. Aventurine’s body slumps over yours as rides out his high, his face pressing into your shoulder. You find the wherewithal to shift yourself, just enough to your lips against the tattoo on his neck. He looks at you for a fleeting moment, the blue ring of his eyes electric on you, before capture your mouth in a desperate, messy kiss.

The two of you stay there for a long moment, panting into each other. Then Aventurine collects himself, remembers how to talk: “Fuck.”

You piece yourself together just as easily. Maybe even faster. Smiling into his mouth, you ask, “Enjoy yourself?”

“Clearly.” Aventurine presses his lips into your neck, lingering only briefly. “Can you walk?”

“I think so.”

Aventurine takes his time with moving, as if basking in the afterglow—or bragging in it. But he does rise, eventually. Pulls out slowly, making you shudder. He helps you to your feet, lets you hold onto him for support. His spend drips down your thighs as you right yourself, messy and hot on your skin. You can feel it sliding down your legs as you walk, braced against Aventurine as he guides you in the long walk toward the elevator. It slips all the way down to your calves, to your expensive heels, even onto the marble floor.

You're fairly certain that it's not an accident when Aventurine flips up your skirt as you pass your ex-husband. At the very least, it isn't a mistake when you stumble in that same moment, bending over and giving him a good look at your well-used pussy, now overfilled with your boyfriend’s cum. You don't stop to look at him, but you know he must be red-faced, displeased—aware that he’s been humiliated. Beaten by a Stoneheart, concubine stolen by Sigonian, one of his favourite possessions claimed by a former slave. You'd laugh if you could.

You can't help but kiss Aventurine while the two of you wait for the elevator, a smile glowing into his lips.

It's absurd, but a staff member approaches the two of you as you indulge in one another. Aventurine pulls away as you’re approached, looking mildly annoyed as he switches on his synesthesia beacon.

“Sir,” the staff says, “you’ve left your other winnings at the table.”

Even in his post-orgasm bliss, Aventurine responds promptly. “I’ll cash it all,” he says. “Send the money to my room. I'm not coming back tomorrow.”

“Very well. And the terms of the… human resource exchange that just happened?”

Aventurine’s jaw clicks. It's quiet, but surprising. You watch him carefully.

“We didn't bet contracts,” he says. “This is a concubine, not a slave. But tell Mister Li I'll buy them anyway. I'll pay whatever price he wants, which I’d wager is the company that he gambled and lost to me. Maybe suggest that to him.”

“Of course,” the staff member replies, bowing. Despite the first-rate service, Aventurine looks like he can't get out of there sooner enough as he guides you into the elevator. You give him a curious look as the door closes.

“You're going to give up a multiplanetary corporation just for this?” you ask.

“Not entirely. The IPC was planning to acquire it anyway. It'll be ours again in a few months.” He stares at your reflections in the mirror, his strange eyes lingering on your dishevelled form. “We’ll put your intel to good use,” he adds, and although Jade or Diamond or any of your real bosses would say this with a smile and reward you with a bonus, Aventurine’s expression is unreadable.

“What's on your mind?” you ask, fingers brushing against his hand. “You’re worried about something.”

Aventurine blinks, and it takes him a moment to recover.

“Nothing. Just hoping we didn't give our relationship away just now.” He cups your face with a hand, guides you into looking at his smile. A deflection. “I might have gotten carried away.”

You lean into his touch, eyes playful: a performance. As if he's some stranger that you're servicing, a captor being entertained; as if you're a plaything about to be used. As if you expect to be treated like the disposable commodity that your husband just gambled away.

“I wouldn't worry,” you reassure him. “I'm sure after the show we put on, it'll be clear to anyone that you're only keeping me around for sex.”

It's very, very subtle, but a muscle in Aventurine's neck twitches. He'd never allow it in a game of cards, never before the IPC, never before the prying eyes of slavers and killers—but he allows it in front of you. He always unwittingly bares himself to you, even as he swallows his discomfort before adopting his usual, vulpine expression. You don't think anyone else would notice what lies beneath the gilded surface of his smile, his liar’s eyes. You don't think anyone else would notice his tells, his vulnerabilities, his quiet fear of loss.

After all, there is no one else in this universe who knows how to trick him into intimacy.

Winning has always come with a certain emptiness for Aventurine. Gambling is, after all, a zero sum game. He plays a royal flush and people lose their homes. Winner takes all. He survives the fighting pits, his blade dripping red with the lives of other slaves. Winner takes all. He runs from the stench of blood and burning flesh, praying for thunder and rain loud enough to drown the screams of his dying kin. Winner takes all.

He alone survives. He alone enjoys his riches. Ever since the Avgin died, he has always been by himself. There is no amount of coin nor credit that will ever change this.

Here is another unyielding fact that hollows any win: that no matter how many credits he collects, he will always be a chip himself. He will always be a plastic token worth sixty coppers. Gambling is a zero-sum game, and ever since the day he was chained, Aventurine has been the pool of riches divided among winners. He has always been the commodity being traded between hands. He has always been the prize to be cashed out and used. Even now, with all this money and power, it will never be him who comes to collect: it will always be the IPC. Winner takes all.

Such is his fate. Luck is always on his side, but he has always had the losing hand against destiny. No matter how many times he wins, there is nothing that will ever truly belong to him.

But then he met you.

Then he met you, and now his luck does not always feel like such a cruel or empty thing. Now the zero-sum game has meaning. He hedges his bets in the market and buys out a planet, and acquires you along with the shares. Winner takes all. He gambles his life against a nuclear power and comes out on top, and the IPC allows him to keep you by his side. Winner takes all. He plays a royal flush and wins at a table of slave traders, and he gets to fuck you until you can't think of any cock but his own. Winner takes all.

Gambling is a zero-sum game, and when you're the reward, Aventurine wouldn't have it any other way. He’ll never share you with anyone. He'll never sell you to anyone.

He’ll never lose you to anyone.

Sometimes it surprises him, this attachment he feels to you. He doesn't quite understand it, but he thinks it mostly just has to do with how good it feels to fuck you. Much like gambling, Aventurine has never enjoyed sex until you came along. Sex for him has always felt like a humiliation, like being gutted open as a captive animal, like being won and passed around in the grand hall of some gaudy casino.

Which is, in fact, another thing he never thought he'd enjoy: having sex in the Venetian Zhijin before an audience of revolting men. He'd resented having to do it as a slave, but he’d enjoyed doing it with you as a Stoneheart. He'd even do it again if he could—take you over and over again on that card table, fill you up with his cum. Spread your cunt in front of everyone, so they could see for themselves that you were now his. Winner takes all.

Winning doesn't feel empty when you're his reward. Sex doesn't either. Because Aventurine isn't a chip or an animal or a commodity when he fucks you—he's a player. Someone with a seat at the table, as just as wealthy and powerful as the slave traders around him. Someone who’s allowed to own something—really own something.

Really allowed to own you.

Aventurine owns you. When he fucks you, he is a player at the table, and you are the prize he gets to keep. And no matter how you feel about him and how you act toward him—this is all the two of you will ever be. He knows this. He knows that you know it too.

So sometimes he can't fathom it, the way he treats you in bed. The way he always kisses your commodity code when he sees it, the way he allows you to kiss his own. The way he always thinks about pleasuring you until you're drunk on his cock, so addicted to him that you’ll never want to be touched by anyone else. The way he always likes how your body feels when it's being shaped by his hands. How different it feels from being forced to touch other people.

How badly you make him want something that he's always hated.

And this is what he understands least of all: how he doesn't like to hear you say aloud the true nature of your relationship. How he doesn't like it when you accept this reality and say, you're only keeping me around for sex.

It hollows him out when he hears it. A bitter feeling swells in his throat, and he forces himself to swallow.

Aventurine keeps his face neutral as he enters the suite with you. As soon as the door is shut, you pull him close—close enough for him to see the blurred lines of your lipstick, smudged from his mouth; close enough to see the white diamond necklace on your neck, a collar for a concubine; close enough to see the finger-shaped discolorations on your throat, poorly hidden by your foundation.

Close enough to see all the things done to your body by others—all the things you didn't choose for yourself.

“How do you want to have me next?” Your fingertip traces his lips. “On the bed? In the shower?” Your eyes are playful. “Maybe against the window?”

Aventurine’s hand cups your cheek, gold rings pressed against your skin. His hold is delicate, more careful than with anything else he's ever handled—any of his watches, his furs, his jewellery. Even more than with the aventurine stone.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You blink.

“Kiss me?” Your brow ticks up, but then your face lights up in supposed understanding. “Okay. You can kiss me. And then?”

“And then I'll keep kissing you.”

You tilt your head, not understanding. “Really?”

“What? Is that off-limits now?” He leans in, expression playful. “Don't tell me I've got to go back downstairs and win back permission to kiss you from your husband.”

Before you can say anything else—ask anything else, perceive anything else—he presses his mouth to yours. Your eyes widen for only a moment before falling shut, your arms wrapping around his neck. Your lips part for him, and he delights in the noise you make as he deepens the kiss.

He did lie, in a way. The two of you do end up fucking again—this time in bed, your mouth gasping into his as you fall apart for him, wet and needy around his cock. You're so warm around him, so pliable beneath him, so desperate when possessed by him. He knows that he could keep going, that he could do anything to you, that you'd be eager to let him use you however he wants.

But all he does afterward is kiss you.

This is yet another act that he never thought he'd enjoy. Kissing has always felt like a chore or a power play or a manipulation. It has always come with a certain emptiness—just like gambling, just like sex. And then he met you, and now it no longer feels so hollow. Because when he wins bets for the IPC, he feels like a poker chip in one of their games, but when he’s fucking you, he feels like a player at the table. And sometimes, when he kisses you—when he holds you close, when you come down from your high and press your face into the crook of his neck and in the vulnerable haze of your bliss, tell him, I missed you—

—he finally feels like a human being.

end notes: christ alive I have never written anything so horny glddjsksjs. I apologize for both my mid smut writing and deranged characterization 💔

initially this was supposed to be brainless pwp about aventurine eating you out on a poker table but I kept asking myself “why the hell did aventurine gamble for human beings and why are these two insane enough to be fucking in a casino tho lol”, and thus a coherent narrative was born from my shameless lust for this guy! but please also don't take the story too seriously because this is a dumb smut piece first and foremost and I mostly wrote it with my clit 😔✌️

that being said, if you are curious about the subject matter that I covered – here's an afterword expanding on my intentions with the themes.

[lxmelle]

More thoughts after looking at the Gojo Satoru booklet.

In his relationship chart: The only mutual relationship laced with feeling was that with Geto Suguru.

Ties/links to Geto were scarred throughout Gojo’s timeline. Including his death date.

The strongest, Gojo Satoru, has only one possible complex, and it was that he could not stop Geto Suguru from defecting. Gojo had a Geto Complex.

Gojo was very single-minded. He had no particular interest aside from Jujutsu and whatever linked up with the memories of Geto. So much so that he never thought about an alternative besides being a sorcerer and Gege joked he’d want an easy life using whatever else he had - what you might ask? His looks (I reckon). So a gigolo or a “kept man”. Gojo really liked leaving things he was disinterested in to Geto anyway. (He really had found the perfect nurturer in Geto.)

His uniform was barely modified, but in previous Q&As here confirmed Gojo’s decision for his blazer was to look like Geto’s and not vice versa. Geto’s fashion sense is individualistic and he doesn’t care about convention. Gojo doesn’t bother himself with price tags nor does he necessarily follow fashion trends.

Even when he napped he sometimes dreamed of him (HI arc was made out of a flashback).

He became a teacher because of the impact of Geto leaving.

He learned how to reach those beneath him.

He was taught about love by Geto.

He became more responsible to those he could guide (the youth, his students, those with talent) <- does this not also sound like “mini Geto” & “mini Gojo”?

He learned how to communicate better, use respectful language, how to have people “follow him” and feel not lonely. (Up until college Gojo had no friends to speak of).

He learned life was precious through realising he couldn’t kill Geto, and lived with principles - for a meaning and purpose beyond himself, even if he was jujutsu crazy.

He longed for Geto’s presence enough to feel he’d be satisfied if he were patted on the back by him before his battle where he died.

He did not blame Geto.

He felt left behind.

He wanted to catch up.

He was happy to pour out his feelings to Geto upon reunification in 236, not Sukuna (which was the trend up until then with worthy sorcerers defeated by him), indicating Geto was not a flower to Gojo.

[aayakashii]

1 ❤️fluff Lyca Colt

1❤️ a kiss on the cheek

“Hey.” Lyca nudged you with his elbow as you two scarfed down the lunch you had bought at Sho's food truck.

Lyca was beginning to get used to using cutlery instead of his bare hands to eat, so you could finally relax and focus on your own food during lunch after a few weeks of fretting over him.

“Yeah? What's up?”

He scratched his cheek, looking a bit embarrassed.

“I gotta ask you something.”

You quickly turned to look at him, a bit worried about the serious tone of his voice.

“Okay.” you put your hashi down and offered him your full attention.

“But you gotta promise you won't laugh or think I'm weird!” he pointed at you accusingly, as if you always laughed at him (you did not, but he was still extremely worried about being laughed at).

“You know I don't laugh at your worries, Lyca” you rolled your eyes.

“I know but… I gotta be sure.” he pouted, nose scrunched at the mere thought of you betraying his trust like that.

“I won't laugh. What's worrying you?”

He fidgeted with the end of his hoodie's sleeve, pulling a stray thread from it. You lightly slapped his hand to make him stop so he wouldn't ruin the hoodie's sewing.

The little slap made him flinch and he managed to blurt out what he wanted to say.

“Am I… your best friend?”

You blinked slowly, wondering if you heard him correctly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Am IIIIII. Your beeeest. Frieeeeeend.” he said it again, elongating the syllables for way too long.

“Where did this come from all of a sudden, Lyca?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I was in class and I heard some other people ranking their friends. And they all had a ‘best friend’. So I asked the blonde gigolo what it meant and he said it's the friend you like the most, the one you're always with and someone you like so much you'd help them with anything.”

You nodded, finally understanding his sudden question. “I see, I see.”

“So I asked him if the moth eaten Casanova was his best friend. And he made a face like this” Lyca scrunched his face and stuck out his tongue, imitating what was probably disgust.

“Yeah I imagine he would react like that.”

Lyca shrugged.

“So I wanted to know about you.”

“Did you ask Subaru too?”

“I don't need to” he huffed, puffing his chest “I know I'm his best friend.”

“Oh… but you aren't sure about me?” You crossed your arms.

“Well, you're always hanging out with a bunch of other ghouls and talking to them so I need to know! What if you prefer them rather than me!” he turned his gaze away from you, pouting. His ears and tail popped up as they usually did whenever he felt slightly distressed or nervous.

You stared at his slightly puffed cheeks and his curled down tail, doing your absolute best not to strangle him as the cuteness aggression took over your body. You sighed.

“I can't say you're my best friend, Lyca.”

His head turned quickly towards you, ears flat against his head. He opened his mouth to protest, but you raised your hand so he could let you finish.

“Calm down, I'll explain.” you cleared your throat as he looked at you with heartbroken eyes that almost broke your heart too.

Almost.

“You can't just be my best friend, Lyca.” You shook your head “That isn't enough for you.”

