â â„T/W: Dark Fic, Dead dove, Angst, impregnation, toxic friendship, gaslighting, infidelity, slow burn, non con, resentment
â â„ I loved writing this made it extra long and juicy 33,349 words hope yall enjoy
The phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, its vibration rattling against the granite. Curly glanced at the caller ID - Jimmy - before swiping to answer with a sigh. He'd been hoping to enjoy the quiet morning with his wife before the chaos of the day began.
"Hey man," Curly said, leaning against the counter while watching (Y/N) move gracefully around the kitchen. She was already preparing his post-workout protein shake, just as she always did.
"Get your ass to the gym," Jimmy's voice crackled through the phone. "I need to spot you on chest day."
Curly ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, alright. Give me an hour."
"Make it forty minutes. I'm already on my way."
The line went dead before Curly could respond. Typical Jimmy - always demanding, always impatient.
"I'm heading to the gym," Curly said, turning to his wife. "Jimmy's already on his way there."
(Y/N) nodded, her lips curving into a soft smile. "I already made your shake," she said, gesturing to the blender. "Extra protein today since you're doing chest."
God, he loved this woman. Always thinking ahead, always taking care of him. Curly crossed the kitchen in three strides, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and pressing a kiss to her neck. She smelled like vanilla and home.
"You're too good to me," he murmured against her skin.
"You say that every day," she laughed, tilting her head to give him better access. "And every day I'll tell you that's what wives are for."
Curly spun her around and captured her lips in a deep kiss. "I'll be back in a few hours. Don't miss me too much."
"Never," she teased, though her eyes told a different story.
The locker room at the gym smelled of sweat and cheap deodorant. Curly had just changed into his workout gear when Jimmy burst in, already looking agitated.
"Took you long enough," Jimmy grumbled, slamming his locker shut. "Some of us have jobs to get to later."
Curly just rolled his eyes. "Not all of us can survive on energy drinks and spite."
Jimmy's eyes narrowed as he sized Curly up. "Speaking of surviving - how do you do it? With the perfect house, perfect wife..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Man, I'd kill for what you have."
"She's not perfect," Curly said with a shrug, though they both knew he didn't believe that. (Y/N) was damn close to perfect in his eyes.
"Close enough," Jimmy sneered, pulling on his workout gloves. "Bet she's waiting at home right now with your dinner ready and your slippers warmed. Like a damn 1950s housewife."
Curly's jaw tightened slightly. "Watch how you talk about her."
Jimmy raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, no offense meant. It's just... impressive how well-trained she is. Must be nice coming home to someone who knows their place."
Curly chose not to engage, instead focusing on adjusting his weight belt. Jimmy always got like this when he was in one of his moods bitter and resentful of anyone who had something he wanted.
"So," Jimmy continued, lowering his voice as another gym member walked past. "How is she, really? In bed, I mean."
Curly hesitated. It was locker room talk, crude but normal between guys. Still, talking about (Y/N) like that with Jimmy always felt... off. But refusing would only lead to more questions, more probing.
He shrugged, trying to sound casual. "She's enthusiastic. Always has been."
Jimmy's eyes lit up with an unnerving intensity. "Yeah? Like how enthusiastic?"
Curly shifted uncomfortably. "Look, man, can we just work out?"
"Not until you give me details," Jimmy pressed, stepping closer. "I need to know if I should be jealous or just plain envious."
Curly sighed, running a hand over his face. "Fine. She's... responsive. Very responsive. And creative."
"Creative how?" Jimmy's voice had dropped to a near-whisper.
"Jesus, Jimmy," Curly said with a laugh. "She's my wife. I'm not giving you a play-by-play."
"Just one detail," Jimmy pleaded, though it sounded more like a demand. "Something that keeps you going through the day."
Curly considered it for a moment. What harm could one small detail do? It was just locker room talk, after all.
"She likes to surprise me," Curly finally said, lowering his voice. "Sometimes I'll come home and she'll be wearing something new under her regular clothes. Something just for me. And she'll give me this look... like she's been thinking about it all day."
Jimmy's breath hitched slightly, his eyes darkening. "Yeah? And what do you do when she gives you that look?"
"What do you think?" Curly grinned. "I thank my lucky stars I married her."
Jimmy nodded slowly, a strange expression crossing his face - something between admiration and something else Curly couldn't quite identify. Something possessive.
"Lucky bastard," Jimmy muttered, turning toward the gym floor. "Let's lift."
As Curly followed him out, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just shared something he shouldn't have. But he pushed the thought away. It was just Jimmy being Jimmy crude and jealous, but harmless.
Wasn't he?
ââ-
The apartment door slammed shut behind Jimmy, the sound echoing in the small, cramped space of apartment 7B. He dropped his gym bag by the door, the familiar weight of it a comfort after another session watching Curly lift weights he could only dream of matching.
"Perfect wife," Jimmy muttered, kicking off his shoes. "Perfect life."
He grabbed a beer from the fridge, twisting off the cap with his teeth before collapsing onto his worn-out couch. The springs groaned in protest. Across the room, his old television flickered to life, displaying some cheap porn he'd left running that morning. A woman with bleached-blonde hair was struggling against ropes, her fake sobs filling the small apartment.
Jimmy's mind wasn't on the screen, though. It was on (Y/N).
He closed his eyes, picturing her in the kitchen this morning - the way her hips swayed as she moved, the soft curve of her ass in those tight jeans, the gentle smile she'd given Curly before he left. A smile that should have been his.
His hand drifted to his crotch, rubbing himself through his sweatpants. He was already getting hard just thinking about her.
*She'd look so good in lingerie,* he thought, his breathing growing heavier. *Black lace, maybe. Something expensive. Something Curly couldn't afford.*
In his mind, he could see her clearly - (Y/N) stretched out on silk sheets, wearing nothing but black stockings that climbed up her perfect thighs and heels that made her legs look even longer. Her hair spread out around her head like a halo, those pretty eyes dark with desire as she looked up at him.
*Not at Curly. At me.*
Jimmy's hand slipped inside his sweatpants now, wrapping around his growing erection. He stroked himself slowly, teasingly, as the fantasy unfolded in his mind.
She'd be shy at first, hesitant. But he'd break her in gently. He'd show her what a real man could do, how a woman was supposed to be treated - worshiped, adored, but also claimed. Possessed.
He imagined peeling off those lace panties with his teeth, exposing her to his hungry gaze. She'd be wet already, dripping for him. He'd taste her first, make her beg with his tongue until she was writhing beneath him, crying out his name.
"Jimmy," she'd whimper. "Please, Jimmy."
Not Curly's name. His.
On screen, the scene changed. The kidnapped blonde was now being shared by two men, one holding her down while the other fucked her from behind. Jimmy barely noticed. His fantasy was far more compelling.
*How would she feel?* he wondered, stroking himself faster now. *Tight, probably. So tight around my cock. Curly probably doesn't even know how to fuck her right. Probably just pumps away for two minutes and rolls over.*
He'd take his time with (Y/N). He'd explore every inch of her body, memorize the places that made her gasp, the spots that made her arch her back. He'd make her come so many times she'd forget her own name, forget she'd ever been married to anyone else.
*Her pussy would feel like heaven,* he thought, his hips bucking into his hand now. *Warm and wet and squeezing me so tight. She'd beg for more. They always do.*
The porn on TV switched again - now it was some cuckold scenario, a pathetic husband watching as his friend impregnated his wife because the husband was shooting blanks. Jimmy laughed, a harsh, ugly sound in the quiet apartment.
*Pathetic,* he thought. *Just like Curly. Probably can't even get it up without (Y/N) holding his hand.*
In his fantasy, (Y/N was begging now. "Please, Jimmy. I need you. Only you."
He'd flip her over, entering her from behind so he could watch that perfect ass bounce against his hips. He'd grab her hair, pulling her head back to whisper filthy things in her ear - how much better he was than Curly, how she belonged to him now, how he'd fill her with his cum and mark her as his.
*Better,* he thought, his strokes becoming more frantic. *I'd fuck her so much better. Deeper. Harder. She'd never even think of Curly again after I was done with her.*
He could almost feel it - the heat of her body, the way she'd clench around him, the sound of her cries mixing with his own grunts of pleasure. He'd make her his in every way possible, ruin her for anyone else.
On screen, the friend was coming inside the wife now, filling her as the husband watched. Jimmy imagined doing the same to (Y/N), claiming her, marking her as his territory.
*She'd look so beautiful pregnant with my baby,* he thought, and that was it. That pushed him over the edge.
Jimmy came with a strangled cry, spilling over his hand and onto his sweatpants. For a moment, he just sat there, panting, the fantasy still playing in his mind. Then he looked down at the mess he'd made, at the pathetic reality of his lonely apartment and his cheap porn.
A wave of anger washed over him.
"It should be mine," he snarled, grabbing the remote and switching off the TV. "All of it."
He cleaned up with a paper towel, his movements rough and angry. Curly had everything - the good job, the nice house, the perfect wife. And what did Jimmy have? A cramped apartment, a dead-end job, and fantasies about another man's wife.
*Not for long,* he thought, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he stared at his reflection in the dark TV screen. *Not for long at all.*
ââ-
The plan began to form in Jimmy's mind over the next few days, a sickeningly brilliant scheme that he nurtured like a weed in the garden of his resentment. He watched Curly at the gym, studied his easy confidence, his genuine smile when he talked about (Y/N). It made Jimmy's stomach churn with a mixture of envy and determination.
He needed to break that perfect facade. Not just for a night, but forever.
The opportunity came a week later. Jimmy waited until Curly had just finished his final set of bench presses, his muscles trembling with exhaustion. Jimmy timed his approach perfectly, sliding onto the bench beside Curly's water bottle with a carefully constructed look of defeat.
"Tough day?" Curly asked, sitting up and wiping sweat from his brow.
Jimmy shook his head slowly, letting his shoulders slump. "Nah, man. Just... life, you know?" He stared at the scuffed floor of the gym, avoiding Curly's eyes. "Sometimes I wonder what the point of it all is."
Curly's expression softened with concern. "What's going on, Jimmy? You're not usually like this."
Jimmy let out a bitter laugh. "What's going on? I'm thirty-five years old, living in a shithole apartment, working a dead-end job. I come home to an empty place every night. No one waiting for me, no one who gives a damn if I live or die." He looked up then, his eyes deliberately glistening. "I see you with (Y/N), and I just... I wonder what I did wrong, you know? Why some guys get everything and others get nothing."
Curly shifted uncomfortably. "Come on, man. It's not like that. You just haven't met the right person yet."
"Right person," Jimmy scoffed, though he kept his voice quiet, vulnerable. "Who's going to want someone like me? I've got nothing to offer. No money, no future, no..." He trailed off, shaking his head again. "Sometimes I think I'll die alone, and no one will even notice until the smell gets bad."
That was it. The hook. Curly's face was etched with pity now, exactly what Jimmy had been aiming for.
"Hey, don't talk like that," Curly said, placing a hand on Jimmy's shoulder. "You're my friend. You're not alone."
Jimmy flinched at the touch but didn't pull away. "Am I? Really? When was the last time we hung out outside of this gym? When was the last time you invited me over, not because you needed help with something, but just to... hang out?"
Curly's hand dropped away. "I'm sorry, man. I've been busy with..."
"With (Y/N)," Jimmy finished for him, his voice gentle but pointed. "And you should be. She's amazing. That's not what I'm saying. It's just..." He took a deep breath, as if gathering courage for what he was about to say next. "God, this is embarrassing."
"You can tell me anything," Curly said, his concern growing.
Jimmy looked around the gym to make sure no one was listening, then leaned closer. "It's just... it's been so long. Since I've been with a woman, I mean. And I'm not just talking about sex. I'm talking about... connection. Touch. Feeling wanted." He met Curly's eyes, his own wide with manufactured desperation. "Sometimes I think I'm going to lose my mind from it."
Curly ran a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable but feeling obligated to listen. "Jimmy, I..."
"I know, I know," Jimmy cut in quickly. "It's pathetic. But I'm being honest with you because you're my only real friend. And I trust you." He paused, letting that sink in before delivering the killing blow. "Sometimes at night... I think about (Y/N). Not like that! Not like I want to steal her or anything. Just... I think about how lucky you are. To have someone who loves you, who touches you, who wants you. And I get so jealous it physically hurts."
Curly's jaw tightened slightly at the mention of his wife, but the pity in his eyes remained. "Jimmy..."
"I know I shouldn't say that," Jimmy rushed on, his voice cracking slightly. "I know it's wrong. But I'm so lonely, man. So damn lonely I can't think straight sometimes. I'd give anything just to feel what you two have, even for one night."
They sat in silence for a moment, Jimmy carefully monitoring Curly's expression. He could see the wheels turning, the conflict between friendship and propriety playing out across Curly's face.
"What are you asking me, Jimmy?" Curly finally asked, his voice low.
Jimmy's heart raced. This was it. "I'm not asking anything," he said, though he was. "I'm just... telling you how I feel. How desperate I am. How much I admire what you have." He looked down at his hands, then back up at Curly. "If I were a different kind of man, I'd ask if... if maybe... but I'm not. I couldn't do that to you. To (Y/N)."
Curly was silent for a long time, so long that Jimmy worried he'd pushed too far. But then he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.
"She'd never agree to it."
Jimmy's pulse quickened. "Agree to what?"
"You know what," Curly said, his gaze fixed on the floor. "You and her."
"I would never ask her to cheat on you," Jimmy said quickly, though that was exactly what he intended. "And I'd never want you to... I don't know. I'm just talking out of my ass here."
But the seed was planted. Jimmy could see it in Curly's eyes, the flicker of consideration, of twisted loyalty to his friend. The idea that he could somehow help Jimmy, alleviate his suffering, without actually betraying (Y/N).
"It would have to be your idea," Jimmy said, testing the waters. "Something you suggested to her. Something you wanted."
Curly shook his head, but it was weaker this time. "She's not like that, Jimmy. She's traditional."
"Then maybe... maybe you could make it traditional," Jimmy suggested, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Like... a favor between friends. Something that stays between us."
Curly looked up, his eyes narrowed. "What exactly are you suggesting?"
Jimmy took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say. "A one-time thing. Just once. I wear protection, obviously. No one ever has to know but us. Just... a friend helping a friend who's at the end of his rope." He met Curly's gaze directly, his expression earnest. "I swear to God, Curly. I would never touch her again. I would never even mention it. It would just be... a moment of kindness between friends. To help me feel human again."
Curly was silent for so long that Jimmy's palms began to sweat. He'd laid it all out, exposed his desperation (real or manufactured) and his desire (very real). Now it was up to Curly to either take the bait or reject it entirely.
Finally, Curly spoke, his voice rough with emotion. "I'd have to talk to her."
Jimmy's heart leaped, but he kept his expression carefully neutral. "Of course. Of course you would. And if she says no, we never speak of this again. I swear." He paused, then added the final piece of his manipulation. "But if she says yes... you'd be saving my life, man. Literally."
Curly nodded slowly, his face pale. "I'll... I'll think about it."
"I know this is a lot to ask," Jimmy said, standing up and grabbing his gym bag. "But I trust you. I know you'll do what's right." He paused at the edge of the weight room, then looked back. "And hey... if she does say yes, I promise. Full protection. No risks. Just... relief."
As he walked away, Jimmy allowed himself a small, triumphant smile. He knew Curly would talk to (Y/N). He knew Curly would frame it as an act of friendship, of charity. And he knew Curly would insist on protection.
What Curly didn't know - what (Y/N) would never suspect - was that the condom Jimmy would use would have a tiny pinprick in it, carefully made with a needle the night before. A tiny hole that would be more than enough for his sperm to find their way to their destination.
A baby. That was the key. A baby would bind (Y/N) to him forever, whether she wanted it or not. A baby would destroy Curly's perfect life and replace it with Jimmy's.
And the best part? Curly would be the one to deliver his own wife into Jimmy's arms, all in the name of friendship.
*Perfect,* Jimmy thought as he pushed through the gym doors and into the sunlight. *Absolutely fucking perfect.*
ââ-
The front door clicked shut behind Curly, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet house. He dropped his gym bag by the coat rack, his movements stiff and robotic. Every muscle in his body ached, but it was nothing compared to the knot twisting in his gut.
(Y/N) was in the living room, folding laundry on the coffee table. She looked up as he entered, her face breaking into a warm smile that made his stomach clench with guilt.
"Good workout?" she asked, setting aside a neatly folded towel.
Curly couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. "Yeah. Fine."
He walked past her into the kitchen, needing the space, needing a moment to compose himself before he faced her. He opened the fridge and stared inside, though he wasn't actually hungry. He just needed an excuse not to look at her.
"You're quiet tonight," (Y/N) said, following him into the kitchen. She placed a gentle hand on his back. "Everything okay at the gym?"
Curly flinched at her touch, then immediately felt like an asshole. He forced himself to turn around, to face her concerned expression. "Just tired. Long day."
(Y/N)'s brow furrowed. "You seem more than tired. You seem... upset." She reached up to cup his cheek, her thumb stroking his skin. "Talk to me, honey. What's wrong?"
How could he tell her? How could he even begin to explain the disgusting conversation he'd had with Jimmy? The way his friend had looked at him with those desperate, pleading eyes. The sick proposal that had been hanging in the air between them, unsaid but understood.
*Jimmy wants to fuck you,* his brain screamed. *And I'm actually considering it.*
"Curly?" (Y/N)'s voice pulled him from his thoughts. "You're scaring me."
He shook his head, forcing a weak smile. "Nothing's wrong. Just... Jimmy's going through a tough time. Really struggling with being alone."
(Y/N)'s expression didn't soften with sympathy this time. Instead, her eyes narrowed slightly. "Jimmy," she said, the name tasting like something sour in her mouth. "Let me guess. He was being himself again?"
Curly sighed, already anticipating where this conversation was going. "He's just lonely, (Y/N). He's in a bad place."
"He's always in a bad place," she countered, crossing her arms. "And he always makes sure everyone around him knows it. Did he make another one of his 'jokes' about how I'm just a Stepford wife waiting for you at home?"
"No, nothing like that," Curly lied, though Jimmy had come close enough. "He was just... really down today. Talking about how he has nothing, no one."
(Y/N) rolled her eyes, a gesture that always made Curly defensive. "Oh, here we go. The Jimmy Sob Story, Part 57. Let me guess you feel bad for him now?"
"He's my friend," Curly said, his voice tight. "And he's hurting. Is it so wrong to feel bad for him?"
"It's wrong that he uses your friendship to manipulate you," (Y/N) shot back, her voice rising. "It's wrong that he's always making these little digs at me, at our life, and you just let it slide because 'Jimmy's having a tough time'."
"He doesn't mean anything by it," Curly said, the words coming out automatically, the way they always did when they argued about Jimmy. "He's just... blunt. He doesn't have a filter."
"Or maybe he's just an asshole who's jealous of what we have," (Y/N) suggested, her hands on her hips now. "Did you ever consider that? That maybe he resents you for having a good job and a nice house and a wife who actually gives a damn about you?"
"Of course he's jealous," Curly admitted, though it felt like a betrayal to say it out loud. "But that doesn't mean he's a bad person. He's just... struggling."
"He's struggling because he makes terrible choices and blames everyone else for his problems," (Y/N) argued. "And you enable him by always making excuses for him. 'Jimmy's had it rough.' 'Jimmy doesn't mean it.' 'Jimmy's just going through a phase.' When are you going to see him for what he really is?"
"And what's that?" Curly challenged, though he already knew what she'd say.
"A leech," (Y/N) said without hesitation. "A miserable, manipulative leech who feeds off your sympathy and resents you for having more than him. He's not your friend, Curly. He's a parasite."
"That's not fair," Curly protested, though part of him wondered if she was right. "We've been friends since college. He's been there for me through a lot."
"Name one time," (Y/N) challenged, her eyes narrowed. "Name one time Jimmy has actually been there for you without asking for something in return."
Curly opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. He couldn't think of a single example. Every time Jimmy had "helped" him, there had been strings attached, expectations created, debts incurred.
"See?" (Y/N) said, her expression triumphant. "You can't, because he never has. He takes and he takes, and you let him because you're too damn nice to see it."
"He was really bad today," Curly said finally, deciding to test the waters with a partial truth. "Worse than usual. Talking about how alone he is, how he'll probably die without anyone ever loving him."
(Y/N)'s expression softened slightly, though her arms remained crossed. "That's sad, I guess. But it's not your responsibility to fix his life, Curly. It's not your job to find him a girlfriend or make him happy."
"I know," Curly said, though he wasn't sure he believed it. "But I feel bad for him. Really bad."
"You always feel bad for him," (Y/N) pointed out. "And what does it get you? More guilt trips? More manipulation? When are you going to put me, put us, first?"
"I do put you first!" Curly insisted, though Jimmy's proposal from earlier contradicted that claim.
"Do you?" (Y/N) challenged. "Because it seems like you spend more time worrying about Jimmy's feelings than you do about mine. You defend him every time I point out what he's really like. You make excuses for him when he's clearly being inappropriate. Sometimes I wonder if you're even on my side."
"Of course I'm on your side," Curly said, though his voice lacked conviction.
"Then why do you always defend him?" (Y/N) demanded, her voice cracking with frustration. "Why do you let him get away with saying things about me, about us, that you'd never let anyone else get away with?"
Curly had no answer for that. Because the truth was, he didn't know why he put up with Jimmy's behavior. Habit, maybe. Some misguided sense of loyalty. Or maybe, deep down, he felt sorry for him in a way that overrode everything else.
"Look," (Y/N) said, her voice softening slightly as she stepped closer to him. "I know he's your friend. I know you feel some obligation to him. But you need to see him for what he really is. He's not a good person, Curly. And he's definitely not a good friend to you."
Curly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "I know," he murmured against her hair, though he wasn't sure he did know. Not completely. "I'll be better about setting boundaries. I promise."
(Y/N) relaxed against him, though he could feel the tension still in her shoulders. "You say that every time," she said quietly. "And then he calls, and you're right back where you started - feeling guilty and making excuses."
"Not this time," Curly promised, though even as he said the words, he was thinking about Jimmy's desperate face, his pleading eyes. About the twisted proposal that had been hanging between them, unsaid but understood.
*She'd never agree to it,* Curly thought, his arms tightening around his wife. *But Jimmy was right about one thing - I am lucky to have her. And I can't let him ruin that.*
But even as he held (Y/N) close, vowing to protect their relationship from Jimmy's toxic influence, a small part of him wondered if he was strong enough to turn away from a friend who so clearly needed help. Even if that help came at a terrible cost.
ââ
The buzz of his phone on the nightstand pulled Jimmy from a restless sleep. He squinted at the screen, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face when he saw Curly's name. He let it ring a few more times, just to savor the anticipation, before swiping to answer.
"Tell me," Jimmy said, his voice thick with sleep and expectation.
There was a pause on the other end, filled with the sound of Curly's heavy breathing. "I... I haven't asked her yet."
Jimmy's grin vanished. "What the hell do you mean, you haven't asked her yet? I laid it all out for you yesterday."
"I know, man, but..." Curly trailed off. "It's not that simple. I tried to feel her out, and she was not receptive. At all."
Jimmy sat up in bed, his irritation mounting. "Not receptive? What does that mean? Did you even try? Or did you just chicken out the second she looked at you with those big, innocent eyes?"
"She's not going to go for it, Jimmy," Curly insisted, his voice strained. "She thinks you're a manipulative leech who's trying to ruin our marriage."
Jimmy laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "Of course she does. Women always think the worst when they don't get it. That's why you don't ask. You tell. You frame it as something you've decided, something that's happening, and she just needs to get on board."
"I can't do that to her," Curly protested weakly. "She's not... she's not like that. She's not just some object I can lend out."
"Isn't she?" Jimmy sneered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "That's not what you told me yesterday. Yesterday you were all ready to help a friend in need. What changed?"
"Nothing changed," Curly said, though he sounded unconvincing. "I just... I need more time."
"Time is exactly what I don't have," Jimmy shot back, his voice rising with frustration. "I'm drowning here, Curly. I told you that. And you're my only lifeline. Are you really going to let me drown because you're scared of a little conversation?"
There was silence on the other end, and Jimmy knew he had him. Curly was too soft, too guilt-ridden to withstand a full-on assault of his manufactured desperation.
"Look," Jimmy said, softening his tone slightly. "I get it. It's a big ask. But I'm at the end of my rope here. I'm not sleeping, I'm not eating... all I can think about is how alone I am, how empty my life is. And I see you with (Y/N), and I just... I need a taste of that. Just once. To remember what it feels like to be human."
He could hear Curly's soft sigh, the sound of surrender. "I'll try again. I'll figure out a way to bring it up."
"Good man," Jimmy said, his mood lifting immediately. "I knew I could count on you. We're brothers, right?"
"Right," Curly echoed, though his voice was heavy with resignation.
After hanging up, Jimmy lay back in bed, his mind already racing with the possibilities. He closed his eyes, picturing it clearly now - Curly, finally manning up and telling (Y/N) how it was going to be. Her initial resistance, then reluctant acceptance. And finally, the moment he'd been dreaming of.
In his mind's eye, he could see it all. The three of them in Curly and (Y/N)'s perfect bedroom, with its matching comforter and tasteful decor. (Y/N) on the bed, looking nervous but obedient, wearing something lacy and black that Curly had probably never seen her in before.