At that, his ears perked and he straightened his previously hunched back.

“What do you mean?”

You began to organize both of your leftovers once you were sure he had your full attention.

“I mean that you are the best boy in the whole world, so you aren't just my best friend. You're my favorite boy. You're leagues above being a best friend.” you winked at him as you finished wrapping up everything.

His cheeks were tinted a light pink, but his face still expressed confusion.

“But then this means I am your best friend, right?” he followed you with his eyes as you got up and stood in front of him.

You sighed.

“Yes. You're my best friend. My best best friend actually.”

His tail began wagging behind him.

“Your best best best friend too?”

You smiled at him and offered your hand to pull him up. “Yes, that too”.

Once he held your hand, you pulled him forward a little bit, making him stumble. His eyes widened as you leaned in and placed a kiss on both of his cheeks.

“My best boy.” you said, squishing his cheeks for a moment and then turning around to walk towards the main building. “Now let's go so we won't be late for class!”

Lyca stood there for a few seconds, dazed, watching you walk further away. His hands touched his warm cheeks.

He didn't really understand it yet, but maybe being best friends wasn't actually enough, just like you said.

Drabble event rules and prompt lists

[hoshigray]

https://www.tumblr.com/hoshigray/725915919672573952/sit-down-for-this-one-alright-how-bout-a-gigolo

your fic with toji i love it sm 🫶🫶🫶 BUT how would he react if reader tried someone elses services cs her friends told her to try it out…

noonie, you're so real for this bc damn, why the hell didn't i think of that :OOO lol hope you like this, hon~~ spin-off of this → ☆;

cw: gigolo! Toji x fem! reader - smut so minors DNI - dumbification - toji being jealous/possessive bc duh - cunnilingus (f! receiving) - clitoral play (biting/grazing + pinching) - degradation (toji calling you a whore and slut) - scratching (f! receiving) - impact play; pussy slaps - prone bone + full nelson position - pet names (baby, mama, princess) - new playboy may or may not be Gojo *shrugs* ;) - just Toji fucking you dumb, lol - mention of drool and tears. wc: 1.6k

What should've happened today was Toji enjoying a night to himself because tonight he's seeing a client he hadn't seen in a long while. Nothing wrong with spending an afternoon with an old acquaintance, specifically when it entails a good night of getting his dick wet for a thick sum of cash. Besides, he planned on seeing you afterward — his little sweet thing — stopping by your place and spending the night.

It's funny, isn't it? He met you because of this little hustle of his, and here he is fawning over you like some dumb schoolboy. It makes him feel a bit of a wimp, catching feelings for a customer? That's rookie moves. But he couldn't care less; long as he gets to see your darling smile and fuck the ever-loving shit out of you once per week, all is good in the books.

Seeing and swooping you off your feet later tonight is what was supposed to happen. That's all he was thinking about exiting the hotel room after his client left and paid for his services as promised. So, why the hell were you the first person he saw out of the room? Your face utterly petrified when you turn to see him with another man's arm dropped over your shoulders. A familiar man — another playboy who seemed elated to be around with you. Toji could assume the worst from what he was seeing. Oh, hell no.

What happened today was meant to be kept between two people — you and this new playboy. It came out of fucking nowhere when your friends crowding you about this "new guy in town," elucidating how handsome and pretty the guy is and how great he was in bed ("I'm telling you, Y/n, you really outta try him out!" "No, for real though. Like, here's a pic of him we took right after he ate me out! Don't you think he has the most gorgeous eyes~?"). You had to admit the young man was charming, but that didn't necessarily mean you wanted to do anything explicit with him. So, why did your friends schedule a night with him for you!?? Still puzzled over the fact, you can't seem to answer.

Regardless, you did have sex with another guy today — another Gioglo at that. It wasn't anything serious between you two, just casual sex for money. Plus, it was a pleasure to hang out with him, as the guy seemed fun to be around! Even with his dark shades on, the brightest thing was his dashing smile. However, a deep part of yourself felt guilt over the charade because you haven't had services with anyone else other than Toji. Sure, you and the older man aren't in a labeled relationship outside of an escort and his client. But still, he's the only man you've been intimate with. He's the only one who knows your body more than you, what you like, and how to turn you on. You were his favorite after all.

To be in the hold of another man just felt wrong...That's why your eyes go wider than golf balls when you unexpectedly bump into him when leaving your hotel room with your new one-night stand. Oh, fucking shit...

It all happened relatively quick. One moment, Toji snatches your wrist and pulls you off the young playboy, having you follow his storming march to the hotel room he just left. The next moment, you're gasping for dear life with Toji propping you against a wall, his head buried between your legs dangled on his shoulders, and his mouth ravishing your soaked folds.

"Ahhh!!Ahhhh!! Toji, too fast, please st—Ohooo!!!"

"Shut the fuck up," he says coldly, giving your clitoris a light bite before giving it a slow lick. You jerk and shiver at the tease. "Stay still, or I'm droppin' ya."

Toji smacks on your chasm, a scream leaving your lips, and you just know the others next door heard. And a pinch to your clit results in incoherent babbles, drool pooling in your mouth drips down your chin.

It doesn't stop there. All your clothes discarded to the floor, he has you pinned on the bed by your shoulders, your legs trapped between his, and his pelvis hammering down on you. Forced wails erupt from your throat with every hash rut to the ass, your slit clamping onto him with every graze to your sweet spots. You grip the sheets from his vigorous pace, tears coursing down your hot face and staining the cream cotton pillowcase.

"...Ahhhaaa!!Nnmmph!! Ohhhhfuckingshiiiiit!!" It isn't the first you've had Toji drill his cock into you with a harsh cadence. Yet, with how each fierce and snappy thrust turns your mind to mush, being pinned to the mattress as your breath gets snatched away, you knew long before that what Toji was doing to you was different than all the other times you've had sex. A lot more aggressive — a lot more deadly.

And the older man doesn't falter at all, nope. If anything, your cries only fuel his drive even more, a grin lifting his scar on the right of his lip. "Hmm, what's wrong, baby? Not fast 'nough for ya?" You open your mouth, but your words are comprised of euphoric wails. Ticked, Toji smacks your ass, and a yelp escapes your sore body. He comes down to your ear while grinding his hips on your ass, choked shrieks are muffled by the pillow. "Hey, I'm talkin'. Hmm? You thinkin' bout that other fucker's dick inside ya, huh? He fuck ya real hard like this?"

"N-Nmmm....Noooo, I—OhhhhJesusssss...."

"You what?" A sharp thrust to your chasm prompts you to howl and your eyes roll back, too fucked out of your mind to know how loud you are. "Heh, y're lookin' real stupid right now. I bet you can't think a fuckin' thing with my dick in—Mmmm! fuck....Grippin' on me hard, actin' like a real whore, princess." More abrupts hits to your ass as his nails dig to your bare shoulders; the pain coincide with the pleasure you're experiencing has you seeing stars.

He fucks you like this for what feels like an hour, your ass and pussy hot from the constant contact of his pelvis and balls smacking deep into you. The feeling of his dick being practically the only thing rotting your mind.

But you don't get rest just yet, though. Towards the end, the sun is completely down, the city lights are displayed from the hotel window, and your ecstatic moans still fill the room. Your back is to his chest, your legs pulled back to your chest by his arms and forcing you in a headlock, while his intense ruts return and his cock churns your spongey insides. Here is where you've given up restraining yourself, letting Toji use your body as his plaything, tears and drool painting your face into a gorgeous mess.

"....Ohhoooo, Ahhhoooo—Hmmmm," your brain is too long gone to think proper sentences, your mouth sprouting out nonsense. It all humors the man beneath you, his gruff chuckles vibrating your back balanced on his chest. "Soooo deeep — sosodeeeep..."

"Feelin' good there, mama?" You only respond with a euphoric hum, another snicker from the older man. "Too fucked outta're mind to answer me. Lettin' another man touch this pussy; you take dick from everybody, huh. What a fuckin' slut..." He pushes his length upward to your hole. Come leaking from you, and a white ring around the base of his dick is evidence of your session. "Hnngh! But I made ya like that..."

"....Fuuuuck, Tojiiiii, don't stooop!!" You cry out to him with gritted teeth, your haze only worsening with his cock brushing up on your G- spot precisely. "Ohhhhhh, right there, right thereeee!!"

"Mmmph—Ohhhh shit," the way your cunt contracts around him almost makes him give in to another orgasm, biting on your shoulder to compose himself. "....Shit, shit, shit, so fuckin' tight, baby...."

The hot air and thick musk of your buddies get to your head, your head ringing and pounding. Screams grow higher with every stroke, and the cold shivers crawl up your spine. It's almost here. "Toji, Tojiii, I'm gonna cumm—hic—sooocloseee!!"

Toji sneers once more. "Yeah, you are. Cumming is all y'r pretty, dumb brain can think about." And with that, his pace increases speed, drilling your walls with his veiny girth. It all electrifies your nerves, your breathing off the rails, and your climax slapping you hard with the deep thrusts he gives you.

With a cloudy mind and a mindless smile, your slit flutters on Toji's length beautifully. Too enraptured with the blissful sensation to worry about the spit streaming down your puffy lips. And it doesn't take long for Toji to be under the same spell as you, his rhythm falling back with the spill of his load inside you. His brows trenched while pumping into you, his balls pulsing with your velvet walls.

Heaving bodies soon fall into a tranquil state, your breathing finding its way into a steady flow. Finally, Toji permits your body and mind to relax from his relentless hold, releasing your body from the full nelson and gently sliding your tired body next to his.

He wipes the saliva from your mouth with the back of his hand, his hooded jade eyes never leaving your fatigued ones. "Hehe, sorry 'bout that, baby. You just feel too good to share."

You purr into his touch, his hand cupping your cheek. "Too good that you'd break my ass?" He barks an exhausted laugh at your remark, a tired giggle fleeing your lips.

"For you, I'd break anyone else that thinks they can have you." Toji kisses your temple.

"And my ass?"

"...Only if I'm the one breakin' it." You playfully hit his abs, and another laugh leaves the older man before you two sleep in each other's warmth.

want more like this? plz send me more thirsts ♡

[bettyfrommars]

Touch my cheek before you leave me, baby//Part 2

gigolo!Eddie x virgin!older!fem!Reader

(part 1)(part 3)

18+Only, mature content, intimacy smut, sweet!Eddie, nipple play, praise!kink, masturbation, oral (f receiving), protected p in v, toxic mother, self-esteem issues, alcohol consumption, implied self-loathing, pet names, implied sex with someone other than reader, paid sex. wc: 4.6k

summary: After that first night together on your 29th birthday when you lost your virginity to gigolo Eddie, he mentions, in his own way, that he'd like to see you again off the clock. Reader is an introvert dealing with self-esteem issues and invites Eddie to be our date for a wedding, but not before he invites us back to his place.

authors note: I never intended this to be more than one part, but it quickly became a favorite, and I had so many requests for more. Who am I to deny us more of sweet, gigolo Eddie?

All of your support means the world, and I very much look forward to your thoughts ❤️

pls no minors beyond this point

-------

You still couldn’t tell if it was real.  When he said he wouldn’t charge you if you ever wanted to meet up again. It felt sincere when he said it, but now, two days later, by the phone with gigalo Eddie’s number in your hand, you were convinced that it was all part of his game.  Maybe he was just that good.

He knew everything that would turn you on, everything you needed to hear, right down to the pet names and the missionary style, intimate sex. It had all been in the paperwork you’d submitted. It was nothing but a job to him, and you had totally fallen for it.  

Now you felt like one of those idiot, lovesick men at the strip clubs who always believed that the girls were really in love with them after they made eye contact a few times and tipped them for hours on end. 

You did your affirmations in the mirror that morning, trying not to look at yourself from the side in the full length mirror and pinch at the parts of your body you thought were gross.  Trying not to indulge in the morning ritual of hating yourself.

Even if Eddie had felt some type of real connection with you—which you now highly doubted—how would things progress between the two of you? From what Robin had told your friend Nellie, Eddie was a busy boy.  He was a respected gigalo within a 50 mile radius, and his list of regular clients was long; your evening with him was booked a month in advance.  On nights when he didn’t have clients, he was practicing with his band or playing gigs, and you were sure he could have any woman he wanted when he performed.

But then the phone rang as you were sitting there right next to it and you jumped, a shriek escaping your throat.

It was your mom, reminding you to pick up the dress for your cousin's wedding the following weekend. You weren’t going to be in the wedding party, but your mother had made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want you to embarrass her with any of the styles of clothes you would’ve picked out for yourself.  

She exhaled a haggard breath.  “I suppose you still haven’t found a date? There’s a new boy who goes to our church. I think he might even like you, as long as you don’t bring up any of your strange conspiracy theories or serial killer statistics. Wear that special bra I got for you, and put a little makeup on.  Men like women who try to look nice for them.”

You wanted so badly to let your mother know that you’d recently paid for a gigolo to take your virginity, just to hear the horror and panic in her voice.  You were already a disappointment to her, why not put a cherry on top?

You put Eddie’s number on the table and stared at it while she talked.  “Actually,” you took a stiff swallow that felt like a marble in your throat.  “I do have a date.  For the wedding.  His name is Eddie.”

You relished the silence of shock at the other end. “Oh? What does this Eddie do? Not another jobless musician like the last boy you had a crush on, I hope?”

You winced at the way she brought it up.  Almost a decade ago, you had a crush on the brother of one of your friends, that is until you overheard him refer to you as “creepy”.

You knew she’d never drop it until you told her something; what a person did for a living and their social standing was very important to your mother.  “He’s, um,” you looked around, eyes landing on one of the cassette tapes on the shelf for the band Mike and The Mechanics.

“He’s a mechanic,” but you knew that wouldn’t be good enough.  “He, uh, runs his own auto body garage.” The lie—the fact that you even had to lie—made you squeeze your eyes shut.

She of course asked what the name of his garage was, and you told her he was from out of town and only coming in for the wedding.  She started badgering you with more questions and you lied and told her someone was at the door of your apartment and you had to go, hanging up the receiver before she could protest.  

A few hours later, after listening to music on full blast in your headphones and nearly pacing a hole in the carpet, you cracked open the nerve to call Eddie.

Your blood ran freezing cold as it rang on his end, and you glanced at the clock: it was just after 8:00pm.  You’d purposely waited until it was later in the evening, praying that he’d be with his band or with another client, and then you could leave him a message on his machine.  You were banking on this, actually.  If he picked up and you heard his voice, you’d probably hang up on him.

As luck would have it, you did get his answering machine.  Nervous as all hell, your voice was a tad squeaky at first, but then you cleared your throat. 

You decided you would present the invitation to be your date to the wedding as a job, one you would pay him for.  You let him know you’d had a great time the other night, and then made sure he had your phone number, and that you would TOTALLY understand if he was already busy that weekend.  You were about to hang up when you realized that you’d never said exactly who you were, and so you blurted your name out at the last minute, but it was too late because the recorder beeped and cut you off.

You went to bed that night convinced you would never hear from him again.  

Much later that night, after a long day, Eddie grinned down at the answering machine the second he heard your voice—he knew it was you right away.  He’d been thinking about you nonstop since that night you’d been together, but he never expected to hear from you.  He worried that he had put you on the spot when he said you wouldn’t have to pay him, and it had probably made you uncomfortable.  Flirting on the job was not something he had done before and it was very unprofessional of him. At the very least, he needed to apologize to you.

But there you were, calling him this soon as if you’d been thinking about him too.  

He tucked his hand in his armpit and nibbled at his lip when you asked if he was free this weekend to go to a wedding with you.

His heart skipped a beat.  He was thinking something more along the lines of dinner and a movie, but, sure, he would be your date—he had a tux. He’d have to reschedule one of his regulars, but she would understand. Other guys might’ve seen that as getting too serious too quick, but not Eddie.  He hadn’t had a girlfriend, or even been on a date that was not work related in over a year.  Women weren’t interested in taking a gigolo home to meet their parents.  They wanted his cock in all of their holes, but none of them ever wanted to know how his day went or what his dreams were.  

“So, just let me know…” you continued in the message.  “...if you’re available, and how much would you charge for something like that? I’d totally understand if…”

Damn it, he cursed to himself, sucking air in the side of his cheek.  He thought that invitation was sounding a little too good to be true.  

All the same, he called back the next day and left a message while you were at the local grocery store where you worked as an assistant manager, letting you know he’d be honored to be your date, and to tell him the where and the when.

But he did not give a price, and the omission was not lost on you.

—-----

You were so nervous, you could puke.

But it was still a day before the wedding, and you were in attendance at the post-rehearsal dinner at Enzo’s.  Although you were not going to be in the wedding, your beautiful, outgoing sister Judith was, and you weren’t entirely against a dinner paid for by your uncle at one of the fanciest restaurants in town.  

You were feeling the buzz of the wine and trying to play wallflower as the other four people at the table, including your sister and three of her friends, engaged in lively conversation and shared exaggerated stories from their college years.  You were sitting back in your chair, offering a chuckle to something that was just said, when you looked across to the main entrance and saw Eddie coming through the door.  

You were only looking in his direction for maybe five seconds before you looked away, but it felt like an hour.  There was an ocean in your ears as your heartbeat soared and your brain scrambled to make sense of what was going on. 

He looked particularly beautiful.  Hair worn down, framing his face, a crisp white button down, allowing for the dark designs of his chest tattoos to show, sleeves rolled up at the elbows, exposing his defined forearm muscles and tattoos.  

Eddie was not alone.  

Next to him, holding onto his arm, was a very pretty woman.  Shoulder length, brunette hair brushed back from her face, flawless skin, tight black dress and gold jewelry.  She might have been mid to late thirties, much shorter than Eddie. They appeared to be very cozy as they stood waiting to be shown to their booth, and when she turned to ask him something, Eddie answered, and then kissed the back of her hand.

You snapped your eyes back to the table, twirled the stem of your wine glass a few times, and then lifted it to your lips for a generous gulp.  Everyone at your table was just tipsy enough to not notice how flustered you got, cheeks blooming red hot.

Eddie saw you while he was escorting Lana to their table, but he wasn’t sure if you had seen him yet or not.  This was his fifth “date” with Lana.  Her husband passed away four years ago, and she’d decided that she’d never love another man again as much as she’d loved him, so she didn’t want any romantic attachments.  What she wanted was a man to take care of her once in a while: escort her to dinner, treat her like a lady, hold doors for, and then let her suck him off so he could cum on her tits the way her husband used to do.  He wore her husband's Old Spice aftershave and called her “Sugar” which had always been his nickname for her. 

He needed to focus on Lana, but as the waiter handed over the wine menus, Eddie kept glancing in your direction.  It'd been a week since the two of you had been together biblically, and he’d really been missing your face, more than he could even admit to himself.  He found himself drawn to you chemically in a way he hadn’t experienced since he was a teenager. 

You shot him a look over your wine glass, and he lifted his fingers in a small wave, but you ducked your head and tried to hide behind whoever was sitting next to you. 

If anyone there recognized him tomorrow at the wedding, and happened to connect the dots that he was with another woman on a date the night before, that would be bad. He made a last second decision to switch places with Lana in the booth so that his back would be to the people you were with, in an effort to hide his identity.  

“I think it’s time for me to go home,” you announced to the table, getting to your feet as you said it.

Your sister protested.  “But, we just got here? One more drink?”

You fumbled so fast for your jacket that your chair fell to the ground.  Even over the Italian music and plentiful conversations, everyone turned to look, including Eddie, and then you were rushing to get out of the restaurant, bursting into the fresh air and hurrying down the sidewalk.

Down at the corner of the building, you were catching your breath and feeling stupid as hell, when you realized Eddie was coming toward you with his hands in his pockets.  He had waited a few minutes, but eventually followed.

“Hey,” he said, catching up to you after a few slow, deliberate strides.  “I hope I didn’t make anything weird for you in there.”

You covered your eyes with your hand.  “No, I’m the one who made things weird,” you told him. “I’m just not a fan of crowds. I think I got a little claustrophobic.”

“I know what you mean,” Eddie had his head down, shuffling his foot, and you noticed how different his demeanor was when he wasn’t “working”.  

You huffed a laugh.  “You’re a natural with people, what are you talking about?”

“Maybe I just play a good game,” he lifted his eyes to meet yours, chin lowered. “On the inside I spend plenty of time curled in a ball in the corner, I promise you.”

A car horn blared in the distance, and then Eddie spoke again.  “You look really pretty tonight,” his hands stayed in his pockets, but he gestured with his elbow.  “Are we still on for tomorrow?”

“Of course,” you said quickly, praying he hadn’t suddenly changed his mind.  “I mean, if you still want to?”

“Of course I want to, sweetheart,” he cocked his head, but then he gestured toward the restaurant. “I need to get back in, I can’t leave her hanging.”

You started to speak nervously, something about “oh yes sure go ahead absolutely okay goodnight” as you walked away, but then he caught your arm.

He searched your face in the dark shadow of the street corner.  “Are you…busy later? Like, in a couple hours?”

Your heart tightened at the urgency of his question.  The way his eyes settled on you, they were full of desire, and you couldn’t remember the last time anyone gave you all of their attention like that.  

Eddie was really taking a chance with this one.  What woman in her right mind would want to spend time with him right after he’d been intimate with someone else?  This is where any dating situation he ever attempted came to a screeching halt.  He went home lonely more often than not.  

Your gaze flicked from his eyes to his beautiful neck, letting the gravity of what he was asking you sink in.  “Won’t you be…tired?”

He brushed his knuckles across your cheek.  “Not too tired.”

—----

He called from the payphone at Enzo’s and left his address on your answering machine, just like he said he would, and so there you were, in your car in the driveway of the adorable light blue house he shared with a friend named Steve, who was supposedly also in the gigolo business. Steve was out of town for a few days, though, and inside your head you were screaming; you couldn’t believe this was happening.

 It was one of the better maintained houses on the block; lawn perfectly mowed and trimmed, a flower bed with purple pansies along the sidewalk.  There was the husk of an old muscle car in the garage though, and an engine weeping oil on the pavement.  The lie you’d told your mother wasn’t too far off, and a grin kicked up one side of your mouth thinking about how Eddie’s strong hands had some black stains in the crevasses from working on cars, even though he scrubbed them constantly.  

Eddie had no idea what he was doing.  The good thing about being a gigalo was that he could control the atmosphere and the outcome: he never had to worry about getting hurt because it was just a job.  

You could tell he’d just come out of the shower when he answered the door in a plain white tee and jeans exposing the tattoos on his arms, hair wet down his shoulders, skin warm and soft when he hugged you in the doorframe. 

The hug lingered, and when you stepped back, your chin was down, your eyes trying to avoid him at all costs. Sure, you wanted to be there with him, but also, your body was in fight or flight mode.  You could hear your mother’s voice in your head then, telling you there’s no way a guy as good looking as Eddie would be interested in a girl like you. She’d insist he was using you for something.

“Hey,” Eddie caught your chin and brought your attention back to him. He ran a thumb across your mouth.  “I’ve been dreaming of these lips.”

It made you snort a laugh, and Eddie laughed too, squeezing one eye closed.  “Sorry, was that too cheesy? Occupational hazard.”

“I like cheesy,” you beamed, parting your lips to accept his kiss, opening your mouth to take him deeper, working your hands up the front of his chest over his shirt.  You tried not to think about the woman he’d been with just an hour earlier, and the things they’d possibly done together.  If he could accept you and still find you desirable, even when you didn’t even like yourself, you were willing to have an open mind about his profession.  At least for now.

You found out he had an episode of Elvira’s Movie Macabre on the TV, and told him it was one of your favorites.  This made Eddie like you even more.  He sat back on the couch, legs long, and beckoned for you with a few eager flaps of his wrist to come and sit flush with your back against him.  “This is what I needed,” he said as you got comfortable between his legs.  He kissed the side of your head, intertwined the fingers of one of his hands with yours, and you could barely concentrate on the show with the way his closeness made your pussy pulse.

“Is this okay?” He whispered.  Both of his thumbs slid down the front of the blouse you were wearing to graze the hard nubs of your nipples, while he kissed the outer ridge of your ear.  

You could only make a needy purr in the back of your throat, pushing against him at the need for more.  

“Are your nipples this hard just for me, sweetheart?” He hushed, nuzzling your ear.  You squirmed a bit more, nodding, exposing the side of your neck to greet his mouth.  He unbuttoned your shirt and pulled down the front cups of your bra to pluck at your tender buds, making you whine.  He found your pulse point on your throat and sucked there, continuing to work your nipples in a way that had your underwear immediately damp with arousal.

“You getting wet for me so I can taste how good I make you feel, baby?”

Indeed, your body was letting him know loud and clear that this is what it wanted.  

He licked his fingers to wet your nipples, and you felt like you might be able to cum from his finger twisting alone.  You undid the zipper on your trousers and sank your fingers into the wetness there, working your slippery clit.  You slid your digits down a little further and dipped them into your hole; it gripped around you, begging to be filled.

“Let me taste it,” he told you.  You presented your two glistening fingers up and he sucked them into his mouth, licking them clean, making you tremble at the way his tongue flicked between them.

“Keep touching yourself,” he encouraged, milking and twisting your nipples with a bit more force now that they weren’t as sensitive, causing zings of pleasure to rock through your body.

“Eddie,” you whimpered, finding your clit again, working your wrist.  “You’re going to make me—”

But then it was already happening, a pop of velvet streamers liquified at your core, pulsing, throbbing, making you go blind for a second.  

Eddie’s cock bucked hard against his denim.  You turned to kiss him in the aftermath, and he slid out from under you to get on his knees, pulling your pants off the rest of the way.

“I need to taste it,” he breathed, hiking your knees up over his shoulders so he could bury his face and lick you clean, lapping up your gift, groaning and rocking forward on his knees as he did so.  

You grabbed onto his hair.  “You like how hard I cum for you, don’t you baby?”

You were learning to be more verbal, and it made his hips twitch against the couch, he wanted you so bad.  Once he devoured the sweet  nectar of  your cum, he worked his way up your body, kissing your breasts, and then finding your mouth.  He sank two fingers into your aching hole, and your pelvis flexed eagerly up to meet his hand.  

“Hey,” he brushed his lips over yours, hovering there.  “I don’t ever go down on...clients,” he admitted to you, eyes finding yours, fucking his fingers slowly in and out, curling them up once they were deep inside of you. “You are special, I just thought you should know.”

“I like knowing that,” you said with a quiver in your voice, holding his face. “I want you inside of me.”

There was a condom in his wallet and he helped you guide it onto his cock after he pushed his jeans down, every bit the teacher.  You slid your shoulders down the couch, legs spread wide, exposing all of your holes for him.  Gripping your hip, he teased the tip at your entrance, eyebrows pinching together at the sensation.

“Without a condom, I’d probably blow a hole through you, baby, you’ve got me so hard.”

Your pussy was soaked, dripping from your folds down the condom on his cock.  “You’re the only one I want inside of me,” you were merely stating a fact, but it was just what he needed to hear, and he rose up on his knees, pulled your ass a bit further off the couch, and buried himself balls deep with a hard gasp.

He leaned forward to brace his forearms on the cushion at either side of your head, kissing you, thrusting in a few times as deep as he could go, skin smacking, your wetness now shimmering on the curly hairs at the base of his cock.

You were amazed at how your body knew how to respond, even though you had absolutely no clue what you were doing.  Bucking your hips up to meet him was your favorite, and then every now and then, he’d swivel his hips, holding your legs out.  

“That was a fancy move,” you breathed against his lips. 

“I save all my fancy moves for you, sweetheart,” he chuckled.

He brought his thumb in to play with your clit.  “I want you to cum with me.”

You didn’t know if that kind of tandem miracle was possible, but you were willing to try.  You brought your fingers in to work your slick juices over just the right spot, and Eddie sat back to watch you. He was observing and taking notes.

“You stretch me out so good,” you whined, getting into the swing of things, swiping your fingers faster, not phased at all by the way the parts of your body you hated were all hanging out for him to see.  

“Shit,” Eddie bucked. “You’re gonna make me cum right now if you talk like that.”

“You’ve ruined me for everyone with your big cock, baby,” you continued. “No one will ever fill me up like you do.”

“Fuck, you’re so tight, holy shit,” Eddie cried out.

You could feel the peak approaching but then Eddie pushed in a bit too eagerly, and his cock slipped out and dove up into the folds of your pussy.

“Oh, fuck, right there,” you called out, clutching his shoulder, begging him to work the head of his cock on your clit.

“Fuck baby fuckkkkk,” he hissed, thrusting his hips, fucking your folds with the underside of his cock.  “I’m gonna cum, baby.”

And then, it was you who was cumming, babbling, riding the wave as Eddie cock dipped back inside, needing to feel like he was pumping it inside of you, worshiping you from the inside with his seed.

In the aftermath, his head lowered, hair hanging down, he enjoyed the slip of your cum, feeding you the shaft a few more times. 

Eddie was about to pull you against him to watch Movie Macabre for real this time, but when you came out of the bathroom, you were fully dressed with your bag over your shoulder and a distinct look of goodbye on your face.

“I should get going,” you announced, picking at some loose skin around your cuticle.  

Eddie stood from the couch, fixing himself, making sure the zipper was up on his jeans.  He didn’t have a shirt on, exposing the cut lines at his hips and trail of hair below his belly button.

“Sure, sure, um,” he looked around, hands on his hips.  “You don’t have to go.  I mean, you could even stay here, if you wanted. I could set my alarm if you have to get up early.”

You wondered what he charged for overnight stays.  Would you receive a bill on Monday for two full days worth of gigolo time? You had no idea what his rates were, and you still knew you couldn’t afford it.   The voices in your head were telling you what a gullible, cock drunk fool you were. While in the bathroom, you realized that everything he said was way too good to be true.  No man had ever wanted you this bad, nor would they ever.  A part of you was even harboring some anger towards him for being deceitful and making you feel things you’d gone 3 decades without.

“Thank you,” you cleared your throat. “For this.  I have a big day tomorrow, so,” and then you turned without another word, headed for the door.

Eddie hustled after you.  “Okay, so, I’ll pick you up at your place tomorrow, yeah? We’ll go together?”

“Actually,” you gave him your profile.  “I think it would be better if  you just met me at the venue.”

“If that’s what you want,” he said quietly.  He was having a hard time reading you. “I’ll be there.”