And Curly... oh, Curly would be right there, watching. Maybe even participating. Jimmy's cock twitched at the thought. He could picture Curly holding (Y/N)'s legs open for him, his face a mask of conflicted arousal and guilt. "Go ahead, man," Curly would say. "She's ready for you."
Jimmy's hand drifted to his growing erection as the fantasy unfolded. He'd start slow, teasing (Y/N) until she was writhing beneath him, until she forgot all about her husband and focused only on the pleasure he was giving her. He'd make her come with his mouth first, just to show her what she'd been missing, to prove that he knew her body better than Curly ever could.
Then he'd enter her, slow and deep, watching her face as she adjusted to his size. Curly would be right there, holding her hand maybe, or stroking her hair, telling her it was okay, that this was for a good cause.
*For a good cause,* Jimmy thought with a snicker, his hand moving faster on his cock now. *Yeah, right.*
He'd fuck her then, hard and deep, the way she'd never been fucked before. He'd angle his hips just right, hitting that spot inside her that would make her see stars, make her forget her own name. And Curly would watch, would see how much she was enjoying it, how much better he was at pleasing her than her own husband.
*Look how she responds to me,* Jimmy imagined thinking. *Look how much she wants it. This isn't just for me, Curly. She needs this too.*
In his fantasy, (Y/N) was crying out now, her hips bucking to meet his thrusts, her nails digging into his back. "Jimmy," she'd whimper. "Oh, God, Jimmy."
Not Curly's name. His.
And Curly would just watch, his face pale with a mixture of arousal and regret as he realized he'd unleashed something he could never control. Something that would change everything between them forever.
Jimmy came with a groan, spilling over his stomach as the fantasy reached its peak. He lay there for a moment, panting, his mind still replaying the scene. Then he smiled, slow and satisfied.
It was going to happen. He could feel it. Curly was too weak, too guilt-ridden to say no for long. Soon, very soon, (Y/N) would be his, at least for one night. And one night was all he needed to ruin her for Curly forever.
The next day, Jimmy was waiting for Curly at the gym, practically vibrating with anticipation. He'd been thinking about it all night, replaying their conversation, refining his strategy. He knew exactly how to play this.
Curly walked in looking exhausted, dark circles under his eyes. Jimmy's heart leaped - had he been up all night agonizing over how to ask his wife to fuck his best friend? Perfect.
"Hey man," Jimmy said, falling into step beside Curly as he headed toward the locker room. "Tough night?"
Curly just grunted in response, avoiding eye contact.
"So," Jimmy pressed, unable to contain his excitement. "Did you talk to her?"
Curly stopped walking, turning to face Jimmy with a pained expression. "Look, man, about that..."
Jimmy's stomach dropped. "Don't tell me you chickened out again."
"I didn't chicken out," Curly protested weakly. "I just... it's complicated. She's really not happy with you right now. With us, even."
"That's because you're going about it all wrong," Jimmy said, his voice dropping with false concern. "You're making it sound like some big, scary thing when it's just... a moment of kindness between friends."
Curly sighed, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I don't think she sees it that way."
"Of course she doesn't, not the way you're probably explaining it," Jimmy said, placing a hand on Curly's shoulder and steering him toward a quieter corner of the gym. "Look, let me help you. Let me tell you exactly what to say."
Curly looked skeptical, but Jimmy could see the desperation in his eyes - the need for an easy solution, a way out of the impossible situation Jimmy had created.
"You need to frame it as something you want," Jimmy began, his voice low and persuasive. "Something that turns you on, even. Tell her you've always had this fantasy about sharing her, about watching her with another man. Make it about your desires, not mine."
Curly's face flushed with embarrassment. "I can't tell her that. She'll think I'm a pervert."
"All men are perverts, Curly," Jimmy said with a dismissive wave. "Women know that. What they don't like is when we try to pretend we're not. Be honest with her. Tell her it's something you've been thinking about for a while, something that would make you happy."
"And if she still says no?" Curly asked, though he was clearly considering Jimmy's suggestion.
"Then you respect her decision," Jimmy said, though he had no intention of letting that happen. "But at least you tried, right? At least you were honest with her about what you want."
He could see Curly wavering, the guilt and desire warring on his face. Time to bring out the heavy artillery.
"Look at me, Curly," Jimmy said, his voice dropping with manufactured vulnerability. "I'm not asking for much here. Just one night. One moment of connection in a life that's completely empty. Is that really so much to ask from your best friend?"
Curly's expression softened, just as Jimmy knew it would. "No, man. It's not."
"Then you'll try again?" Jimmy pressed, his eyes wide with hope. "You'll really try, this time?"
Curly nodded slowly, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Yeah, Jimmy. I'll try again."
Jimmy's heart raced with triumph. "Good. That's all I'm asking." He clapped Curly on the back, steering him toward the weight room. "Now let's lift. I've got a lot of... energy to work out today."
As Curly began his warm-up, Jimmy watched him with a satisfied smile. It was working. His manipulation was working. Soon, very soon, (Y/N) would be his, and Curly would be the one to deliver her into his arms, all in the name of friendship.
*Perfect,* Jimmy thought, adjusting himself through his shorts. *Absolutely fucking perfect.*
ââ-
The bedroom was bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, the only light in the otherwise dark house. The air was warm and heavy with the scent of their lovemaking - sweat and perfume and the unique smell of sex that always clung to them afterward. Curly lay on his back, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath, while (Y/N) was draped across him, her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder, her fingers idly tracing patterns in his chest hair.
"That was nice," (Y/N) murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction. She tilted her head back to look at him, her eyes soft and sated. "Really nice."
Curly smiled, running his hand down the smooth curve of her back. "It's always nice with you." He leaned down to capture her lips in a slow, deep kiss that tasted of intimacy and familiarity. "I love you," he whispered against her mouth.
"I love you too," she replied, snuggling closer to him. "Even when you're being an idiot about Jimmy."
Curly's smile faltered slightly. "Can we not talk about Jimmy right now? I just want to enjoy this."
(Y/N) propped herself up on his chest, looking down at him with a serious expression. "We need to talk about him eventually, Curly. I don't like what he's doing to you. I don't like how he makes you feel guilty for having a good life."
"I know," Curly said, though his mind was already drifting back to their conversation yesterday, to Jimmy's desperate face and pleading eyes. To the twisted proposal that had been hanging between them, unsaid but understood.
"Just promise me you'll be careful," (Y/N) continued, her fingers resuming their exploration of his chest hair. "Promise me you won't let him manipulate you into doing something you'll regret."
Curly took a deep breath, his heart starting to pound. This was it. The moment Jimmy had been pushing him toward. The moment that could either destroy his marriage or fulfill his best friend's twisted request.
"I need to tell you something," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I need you to really listen, not just react."
(Y/N)'s brow furrowed with concern. "Okay..."
"First, I want you to know that I love you more than anything," Curly began, his hands coming up to frame her face. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I would never, ever do anything to hurt you intentionally."
"Curly, you're scaring me," (Y/N) said, her eyes wide with worry.
"Just listen," he pleaded. "What I'm about to say... it's not about Jimmy. Not really. It's about me. About something I've been thinking about for a long time, something I've been too ashamed to admit, even to myself."
(Y/N) remained silent, waiting for him to continue, though he could see the fear growing in her eyes.
"I have this fantasy," Curly said, the words feeling foreign and wrong as they left his mouth. "Something I've thought about... a lot. And I'm worried that if I tell you, you'll think differently about me. That you'll see me as some kind of... pervert.
"Nothing you could say would make me think that," (Y/N) said, though her voice trembled slightly.
Curly took another deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say. "I've always had this fantasy about... sharing you. With another man."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy and suffocating. (Y/N) just stared at him, her expression unreadable, her body suddenly tense against his.
"Not just anyone," Curly rushed to explain, his words tumbling over each other in his desperation to make this sound reasonable. "Someone I trust, someone who would respect you, who would treat you right. But the idea of... watching you with someone else. Seeing you pleasured by another man while I'm there..." He trailed off, searching her face for any sign of understanding, of acceptance. "It's something I've thought about for years. Something that turns me on in a way I can't really explain."
(Y/N) remained silent for so long that Curly's heart began to pound with panic. He'd ruined it. He'd destroyed the perfect intimacy they'd just shared, all because Jimmy had gotten inside his head with his manipulation and guilt trips.
"Say something," Curly pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion. "Please, just say something."
(Y/N) shook her head slowly, as if trying to clear it. "I don't understand. Where is this coming from? All these years, and you've never mentioned anything like this before."
"Because I was ashamed," Curly admitted, though that wasn't entirely the truth. "Because I was worried you'd react exactly like this - like I'm some kind of freak."
"I don't think you're a freak," (Y/N) said, though her voice was strained. "I just... I don't understand. Is this something you actually want to do? Or is it just a fantasy?"
Curly hesitated, knowing his answer would determine the course of their conversation and possibly their marriage. "I don't know," he lied. "Maybe? Sometimes I think it would be... hot. To watch. To see you lose control with someone else, to know that you're enjoying yourself so much."
(Y/N) rolled off him, sitting up and pulling the sheet around herself. "And who exactly is this 'other man' you've been fantasizing about? Do I know him?"
Curly's stomach twisted with guilt. "It's not a specific person," he lied again. "It's more the idea of it. The taboo, the novelty. The... visual."
But (Y/N) was smart. She could read him better than anyone. Her eyes narrowed as she connected the dots. "This is about Jimmy, isn't it? Your conversation with him yesterday, him being 'lonely'... you're trying to find a way to help him, aren't you? By offering me up like some kind of... sacrificial lamb?"
"It's not like that," Curly protested, though he knew, on some level, that it was exactly like that. "I've had this fantasy long before yesterday's conversation. Jimmy just... made me think about it more. Made me wonder if maybe it was something we could actually explore."
(Y/N) just shook her head, her expression a mixture of hurt and disbelief. "I can't believe this. I can't believe you'd even suggest something so... so degrading. So disrespectful to me, to us."
"It's not degrading!" Curly insisted, sitting up and reaching for her. "It's about pleasure, about exploration, about pushing boundaries together. As a couple."
"As a couple?" (Y/N) shot back, pulling away from his touch. "How is bringing another man into our bed something we do 'as a couple'? How is that anything other than you wanting to watch me get fucked by someone else?"
"Because I'd be there!" Curly argued, though he could hear how weak that sounded. "Because it would be my choice too, something we both agreed to. Something we both wanted."
"I don't want this," (Y/N) said, her voice cracking with emotion. "I never wanted this. I thought we were happy, Curly. I thought our sex life was good. I thought we were enough for each other."
"We are!" Curly insisted, though he knew the words were hollow now. "This doesn't change how I feel about you. If anything, it makes me love you more, knowing that I can share you and still have you come back to me."
(Y/N) just stared at him, tears welling in her eyes. "I don't want to be shared, Curly. I don't want to be some... some object in your fantasy. I want to be your wife. Your only wife. Is that not enough for you?"
"Of course it's enough," Curly pleaded, his own eyes starting to burn with unshed tears. "You're more than enough. You're everything. This is just... something else. Something extra. It doesn't have to change how we feel about each other."
"It already has," (Y/N) whispered, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. "The moment you asked me to do this, it changed everything."
Curly watched her, his heart breaking at the sight of her tears, at the hurt and betrayal in her eyes. He'd done exactly what he'd promised himself he wouldn't do - he'd let Jimmy manipulate him into suggesting something that had shattered the perfect intimacy they'd just shared.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I never should have said anything. It was a stupid fantasy, and I should have kept it to myself."
(Y/N) shook her head, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. "No, you should have told me. I'm glad you did. At least now I know." She looked at him then, her expression so full of disappointment that it felt like a physical blow. "I just wish I knew if this was really your fantasy, or if it was Jimmy's."
Curly had no answer for that. Because the truth was, he wasn't sure anymore. It had started as Jimmy's twisted request, his manipulation and guilt trip. But somewhere along the way, Curly had started to wonder... what if it wasn't so crazy? What if it could be hot, watching (Y/N) with someone else? What if it could bring them closer, rather than tearing them apart?
He didn't know. All he knew was that he'd opened a door he could never close again, and he wasn't sure their marriage would survive the consequences.
âââ-
The locker room at the gym was unusually quiet for a Tuesday morning. Curly sat on the worn wooden bench, staring at the scuffed floor, replaying the conversation with (Y/N) over and over in his mind. The way her face had fallen, the tears in her eyes, the accusation in her voice when she'd asked if it was really his fantasy or Jimmy's.
"Rough night?" Jimmy's voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. Curly looked up to see his friend stripping off his shirt, revealing a torso that was surprisingly well-defined beneath the layer of bitterness he usually carried.
"You have no idea," Curly said, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
"So you told her," Jimmy stated, not asked. He already knew the answer from the look on Curly's face.