“Okay, thanks again,” you said in a rush. 

“Hey, wait—-” but you were already out the door and hurrying down the driveway to your car, afraid to look back.  

---------

Thank you for reading!

[playboyjob]

Exploring the Gigolo Industry: Opportunities and Trends in India

The gigolo industry, though often shrouded in mystery and societal taboos, has seen significant growth and transformation in recent years. With the advent of technology and changing social norms, the concept of a gigolo and the services they provide have evolved, becoming more mainstream and accessible. This blog delves into the nuances of being a gigolo, the gigolo market in Warangal, gigolo service vacancies in India, and the role of gigolo apps in this evolving industry.

Understanding the Gigolo Concept

The term "gigolo" refers to a male escort or companion who provides companionship, and in some cases, sexual services, typically to women. Historically, gigolos were often associated with wealthy women seeking companionship or sexual satisfaction. However, modern gigolos cater to a diverse clientele, offering a range of services from mere companionship to intimate encounters.

The Rise of Gigolo Apps

In the digital age, the gigolo industry has adapted to new technological advancements. Gigolo apps have emerged as a convenient platform for clients to connect with male escorts. These apps function similarly to dating apps, allowing clients to browse profiles, read reviews, and choose a gigolo who meets their preferences. The gigolo app market has streamlined the process, making it easier for both clients and service providers to establish connections discreetly and efficiently.

Gigolo Market in Warangal

Warangal, a historic city in Telangana, India, has witnessed a growing interest in gigolo services. The gigolo market in Warangal, while still developing, is becoming increasingly organized. Factors such as increased urbanization, changing social dynamics, and the anonymity provided by digital platforms contribute to the rise in demand for gigolo services in the city. Men seeking to enter this profession in Warangal find various opportunities through both online and offline channels, catering to a clientele that values discretion and professional conduct.

Gigolo Service Vacancies in India

As the gigolo industry gains traction, the demand for male escorts has led to numerous vacancies across India. Men interested in pursuing a career in this field can find gigolo service vacancies advertised on specialized websites and apps. These platforms provide detailed information about job requirements, compensation, and the nature of services expected. Prospective gigolos must typically meet certain criteria, including physical fitness, grooming standards, and the ability to engage clients in meaningful conversations.

Navigating the Gigolo Service Landscape

Gigolo services in India encompass a wide range of offerings. While some clients seek companionship for social events or travel, others are interested in more intimate interactions. The services provided by gigolos often extend beyond physical intimacy, including emotional support and companionship. This multifaceted role requires gigolos to possess a combination of physical attractiveness, conversational skills, and emotional intelligence.

The Stigma and Challenges

Despite the growing acceptance, the gigolo profession in India faces significant societal stigma. The taboo surrounding sex work and male escorts can lead to social ostracization and legal challenges. Many gigolos operate under a veil of secrecy to avoid discrimination and maintain their privacy. Additionally, navigating legal ambiguities and ensuring personal safety are critical concerns for those in the industry.

The Future of the Gigolo Industry

The gigolo industry in India is poised for further growth, driven by changing attitudes towards sex work and increasing demand for personalized companionship services. As societal perceptions evolve and digital platforms continue to facilitate discreet connections, the gigolo market is likely to expand. Moreover, increased awareness and acceptance may lead to better regulatory frameworks, ensuring safer and more dignified working conditions for gigolos.

Conclusion

The gigolo industry, with its complex dynamics and evolving landscape, offers a unique perspective on modern companionship and sex work. The emergence of gigolo apps has revolutionized the way clients and gigolos interact, making the process more accessible and discreet. In cities like Warangal, the market is growing, reflecting broader trends across India. However, societal stigma and legal challenges remain significant hurdles. As the industry continues to develop, it holds the potential to redefine notions of companionship and intimacy in contemporary society.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ) about Gigolos and Gigolo Services

What is a gigolo?

A gigolo is a male escort or companion who offers companionship and, in some cases, sexual services to clients, typically women. They provide their services in exchange for financial compensation.

How do gigolo apps work?

Gigolo apps function similarly to dating apps. Clients can browse profiles of available gigolos, read reviews, and choose someone who meets their preferences. These apps facilitate discreet and efficient connections between clients and gigolos, streamlining the process for both parties.

What services does a gigolo provide?

Gigolos offer a range of services including social companionship, attending events, traveling with clients, and providing intimate encounters. Their role often extends beyond physical intimacy to include emotional support and companionship.

How can I find gigolo service vacancies in India?

Gigolo service vacancies can be found on specialized websites and apps dedicated to the gigolo industry. These platforms list job opportunities, detailing the requirements, compensation, and nature of services expected from prospective gigolos.

What is the gigolo market like in Warangal?

The gigolo market in Warangal, a city in Telangana, India, is growing. Factors such as urbanization, changing social dynamics, and the anonymity provided by digital platforms contribute to an increasing demand for gigolo services. Both online and offline channels offer opportunities for men interested in this profession.

Are gigolo services legal in India?

The legality of gigolo services in India is complex and can vary by region. While the profession itself isn't explicitly illegal, activities related to solicitation and organized sex work may fall under legal scrutiny. It's important for gigolos and clients to understand local laws and regulations to ensure they operate within legal boundaries.

How do I become a gigolo?

To become a gigolo, one typically needs to meet certain criteria such as physical fitness, good grooming, and the ability to engage clients in meaningful conversations. Interested individuals can apply for vacancies through gigolo apps and websites that list job opportunities. Training or mentoring might also be offered by some agencies to help new gigolos understand the profession.

What are the challenges faced by gigolos in India?

Gigolos in India face significant societal stigma and legal ambiguities. The profession is often viewed with suspicion, and those involved may encounter discrimination and social ostracization. Ensuring personal safety and maintaining privacy are also critical challenges for gigolos.

How much can a gigolo earn in India?

Earnings for gigolos in India can vary widely based on factors such as location, clientele, and the services offered. Experienced gigolos with a strong client base and positive reviews can earn a substantial income, while newcomers might start at a lower rate and gradually increase their earnings as they build their reputation.

Can women hire gigolos for non-sexual companionship?

Yes, many clients hire gigolos for non-sexual companionship, such as attending social events, traveling, or simply spending time together. The role of a gigolo often includes providing emotional support and engaging in meaningful conversations, catering to the client's specific needs and preferences.

[ingravinoveritas]

Something something manifesting this entire night since the GO 1 press tour in 2019 something something...

[gabessquishytum]

Hi Gabe and welcome back 💖💖 I’ve got a particularly delicious ask for you hehe

So TJ-Dragonblade and Delta-Pavonis both wrote incredible fics on the concept of immortal gigolo to the supernatural, Hob Gadling, and Dream finding out about said occupation in modern day.

But what if Hob had the opportunity to service Dream in 1389? Then 1489, and 1589…you get the gist. 

Maybe Hob is the token mortal at the agency who happens to become immortal because Dream just finds him so irresistible and he wants to fuck this mortal way past his normal lifespan. Or maybe Hob’s already met Death and gotten immortality another way from her, and now he’s heard all about Dream and is eager to please.  

Maybe they both think at first this is just a nice arrangement, a good way to get a mindblowing orgasm once a century but oops, Hob’s caught feels! And Dream has too but he’ll be the last to admit that.

Anyways, how do you think their 1789 meeting REALLY went in this scenario? 😏😏😏

Hey beloved seiya!!! Thank you for this ask - I have been thinking about immortal gigolo Hob SO MUCH. My brain immediately went to 'Hob started the agency and is like the brothel madame and only very occasionally takes on special clients'. The idea of Hob as a somewhat morally grey person who takes in supernatural waifs and strays and kind of grooms them into the perfect escorts really tickles my brain. Of course when he sees Dream, Hob immediately calls dibs on him because he's so fucking pretty no one else is allowed to have him.

As for their 1789 meeting, I have so many thoughts about Hob getting dressed up beforehand. I mean it in the nicest possible way but he looks like such a tart at that meeting (in all fairness so does Dream) so I can't help but imagine all the other employees helping Hob get ready for his big date - he's got a selkie coiffuring his hair, a couple of ghouls helping him with his garters, a werewolf giving him a manicure. It's like cinderella getting ready for the ball. Hob books the private room for them to have their little tete a tete... and of course he doesn't forget to specify that he wants a bedroom.

How can Dream resist this particularly tasty morsel? Hob looks better than ever in 1789, he's really made a go of it in the business world... Dream may disapprove, but he appreciates the results. Add the fact that Hob is so eager for him, so clearly prepared and thrilled to be fucked by his mysterious stranger... well, Dream has an ego. He's only too happy to sprawl back against the mattress and allow Hob to suck him off - not once, but twice. His hair comes lose from his pretty ribbon and Hob doesn't look so different from 1389, long haired and dishevelled and grinning. Dream is about 30 seconds from taking him off to the dreaming forever. Why limit himself to once a century, when he could have this every night?

Alas, they are interrupted.

Instead of accusing Hob of being the Wandering Jew, Lady Constantine calls him the Devil's Whore. She's not exactly far off. Lucifer is a client of the agency, but Hob never serves them personally. In fact, Hob only serves Dream. But Dream doesn't need to know that. He believes that Hob spends his immortal days in the debauched company of many, many beings. Believing anything else would be admission of something special between them, and Dream can't allow that...

Not for another 250 years or so, anyway!

[visualtaehyun]

Pronouns, curses, and cake crimes 🍰

Finally here with the in-depth version of my rambles plain reactions from the other day. Title brought to you by @jeffsatyr cause I love that turn of phrase in his post here so much!

Disclaimer: not a native Thai speaker, still learning 🙏 color-coding characters again: Mut, Rak, Prin, Meena

Rak's lovely relatives

คุณเพิ่งด่าไอ้เด็กเหี้ยนั่นว่า เอาเวลาว่างไปหาอะไรใส่หัว ดีกว่าเสือกเรื่องของคนอื่น ผมไม่อยากเป็นคนเหี้ยครับ /khun pheerng daa ai dek hiia nan waa ao wehlaa waang bpai haa a rai sai hua dee gwaa seuuak reuuang khaawng khohn euun. pom mai yaak bpen khohn hiia khrap/ = You just told off that nasty brat, that [she should] use her free time to find and put something in her head instead of prying into other people's business. I don't want to be someone nasty.

My translation is probably too mild but I wanted to highlight these two aspects: 1) He continues to call her a child (เด็ก /dek/), even though Rak told him last episode that Prin is older than Mut lol and 2) he uses the same curse word twice (เหี้ย /hiia/), once to describe her despicable behavior and then to distance himself from it - and hilariously ends that statement with a polite ครับ /khrap/! -> เหี้ย /hiia/ is used as a curse word but originally refers to a type of lizard

แมงดา /maaeng daa/ = can mean pimp or (male) prostitute or gigolo; lit. a horseshoe crab

It comes from how male horseshoe crabs will cling onto a female's back during mating season, taking advantage of its mate, and is therefore used to disparage men who benefit off of women financially.

Pronouns galore!

Connor and Rak use ฉัน /chan/ and นาย /naai/ in both directions -

Kom uses ผม /pom/ and apparently just คอนเนอร์ /Connor/ -> polite formal 1st pers. pronoun as Kom is younger but he seems to call his older boyfriend just by name which could indicate familiarity, equal standing in their relationship, or maybe it's just because Connor is a foreigner and thus prefers having his name used??

with Rak, Kom uses ผม /pom/ and พี่รัก /phi Rak/ -> polite yet familiar

Mut and Kom use กู /guu/ and มึง /meung/ in both directions, same as Vi and Rak -> rude, familiar pronouns; they're around the same age and have been friends for ages

Mut calls the girls คุณ(ไข่)มุก /khun (Khai)Mook/ and พี่วี /phi Vi/ -> really shows the difference in closeness!

Special interlude

I've seen enough people talk about this inspired subbing choice here to figure it might be interesting to read about:

โคตรพ่อโคตรแม่รู้สึกดีเลย /khoht por khoht mae ruu seuk dee loei/ = It feels fanfuckingtastically good [...]

-> โคตร /khoht/ refers to one's ancestors or lineage but is used as a vulgar intensifier. Adding พ่อ /por/ = father, and แม่ /mae/ = mother, onto that just makes it stronger by swearing on both sides of the family tree I guess lol (A translation in the same vein might then yield you something like 'It feels so motherfucking good' but I love what MMY's translator went with!)

Rak's actually-lovely relative

ตาเค้าเอง /dtaa khao eng/

-> เค้า /khao/ is a cute informal 1st pers. pronoun, her friend Ing-Ing uses it as well For context, it's most often used in Thai QL by 1) characters who wanna be cutesy with their partner, like Sun once or twice in 23.5 or Tan, consistently lol, in We Are, or 2) by characters who are sweet and cute to begin with (mostly women tbh). Anueng in Blank or Pleng and Wan in the upcoming GL Affair also come to mind.

ว่าไง สาวน้อยของน้า /waa ngai, saao noi khaawng naa/

-> น้า /naa/ = uncle or aunt, specifically the mother's younger sibling 'Uncle' only shows up in the subs here but he always uses it as a 1st pers. pronoun with Meena. Also spot the sweet and soft tone he uses here with his niece uwu

แต่น้ารักห้ามเอาน้ารักตอนที่น้ารักอายุ 13 มาเทียบกับมีนาตอนนี้ /dtaae naa Rak haam ao naa Rak dtaawn thee naa Rak aayu 13 maa thiiap gap Meena dtaawn nee/

For her age, she is quite perceptive and clever and it seems her mom and/or uncle (and maybe grandma too?) made sure she understands the full scope of their family drama. Nina, the actress, is a few years younger than that and looks it too tbh so I'm glad she mentions Meena's age for us. She calls herself by name and him uncle Rak น้ารัก /naa Rak/ which, adorably, sounds close to น่ารัก /naa rak/ = cute/lovable, there's a difference in tone though!

พี่จะทำให้เขา ต้องรัก พี่ /phi ja tham hai khao 'dtaawng rak' phi/

-> ต้องรัก /dtaawng rak/ = must/have to love; Tongrak's name He's said this several times in previous episodes but it specifically threw me back to this scene from ep. 3 🥺

คนอย่างผม ใครจะไปกล้าขอคุณต้องรัก /khohn yaang pom, khrai ja bpai glaa khaaw khun dtaawng rak/ = Someone like me, who would dare to ask Khun Tongrak (/you). ...which could also be read as: = Someone like me, who would dare ask you to have to love [me?].

The word she uses is หน้าด้าน /naa daan/ = boldfaced, shameless, which is surprisingly rude lmaooo

The พี่ /phi/ came and went and now she addresses him exactly the same way as her uncle Rak - น้าหมุด /naa Mut/ hehe

Oh and hey, here's a crazy thought-- Mut and Meena have about the same age gap as Mut and Rak, he might even be closer in age to her than to Rak! In the novel, Rak is 30 going on 31 and judging by Kom being 19 in Love Sand, Mut can't be much older than 20, maybe early 20s.

Submission

วันนี้คุณว่าง่ายกว่าปกตินะ /wan nee, khun waa ngaai gwaa bohk-ga-dti na/ = Today you're more docile than usual.

-> ว่าง่าย /waa ngaai/ = docile, obedient, submissive, compliant, to listen If you've seen more than one Thai drama, I expect you've encountered the word ดื้อ /deuu/ before which is most often subbed as 'stubborn' but can mean 'to not listen, disobedient, obstinate, defiant, resistant' so this word here is just about the opposite of it!

อยากทำก็ทำ ผมเป็นของคุณอยู่แล้ว /yaak tham gaaw tham. pom bpen khaawng khun yuu laaeo/ = [If you] want to do it then do it. I'm all yours.

-> อยู่แล้ว /yuu laaeo/ at the end there can express certainty or completion so this could also be translated as 'I'm already yours' if that makes any difference to anyone but me lol

[mysticmunson]

turn on that red light: eddie x reader x steve

gigolo!steddie x bestfriend!reader

summary: the indianapolis nightlife has become steve and eddie's career, but they didn't expect you to walk through the bar.

warnings: no minors! smut, brief mention of kidnapping, first time

author's note: hi! it's been awhile since i've been able to post and hopefully i'll have some more time to in the coming weeks :) thank u to @lilacletter and @andvys for being amazing and i love u! i hope you all enjoy :) xx elora. (didn't proof read)

It started off as a simple favor. 

Eddie was paranoid about reaching another birthday as a virgin, so Steve became his wingman, heading to the bar with him. The pretty brunette caught his eye, elbowing his friend who sprung into action, both going up to her with charisma and a few shots of whiskey down their throats.

She had been around Hawkins before, coming to the buzzing parties for drinks and a quick romp. Steve recognized her from some parties and she was always friendly, usually switching between conversations and dancing.

Earning her attention, Eddie fumbled some words, but was able to charm her. The issue arose when she grabbed both of their hands, pulling them to a darker corner to kiss Eddie. As Steve went to slip away, she turned to meet his lips, still grabbing onto his friend.

They stumbled into an uninhabited bedroom, covered in a peculiar shade of green that raised their brows. It wasn’t a typical first time by any means, but when the girl left, an idea sprouted.

“Shit, I’d pay for a fuck like that.”

Two days later while Eddie browsed the aisles of Family Video, their cumulative thoughts reached a tipping point when they saw a copy of American Gigolo, a movie neither of them had seen personally, but knew the plot and how scandalous it was considered. 

The erotic cover felt strange in the sea of movies beside it in much more pleasant art, but he still found himself looking at the plastic sleeve, reading the back intently.

Steve continued to check in movies, but kept his eye on Eddie, somehow picking up on what his friend must have been thinking. He just wouldn’t be the one to initiate it, abiding by his task at hand before Keith came in for the night shift.

“You think people do shit like this here?” Eddie wondered out loud, not averting his gaze, his friend was the only one in the building. 

Although he knew what his friend was referencing, he played clueless, sending a hum as a response. The tape was thrown in front of him onto the counter, Richard Gere standing in the shadows of blinds in a suit. 

With the curiosity harvesting, they went out later and later on weekends. After the friends' weekly movie nights, they’d meet up when everyone else retreated, walking around until they found something that piqued their interest.

Illuminated by the neon lights above their heads, they watched the only strip club in Hawkins go from a ghost town to welcoming people from the upper class to the lower class.

Yet, they knew they needed to head back to Indianapolis to dig a little deeper. Not only for more information, but to sustain their anonymity. Living their whole lives in a small town meant they had to be careful and in a big city, they faded into the background.

A few months later, they spent multiple nights a week in the big city, now one of the most sought talents in the clubs. Wandering from club to club, they received a call from the manager of the club, stating someone needed to see them. Sometimes, they were granted a brief description, but others remained a mystery until the door was locked.

The rooms began as motels, working for a hundred or two, but as they became more notorious, the luxury crept up. Large penthouse suites with skyline views, expensive wine that Steve had only had with his parents, and significantly higher pay.

None of their friends had discovered their little secret, keeping the extra cash saved with Eddie putting some towards bills behind Wayne’s back to avoid confrontation. It was only when Robin got a little too nosey in Steve’s room when he went to the bathroom, finding one of the envelopes with the outline of his appointment that night.

Despite using the alias’ in front of customers, it had Steve and Eddie’s names beside their fake ones, Titan and Sneak. Steve thought he would throw up when he walked in on his best friend holding the paper in her hands. 

“Robin! What the hell-” 

“Steve, what is this, are you and Eddie-”

Steve hushed her quickly, not even saying it out loud when home alone, paranoid of lingering ears. She looked at him with wide eyes, clearly taken aback, not just by the letter, but by Steve’s anxious demeanor. 

“Rob, you can’t tell anyone, please.” He huffed, sitting in front of her on the ground as she sat against his bed. She almost laughed at how juvenile he seemed, pouting with worry.

“I won’t, I swear,” She rushed, patting his shoulder awkwardly. With his heart trying to get back to its standard beat, Steve grabbed the paper back, crumpling it in his hands. 

That night at Steve’s house, Eddie, Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle, Robin, and you came over to watch a movie. Things went as normal, popcorn and candy with more joking than movie watching. 

But the lingering fear you would discover the truth remained. You had grown up in Hawkins and became friends with Eddie in junior high, meeting Steve at summer camp when you were 14. The two boys becoming friends after high school made your small trio form, practically attached at the hip.

There was a mutual protectiveness over you that the boys shared, knowing you were sensitive and had no ill will to anyone. While you weren’t naive, you were fairly innocent and hadn’t experienced as many things as they had.

Watching you walk into the door, smiling and giving both boys a tight hug, the strain in their chest resonated quickly. The warmth of your smile made them melt as you remained in their soft spot, joining the rest of their friends on the couch.

As the credits rolled, everyone, but Eddie and Robin left. She could tell Eddie was antsy, likely hoping she would leave so they could take the hour-long drive. While she knew she wouldn’t tell anyone, that didn’t mean she wasn’t nosey.

“So, how weird are these chicks that pay for sex? Or guys, obviously I don’t judge.” Robin blurted, Eddie choking on his beer with wide eyes while Steve threw his hands up in disbelief. 

“Rob!” Steve hissed, running his hands through his hair, cringing at the bluntness that they weren’t used to with that topic. 

“Why the fuck did you tell her?” Eddie practically yelled, beginning to pace around the living room anxiously.

After relaying the story, Eddie calmed slightly, knowing it was a pure accident and Robin would likely keep the secret as her closest friend is a central one involved. Her inquiries spewed as soon as both boys relaxed, getting ready for their night out.

Suddenly, Robin went from completely oblivious to their confidant, their ramblings increasing in detail as it went further. An encounter she couldn’t help, but laugh at was an older rich woman who asked them to dress like sailors and dance for her before sex.

“She paid a lot, so I don’t give a shit.” Eddie shrugged, spraying a bit more cologne and tying back his hair, “We’ll fill you more in later, we got to roll.”

—------

You and Robin had been sitting in Starcourt after she secured free ice cream from an old manager from Scoops Ahoy who couldn’t care less about their job. With a scoop of Oreo in your cup and cookie dough in hers, you sat down in a quieter corner of the bustling food court.

“I went to rent a copy of Dirty Dancing and Steve wasn’t working,” You sighed with furrowed brows, “He hasn’t been there the last few times I’ve been and Eddie hasn’t been at the mechanic’s shop either because I had to bring in my mom’s car and they said he’s only working one day a week, but they seemingly have more money than ever!”

The nervous glance she gave you was brief, but seen, making your suspicions rise. 

“What do you know?” You glare though not very menacingly, Robin was tempted to crack under pressure, you two had known each other for a few years now. You had never given her a reason not to trust you.

“They got second jobs.” Robin quipped, shoving her mouth with the treat that was melting into soup. 

“Oh, really? Where?” You pondered, accepting this, slightly wounded that they didn’t tell you. 

The crimson coating Robin’s freckled face puzzled you, her mouth opening to tell a lie, but as you looked into her eyes without an ounce of insincerity, it became more difficult. 

To say Robin made waves would be an understatement, she released a whole tsunami. Each new tidbit of information surprised you, that your two closest friends were sex workers. When the conversation ran dry, you went your separate ways and you went straight to your bedroom.

The borderless confines of your mind ran with the thoughts of your friends, thoughts you had kept at bay for years in fear of ruining your dynamic, constantly in a limbo of liking one or the other. 

The insecurity of your sexuality had been potent as years went on, feeling yourself missing opportunities you didn’t realize were there. It seemed like some cruel joke that not only were your friends having sex, but they were getting paid to do it.

As you got ready for bed, your inquisitiveness crept upon you as you undressed, running your hands over your bare chest, pretending they were a set of hands that had yet to linger there. The mere thought of them seeing you in that light made you aroused, imagining how they’d be territorial, not wanting anyone else to see your gentle skin.

The adrenaline of lust drove you to your family's copy of the Yellow Pages, looking under Indianapolis and reaching the Adult section meant for clubs. Spotting one of the ones Robin mentioned, Dazzler, you clicked the loud buttons on your phone and held it close to your ear.

A man with a husky voice answered, seemingly not accustomed to calls this late, but you swallowed your pride. 

“Do Titan and Sneak work next weekend?”

—-----

The past few days had flown by for Steve and Eddie, beginning their search for an apartment closer to the city and seeing their friends. However, you hadn’t been as present, noting school or work was absorbing most of your time. 

As a busy woman, you didn’t always have time during the week, but when Friday rolled around and you were nowhere to be seen, they felt uneasy. You always requested off Friday nights, claiming it was your favorite night of the week and the movie night felt peculiar without you there. 

Like clockwork, as Jonathan, Nancy, Robin, and Argyle headed out, the two of them got ready for their shift. With only one ‘appointment’ tonight, they were hoping it was someone older with low stamina, getting them in and out of there before sunrise. 

Meanwhile, you paced around the lavish hotel room brought with your ‘package deal’ for the night. Taking a generous sip of the vodka from the alcohol cart, you winced as it stung down your throat, but the warmth coated your skin.

The dress you wore showed more skin than normal, accentuating your collarbones and neck as it scooped downward. The black dress flowed below your bust, accentuating your chest and legs as it stopped towards your upper thigh. 

Your instructions were to go to the bar downstairs and meet with them, saying you were Jane Doe, a standard anonymous title until you reached the bedroom. After that, it was up to the customer to continue with or alter the name, you hadn’t thought that far. 

The top level of the hotel had beige walls with intricate linework, likely wallpaper, but it looked far more elegant than anywhere you had stayed. The premium package was draining your bank account, but you didn’t want them to have to meet you at a motel, hoping this would prove you were being serious.

Pressing the square elevator button, the silver box slid up quietly, startling you when it opened. Thankfully no one was in there, giving you the time for a silent pep talk, even if there was no ridding of the butterflies swarming within.

Walking into the dimly lit room, your heels clinking against the polished floors were no match for the jazz music playing. The reality of your choice confronted you as you spotted curly hair beside fluffy, the two conversing with the bartender and enjoying a drink.

Part of you considered running away, taking the financial and esteem loss with stride, but your feet listened to the liquid courage cascading in your veins. Sitting on the barstool to their left, leaving one in between, it was now or never.

“I’ll have a martini, please.” You spoke after the bartender introduced herself, nodding as she began your drink. 

Their brisk movement was almost audible, heads snapping to you as you looked forward, accepting the glass gratefully and complimenting her quick assembling. Steve said your name, worry and confusion mixed into one as you looked over as if you hadn’t seen them, swallowing harshly.

“Oh hi,” You smiled, bashfulness taking over, wondering how the hell you were going to pull this off, “What are you guys doing here?”

Dumbfounded, the two struggled to vocalize their coverup until Eddie interjected, “Meeting a friend, why are you here?” The other brunette agreed, shaking his head far too enthusiastically.

They couldn’t believe you were here, not just in the context of their work, but caught off guard by you alone. Dressed well and paired with a nice shade of lipstick, they soon had mental backup if their client was bleak. 

They felt they could never admit they found you so sexy, feeling too perverted. But here you were sipping a martini with hooded eyes when you rarely drink in the first place.

Ignoring their inquiry, you saw your leeway, “Oh, who?”

Taking another sip of your colorful drink, you observed the way they squirmed, knowing you were likely the first person they knew to see them ‘in the act’. Steve’s eyes were scanning the rest of the bar, likely making sure your presence didn’t detour their client. 

“Jane,” Eddie began, “Why are you here? It’s late, you shouldn’t be driving this far with your mom's car.”

He was correct, your mom's car was in Eddie’s shop so much, it should have a membership card. Their concern made you warm, toying with the jewelry hanging from your neck. 

“I-” Your breath hitched, taking a deep breath, “I-I’m Jane.”

The surrounding noise went mute within your world, taking a large gulp to finish off the drink. A crinkled $20 bill from Eddie’s pocket hit the counter as he grabbed your arm, leading you towards the elevator.

“What’s the room number?” Steve spoke in a hushed tone, a sense of hostility completely obscure to you.

“628, but-” Remarking with the card in your hands, he grabbed it and hushed you, Eddie not moving his tight hold. 

The ride was dangerously silent, the doors opening on the final floor as you went to the large suite. You felt more akin to a young girl in trouble, not a mysterious sexy woman. 

With a click, the room unlocked as they flicked on the lights, the tight fingers on your arm releasing as you went in, sitting on the couch with your arms wrapped around yourself.

“What the fuck are you doing? Is this a joke? How did you find out- Was it Robin? I swear-” Eddie began to verbose, pacing back and forth as you shifted on the floral linen cushions.

The stress on Steve’s face showed as he scanned the room, the initial shock subsiding as he took in the indulgent scenery. This was an extravagant hotel, one they had only been to a few times, typically going to 3 or 4 stars. 

“How much did you spend on this?” Steve adjourned with crossed arms, the question causing the other man to stop as well, looking at you with hands on his hips. 

Even if you were going to tell them, you couldn’t due to the croak threatening to spill instead. Their stern glares made your skin turn to flames, the air becoming harder to push through your lungs.

“It doesn’t matter, this was so fucking stupid, you guys can just go.” You admitted, the tears spilling before you could halt them. Covering your face in your hands, your own cheeks exudes warmth to your palms, the wetness mixing in.

At first glance, they thought you were doing this as some weird joke or humiliation tactic. While extremely out of character, they only thought the worst when it came to people discovering their job.

There had never been a reason for them not to trust you, to worry you would judge them for their choices, but still, their guard was up. However, watching you crumble in front of them made them realize it was genuine, which was a whole other level of emotions.

Rushing to your sides, you tried to elbow them away, clearly humiliated by their responses. They stayed, Eddie’s arm slinking behind you while Steve’s hand rubbed your upper back.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t need to do this.” Eddie assured, but his words felt judgemental, making your body shake with anxieties and cries. Abruptly standing, you stepped forward a few feet, moving your hands to behind your neck.

“It’s humiliating!” You ranted, their faces in slight shock at your bluntness, despite knowing the information, “Please stop trying to spare my feelings and just go, I already paid so it’s fine!”

“Hey!” Steve interjected, moving to walk in front of you with Eddie facing toward your back, “Spare your feelings? We just want you to know you didn’t have to pay for us! Why did you?”

Though his words were direct, he sweetly swiped his thumb beneath your eyes. Finally looking up, you noticed his look was genuine, turning to see Eddie’s was as well. But the panic wasn’t gone, still feeling like this is some cruel joke that they’ll laugh at once you’re gone.