Curly just nodded, unable to find the words to explain the disaster that had unfolded.
"How'd she take it?" Jimmy pressed, though he seemed to already know the answer. "Let me guess - tears, accusations, questions about your fidelity and sanity?"
"Something like that," Curly admitted, rubbing his temples. "She thinks I'm trying to pimp her out to you. That this whole thing is your idea, not mine."
Jimmy laughed, a harsh, ugly sound that echoed in the small space. "Of course she does. Women always think the worst. They can't wrap their pretty little heads around the idea that a man might have complex sexual desires. It's always either you're a saint or you're a pervert. No in-between."
Curly looked up, frowning. "That's not fair. She was just... surprised. Hurt."
"Hurt?" Jimmy sneered, pulling on his workout gloves. "Please. She's a housewife, Curly. Her entire job is to cater to your needs, including your sexual ones. If her husband has a fantasy, her job is to help fulfill it, not question it. That's how this works."
"That's not how it works with us," Curly protested, though his conviction was wavering. "We're partners. Equals."
"Are you?" Jimmy challenged, stepping closer to where Curly sat. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like she calls the shots. She decides what you do, where you go, who you talk to. And now she's deciding what you're allowed to fantasize about? That doesn't sound very equal to me."
Curly didn't have a response to that, because part of him wondered if Jimmy was right. (Y/N) was strong-willed, opinionated. She didn't just cater to his needs; she had her own, and she made them known. Usually, he loved that about her. But right now, in the face of Jimmy's certainty, it felt like a flaw.
"Look," Jimmy said, his voice softening with false concern. "I get it. You're confused. You've been told your whole life that monogamy is the only way, that wanting anything else makes you a bad person. But that's not true. It's just what they tell you to keep you in line."
Curly looked up, meeting Jimmy's eyes. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that wanting to watch your wife with another man doesn't make you a pervert," Jimmy explained, his voice low and persuasive. "It makes you adventurous. Open-minded. Confident enough in your relationship to know that a little extra spice isn't going to ruin it."
He paused, letting that sink in before continuing. "In fact, it could make it stronger. Think about it - you share this incredible, intimate experience together. You watch her lose control in a way she never has before, and afterward, you're the one she comes back to. You're the one she chooses. That has to count for something, right?"
Curly's mind was racing now, the thought taking root and growing. "I... I hadn't thought of it like that."
"Of course you haven't," Jimmy said with a dismissive wave. "You've been too busy feeling guilty about wanting something natural. Something exciting."
Curly stood up, grabbing his weight belt from his locker. "I don't know, man. She was really upset. I don't think I can push this."
"Then don't push it," Jimmy said, though he was clearly pushing. "Just plant the seed. Let it grow. The more she thinks about it, the more she'll realize it's not so crazy. That it might actually be... hot."
Curly hesitated, his mind already drifting back to the fantasy Jimmy had described. The idea of watching (Y/N) with someone else, seeing her lose control, knowing that she would still come back to him afterward. There was something... compelling about it. Something that made his pulse quicken and his breath catch.
"I have been thinking about it," Curly admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "About how it would be kinda... sexy to watch her with someone else. To see her pleasure in a way I've never seen before."
Jimmy's eyes lit up with triumph, though he kept his expression carefully neutral. "See? It's not so crazy when you say it out loud, is it?"
"No," Curly agreed, though part of him still felt guilty for even considering it. "I guess not."
"In fact," Jimmy continued, pressing his advantage, "the more I think about it, the more I think it could bring us closer. Sharing something so intimate, so taboo... it could either destroy us or make us stronger than ever. And isn't that worth risking?"
Curly's mind was reeling now, the thought taking hold and growing. He imagined it clearly (Y/N) with another man, her head thrown back in ecstasy, her body arching with pleasure. And afterward, her in his arms, whispering about how it felt, how different it was, how much she loved him for letting her experience it.
"Yeah," Curly said, his voice growing stronger with conviction. "Yeah, it could. It could bring us closer."
"Exactly," Jimmy said, clapping him on the back. "Now you're thinking like a man, not a guilty little boy."
Curly smiled, though it felt forced. He was still conflicted, still torn between his desire to please (Y/N) and his growing fascination with the fantasy Jimmy had planted in his mind. But for the first time, he was starting to believe that maybe it wasn't so crazy after all. Maybe it was something they could actually explore, something that could enhance their relationship rather than destroying it.
"So what do I do now?" Curly asked, turning to face Jimmy. "How do I convince her?"
"You don't convince her," Jimmy said, his voice dropping with false wisdom. "You seduce her. Make it sound like the sexiest, most intimate thing you could ever do together. Make it about connection, about exploration, about pushing boundaries together."
He paused, meeting Curly's eyes directly. "And if she still says no... then you respect her decision. But at least you tried, right? At least you were honest with her about what you want."
Curly nodded, though he was already planning how to bring it up again, how to frame it in a way that would make (Y/N) see it as he did now - not as a betrayal, but as an opportunity for growth, for deeper intimacy, for something exciting and new.
As they headed out to the weight room, Curly felt a sense of resolve he hadn't felt before. He was going to make this happen. He was going to convince (Y/N) that this was something they could explore together, something that could bring them closer rather than tearing them apart.
And Jimmy... Jimmy would be there to help him, to guide him, to make sure it all went according to plan. Because that's what friends did, right? They helped each other, even when it was difficult. Even when it was complicated.
Even when it was wrong.
Curly pushed that thought aside, focusing instead on the growing excitement in his chest. This was going to be good. This was going to be hot. And it was going to bring him and (Y/N) closer than ever before.
Or so he told himself.
ââ
Two weeks had passed since their disastrous conversation. Two weeks of tense silence and forced smiles, of (Y/N) trying to pretend everything was normal while Curly lived in a state of constant, simmering arousal. The fantasy, once a shameful secret, had taken root in his mind and was now flourishing in the dark, hidden corners of his consciousness.
It started innocently enough. A late night when (Y/N) was already asleep, Curly lying in bed with his tablet, unable to switch off his brain. He'd typed "wife sharing" into the search bar, his heart pounding with a mixture of guilt and excitement. The results had been... eye-opening.
He'd fallen down a rabbit hole of cuckold videos, each one more compelling than the last. He watched them with the volume low, one ear always straining for the sound of (Y/N) stirring in her sleep. At first, he just watched, mesmerized by the raw, unfiltered intimacy of it all. Then he started to imagine.
It was always (Y/N)'s face he superimposed on the women in the videos. Her body, her voice, her reactions. He imagined her in those scenarios, her initial hesitation giving way to reluctant pleasure, then to outright enthusiasm. He imagined her looking at him with a mixture of love and lust as another man pleasured her, imagined her whispering his name even as she was being taken by someone else.
The more he watched, the more he wanted. The fantasy was no longer just a passing thought; it was an obsession, a craving that gnawed at him constantly. He found himself looking at (Y/N) differently, seeing her not just as his wife, but as a sexual being who could be shared, who could be experienced in new and exciting ways.
He started masturbating more, always to the same fantasy. Always with (Y/N)'s face in his mind, her voice in his ears. He felt guilty afterward, ashamed of his desires, but the shame only made the fantasy more potent, more compelling.
Today, he'd come home from work early, his mind already racing with possibilities. (Y/N) was out running errands, giving him the perfect opportunity to indulge his obsession. He'd stripped down to nothing, lying on their bed with his tablet propped against the pillows, a video playing of a husband eagerly filming his wife with a well-endowed stranger.
Curly's hand moved slowly, teasingly, along his hardened length as he watched the scene unfold. In his mind, it was him behind the camera, it was (Y/N) on the bed, her legs wrapped around another man's waist as he drove into her again and again.
*Look at her,* he imagined thinking. *Look how much she's enjoying it. Look how beautiful she is when she's lost in pleasure.*
He could almost hear her moans, almost feel the heat of her body as she writhed beneath the stranger. He imagined her looking at him, her eyes dark with desire as she was being fucked by someone else, imagined her whispering his name as she came.
That was it. That was the thought that pushed him over the edge. He came with a strangled cry, spilling over his stomach as the fantasy reached its peak. He lay there for a moment, panting, his mind still replaying the scene as the video continued to play on the tablet.
"Curly?"
The sound of her voice made him jump, his eyes flying open in panic. (Y/N) was standing in the doorway, her grocery bags forgotten at her feet, her face pale with shock.
He fumbled for the tablet, trying to shut it off, but it was too late. She'd seen everything. The video, his state of undress, the evidence of his recent release still glistening on his stomach.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Nothing," Curly stammered, grabbing a pillow to cover himself. "I was just... I didn't think you'd be home yet."
(Y/N) just stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then her eyes drifted to the tablet, which he'd managed to pause but not close. On the screen, a woman was frozen in mid-moan, her face contorted with pleasure as a man hovered over her, clearly about to enter her.
"Is that what you've been doing?" (Y/N) asked, her voice trembling slightly. "Watching these... videos? Imagining me in them?"
Curly's face flushed with shame. "It's not what you think."
"Isn't it?" (Y/N) challenged, though her voice was surprisingly calm. "You're lying in our bed, masturbating to videos of other men fucking women who are supposed to be me. How am I supposed to take that?"
"I'm sorry," Curly pleaded, sitting up and clutching the pillow to his chest. "I didn't mean for you to find out like this. I didn't mean for you to find out at all."
(Y/N) stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. "So you really do have this fantasy," she said, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. "It's not just something you said in the heat of the moment. It's something you've been actively thinking about. Fantasizing about."
Curly nodded, unable to meet her eyes. "I can't stop thinking about it," he admitted, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Every time we're together, every time I look at you, I imagine it. What it would be like to watch you with someone else. What it would be like to see you lose control in a way you never have with me."
(Y/N) just stared at him, her expression so blank that it was more unnerving than anger would have been. "And does it turn you on?" she asked, her voice dangerously quiet. "The thought of me with another man? Does it make you hard?"
Curly hesitated, then nodded again. "Yes," he whispered. "It does."
(Y/N) crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly. "And what about me? Have you thought about how I would feel? Or is this all about your pleasure, your fantasy?"
"Of course I've thought about you," Curly protested, though he knew he hadn't thought about her nearly as much as he should have. "I imagined you enjoying it. I imagined you coming harder than you ever have before, losing control in a way that would be... beautiful to watch."
"Beautiful," (Y/N) repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You think it would be beautiful to watch your wife be fucked by another man? To know that she was enjoying someone else's touch, someone else's cock?"
Curly flinched at her crude language, but he couldn't deny the truth of it. "Yes," he said, his voice barely audible. "I do."
(Y/N) was silent for a long time, just staring at him as if seeing him for the first time. Curly held his breath, waiting for her to explode, to cry, to pack her bags and leave him for good.
Instead, she did something he never would have expected. She laughed.
It wasn't a happy laugh. It was a harsh, bitter sound that held no humor, only pain and disbelief. "All this time," she said, shaking her head. "All this time, I thought we were happy. I thought our sex life was good. I thought I was enough for you."
"You are!" Curly insisted, though he knew the words were meaningless now. "This doesn't change how I feel about you."
"Doesn't it?" (Y/N) challenged, her eyes flashing with anger. "Because it seems to me that you've been lying to me. Lying by omission, anyway. You've been keeping this huge part of yourself hidden from me, this fantasy that's so consuming you can't even wait until I'm not home to indulge it."
"I was going to tell you," Curly lied. "I just didn't know how."
"Right," (Y/N) said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You were going to tell me that you've been secretly watching porn and fantasizing about me with other men. I'm sure that would have gone over well."
She turned away from him, pacing the room like a caged animal. "I don't know what to do, Curly. I don't know how to unsee what I just saw. I don't know how to go back to the way things were before."
"We don't have to go back," Curly pleaded, seeing an opportunity. "We can move forward. Together. We can explore this, if you're willing."
(Y/N) stopped pacing, turning to face him with a look of incredulity. "Explore it? You want me to... what? Find some stranger to fuck while you watch? Is that what you're asking me?"
Curly's heart raced with a mixture of fear and excitement. "Maybe," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "If you wanted to. If you were curious."
(Y/N) just shook her head, her expression a mixture of hurt and disbelief. "I need some time," she said finally, her voice cracking with emotion. "I need to think."
She turned and walked out of the room, leaving Curly alone with his shame and his fantasy. He knew he should feel guilty, should feel remorse for what he'd done, for the pain he'd caused her.
But as he lay back on the bed, his mind already drifting back to the video on the tablet, all he could feel was a sickening thrill of anticipation. The seed had been planted, and now, thanks to his carelessness, it was finally starting to grow.
And he couldn't wait to see what would bloom.
â-
The clinking of silverware against porcelain and the low murmur of conversation filled the upscale brunch spot. (Y/N) sat at a table with three of her closest friends, mechanically pushing a piece of avocado toast around her plate while her mind replayed the scene from yesterday. Curly on their bed, the tablet, the look of panicked shame on his face. It was on a loop, a filmstrip of horror she couldn't shut off.
"So, I told Mark," said Chloe, a real estate agent with a notoriously wild side, "that if he wanted to try anal, the least he could do was let me peg him first. Fair's fair, you know?"
The table erupted in laughter. (Y/N) managed a weak smile, her mind a million miles away.
"Oh my God, Chloe, you didn't!" gasped Rebecca, a elementary school teacher who looked far too innocent for the conversation.
"I did," Chloe confirmed, taking a triumphant sip of her mimosa. "And let me tell you, the power dynamic in our bedroom has never been better. It's amazing what a little strap-on can do for a marriage."
"What about you, Becca?" Chloe pressed, turning her attention to the blushing teacher. "Still doing it with the lights off and your pajamas on?"
Rebecca's blush deepened. "We... we've been trying new things," she admitted quietly. "We bought those dice. You know? The ones with the body parts and the actions on them? It's actually been kind of fun. Last night I had to 'lick his' 'earlobe' while he 'tickled my' 'inner thigh.' It felt like we were teenagers again."
(Y/N) listened, a hollow ache forming in her chest. This was her world. The perfect, polished surface of trophy wife life, where spicing things up meant buying flavored lubricant or trying a new position from a women's magazine. It was a world away from the raw, forbidden fantasy Curly had unveiled. A world away from the dark hunger in his eyes as he'd watched those videos.
"What about you, (Y/N)?" Chloe asked, her gaze sharp and knowing. "You and Curly are always so... perfect. Like a romance novel cover. I bet your sex life is nothing but candles and rose petals."
(Y/N) forced a laugh that sounded brittle even to her own ears. "Something like that," she said, taking a large gulp of her water. "Curly's very... romantic."
"Romantic is great," Chloe said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "But sometimes you just need to get fucked, you know? Properly thrown around a bit. Does he ever, you know, take charge? Get a little rough?"
The image of Curly, face flushed with shame, hand on his cock, flashed in (Y/N)'s mind. *He has a different kind of charge in mind,* she thought, a wave of nausea rolling through her.
"I'm happy with our sex life," (Y/N) lied, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. "Curly always makes sure I'm satisfied."
It was the perfect, trophy wife answer. The thing she was supposed to say. But as she looked at her friends, at their open discussions of pegging and sex dice and being "properly thrown around," she felt a chasm open up inside her. They were playing in the shallow end of the pool while Curly wanted to drag her into the dark, uncharted depths of the ocean. And the worst part? A tiny, treacherous part of her was wondering what it would feel like to dive in.
Meanwhile, across town, Curly stared at his computer screen, the spreadsheet of quarterly figures blurring into meaningless columns and rows. His phone buzzed on his desk, and his heart leaped into his throat before he even looked at the caller ID. Jimmy.
He let it ring twice longer than necessary before answering, trying to project an image of a busy man, not a desperate one. "Yeah?"
"So?" Jimmy's voice was breathless, strained. Curly could hear a faint, rhythmic rustling sound in the background. "Tell me you have good news for me."
Curly's stomach twisted. He knew that sound. "She, uh... she needs some time to think about it."
"Time?" Jimmy's voice was sharp with irritation, punctuated by a soft grunt. "How much fucking time does she need? It's a simple question."
"It's complicated, Jimmy," Curly hissed, glancing toward his office door to make sure it was closed. "She walked in on me yesterday. While I was... you know."
There was a pause, followed by a low, appreciative moan from Jimmy's end. "No shit. Watching the videos? What'd she say?"
"She was... shocked," Curly said, rubbing his temples. "But then she got weirdly calm. She asked if the fantasy really turned me on. I told her it did."
"Good," Jimmy grunted, the rustling sound growing faster. "Honesty is key. You have to make her understand it's about your desire, not just her being a charity case."
"I think she's starting to get that," Curly admitted, his mind drifting back to the strange, detached look in (Y/N)'s eyes. "She didn't freak out. She just... left. Said she needed to think."
"Think about what?" Jimmy demanded, his voice tight with effort. "Whether or not to let her husband watch her get the fucking of a lifetime? It's a no-brainer."
Curly closed his eyes, the sound of Jimmy's heavy breathing filling his ear. He could picture him perfectly: leaned back in his grubby office chair, pants around his ankles, cock in hand, thinking about (Y/N). The thought made him feel sick, but also, undeniably, a little hard.
"She's not like your porn stars, Jimmy," Curly said weakly. "She's... she's my wife."
"Exactly," Jimmy breathed, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And you want to see her be a slut for you, don't you? Just for a night. Let someone else handle the work while you reap the rewards. Imagine it, Curly. Imagine watching her face when I slide inside her for the first time. That little gasp of surprise. The way her eyes will go wide."
Curly's breath hitched. The image was so vivid, so potent, it felt like a memory. He could see it perfectly: (Y/N)'s head thrown back, her lips parted, her body arching as Jimmy entered her.
"She'd be so tight," Jimmy continued, his voice ragged with arousal. "So fucking tight and wet for me. And you'd be right there, watching every second. Watching another man make your wife come in ways you never could."
"Stop," Curly whispered, but his protest was half-hearted at best. His own cock was pressing insistently against his zipper now, betraying him.
"You'd love it," Jimmy insisted, his strokes audible now. "You'd love seeing her lose control, seeing her become this purely sexual creature you've only dreamed of. And after, when she's all fucked out and trembling... she'd come back to you. Because you're the one who let it happen. You're the one who gave her this gift."
A soft groan echoed through the phone, followed by a wet, sticky sound. Curly listened, his own hand drifting to his crotch, as Jimmy came thinking about his wife.
"Fuck," Jimmy breathed, his voice sated and smug. "I needed that."
Curly didn't respond, his own arousal warring with a fresh wave of self-loathing.
"So, she needs time," Jimmy said, his tone business-like now, as if they were discussing a stock trade. "Fine. Give her a few days. Let it sink in. But don't let her off the hook. Keep planting seeds. Send her some flowers with a note saying 'Thinking of you... and us.' Remind her that this is about connection, about exploration."
"Okay," Curly agreed, his voice hollow.
"And call me tomorrow," Jimmy commanded. "I want an update."
The line went dead. Curly sat there for a long time, staring at the spreadsheet he was supposed to be analyzing, the numbers swimming meaninglessly before his eyes. He felt dirty, used, and utterly complicit. Jimmy was masturbating to the thought of his wife, and all Curly had done was enable him, all while getting turned on by the idea himself.
He picked up his phone, his thumb hovering over (Y/N)'s name. What would he even say? *Sorry my best friend jacked off while talking about fucking you?* He deleted the text and started again. *Thinking about you. Can't wait to see you tonight.*
It was the kind of message a good husband would send. The kind of message that might help smooth things over. But as he hit send, all he could think about was Jimmy's fantasy, and how much closer it was to becoming a reality with every passing day.
ââ
The smell of roasted garlic and seared steak filled the house when Curly walked in the door. It was (Y/N)'s signature apology meal, the one she only made when she felt truly guilty about something. His stomach twisted with a mixture of hunger and dread.
He found her in the dining room, setting the table with their good china, the crystal glasses catching the low light from the chandelier. She was wearing a simple black dress, her hair swept up in an elegant knot, her face carefully made up. She looked beautiful, but there was a tension in her shoulders that gave away her nerves.
"Something smells good," Curly said, his voice sounding too loud in the quiet room.
(Y/N) jumped slightly, turning to face him with a forced smile. "I thought we could have a nice dinner. Just us."
Curly nodded, his throat tight. He knew what this was. The calm before the storm. The conversation he'd been both anticipating and dreading all day.
Dinner was excruciatingly polite. They talked about his day at work, about a new recipe she wanted to try, about the leaky faucet in the guest bathroom they kept meaning to fix. It was all surface-level bullshit, a carefully constructed facade of normalcy that was more unnerving than an outright fight would have been.
Finally, when the plates were cleared and they were both nursing a glass of red wine, (Y/N) took a deep breath and set her glass down with a decisive click.
"I've been thinking about what you said," she began, her voice steady but her hands trembling slightly in her lap. "About your... fantasy."
Curly's heart leaped into his throat. "Yeah?"
"And about what I saw," she continued, her gaze fixed on the tablecloth. "About the videos. At first, I was hurt. And angry. And honestly, a little disgusted."
Curly flinched, but he didn't interrupt. He knew he deserved whatever she was about to dish out.
"But then I went to brunch with the girls," (Y/N) said, her voice growing softer, more confessional. "And they were talking about... things. Things they do to spice up their sex lives. Things I would have never imagined them doing."
She looked up then, meeting Curly's eyes directly. "And I realized something. We've gotten... comfortable. Predictable. And maybe that's not enough anymore. Maybe it's not enough for you, and maybe... maybe it's not enough for me either."
Curly's mind raced, hope warring with caution. "What are you saying?"
(Y/N) took another deep breath, as if steeling herself for what she was about to say. "I'm saying... I've been thinking about it. A lot. And I'm... I'm willing to try it."
Curly's eyes widened with disbelief. "Really?"
(Y/N) nodded, though her expression was still hesitant. "But I have conditions."
"Anything," Curly said, his voice thick with emotion. "Whatever you want."
(Y/N) hesitated again, her gaze dropping to her hands. "I don't want to know who it is," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want to be blindfolded the entire time. I don't want to see him, I don't want to hear his voice if I can help it. I just want to... experience it. Without the reality of who it is getting in the way."
Curly's mind immediately flashed to Jimmy, to his desperate face and pleading eyes. This was perfect. Better than perfect, actually. (Y/N) would be living out his fantasy, and she wouldn't even know it was with the man who had orchestrated the whole thing.
"Okay," Curly agreed, his voice hoarse with excitement. "We can do that. We can make it completely anonymous for you."
"And you'll be there the whole time?" (Y/N) asked, her eyes searching his. "Watching? Making sure I'm safe?"
"Every second," Curly promised, reaching across the table to take her hand. "I would never let anything happen to you."
(Y/N) nodded, a flicker of something - excitement? fear? - in her eyes. "And... and you'll still want me afterward? You won't see me differently?"
"Never," Curly insisted, squeezing her hand. "I'll love you even more for being brave enough to do this with me. For trusting me enough to explore this together."
(Y/N) managed a small, genuine smile. "Okay then," she said, her voice growing stronger with conviction. "I'm down. Let's do it."
Curly's heart pounded with a mixture of triumph and arousal. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe she'd actually agreed to fulfill his fantasy, to let him watch her with another man.
"When?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
(Y/N) thought for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "Saturday night," she said finally. "Give me a few days to... prepare. Mentally, I mean."
"Saturday night," Curly agreed, his mind already racing with possibilities. "I'll take care of everything."
He knew exactly who he was going to call. And he knew Jimmy would be more than happy to help him fulfill his wife's conditions - especially the part about her being blindfolded. It was the perfect setup, the perfect way to give them both what they wanted without (Y/N) ever knowing the truth.
As they cleared the table together, their movements easy and familiar again, Curly felt a sense of rightness settle over him. This was going to be good for them. This was going to bring them closer, just like he'd imagined. And as for Jimmy... well, he was just a means to an end. A friend helping a friend, just like he'd said.
But as (Y/N) leaned in to kiss him goodnight, her lips soft and trusting against his, Curly felt a twinge of guilt. A small, nagging voice in the back of his mind wondered if he was making a terrible mistake, if he was opening a door he could never close again.
He pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the excitement building in his chest. Saturday night. It was finally going to happen. And he couldn't wait.
ââ-
The clang of weights and the grunts of exertion filled the gym, but Curly barely noticed. His mind was a whirlwind of anticipation and anxiety, his heart hammering against his ribs with every beat. He spotted Jimmy by the squat rack, adjusting his weights with a focused intensity that seemed out of place.
"Hey," Curly said, approaching him cautiously.
Jimmy looked up, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he masked it with a casual grin. "Hey man. Ready to get crushed today?"
"Actually," Curly said, lowering his voice and glancing around to make sure no one was listening, "I have an update."
Jimmy's interest was immediately piqued, though he tried to play it cool. "Yeah? What's up?"
Curly took a deep breath, the words feeling surreal as he prepared to say them out loud. "She's okay with it. (Y/N). She's... she's going to do it."
Jimmy's eyes widened, his mouth falling open slightly before he quickly composed himself. "No shit," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "That's... wow. That's great, man. Really great."
"She has conditions, though," Curly continued, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Big ones."
"Like what?" Jimmy asked, though Curly could see the excitement building in his eyes, the way he was practically vibrating with anticipation.