Looking down at the rug beneath your feet that cost more than your tuition, you felt your heart in every limb as you stood stagnant. The door felt too tempting, attempting to bolt to the gold handle that barely reached your fingertips until two tattooed arms wrapped around your waist.

Your feet were now a few inches off the ground, kicking them as you wiggled to no avail, forgetting how strong Eddie could be when he wanted to. 

“Please just let me leave with some dignity.” You whined, trying to wedge your fingers between his arm and your own skin. 

“You’re not going until we talk.” Eddie stubbornly stated, his hold not faltering as he walked backward, putting more distance between you and the escape route. Steve walked in front of you, feeling slightly trapped by their sturdy bodies.

Steve’s eyes remained on your face, trying to figure out any information, but was left at a loss. He could pick up clues for what the action meant, showing up anonymously, but he couldn’t figure out why you seemed so upset.

When you stopped struggling in his arms, Eddie released you back to the ground. You walked towards the bed, climbing towards the center and sitting with criss crossed legs. With your head in your hands, you felt the bed dip twice in front of you, situating on the corner.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You whispered, “I thought we told each other everything and I’ve known you guys for so long, Robin found out before me!” The hurt was scattered on your face, wiping beneath your nose with the back of your wrist. 

The boy's shoulders drooped, shifting to sit fully on the bed, waiting for you to look up. After a few beats, you did with slightly red eyes, the skin inside your cheek slotted between your teeth.

“We didn’t tell anybody,” Steve cautiously stated, “Robin found out by accident because she’s a snoop. We’ve only been doing this for a few months. We trust you so much, doll, but we didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

The pet name was comforting, one that had stuck for the past few years after Steve planned out your outfit for a date, claiming it made him feel like he was dressing a doll. His doll.

“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable, I support you guys through everything.” You mumbled, running the pads of your fingers over your fresh manicure, freshly painted a dark blue similar to a night sky.

“We know, it was just so new for us,” Eddie affirmed, “And you’re so sweet. We look out for you more than everybody else.”

The gentle assurance made you smile, loving the dynamic you had built, but then he continued his thought. “But, uh, not to be frank, what was the point in calling us? Spending all this money just to see us and let us know that you know?”

The question was genuine, but it shrunk you to the size of an ant, hoping they would have understood the subtext initially and could drop this. The salty expression swam over your vision, threatening to overflow as their eyes zeroed in, a hitch in Eddie’s throat making you whimper.

“Please,” Eddie pleaded, “Please don’t tell me you did this to lose your virginity.”

Silence had never felt so heavy as you bent forward on the mattress, hoping the plush cloth would absorb you whole. 

“Oh, doll, no.” Steve sighed, hearing his hand brush against his stubble, rubbing his jaw. 

Letting your body take control, you sprang up, startling yourself and the boys. The attempt was futile as you didn’t even get two feet away from the bed before Eddie pulled you back. But a surge of anger jolted you back.

“You guys don’t get it!” You exclaimed, “I’m a virgin in my twenties and it’s embarrassing! I mean, fuck, I even tried paying for it and it still won’t work! I just want it to be over with.”

The bluntness of your words still startled them as you had certainly overheard the boys discuss vulgar things, you rarely verbally engaged. 

As your rant proceeded, they gave each other a look, knowing their thought process was likely similar. Steve went to speak, but you didn’t cease, with Eddie trying the same to the same response. 

With a booming voice, the longer-haired boy shouted your name, just low enough to not alert the neighbors. Stopping your frantic movement, you heard the squeaks of shoes until they stood before you. 

“You know how this started?” Eddie proposed, “It was all cause Steve wanted to be a wingman for me so I would lose my virginity, but the girl wanted us both and made a comment that she would pay for a fuck like that.” The admission made his skin warm, feeling so distant from that boy at the bar to now, but still so familiar.

The information widened your eyes, unknowingly making them shine under the illuminant lights. Each boy gave a smile of reassurance, taking an inch forward that it was practically unnoticeable.

“We don’t want you to feel embarrassed, we’re just confused,” Steve emphasized, taking hold of your hand and rubbing your knuckles, “We don’t want you to think you have to pay us to see us.” 

“Why didn’t you just ask?” Eddie pondered, “Is it only because it’s a job for us now?”

The head shake was immediate, soothing the man’s nerves as he worried their best friend saw them as mere sex objects. 

“No!” You interjected, using your spare hand to grab Eddie’s, “I thought about this before all this-“

The awkwardness was one-sided when you realized what you were saying, the boys raising their brows before smirking, feeling you release their hands as yours began to clam up. 

“Oh, so you have the hots for us?” Eddie teased, poking your side that he knew was ticklish, watching as you squirmed in chagrin. His goal was met when you laughed, covering half your face with a palm. 

Steve sat on the edge of the bed, patting his thighs before opening his arms. Tentatively, you approached him, holding his shoulders as you straddled his lap. 

A hand went to your lower back to keep you steady, another one following suit when Eddie sat beside him. The brown streaks in their eyes were distinct under the harsh lights, looking in wonder at the faint freckles you only saw when they were asleep.

Wordlessly, Steve leaned in, dragging his nose against yours as if he were an animal greeting its mate. There was something so primal about the communication of bodies, universally conceptualized, yet so misconstrued.

Eventually, your lips skimmed against one another, but they didn’t pucker, cheek drifting to press against yours to nuzzle. Inhaling your perfume, he tucked the hair on the opposing side of your face behind your ear before hastily kissing you, catching you slightly off guard. 

A different set of lips was soon pressed to yours, not leaving your spot as hands roamed against your anxious frame. It felt simultaneously natural and foreign to engage in this behavior with them, so new, but so instinctive. 

“This okay?” Eddie breathed out, pulling away from you and looking into your eyes. Nodding your head with dilated pupils, Steve patted your thigh as a sign to stand, following after you.

Maneuvering behind you, Steve grabbed the zipper perched on your back, glancing at Eddie who remained seated on the cloud-like bed. Your sharp intake of breath was in sync with the zipper becoming undone, standing between the man’s legs.

The black dress revealed your dainty set, a lace pink bra with a lace thong to match. Not too extravagant, but something you had stowed away for two years now, encouragement to get out there. The realization of the state of undress you were in made chills run down your spine, multiplying as both sets of brown eyes danced over them.

The man behind you pressed himself to your rear, hands trailing up and down your waist. The texture difference of the detailed material to your smooth skin was enough to make him hard, grunting as your shoulders relaxed. Eddie’s thumb brushed to the dainty flower at the center of your waistband, his other hand grabbing the plush of your thigh.

“I have a question.” You stated, releasing far more breathless than intended, but their brows raised in curiosity, “I’d like to know how to give a blowjob.”

Your eyes wouldn’t meet theirs, but they met each other, smirking in cheekiness. With your sights on the floor, you saw Eddie’s legs become unbent and soon two pairs of pants were on the ground with coordinating belts. Shirts were disposed of soon after, the other man disappearing from your sight as the bed creaked. 

Steve walked you closer to the bed as you kneeled, going to crawl to the center as he gave your bottom two pats of encouragement, causing a whimper. 

“Oh, we’re saving that for later.” Steve joked, sitting beside Eddie, who lay against the giant pillows, only he sat upwards.

Covering your face with your hands, stifling the quaint giggle at the absurdity of the scenario until they grabbed your wrists, waiting for you to look upwards. 

“Our shy girl,” Eddie teased, “Can’t be all that shy if you’re asking to suck our cocks. Just do what feels right, pretty girl.”

The vulgarity made your mouth hang open, shutting it to smile, shrugging with a nod. Adjusting to lay on your stomach, you propped upon his thigh, breasts smooshed against the tattoo that resided there. His grey boxers were skin-tight, not leaving much to the imagination as he began to chub.

Leaning forward, your nose breezed through the tuft of hair on his lower abdomen, a gentle kiss placed on his upper navel. A series of pecks were set on his waist, cheek occasionally bumping into his manhood, resulting in a pleasurable hiss.

Truthfully, most of Eddie’s sex experience was now work-related, only hooking up with a few girls for free who didn’t dote on him in this way. Not that it was expected, he just didn’t realize he’d like it this much.

The thick band was pushed downward until his hardness sprang free, blushing red as the cool air hit it. Looking at it for a moment, you pressed similar pecks on his length, gradually opening your mouth more to add spit and your tongue.

Sitting back, you fully removed his underwear before resuming position, kissing it a few more times. The boys watched as you pulled away and looked at him, the gears turning on what to do next. 

“Take him in your hand,” Steve coaxed, snapping you from the trance, “put some spit on ‘im too, it’ll make it slide easier.”

Pooling some saliva, you released some into your palm and held his warm cock, stroking up and down. He grunted, throwing his head back as you enclosed your mouth around his tip. The smooth skin touched your tongue, tracing over the slit and circling it.

As your mouth and hand found a steady motion, he relaxed in your hold while Steve mumbled the occasional words of encouragement, fixated on the way you handled his friend. He looked at his friend's blissed-out face as his eyes fluttered open, widening for emphasis on your skill.

“Oh, fuck me!” Eddie blurted, startling the man beside him, looking down to see you were still stroking him, yet your mouth had moved down to his balls. They couldn’t fit in completely, but they weighed heavy on your tongue, taking one at a time as slobber went against them.

“Okay, okay,” Eddie panted, tapping your cheek with one finger for you to halt, “Give Steve a shot.”

As great as he was feeling, he knew he was on the road of no return and was determined to last much longer than a three-minute blowjob. He had never come so quick in his life and he didn’t plan to start now.

Eddie sat up as Steve slunk down, removing his own dark green briefs and tossing them to the pile. Your mouth salivated for him, kissing up and down his twitching erection, tongue gliding against his sensitive tip.

“What was that, doll?” Steve asked, feeling your lips mumble against his hardness as you explored it, unaware it even slipped out.

“Oh, you both have pretty cocks.” You whispered, hearing their subtle gasps at your bluntness, but humming in approval. Spitting as politely as you could, you let it dribble to your palm, stroking him as your lips enclosed at the top.

“Thank you,” Eddie smirked, “Try twisting your wrist a bit- Ah, there you go, good girl.”

The wanton cry at his endearment made his mouth open, a grin peeking at the corners of his mouth, while Steve shuddered at the added vibrations. 

Noticing your embarrassment, they chose to keep that for later, seeing the glimpse at all of the fun they would have in store. Even without the few tips, they felt this was one of their top blowjobs ever.

“C’mere, doll,” Steve suggested, sitting up as you followed, “get comfortable.”

The three of you switched spots as you sat against the pillows, the boys on their haunches on each side of you. Their eyes ignited your skin, seeing an unfamiliar look in their eyes that you attributed to lust.

“Can we take this off?” Eddie pondered, looking at the lace detailing on the cups covering your breasts. Arching your back, you snuck your hand behind to undo the clasp, but was swiftly swatted away by his hand. He undid it much faster than you had anticipated, bringing it off your arms to join the pile. 

The cool air made your nipples begin to firm, coincided with the gentle touch administered by the men with Steve grasping them in his palms. You relaxed further into the pillows, head going back as you bit your lip, but he kissed you soon after.

It meant to not hold back, to not bite your lip, or repress your emotions. It was likely subconscious, knowing he just wanted to hear you and kiss you at that moment.

Eddie’s rings grasped at your hips, pulling the thin cotton down, stifling a chuckle. Steve looked at his friend who showed the wetness pooling in your panties and glistening on your cunt. 

“Sweetheart,” Eddie trailed off, smiling with adoration at how demure you seemed, lowering himself between your legs, “gonna taste your pussy, is that okay?”

Your brief look of conflict made them nervous, Steve leaning beside you, pushing away the hairs near your face. 

“You don’t have to, Eddie.” You confessed, picking at your nail that flaked off a thin layer at the tip. 

“I would like to, but we want you comfortable.” Eddie explained, sitting up, not an ounce of judgment eminent on his features. 

Glancing over at Steve, you saw the same genuine look, one that almost made you clench your thighs.

“How about we try something else and if you decide you’d like to try it, we can do it?” Steve offered, rubbing your hair as you nodded.

The thought of their faces between your legs was enticing, something you had selfishly dreamed about, but now that the situation presented itself, you felt a little too vulnerable. It was something you wanted eventually, but not tonight.

“Can we put our fingers down here?” Eddie mused, leaning on his elbow on your right, parallel to Steve. 

After your confirmation, you felt a gentle pressure on your bundle of nerves, legs widening. Eddie smiled against your ear, nibbling against your cartilage that made you whimper.

Steve shuffled lower, mouth latching onto your nipple, hand going towards your dripping hole. A finger prodded, long enough to find the spongy area swiftly, your back arching sharply as you moaned.

“Easy, tiger,” Steve smiled, lifting his head to its original propped station, and pushing your hip back onto the mattress. Eddie’s fingers filled you soon after, his lips meeting yours, entering your mouth smoothly.

The sound of rattling, pulled you two apart, seeing Steve grab his bag that was on the bedside table. Yanking out a line of gold-foiled condoms, he ripped off two, handing one to his friend. He grabbed a bottle of lube, placed it on the counter, and dropped the bag to the floor.

You watched attentively as they rolled the plastic on, a minuscule part of you wishing they’d come inside of you. The lingering thought that this was work crept in, but you pushed it away, too aroused to contemplate.

Eddie hovered over top of you, noses squishing as your lips engulfed one another’s, moving to kiss your cheek and jawline. 

“Tell us if it gets to be too much, doll.” Steve instructed, watching as Eddie lined himself up at your entrance. 

His tip entered you covered in your own slick, gasping at how he stretched you. He got on his knees, lifting your hips from the bed as he began to descend you onto his cock.

Your choked cry was suppressed until he reached halfway, Steve immediately coming to your side. His hand grasped your chest, distracting you from the ache in your core.

“You’re doing so good, doll,” He praised, kissing your temple, “It’s going to feel so good soon, I promise.”

It seemed foolish, but you would’ve believed anything either one of them would say to you. Having them inside you made your brain grow fuzzy, trusting them as your mind floated off and your body sacrificed control.

Steve’s spare hand cupped your cheek as Eddie’s grabbed your hips, rocking his hips back and forth rhythmically. 

“There we go,” Eddie praised, smiling down at you as his thumb met your clit as he was fully inside of you. 

The tempo increased as your body relinquished its stiffness, forehead pressed to Steve’s with your eyes closed, while he fixated on your sweet face contorted with pleasure and pain. Your mouth hung open in silence until a tearless wail came through, hips flinching in the ring-adorned man’s firm hold.

“Almost all the way down, baby.” Eddie announced, watching as your essence covered almost his entire member, his affectionate name making you throb and his smirk.

Throwing your head back on the pillow, you whimpered at the acceleration in his movements, moving to rest on your elbows to look at the two of them. It was the first time they noticed the genuine lust in your eyes, making Steve harder and Eddie sharply thrust. 

A groan exuded from the depths of your chest as Eddie’s cock fit snugly inside you, balls pressing to the curve of your ass. The sounds of pleasure you released were music to their ears, Steve playing with your breasts and occasionally kissing them or your neck. Letting out a breathy moan mixed giggle, they couldn’t stop their own smiles from appearing. 

“What’s so funny, pretty girl?” Steve grinned with creased eyes, reaching the dimples on his dewy face. 