"She wants to be blindfolded," Curly said, watching Jimmy's reaction closely. "The entire time. She doesn't want to know who it is, doesn't want to see him or hear him if she can help it. She just wants to... experience it. Anonymously."
Jimmy's expression was a masterpiece of feigned disappointment mixed with understanding. "Oh," he said, his voice laced with false sympathy. "Wow. That's... I don't know, man. That feels kind of cold, you know? Like she's trying to pretend you're not even there."
"She's just trying to make it easier on herself," Curly defended, though part of him agreed with Jimmy's assessment. "This is a huge step for her. She needs to feel safe."
"Of course, of course," Jimmy said, placing a hand on Curly's shoulder in a gesture of support. "I get it. It's just... I was hoping it would be more intimate, you know? More of a shared experience between the three of us. Not just... some faceless stranger fucking your wife while you watch."
Curly's brow furrowed with guilt. "I'm sorry, man. I know this isn't exactly what you had in mind."
"Don't be sorry," Jimmy said, though his eyes told a different story. "I'm just... disappointed for you, mostly. You're going to get to watch your wife live out this fantasy, but she's not even going to know you're there. She's not going to see the love in your eyes as you watch her experience this incredible pleasure."
He paused, letting that sink in before adding, "And for me... I don't know. It feels a little impersonal, you know? Like I'm just some... service provider. Not a friend helping another friend explore his sexuality."
"Saturday," Curly said, his voice barely above a whisper. "She wants to do it Saturday night."
Jimmy's eyes lit up, though he quickly masked his excitement with a look of reluctant acceptance. "Saturday," he repeated, nodding slowly. "Okay. Yeah. I can do Saturday. Just... let me know what you need from me. I'll be there."
"Thanks, man," Curly said, his voice thick with emotion. "I really appreciate this. I know it's a lot to ask."
"It's what friends are for," Jimmy said, though his mind was already racing with possibilities. A blindfold. That was even better than he could have imagined. It gave him so much more control, so much more freedom to do what he wanted without (Y/N) ever knowing.
As they moved to the bench press, Jimmy's thoughts were already a million miles away from the gym. He was thinking about Saturday night, about (Y/N) laid out on her marital bed, blindfolded and vulnerable, waiting for him.
*She wants to be anonymous?* Jimmy thought, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. *Oh, I'll give her anonymous.*
In his mind, he could see it all so clearly. He'd enter the room quietly, closing the door behind him. Curly would be there, of course, watching from a chair in the corner like the pathetic cuck he was. But Jimmy's focus would be entirely on the woman on the bed.
He'd start slow, teasing her, building her anticipation until she was writhing beneath him, begging for more. He'd touch her in ways Curly never had, explore every inch of her body with a confidence and expertise that would leave her breathless and wanting.
And then, when she was right on the edge, when she was so lost in pleasure she could barely think straight... he'd do it.
He'd rip the blindfold right off her face.
The shock in her eyes would be priceless. The dawning horror as she realized it wasn't some anonymous stranger who was about to fuck her, but her husband's best friend. The man she couldn't stand. The man she thought was a leech, a parasite.
*Surprise,* he imagined thinking, a cruel smile spreading across his face. *It's me.*
He'd fuck her then, hard and deep, watching her face as she struggled between pleasure and panic, as her body betrayed her even as her mind screamed in protest. He'd make her come, make her scream his name, make her admit that he was better than Curly, that he was the man she needed.
And the condom... oh, the condom was the best part. Curly would probably insist on it, would want to make sure everything was "safe." But Jimmy had already taken care of that. He had a condom ready, one with a tiny, almost invisible hole pricked carefully through the tip with a needle.
*You want me to wear protection?* Jimmy thought, his grin widening. *Fine. I'll wear protection.*
He'd fuck her with the sabotaged condom, pumping her full of his cum while Curly watched, none the wiser. He'd breed her right there in her own bed, on the very sheets she shared with her husband.
And the best part? She wouldn't know. Not until it was too late. Not until her period was late, not until the pregnancy test came back positive. Not until she had to look her husband in the eye and tell him that their perfect life was about to be destroyed by a baby that wasn't his.
*My baby,* Jimmy thought, his cock hardening at the thought. *She's going to have my baby.*
"Hey man, you gonna spot me or just stare into space?" Curly's voice pulled Jimmy from his thoughts.
"Sorry," Jimmy said, shaking his head to clear it. "Just thinking about Saturday."
Curly's face softened with understanding. "Yeah. Me too."
"You nervous?" Jimmy asked, though he already knew the answer.
"A little," Curly admitted. "Okay, a lot. What if she hates it? What if it ruins everything?"
"It won't," Jimmy said, his voice dripping with false confidence. "It's going to be amazing. It's going to bring you two closer than ever. You'll see."
As Curly settled under the bar, Jimmy positioned himself above him, his hands ready to spot. But his mind was already back in their bedroom, back on Saturday night.
He couldn't wait. Couldn't wait to see the look on (Y/N)'s face when he ripped off that blindfold. Couldn't wait to feel her tighten around him as he filled her with his cum. Couldn't wait to ruin her perfect life and replace it with his.
This was going to be the best night of his life. And the beginning of the end for Curly.
"All yours," Jimmy said, his voice tight with anticipation as Curly began to lift. "I've got you."
*Oh, I've got you, alright,* Jimmy thought, a predatory gleam in his eyes. *Both of you.*
ââ-
The bathroom was filled with steam, the air thick with the scent of expensive body wash and floral shampoo. (Y/N) stood under the hot spray, letting the water cascade over her body as she tried to quiet the frantic beating of her heart. This was it. The night she'd been simultaneously dreading and, to her own surprise, anticipating.
She'd taken an "everything shower," as she called it - exfoliating, shaving every inch of her body, deep-conditioning her hair until it fell in soft, glossy waves around her shoulders. She'd done her makeup differently, too smokier eyes than usual, a deeper shade of red on her lips, a subtle contour that gave her face an almost unfamiliar allure.
It wasn't for the stranger. Not really. It was for Curly. For the man who had shared this secret, vulnerable part of himself with her. She wanted to be beautiful for him, to show him that she was willing to meet him in this strange, new territory he'd opened up. She wanted to remind him that even as they ventured into uncharted waters, she was still his. Still the woman he'd fallen in love with.
Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped herself in a plush towel and padded into the bedroom. There, laid out on the bed, was the lingerie she'd bought yesterday on a secret shopping trip. It wasn't anything Curly had ever seen her in before - a black lace balconette bra that lifted her breasts into perfect, round globes, paired with a matching thong that was little more than a scrap of fabric connected by delicate straps. Black silk stockings with lace tops and a garter belt completed the look, along with a pair of towering black heels that made her legs look impossibly long.
Taking a deep breath, she dressed slowly, carefully, her hands trembling slightly as she fastened the garter clips to the stockings. She felt like a stranger in her own skin, like she was playing a role in a movie she'd never agreed to be in. But as she caught her reflection in the full-length mirror, a surge of confidence shot through her. She looked... powerful. Sexy. Dangerous.
Curly's soft knock on the bedroom door made her jump. "You decent?"
(Y/N) took one last look in the mirror, practicing a sultry smile that felt completely foreign on her face. "Come in," she called out, her voice surprisingly steady.
The door opened, and Curly stepped inside, his eyes fixed on his phone as he typed out a quick message. "He's on his way. Said to tell you he's... uh... grateful."
He looked up then, and his mouth fell open. His phone slipped from his grasp, clattering to the carpeted floor, but he didn't seem to notice. His eyes, wide with disbelief, traveled slowly, deliberately, from the tips of her heels all the way up to her face, then back down again.
"Wow," he breathed, his voice barely audible. "Just... wow."
(Y/N) felt a blush creep up her neck, heating her cheeks. She'd never seen him look at her like this before - with such raw, unadulterated lust. It was intoxicating.
"Since we're trying something new," she said, her voice softer than she intended. "I thought I'd... you know. Dress the part."
Curly crossed the room in three strides, his hands coming up to frame her face, his eyes still drinking her in. "You look... incredible. Like a dream."
"It's for you," she whispered, her heart pounding against her ribs. "Not for him. This is all for you."
"I know," Curly murmured, his lips finding hers in a deep, hungry kiss. "And I love you for it."
His hands roamed over her body, tracing the delicate lace of her bra, the smooth silk of her stockings. He was like a kid in a candy store, touching and exploring as if he'd never seen her before, never felt her skin against his.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered against her neck, his hands cupping her ass through the lace thong. "So fucking beautiful."
(Y/N) melted against him, her body responding to his touch with an eagerness that surprised her. This was still her husband, still the man she loved, and his desire for her was a potent aphrodisiac, even with the knowledge of what was to come hanging over them.
"We should probably..." (Y/N) began, but Curly cut her off with another kiss.
"Not yet," he murmured, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts. "I want to enjoy this for a minute. Just us."
His thumbs brushed against her nipples, already hard and aching beneath the lace. (Y/N) arched against him, a soft moan escaping her lips as he teased her, building her desire until she was trembling with need.
"Curly," she whispered, her hands tangling in his hair. "Please."
"Please what?" he asked, though he knew exactly what she wanted.
"Touch me," she begged, her voice thick with need. "Make me forget everything else. Make me remember that I'm yours."
Curly's response was to lower his head, taking one peaked nipple into his mouth through the lace, sucking and teasing until (Y/N) was crying out with pleasure. His hands roamed over her body, exploring every curve, every dip, every sensitive spot that made her gasp and writhe against him.
He was making her forget. For a moment, she could almost pretend that this was just another Saturday night, that there wasn't another man on his way to their house, to their bed. For a moment, it was just her and Curly, lost in each other, lost in the pleasure they could so easily create together.
But then his phone buzzed on the floor, a reminder of reality, of the arrangement they'd made. Curly pulled away with a reluctant sigh, his eyes dark with desire and something else - something like regret.
"He's here," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "Are you sure about this?"
(Y/N) took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. "I'm sure," she said, though her heart was pounding with a mixture of fear and anticipation. "Just... remember your promise. You'll be here the whole time?"
"Every second," Curly promised, taking her hand and leading her toward the bed. "Now lie down. Let me help you with that blindfold."
Meanwhile, across town, Jimmy was in his apartment, surrounded by a sea of foil packets. He had every brand, every size, every texture imaginable - ribbed, dotted, extra thin, glow-in-the-dark. It was a veritable buffet of condoms, and he was sampling each one with a meticulous precision that was almost surgical.
With a small, sharp pin, he carefully pierced each packet, then each condom, creating a tiny, almost invisible hole near the tip. It was a delicate operation, one that required a steady hand and a complete lack of conscience. Luckily, Jimmy had both.
"Almost done," he murmured to himself, holding up a particularly promising specimen. "Just a few more."
He worked quickly, methodically, his mind already racing ahead to the main event. He could almost feel (Y/N) wrapped around him, hot and tight and wet. He could almost hear her cries of pleasure, her whimpers of surrender.
*Finally,* he thought, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. *Finally, I get what I deserve.*
He glanced at the clock on his wall, his heart leaping with excitement. It was almost time. Almost time to claim what was his, to take what should have been his from the beginning.
â â„YOOO yess because my air fryer broke thxs much đ€đ„°
â€ïžbig boobs â€ïž
The air in the small apartment was thick and stale, smelling of old takeout and the faint, metallic tang of Jimmy's work clothes. You were lying on the worn-out couch, tracing a pattern on the ceiling, the fabric of your thin tank top stretched tight across your chest. The endless, suffocating boredom of being a stay-at-home girlfriend was a physical weight, pressing down on you, making your skin feel too tight.
The front door creaked open, and Jimmy's heavy footsteps announced his arrival. He didn't say anything at first, just dropped his duffel bag by the door with a thud. You felt his eyes on you before you saw him, a hot, heavy weight that made your skin prickle. You slowly turned your head, meeting his gaze. He was staring, not at your face, but at your chest, his dark eyes burning with a familiar, possessive hunger.
"Like what you see?" you asked, your voice a low, lazy murmur. You arched your back slightly, pushing your breasts forward, the thin cotton of your shirt doing little to hide their fullness.
He didn't answer. He just crossed the room in a few long strides, his movements predatory. He loomed over you, his shadow falling across your body. "You know I do," he growled, his voice rough with exhaustion and something else. Something darker. "Fucking tits are obscene."
He reached down, his calloused hand roughly cupping one breast, his thumb finding your nipple through the thin fabric and rubbing it in a slow, deliberate circle. You gasped, a sharp intake of breath, your body arching into his touch. It was the first real sensation you'd felt all day.
"Jimmy," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper.
"Shut up," he snapped, his other hand joining the first, squeezing and kneading your flesh with a rough, almost desperate urgency. "You just lie there and look pretty. That's all you're good for."
His words were a cruel caress, a familiar poison that you craved. He leaned down, his face hovering just inches from yours, his hot breath fanning across your lips. He wasn't kissing you. He was claiming you. He lowered his head, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your neck, his teeth scraping against your pulse point. You moaned, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair, holding him to you.
He pulled back, his eyes dark with a depraved lust. He grabbed the hem of your tank top and yanked it up, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the room. Your nipples pebbled instantly, hard and aching. He stared at them, his gaze hungry and intense.
"Fuck," he breathed, before lowering his head and taking one nipple into his mouth. He sucked hard, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak, his teeth grazing it just enough to send a jolt of pleasure-pain straight to your core. You cried out, your back arching off the couch, your fingers digging into his shoulders.
He moved to the other breast, giving it the same rough, worshipful attention. He was like a starving man, devouring you, his hands never still, squeezing and molding your flesh, leaving marks on your skin. You were lost in a haze of sensation, the boredom and emptiness of your day melting away under the onslaught of his touch.
He pulled back, his chest heaving, his eyes dark with a predatory glee. He grabbed his cock, freeing it from his jeans, and positioned himself between your legs. He rubbed the head of his cock against your aching nipple, smearing pre-cum across your skin. The sheer depravity of it made your head spin.
"You like that, don't you?" he sneered, his voice a low, guttural growl. "You like it when I use you. When I treat you like the dirty little slut you are."
You could only moan in response, your body trembling with need. He chuckled, a dark, humorless sound, before guiding his cock between your breasts, pushing them together to create a tight, warm channel for him to fuck. He began to move, his hips thrusting in a slow, steady rhythm, his cock sliding against your skin, the head bumping against your chin with every stroke.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough. "Look at me while I fuck your tits."
You forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. His face was a mask of raw, unfiltered lust, his jaw tight, his eyes burning. He was using you, debasing you, and you loved every second of it. This was the only time you felt alive. The only time you felt like you had a purpose.
He increased his pace, his thrusts becoming more erratic, his breathing growing ragged. "Fuck," he grunted, his body tensing. "Gonna fucking come all over you."
With a final, guttural groan, he came, his hot, thick release painting your chest and neck in long, sticky ropes. You moaned, the feeling of his cum on your skin a final, possessive brand. He collapsed on top of you, his weight a welcome, crushing pressure, his face buried in the crook of your neck.
For a moment, you just lay there, your bodies tangled together, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. The boredom was gone, replaced by a sated, bone-deep exhaustion. You were his. His dirty little slut, his stay-at-home girlfriend, his depraved little plaything. And as you lay there, his cum cooling on your skin, you wouldn't have it any other way.
Naoya Zen'in x Reader
cw: 18+ / sexual content / misogyny / dub-con elements / public sex / p in v / hate-fucking / breastplay / breeding kink / lactation kink / choking / degradation / spitting / plot with porn / strong language / canon!Naoya / unhealthy relationships / arranged marriage / mentions of pregnancy / fem!reader / sundresses
wc: 3.2k
Marrying into the Zen'in family had more cons than pros, but that didn't mean the perks were anything to laugh at. Your newly acquired position as the wife of Naoya Zen'inâthe future head of the Zen'in clanâmeant that you had a much broader purview than when you were the only daughter in a clan subscribed to male-preference primogeniture. Unlike your previous station, you now had an allowance for beautification rituals.
Skincare, makeup, manicures, pedicures, waxing, and eyebrow threading were all legitimate aspects of your job.
If the average woman's worth was determined by her beauty and reproductive abilities, then the wife of a clan leader should exceed those expectations tenfold.
There were only so many ornate kimonos and yukatas you could wear before drowning in a sea of maximalism. Earlier that day, you stopped by a local boutique carrying plain, lightweight sundresses in every color of the rainbow. Feeling sentimental, you almost purchased the jade green dressâyour husband's favorite colorâbefore you remembered what an absolute cunt he was to you this morning.
"Your hair," Naoya stated blankly.
"What about it?"
"I don't like it. The layers...they're too short, and the color...it's too light. Did you look in the mirror, like, at all when you left? Why didn't you ask for my opinion before you ruined your hair?"
"My hair looks fine, Naoya. I think you're overreacting." Despite your self-assuredness, his scathing critiques of your physical appearance induced a surge of insecurity throughout your body. You ambled over to the nearest full-length mirror in your house for a thorough inspection. Your hair looked fine, indeed.
"See? Not a strand out of place. I swear, if I lost my sense of sight, you would have just convinced me I'd gotten a bright blue buzzcut."
Naoya laughed dryly, "Trust me, if you had that haircut, I would have taken your ass to court for property damage."
He took a comically large step back and squinted, "This haircut is acceptableâfrom a distance, at least."
You purchased the white dress without a second thought.
And, thank the heavens you did, because, as pleasant as the balmy climate was, if you had just one more article of clothing on, you would be imbuing your every step with unbridled, cursed energy, like your husband.
"Is it simply your biology causin' this drought of common sense? What an unfortunate symptom that comes with bein' a woman. Nevertheless, it is still your job to look out for my health." He said in his characteristic condescension.
"Would you have really listened to a 'frivolous' weather report and worn something other than what you usually wear?"
"Because," you held up your hand to count on your fingers, "you don't listen to me. You don't listen to me when I tell you to eat something other than tempura. You don't listen to me when I ask you about floral arrangements for the house. You don't listenâ"
Naoya dragged a hand down his face and let out an exasperated exhale, "And here comes the naggin'."
"I wouldn't have to 'nag' you to do anything if you had common sense. Maybe it's simply 'your biology' causing this mishap."
"How about you stop bein' a bitch for the rest of our walk and let me enjoy my peace."
Prick.
Throughout your trek, you felt Naoya's burning gaze on your cleavage. Tragically, you had gotten used to his shameless perversions towards you. When confiding in some other women in the Zen'in household, they had attempted to convince you that such brazen behavior was his right as your husband.
Naoya's eyeline was a prison, and you were serving a life sentence.
A light breeze rolled in to rustle the sugi leaves onto the moss-covered floor paved by cracked stone paths. Aside from a chorus of chirping cicadas, the hushed atmosphere complemented the calming scene before you.
So, of course, Naoya had to start talking.
"The elders want us to start tryin' for a child as soon as possible." He said, out of the blue.
You stopped in your tracks to shoot him a look of disbelief, "And you're bringing this to my attention...for what?"
Naoya's narrow, brown eyes flashed deviously. His arms surged forward, quickly maneuvering you into a compromising position where your body was pressed tightly against his muscular frame, "How precious! My stupid little wife really is as stupid and little as she looks."
His strong hands slithered downwards and gripped the padding of your hips like a vice, before lowering his head and speaking directly into your ear, "Listen very closely, princess, because I won't be repeatin' myself."
"In just a few weeks, I will be turnin' 28. Clanheads before me had married much younger and, at this stage of life, were prepared for the birth of their third child. Regrettably, it took a while to sort through all of those ugly, flat-chested girls. So, by the time my clan notified me of your existence, I was no longer what the elders would consider a 'young man'. As a result, they've been pesterin' me about producin' a successor the day we got married."
"I'm not asking you about your string of failed courtships, Naoya. I'm asking why you're voicing such indecent thoughts onâwhat was supposed to beâa peaceful walk." You hoped that despite your appearanceâyour back arched and chest flush against your deviant of a husbandâyour tone carried a sense of authority.
Naoya withdrew just enough to look you directly in the eyes like a predator sizing up its meal one last time, "You can't tell me that you didn't expect such lewd activities wearin' such a scandalous dress."
His smooth, right-hand shot up from your hip to grasp your face, "I was goin' to wait for tonight to remind you of your wifely duties, but you looked so adorable, I just had to ruin this innocent stroll of ours. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."
Naoya looked hungrier than he did apologetic. His eyes crawled up and down your body in his special way that made you feel simultaneously flattered and uncomfortable.
He should pray to every god in existence for making him so handsome, or else he would not have much else going for him.
You glided your hands up from his broad chest and wrapped them around his neck. "Could you imagine how many children we would have now if you weren't such an awful husband?"
Your jab seemed to strike a nerve because Naoya's eyes widenedâjaw unhinging to form a rebuttalâbefore you shoved your tongue into his mouth to shut him up.
The two of you stood in the middle of those cracked stone paths, a mass of tangled limbs gripping and grasping onto each other. You had just gotten into the rhythm of massaging each other's tongues when Naoya pulled your hair, painfully forcing your head back.
"Open your mouth, slut."
You did as you were told.
A thick ribbon of saliva dripped out of his mouth, catching on the tip of your tongue.
"Now, swallow."
Again, you did as you were told.
"Why is it that you're only ever submissive when I pleasure you, hm? Is it, perhaps, your true nature as a woman to eagerly accept whatever I give you?"
"Are you implying you're not a slave to biology? You couldn't handle a short walk in the garden because of a slip of cotton." You carefully untied the sundress's knot at the nape of your neck, the white fabric now limply hanging off your hips.
Proving your point, a glimpse of your exposed breasts seemed to put Naoya in a state of reverie. His hands moved to cup your chest, thumbs rolling over your hardened nipples with an unexpected gentle touchâthe touch of a husband who painted countless portraits in his wife's image, immortalizing her beauty. The touch of a husband who wrote heartfelt poems, capturing the wealth of love he had for his wife in such few words. The touch of aâ
"Ow! Naoya, what the fuck?"
Your romantic ruminations came to a screeching halt by Naoya's apparent use of projection sorcery. He had split one second into twenty-four frames to wrestle you to the hard stone floor, undo his hakama, remove your undergarments, and continue occupying himself with your chestâa disgraceful use of his family's cursed technique.
Naoya's long tongue skimmed across your breasts, his soft lips latching onto your nipple and sucking as if he were pulling milk from it.
The Zen'in gardens echoed with your husband's whining, "I can't begin to imagine how sweet you'll taste when you're pregnant with my child."
"You're such a pervertângh!"
Naoya ignored your barb, still appearing out of it. He muttered to himself against the soft fatty tissue his hands were caressing, "These'll get so bloated with milk once you start feedin' the family. Do you think you could make enough to satisfy your husband and his children?"
The husband in question would not have married you if he knew you could not cater to his every whim. You ignored his rhetorical question. Someday, you would have to figure out how to accomplish his nigh-impossible tasks while pregnant, but not now.
His fingers traced the contours of your chest, intimately memorizing every inch of you. Naoya's ministrations rendered you helpless. The most you could do was moan at his words and card your fingers through tufts of bleached blonde hair. With every passing second, the air felt polluted with the overwhelming scent of his cologne.
You could feel the hard outline of his cock through the fabric of his nagagi. Countless "nights of passion" with Naoya taught you everything you needed to know about his approach to sex. He was an insufferable tease during intercourse, so you had to press particular buttons in a particular sequence to get what you wanted out of him.
Desperate to relieve the pressure building in your stomach, you mewled for him in a convincing, yet cloying voice, Â
"Baby, I'm really sorry for being so difficult earlier."
Naoya paused his suckling to stare up at you through half-lidded eyes, high on visions of lactating breasts.
Tell him what he wants to hear.
"I justâI love you so much, Naoya. I never know what to do with myself around you. If getting me pregnant is your wish, then, please, touch me, baby. I need your tongue, your fingers, your cock, anything. I need you to feel how much I love you."
"You're finally soundin' like a true Zen'in wife. Keep talkin'."
The material of your sundress bunched around your hips when Naoya moved it out of the way. He was met with the mouthwatering sight of your pussy, perfectly shaven and dripping liquid lust onto the floor. He gathered your slick with his fingers and, with the uncharacteristic softness from earlier, gradually slid two fingers inside of you.
Naoya Zen'in had never been the type to prioritize anyone else's pleasure over his own, much less his wife's. However, with the intoxicating desire to see you pumped full of enough cum that it starts dripping down your legs, he found the sacrifice worth it.
"Mm, when my body changes during those nine months, will you still t-take care of me like this? Will you still love me w-when my hips and thighs grow wider than you're used t-to?"
"Princess, it's only logical that a man becomes more attracted to a woman when he can tell she knows her place. Your purpose in this life is to serve me and further my legacy. What better way is there to show that than by carryin' my child?"
Fucking moron.
Admittedly, it was getting harder to form negative thoughts about such a horrific man when his fingers skillfully slid back and forth in your wet heat. You tightened around his fingers, partially because it felt too good, but also to keep yourself from blurting out a genuine, "I love you." You might have if it weren't for what came out of his mouth next,
"You must really love your husband if you're this soaked from just my fingers, sweetheart," he scoffs, "Women are so predictable. You all talk about how you don't need a man to tell you what to do, but you're always the ones on your backs, bein' told to open your legs. It's pathetic."
Pathetic? Not too long ago, this 27-year-old man-child was fantasizing about you breastfeeding him!
To hell with this.