“Feels so good. Didn’t know it would feel this good.” You sigh in awe of your bodies, how such pleasure existed within yourself at the simplest touch.

Eddie watches your hazy features contort as your back hits the mattress, a warmth that only came when you touched yourself hit your body, only this was far more intense. He lowered himself to be right above you, Steve’s nose pressed against your cheek as his hands continued to assist. 

“Open your eyes.” Eddie cooed, noticing how swiftly you obeyed his command, knees pressing against the sides of your thighs.

Before you could prepare, your orgasm blindsided you, grabbing onto Eddie’s shoulders as you writhed. He felt his own finish approaching, stuttering his hips with a gravelly moan that seeped through your incoherent haze. 

Steve could barely contain himself when Eddie rolled off of you, pulling away his condom and tossing it in the black with gold detailing trash can nearby. 

“Good job, sweetheart,” Eddie heaved, regaining his composure beside you, eyeing his friend who he knew was losing his composure, “You ready for Steve?”

Nodding, you barely looked at the boy before his lips were on yours, cupping your jaw in his palm that traveled to your hip. He pulled away with puffy lips, blown pupils, and messy brown locks.

“Do you want to try a different position, babe?” He mentioned, tucking hair behind your ear as you thought it over. 

“We can try on my tummy.” You proposed, already rolling over with Eddie at your other side, kissing the top of your head. Unknowingly, this was one of Steve’s favorites, though he enjoyed classic missionary, and Eddie smirked at his friend’s stunned face. 

Manhandling came naturally as he adjusted your hips, bringing them up so you rested on your knees, spreading out for him. Your previous orgasm was beginning to pool toward your center, watching as you clenched briefly, inadvertently pushing more out after. 

Groaning, he grabbed your ass cheeks and pulled this apart slightly, wishing he could lick a stripe up your cunt. He heard your bashful whimper, making Eddie chuckle, cupping your jaw, and kissing you. 

Steve got on his knees, giving himself a few tugs before sliding the tip between your glistening folds. He slid in much easier than Eddie given the extra lubrication, but the stretch was still foreign to you as he thrusted.

The pleasure arrived quickly, the softer part inside of you being hit just right as Eddie sucked the sweet spot on your neck. Steve grabbed the flush of your bottom, quickly letting go.

“Can I smack your ass?” Steve questioned, feeling slightly silly as most in this position expected a few taps, but knowing your inexperience, he didn’t want to startle you. A quick nod put his mind at ease, his firm hand sounding off your delicate skin with a pathetic cry.

“Oh, that is just too sweet.” Eddie cooed against your ear, snickering as you whimpered, head smushing into the pillows. His hand went down to the throbbing bundle of nerves between your legs, activating another whole level of stimulation as Steve showed you the new position.

With closed eyes, your prominent sense was touch as your body was explored. Ranging from delicate to rough, your mind wandered into the opening abyss, unable to conceptualize what would happen after this. 

Currently, your two best friends were splitting you open, tasting and touching you in a way no one ever had. They seemed intrigued, but was this because it was your first time or even because you paid? When the sun began to crawl up north, would they lay at your side or rarely speak to you again?

Typically emotionally sound, the thought of losing either of them overwhelmed you, along with the vulnerability you were placed in. You hadn’t realized your slight wheeze in your moans until Eddie pulled you up by the hair, a concerned look in his shimmering eyes.

What you hadn’t heard were their gentle calls for you, asking if it felt good or if something needed to change. When you barely moved, they felt sick, hoping there was no pain brewing.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asked, seeing your lip pout with a tremble, Steve resting halfway inside of you. 

Gulping, you felt 5 inches tall, two sets of eyes on you examining your every breath. You pushed your hips back, only to be stopped by Steve’s grip, giving you a warning look to the back of your head.

“Nothing.” You stuttered, making Eddie scoff and roll his eyes, Steve adding a small pinch on the meat of your hip.

“Somethings wrong, know you too well to play this game,” Steve quipped, “We’re not starting again until you say what’s bothering you. Are you comfortable? Do you want to move positions?”

Like a petulant youth, you grumbled, furrowing your brows. The mix of insecurity, sexual frustration, and the reminiscing euphoria from your climax blended into a troublesome combination.

“Stop, I’m fine!” You sassed, looking down at the creasing sheet, “Just fuck me like you do all your customers and continue on with our nights!”

Not looking up, you didn’t see both of their eyes enlargen, mouths falling open slightly. Thankfully, Steve pieced some things together and knew stopping wouldn’t help this scenario. He figured they could try something else, mouthing for Eddie to follow his lead.

Suddenly you were facing the ceiling with a gasp, Steve’s hand around your neck as he pushed you against his chest, looking up at him through your eyelashes. The light made him look angelic, cheeks flushed red with a golden glow from the chandelier above their heads.

His hips snapped forward as Eddie pressed his chest to your front, a hand finding your nipple and the other to your clit. It seemed vengeful, the way they began to fuck you as if you were a measly plaything. 

“This what you want, hm?” Steve gritted, trying his best to ignore your clenching, “Want us to stop really caring about you? Just focus on getting you off and out of the door?”

His palm met your ass again as you cried, the one at your neck moving to sprawl across your chest, keeping you in place. Eddie trapped your cheeks in one of his hands, adding to the riveting lack of control you were experiencing. 

“Eds, Stevie.” You gasped quietly, trembling at the enthusiastic pace and intensity of the scenario. The following orgasm was coming closer than intended, hoping you’d prolong it farther to ensure more time between their heated skin.

Eddie patted your cheek warningly, “Nu-uh, our clients don’t call us that.”

Your whine made them satisfied, knowing your wall was tumbling down as you shook your head. 

“Don’t want to just be your client.” You murmured, looking at Eddie’s eyes that softened, his hand cupping your cheek before kissing you.

“Yeah,” He smiled, pulling away and wiping the dangling spit, “You’re our girl, right?”

“Yes!” You yelped, their joint attempt to help you finish succeeding as you shook, Steve’s hand moving away from your collarbone and to your other hip. 

Eddie catches your convulsing body, mewling into his glistening skin, as Steve groans into your shoulder and fills his condom. Slipping out of you, he fell back onto the bed, chest rising quickly as his eyes shut briefly.

His protection was soon discarded, watching as you lay with resting eyes in between them. The white noise that surrounded you was beginning to diminish, the sounds of their breathing coming to you.

Before your eyes were fully open, you were scooting off the bed, grabbing your clothes from the ground without looking behind you. 

“What’re you doing?” Eddie asked, seeing you fumble with the back clasp of your bra, hands still shaking from your orgasm.

Rubbing your thighs, trying to steady yourself before standing, “Don’t they usually leave after?”

Their silence taunted you, biting your lip until a hand reached each of your biceps, pulling you back to the pillows with a shriek. As if it were magic, Steve undid your bra with one hand as Eddie yanked it off. 

Soon you were sandwiched in their bodies, adjusting to find comfort in your frame, sighing contently like small kittens once they did. The insecurity fell into the mattress and seeped to the floor, smiling at their affections.

“Psst,” Eddie hushed, poking your side, “Psssttttt!”

Squinting your eyes, you looked at his joyful expression that was soon pressed against your cheek, nose jutting to your temple.

“Yes?” You replied, feeling Steve mimic the position on your left cheek.

“You’re still our best friend.” Eddie whispered, startled by his blatant sincerity until he blew a raspberry on your face. 

Squeaking, you flinched away, into Steve’s arms who encapsulated you in a warm hold. Yet, he betrayed you by blowing one on your neck, laughing boisterously as you squirmed. 

The ice was broken as you all relaxed, shrugging the blankets up to your chest as the air conditioning tickled your skin. Steve propped up on an elbow while Eddie remained pressed against you on his side, your head below his chin while laying on your back.

“Talk to us next time,” Steve began, hand petting your hair as you looked up at him sheepishly, “You’re getting your money back anyways.”

Before you could argue that you did make them drive all the way here, Eddie butted in, “Yeah, buy us breakfast in the morning and gas- Did you really drive your piece of shit car up here, oh my God.” His teasing transcended into legitimate worry, already envisioning the black smoke coming from the hood.

“I took a taxi.” You shrugged, feeling the end seem on the sheet, seeing Steve’s body tense in your peripherals. 

“You what!” He barked, making you hold back a laugh, “You took a taxi all the way- What if you got kidnapped! You’re very kidnappable!”

Scoffing, you looked up at him before back at your hands, pouting.

“I am not! I’m in my bad girl phase anyways.” You jested, making Eddie snort while Steve repeated your scoff. The impending playful tiff between you three was beginning, making you slink under the sheets.

“Hey! No, no.” Steve gaped, going to his back and going under as well with Eddie quickly following. 

You all laughed and playfully pushed at each other until Eddie halted, bringing your frame with him. Steve huffed, laying against your tummy, nosing at the small hairs below your belly button. 

“You know,” Eddie thought, “We should make a fort out of these sheets.”

“I’m down.”

“He’s my ride so I fuckin’ guess, but I want my boxers on. So should Eddie, but you should definitely leave yours off.”

tagging some mutuals! @lilacletter @munsonology @andvys @queenimmadolla @oneforthemunny @indouloureux @bimbobaggins69 @dearest-readers @corrodedcorpses @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint

[jujutsubaby]

after hours (part 2)

☆ pairing: satoru gojo x afab!reader, toji fushiguru x afab!reader ☆ summary: you update your friends and they cannot believe what happened between you and toji. but one of you friends, satoru gojo, is acting weirder than usual...could it be? nooo, nooo, it can't...right? ☆ warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! dirty talk, implied power dynamic, sexual tension ☆ tags: modernAU, academiaAU ☆ a/n: sorry for the lack of smut but i swear it'll be worth in the next part 😈 but hope you enjoy the love triangle between toji, gojo, and y/n that's forming! spoiler alert: there miiiight be a potential three way coming soooon ~ ahaha i don't wanna say anything 🤭 🖤🤍 series masterlist 🤍🖤

"NO. FUCKIN'. WAY...", shoko gasps, jaw open, as you tell her about what happened last night with toji over a matcha latte with oatmilk. you take a sip, savoring the earthy, bitter beverage, and give shoko a serious look.

you, shoko, and your friends always grab beverages from cafe amanai every morning, serving as a meeting point for everyone's busy lives. usually, it's used to air out mild inconveniences, from poor grades to missing keys, but today, it is being used to dissect what the hell happened between you and toji last night, to your obvious dismay.

"yeah, and now i'm getting dinner with him and megumi and going to his parent teacher conference." you say, looking slightly distraught, as you contemplate the ramifications of hooking up with your extremely attractive neighbor. "was this a bad idea?"

"was what a bad idea?"

you and shoko whip around to find satoru gojo strolling to your table, wearing his signature black round glasses and unruly white hair. he glides down in the seat next to you, literally butting his head into the conversation.

you sigh deeply and slowly sink your head onto the table surface, knowing full well that once satoru gets up to speed, he's never going to shut up about it. "ohhhh satoru, don't make me say it again..." you whine.

"let's wait until suguru comes back from flirting with the barista to tell them. i don't wanna update them twice." shoko kindly offers, patting your head and softly running her fingers through your scalp.

your head shoots up the minute your hear about suguru flirting. according to satoru, suguru never drank coffee until the day riko complimented his bangs, and ever since then, suguru would do everything in his power to stop by cafe amanai and order a latte. in the process, you, shoko, and gojo got unbearably perplexed at the idea of the suguru geto, the hoity-toity moral compass of the group, having a crush, on not just anyone, but the cafe owner, and everyone's favorite barista: the gorgeous, raven-haired riko amanai. you all really try to be subtle, everyone craning their necks in unnatural directions, trying to decipher what embarrassingly awful one-liner suguru was going to say to riko instead of just asking her out.

"can you guys not embarrass me for just one day at this place? just one. it's all i'm asking for." suguru says sorely, popping out from the opposite direction of where you all were staring, startling everyone into mumbled apologies ("i wasn't even looking", "had to stretch my neck after benching 300", "i don't even care about you and riko").

"anyway, now tell us...what's the bad idea?" gojo prods, grinning at the excitement of restarting the gossip session. oh my god, why is he so nosy?

"i mean, okay, it's complicated so don't judge me and i really don't know how it happened but-" you start, before shoko cuts you off.

"y/n fucked our hot neighbor, toji. remember him? the one i was telling you about that probably is a gigolo-"

"shoko, he is NOT a gigolo! stop saying that about him!" you say irately. "he probably has...some respectable job that...is classified or...something", you defend, trying your hardest to defend toji in front of your friends. why were you so keen on defending this guy after one random hookup?

"the one who's son you BABYSIT for?!" suguru yells incredulously a bit too loudly, that results in your shooting daggers at him. "y/n, you have to know this is some fucked up power dynamic thing, right? he's paying you to babysit his son. there's no way what you're doing will end well." suguru chastises, scrunching his eyebrows in genuine concern.

"so about that..." you start, realizing just now how idiotic you're about to sound admitting that he has not paid you for the past week and decide to pivot. "it's just babysitting, suguru, okay? chill, it's not that serious."

"also, he hasn't paid her at all last week." shoko states nonchalantly. you give her a crestfallen look, wishing she had said quite literally anything but that.

satoru, who had been suspiciously silent up until now, roars in laughter hearing this, while suguru groans. "wait hold on. you're telling me people pay him to be a gigolo but you're giving him that pussy for free?" satoru says in between breaths, clearly finding your predicament more than amusing.

"i'm going to kill you guys." you say, rubbing your temples, already trying to remedy the headache at bay.

"poor y/n," shoko teases, "she's not ready to be a step-mom." she chuckles as you narrow your eyes at her. "kidding!" she smiles, with her hands up, feigning any remorse. everyone, including youself, start laughing lightly at the situation you're in, and you notice shoko's eyes widen with excitement and warmth as she sees utahime walk into cafe amanai. "utahime!" she waves, catching utahime's attention. utahime darts over to your table and plops next to shoko, and do something that shocks satoru and suguru to their core. aww, look, they're kissing! oh wait no, they're fully making out. oh, they should get a room.

"excuse me?!" gojo, who is so baffled by the sight in front of him that his sungalsses are completely off, says.

shoko and utahime break out of their short kiss, and utahime narrows her eyes at satoru as if he was a pest (you have to admit, he sometimes is), seemingly annoyed by his intrusion. "oh umm, this is utahime, as you guys know. um, she and i are dating. that's all." shoko taciturnly says. "anyway, we have to go, now." she turns to you. "i'll see you at home and you better tell us everything." you laugh and nod, standing up to give utahime a quick hug before they left.

you turn around to two stunned faces, as you explain to them that shoko and utahime had been dating for over a month now, and that they did not tell either of them because, well, they were both a bit obnoxious, especially together.

"just because you're right doesn't mean i'm any less shocked!" suguru says, eyes still wide and processing the fact that one of his best friends was dating someone and he had no clue. "okay, i actually don't even have time to process this right now. i have to make copies for the class i'm TA-ing for." suguru says, as he quickly throws his untouched cup of coffee into the trash and speeds out. "see ya." he waves before he speeds out of the cafe.

you sigh tiredly, knowing that whenever you're alone with satoru, things get...a bit weird. you guys are friends, of course, but you would be lying if you said you didn't feel the tension in the air abruptly change slightly when it was just you two. there were plenty of times when you went over to satoru's and played video games or drank beers like the old school friends you were, but it would always end veeery touchy feely (like the time you fell asleep with your head on his lap or that one time he said it would be a good idea to cuddle "for warmth" because the heat was broken).

but this was just because you guys were like, super super good friends, though...right? in any case, you knew for a fact you and satoru were not into each other because you both fooled around with other people, so case closed.

"so...how was it?" satoru asks, with a stupid grin on his face. you can sense he's about egg you on about something you did not want to talk about, but you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"how was what?" you say, shifting in your seat slightly and playing with your fingers. you take a sip of your lukewarm matcha as you turn to look at satoru.

"how was the sex with toji?" satoru clarifies. you almost choke on your matcha, but quickly regain your composure.

"wouldn't you like to know, lover boy." you say, slightly annoyed and yet bemused why satoru would even ask that question. ugh, why does he even care? can't he let this go? he was the one making fun of you the most about this anyway!

"woah, okay sorry for trying to make sure you at least had fun before you made a bad decision with some broke dude who doesn't have a real job." satoru says, raising his hands defeat and putting his sunglasses back, obscuring his bright blue eyes that always made you wish you could stare at them forever. wait, what?

"he allegedly doesn't have a job, okay. and also, being a gigolo, allegedly, is still a job." you say, once again baffling yourself as to why you're feeling so defensive of toji, especially more so in front of satoru. why is he being so weird about this? you've told him about guys you've slept with before and he barely even cared.

"what are we? in court?" he snorts, shaking his head slightly in amusement.

"why do you care?" you accuse, finishing up the last sips of your matcha before setting the cup down and anxiously playing with your fingers.

"i don't care...i just..." satoru trails off, as if thinking about what he wants to say next carefully. "i just wanna make sure he's treating you well, that's all."

"well, if you must know, we didn't have sex." you respond, your heart beating a bit faster as you're borderline talking about raunchy activities in public.

"whadcha guys do?," satoru asks shamelessly.

at this point, you're so over satoru's bullshit. "he ate me out okay! what other personal stuff do you want to know about me? how would you feel if i asked you how many times a day you jerk off, huh? not so amusing now is it?!"

"did you cum?" he asks. his smile is beaming and he's holding back a chuckle, as he enjoys seeing you getting all riled up because of him. he knows he's pushing your buttons, but he just can't stop. it's too fun. and you look too cute when you're angry at him.

"you're so fucking unbelievable!" you spit, as you abruptly get up and grab you empty cup of matcha and your bag, heading towards the exit. entering the bustling city, you see satoru catching up to you in your peripheral and walk even faster to the crosswalk, but not fast enough. satoru catches up from behind easily and places his hands on your shoulder, as you whip around and give him a death glare.

"what do you want?!" you ask irately.

"umm...i'm your ride to class, remember?" satoru says sheepishly, flashing you a grin.

could this get any worse? you roll your eyes. he is correct, and technically you could take the bus but it'll make you too late for your class, and walking is just out of the question. you sigh in annoyance. "where's your car?"

the walk to satoru's porche is short, but within that time, you both manage to make up as you always do. such is the waves your guys' relationship rides: daunting when it happens, but calm once the storm passes over. by the time you're at satoru's car, you both are laughing hysterically.

"fuck off! no way suguru said that to riko!" you exclaim, responding to satoru telling you that suguru responded to riko's "good morning" with the biography of his barber who cuts his bangs.

"his ass folds so easily when it comes to his bangs," satoru says as he turns on the ignition and starts driving. satoru thinks about the first time he met suguru and how they got into a minor argument because his bangs were the first thing satoru noticed. satoru's mind wanders, and he thinks about the first thing he noticed about you: your smile and laughter. the way you tuck your hair behind your ears whenever you get anxious, the way you play with the ends of your hair when you're flirting and you think you're being subtle, the way your nose scrunches when you're concentrating deeply, and especially the way you, without fail, always fall asleep leaning against him during movie nights.

"hey, y/n," satoru starts softly, "you busy tonight? thinkin' we study for our final next week and maybe watch a movie. have you watched saltburn yet?"

"ohmygod i haven't but i really want to!" you say excitedly, thinking about how shoko has been begging you to watch that movie since it came out. wait, parent teacher night. you frown. "oh wait actually, i'm not free tonight, but let's do tomorrow?" you offer sweetly, praying satoru for once is not nosy enough to ask what you're doing instead tonight.

"whatcha doing instead tonight?" he asks without skipping a beat.

"...i'm babysitting tonight." it's not use lying at this point, but you know it's embarrassing to say you're getting dinner with his son and going to a parent teacher conference.

"oh right, the thing you do for free now", satoru says, rolling his eyes. he could egg you on and press your buttons again. he hasn't decided if he will again just yet.

you decide to change the subject, not wanting to start yet another argument with him. "anyway, you wanna head to the barcade tomorrow before the theater to get drinks and hang? i think shoko and utahime are coming and they said something about inviting suguru, too" you ask, knowing full well what his answer will be.

"how could you fucking ask me that? how could you ask me if i want to go to the only barcade in this city after what fucking happened to me the last time i went there?!" he accuses you. you sense the irateness of his voice, knowing full well this is how he gets whenever you bring up the local barcade with him.

basically, earlier this summer, the four of you went to the flashing new barcade that opened downtown, thinking you would all have a couple drinks and play some arcade games. according to satoru -- you and shoko were, at the time, dry heaving in the bathroom from one too many AMFs (satoru's idea) -- some guy came in with his kid (you still didn't really believe this part because how was a kid allowed in a bar?) and not only "bullied satoru" (satoru's words), but also made off with his drink and tickets. you still aren't really sure what the big deal is, but you find it funny, nontheless, seeing satoru still get sour about that barcade.

"geez, sorry, i didn't know you were still upset about it." you say, raising your hands and eyebrows in defeat.

"i literally talk about it once a day in the group chat. i was finally gonna get you that jigglypuff plushie you always wanted with those tickets!" satoru confesses, and you almost feel a bit bad for him. almost.

"well, you can try again tomorrow night then", you wink, before satoru pulls up in front of the building where your class is. you hear satoru humph in defeat, and you know you'll see him tomorrow night at the barcade. you thank satoru for the ride, but right before you close the door, he calls out your name.

"hey y/n also, sorry 'bout earlier at the cafe.", he says (he doesn't sound sorry at all, you think. this is definitely a ruse to say something stupid), "but i needed to tell you something before you left. the answer is two but if i'm bored, probably three."

you stare at him blankly. what was he on about? "what?" you say, perplexed.

"it's how many times i jerk off in a day. just thought i should let you know since you asked," he says, with a cheeky smile on his face. cue something stupid! bingo!

"bye satoru." you say immediately, closing the door of his porch and crossing the street. god, satoru was one of the most annoying people you knew. why does your face feel so hot?

you try really hard not to think about what satoru just said, knowing he was just being his usual cheeky self. satoru touches himself twice a day? when does he do it? in the morning? who does he think of? does he think of you? what the fuck, y/n -- think about something else? remember you came all over toji's face?

woah, okay. that was a lot, even for you. you have no idea where that thought came from, and you're pretending like it never happened. you're pretending like your panties aren't getting damp thinking about satoru's flushed face and his large fingers reaching down and grasping his hard, veiny -

your thoughts are interrupted by a text on your phone:

toji: see ya soon, pumpkin. wear somethin' nice for me, yeah? ;)

[brandyllyn]

Silk from their soul (13)

The Ghoul / Cooper Howard x f!reader [no use of y/n]

Rated: T Words: 1.7k Summary: Daisy, Daisy

Series Masterlist My Masterlist

Sunlight wakes you up.

Your Cowboy isn’t nearby and he definitely didn’t wake you up for your watch. You stretch, noting the bandage wrapped around your arm. You can’t even imagine how tired you must have been to sleep through him removing the needle.

Then again, yesterday had been quite the day.

There’s a bottle next to you, filled with distinctive red and yellow pills. You swallow one down, figuring the lingering effects of the Rad-Away will stack well enough with the Rad-X. No sense in not being careful, and their presence is signal enough that your Cowboy has his mind on some things.

Good, so did you.

The fire is out and you slowly sit up, digging in your pack for breakfast. You’re halfway through a ration bar when he strides back in, all confidence and cocksure grin.

“Looks like we might make the foothills today if we hustle.”

You nod, swinging the pack on and climbing to your feet, mouth half full of dry oats. The sudden movement makes you wince and you try to shift your weight as inconspicuously as possible.

He notices, of course.

“You hurt?”

“Sore,” you mumble, trying not to meet his eye.

“Sore? From wha-?” He seems to suddenly realize and that cocksure grin of his gets even wider, if that’s possible. “Well now, can’t say there’s much I can do about that.”

“Well, I’m going to need some recovery time,” you tell him primly, trying to hide your smile when he laughs.

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he catches your hand and presses a kiss to your fingers, slipping one into his mouth briefly before letting you slide away, “plenty of other trouble we can get up to.”

Was it hot in here? You were suddenly sweating.

Thankfully - for your journey more than your sanity - he sets off for the day after that exchange, pace steady and sure. The ground is mostly dirt and you walk side by side down what’s left of an old road.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He glances your way from under the brim of his hat. “S’pose that depends on the question.”

“What do you do?” He blinks at you and you rephrase, “I mean, you’re obviously pretty good with a gun, you’re… what you are. I’m just wondering - what do you do? To earn caps? To pass the time.”

“Oh,” he turns from you to scan the horizon, drawing the word out, “bit of this, bit of that.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Never said I would.”

You huff, picking your way around some rubble. “Gigolo?”

It gives you a little too much satisfaction to see him stumble, head turned back to look incredulously at you. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’d be good at it,” you say blandly as you pass him. You don’t get far, his hand catching on the back of your skirt and pulling you back into his chest.

“They do say if you’re good at something, never do it for free.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any caps on me,” you sigh theatrically, reaching back to slink a hand behind his neck, “do you take any other forms of payment?”

He bites you in retaliation, his tongue quickly soothing the flesh. You should be more concerned, you know that. He’s necrotic and by all accounts has been for a long time. The chance he’s eaten a person were pretty high - although you can hope they weren’t alive at the time and deserved it a little.

“I think we can make some arrangements,” he drawls into your ear and you giggle, twisting away from him. There’s a group of abandoned buildings ahead of you and you dart towards them, listening for his footfalls behind you. He’s quick to follow, a gruff laugh escaping him as he gives chase.

You turn to skip backwards, grinning at him. “C’mon, you can do better than that.”

He bares his teeth at you and starts to say something when his eyes dart over your shoulder and suddenly he’s next to you, pushing you behind him.

“Well howdy fellas, something we can do for you?”

You turn and see them - four men, each with guns, standing in the road ahead. There’s another on top of a building nearby.

“We’re after the girl.”

“Well I’m thinking you might have to find one of your own, this one here is mine.” He’s keeping himself between you and them and you have no problem letting him. He’ll heal up a heck of a lot quicker than you anyway.

“We ain’t lookin for trouble, ghoul. I imagine we’re all after the same thing.”

He cuts his eyes to you before turning back to them. “I thought you might say something stupid like that.”

The first gunshot takes you by surprise, his pistol jumping into his hand so quickly it looks like magic. One man goes down instantly as his compatriots scatter. Your Cowboy goes for the next but you lay a restraining hand on his arm, pulling him behind a wall.

“I thought we agreed on not shooting first and asking questions later?”

“I don’t intend to ask them questions, darlin’,” he responds, unholstering his rifle and casually taking aim around the corner. The shot makes you cover your ears but you still hear someone scream in the distance. The wall next to his head explodes and he jerks back, a piece of stone embedded just beneath his eye.

“You’re hurt!” you cry out, pulling his face towards yours. He shrugs you off, touching the area before refocusing. 

“It’ll be fine.”

You pull at everything in you and force him to look at you. “Let me talk to them.”

He curses but doesn’t shoot again, glaring at you all the while. You wait a moment before calling out in your sweetest voice, “It seems we got off on the wrong foot.”

“That bastard killed Darryl!”

You glare at your Cowboy who looks entirely unrepentant. “Well, you were holding guns on us, it’s a dangerous place out here.” 

A breeze caresses your face and you take a chance, stepping around the wall over your Cowboy’s spluttered protests. Your skirt whips around your knees and against the back of your neck as you hold your hands up. “I’m sure we can come to an amicable agreement!”

A head pops up, the scarred face staring back at you slack jawed. “Well hell you look just like her, Daisy Mae in the flesh.”

Groaning softly you try to keep your expression chipper. “Ain’t that something! May I ask what you’re here for?”

“You know what we’re here for.”

Well shit, you did. It was too much to hope that that asshole hadn’t sent people after you. But you really didn’t want them talking about that. “Well, then I think you also know that I’m not really interested in acquiescing.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“She ain’t going with you, numbnuts.”

You try not to roll your eyes at your Cowboy’s words. He gives you a look of wide-eyed innocence. “Want me to rephrase that as a question?”

There’s the sound of a shot, and suddenly pain blooms along your side. You clutch at it automatically, gasping softly, and then he’s there. Your Cowboy. One arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you out of the line of fire.

Distantly you hear yelling, hear the men arguing with each other. But all you can see is the burned face of the man above you. 

“Ah shit,” he grunts, pressing a cloth to the wound, “you ain’t got enough blood to be losing this much.”

“Sorry,” you mumble in return, trying to give him a halfhearted smile, “I’d rather it be on the inside too.”

He gives you a quick smile, pressing your hands to the cloth. “Am I allowed to do some hurting now?”

You wave a hand weakly, “Have at it.”

It’s efficient, whatever it is. Seven shots over the course of less than a minute. All of them from him as far as you can tell. None of them sound far enough away to be anyone else. You poke at the wound as he does it, grimacing at the ragged edges. Hopefully it wasn’t organic - you could probably heal up from a bit of metal if you were careful - but organic stuff had a tendency to fester.

Boots crunch on rock and you barely glance up as your Cowboy drops into a crouch next to you. He’s got a pack in his hand, a bandage in the other. You try to wave him off but he bats your hands away. 

“It ain’t much, but it’ll set you up til we can find somewhere safe.”

“I’m fine,” you try to tell him even as he presses the somewhat clean gauze to your wound. “I don’t need-”

He cuts you off with a hand around your wrist, pulling you to your feet and throwing your arm over his shoulder. You cry out in pain and he freezes for a moment before wrapping an arm around your waist. 

“You’ve been shot, so unless you and I got a fair bit more in common than you’ve been letting on, we need to get it treated.”

You nod, biting your lip. It hurts like a son of a bitch and you do your best to keep quiet as he leads you off in a different direction, towards what looks like a decently preserved building. Inside there are bedrolls and the remains of a fire - even a cot in one corner which he leads you near before leaning you against a wall. A moment later he reappears with a blanket from your pack, throwing it over the stained mattress and guiding you to lay down.

“Wait here, don’t move. I’m going to go roll the bodies, see if they have anything on them.”

“Roger that,” you say weakly, trying to give him a halfhearted salute. He snorts a laugh before heading out.

You close your eyes, just for a moment. Just to keep your head from spinning.

☢ ☢ ☢

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