"What the hell are youâ"
"Shut the fuck up, Naoya."
With every ounce of strength earned through years of practicing jujutsu sorcery, you hooked your leg over Naoya's flank and flipped him onto his back, reversing your positions.
No doubt, he was sputtering even more misogynistic gibberish at you, but you were toiling away at removing the remaining layers and sashes of his outfit.
When you were satisfied with your work, you began rocking your hips against his. Your original plans to sweet-talk him into fucking the disgust out of you had been aborted.
"If you want a family so bad, then we've wasted enough time. So let's get one thing clear, Naoya. If I'm going to put my body through nine months of torture, I'm at least going to make the process enjoyable."
Without a warning, you eased your slick, swollen pussy onto the fat tip of Naoya's leaking cock. Even with the previous help of Naoya's fingers, the stretch of his cock was almost too much.
His hands flew to your hips, "Seriously, w-what do you think you're doing, woman?"
"I'm going to milk your cock for all its worth until I'm pregnant with your silly little legacy," you paused, taking in Naoya's searing glare, "Don't look at me like that. I'm giving you what you wanted. Isn't that what being a good wife is all about?"
Your pussy sank further down onto the rest of Naoya's erection at an agonizingly slow pace. Every inch required an unforeseen amount of effort to fit him inside of you. When you finally reached the hilt of his thick, veiny cock, a creamy ring had already formed at the base.
You reassured yourself that, while the view in front of you was a consolation prize compared to the entire human being Naoya would get out of this, it was still decent compensation for all of your hard work.
Naoya's blonde hair splayed out around his skull like an undeserving halo. His eyes had rolled back into his head, revealing nothing but a web of red blood vessels and white sclera. His unwrapped nagagi exposed a pale, toned chest and well-defined abs. The smooth expanse of skin bared no unsightly scars, signifying a life of luxury and privilege. He looked so vulnerable. He was vulnerable.
You thought you were better than Naoya at many things, but it seems you get just as drunk off sex as he does. Because, suddenly, you were compelled to start choking the bastard. You wrapped your hands around his throat like a boa constrictor and squeezed. And your prideful, brat of a husband made no gesture for you to stop. In fact, he started bucking his hips upward to get you to move. You swore you could feel Naoya's plump cock gush pre-cum in response to the lack of oxygen his brain was receiving.
"How many children were you thinking of having, N-Naoya?" Your tight pussy contracted even more at the thought of him filling you up with load after load. "I want at least t-two or three, but I don't think I'd be upset if we ended up with f-five." The combination of Naoya's throbbing cock and your pulsating cunt was driving you to madness, blabbering whatever words managed to claw their way past your clenched teeth. You were cockdrunk.
Temporarily forgetting your predicament, you removed your hands from Naoya's throat, so he could give you a clear answer, "F-fuck, I don't know. Five! Fucking five!"
"Aw, that's a g-great answer, darling. Five it is."
Naoya looked like a beautiful mess, writhing on the floor in pure ecstasy. He was moaning louder than you've ever heard him. A sharp pang of affection for the loser getting the life ridden out of him stabbed you through the heart. Maybe, just maybe, he deserved a small reward for being such a good husband.
You slowed your hips from a bounce to a roll and gently maneuvered him into an upright position. Pressing his lips to the swollen peaks on your chest, you murmured into his ear,
"Do you want some milk, baby? You know, despite my devastating lack of common sense, it's still my job to look out for your health," you said, echoing his misogynistic attack from earlier, "Go on, sweetheart. Suck."
Tired and fucked-out of his mind, Naoya complied without his usual venom. It was equal parts sweet and erotic that your husband regressed into such innocence when presented with the opportunity to lick at your breasts.
The pressure that had been slowly building in your system was so close to bursting. You could tell you were both nearing your end. Fatigue was affecting the speed at which you could move, and Naoya had been reduced to what amounted to dead weight. Despite his exhausted state, your creamy pussy still managed to extract delicious low groans with every move.
Almost there.
Taking advantage of this new intimate position, your lips grazed the shell of Naoya's ear as you mumbled, "If I had known that fucking you meant relegating your mouth to such cute, embarrassing noises, I would have done it a lot more. I should make this part of our routine."
"Would you like it if I started fucking you during clan meetings in front of all of your brothers? How about when I'm feeding you? I could sit on your lap without any panties. Would you like that, baby?"
Almost.
Naoya, still mouthing at your nipple, moaned in agreement. His hands, desperate for some type of purchase, magnetized themselves to your hips.
"NghâI'm going to cum, baby. I need you to fill me up. I need your cum, Naoya." You had officially lost your composure, overcome with pleasure and infatuated with the incapacitated state of your husband. You babbled incoherently to a barely lucid Naoya about how much of his cream you needed stuffed into your cunt, whilst repeatedly pressing kisses to the side of his face, "Give me a baby. Give me a baby. Give me a baby. Give me a baby, sweetheartâ"
There.
As soon as you felt your bubble of euphoria burst, Naoya's orgasm soon followed. The sensation of your pussy creaming around his shaft was quickly replaced by the feeling of thick, warm spurts of cum painting your insides.
You waited for him to start shooting blanks, but started to worry when you began overspilling with his milky gush. Every other second, Naoya's cock pulsed, and your cunt was deluged by a flood of cum. Your eyes drifted downwards to see pearlescent beads of cum seeping out of you.
"Sweetheart," you called hesitantly, "Are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"Don't...don't fucking move," he groaned. "It's still...it's still..."
You didn't need him to finish his sentence. His cock twitching against your sensitive walls was enough to tell you that this man was cumming buckets, intent on producing an heir for the Zen'in clan.
Naoya panted, floundering through the lingering aftereffects of pleasure, as you finished milking him. "Tonight...we still...tonight...we have to...again..."
You laughed weakly, "I know, sweetheart, I know. Just focus on recovering. You look like a corpse."
°Ë⎠Masterlist + Buy Me A Coffee
Pairing †Curly x Reader x Yan! Jimmy
Scenario †Jimmy has an infatuation crush! On you. He's felt the string of fate connecting you two since the first time you stuttered a sentence his way. He thought for sure that he'd sweep you off your feet...
And then Curly got in the way.
Warnings †DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT! Yandere Jimmy! Possessive behaviour, obsession, stalking, violent fantasies, sexualisation of Reader, delusional Jimmy, Jimmy's a bit of an incel, sexual fantasies, non-con fantasies, non-con touching, dub-con, drugging, unspecified age gap, masturbation, inexperienced reader, slight bimbofication (on reader through Jimmy), torture, tit-slapping, slapping, hair-pulling, dacryphilia, choking, cunnilingus, dirty talk, degradation, praise, character death (not reader). Pathetic Jimmy, then Psycho Jimmy. I'm ngl this is for freaky bitches bro.
AU where the Tulpar crashes, but you're not doomed! And Anya is safe!
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He was meant to be yours.
Everyone knew it. Even you knew it! God, what did a fucking pussy like Curly even have that Jimmy didn't? You probably didn't even like Curly; you were just playing hard to get, waiting for Jimmy to prove himself to you. Like he needed to prove himself, look at him! He was the co-pilot for the Tulpar; the money he reeled in weekly would be enough to earn those bra straps of yours falling off your shoulders. No, maybe you were scared. Yes, that was it. You must've been scared of it:
The pull. The string on your pinky fingers, the stars perfectly aligned, the very chemistry that charged the air the first day he met you. He had been doing his usual routine: scaring the newbies. Daisuke was too full of sugar and sunshine to be intimidated, though Anya was significantly easier to cast a shadow over. He figured you'd be the same - most women were - but the second he stepped in front of you with that mean scowl twisted on his dark, stony face permanently weathered to the storm of his emotions, he froze. All it took was the tremble of your bottom lip and the very brief connection of your eyes to send his jagged walls crumbling down. He felt like a deer in the headlights, heart sharp like Cupid had just struck him with a heart attack instead of an arrow. You bowed your head to Jimmy, eyes disappearing from his gaze as you stuttered out your name with a quick breath. He stood there a few moments longer after you spoke, Jimmy's mind processing the sensation that built a foundation in his chest, one foreign and yet the most wonderful thing he'd ever felt in the entire world. Daisuke noticed, made an all-too-obvious double take at the sight of the older co-pilot seemingly fixated on his younger crewmate, and had Daisuke not been as subtle as a brick, Jimmy probably would've stood there forever.
Jimmy was at a loss. This was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. Like flowers had bloomed in his heart vessels, or fireworks ignited in his intestines. Hell, he'd even entertain the idea of butterflies in his belly, even if he did think the metaphor was a bit childish. How could a woman do all these things with just a simple flicker of her eyes? He'd never once cared for others, not his shitty parents, nor his colleagues. Hell, he didn't even care about his childhood friend, Curly, even if the dumb blonde thought otherwise. Jimmy was a selfish, narcissistic bastard, and he'd be the first one to admit it (well, he wouldn't, because James Zare doesn't have flaws). So why was it that he was weak to that little lip tremble? Why did he yearn for you to just look up once more, batting your thick eyelashes at him? Why did his shoulders ease at the simple mention of your name, even if he was irked by it coming from another's tongue?
Why did he care so much?
From day one, he was following you around the ship. His sharp glare kept anyone from questioning why he wandered so much, but that didn't stop them from noticing patterns. Patterns that were completely foreign to Jimmy's regular nature. Suddenly, he wasn't slacking off in his co-pilot's seat anymore; he was working - actually working. He offered to lift crates, requested assistance at the controls, and even made breakfast one morning. It's as if one day Jimmy fell asleep, and someone else woke up. Curly was beaming, convinced his brother had finally started warming up to his job. That's all Curly ever wanted, really, for Jimmy to have a good, easy life. Swansea was a bit more sceptical, and he was the first to notice the real reason:
You.
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You really thought Jimmy was helping? Please, he hated every minute of it. The storage room smelled like dust and decay, and he grit his teeth every time he neared it. He hadn't even intended to help; he was very happy just stalking around the metal tin without a word, displaying his power to everyone who dared step near him. Until the storage door hissed open, and his heart sank. You were there, shoulder to shoulder, with Daisuke. And you were smiling. Jimmy had thought for just a moment that maybe you were smiling at him, maybe his presence had sent that angelic curve to your lips, but he knew it wasn't true. You were looking up at Daisuke, laughing at a stupid joke the idiot had said. This wasn't right, this wasn't fate. This was a test - a challenge. One he'd taken up swiftly. Jimmy whistled sharply, your necks snapping in his direction as he stepped into the room, fists clenched by his sides as he glared straight at Daisuke. The boy stiffened - good.
"Daisuke, you've been working for a while. Why don't you go have your break?" Jimmy suggested, clenching his knuckles so tightly they numbed. Daisuke hesitated for a split second, the useless slack of his jaw threatening to grant him a moment to speak - to reject Jimmy's offer, but the heavy weight of Jimmy's gaze silenced that threat and Daisuke set the crate down. Once the boy disappeared down the hall, Jimmy eased. Just you two now, together. Alone. You shut your mouth promptly when his eyes trailed you, turning your back to him as you continued to work in silence. You expected to hear the distance of his footsteps, but they opposingly closed until he was right beside you, shoulder to shoulder, staring down at you. His breath was hot, puffs hitting your hair and sending a shiver up your spine. You were a timid thing, so easily scared of Jimmy since the first day you locked eyes with him. But Jimmy wouldn't have that. You stacked one of the boxes atop another when you heard the unmistakable sound of Jimmy clearing his throat.
"...so, er...what d'ya think of the job?" He sounded...awkward. Off-balance, like a schoolboy talking to his crush. Your eyes widened fleetingly, and you craned your neck to him as you massaged your overworked hands. "Oh - um...the crew's very nice. And the work is good." It was a simple, non-offensive answer, the best one you could muster beside the bulking figure shadowing you. Jimmy nodded, smart enough to know it was a bullshit answer, yet giddy enough to convince himself that by the crew, you meant him. You wiped the sweat off your brow as you finished loading the crates, Jimmy placing the final one at the tippy-top just out of your reach. He sighed, brain fogged by Daisuke's closeness to you. The boy was practically drooling; who knows what could've happened if Jimmy had been even just a few minutes late. You were so lucky you had him here, with you, for you. You grabbed your water bottle near the doorway, checking over your to-do list to see what it was exactly you had been rostered to. However, before you left, you paused, clenching the notes in your shaky hand as you gathered the courage to turn back to Jimmy, finally looking him in the eyes and flashing that sugary smile of yours.
"Thank you for helping me, Jimmy." You voiced and then spun on your heels, leaving Jimmy alone in the room. He froze, his heart loose and ricocheting around his chest. You...thanked him? He felt light-headed; the sight of your gorgeous eyes burned into his brain like it was a glimpse into eternal paradise. He froze mid-step in the room, half-hunched and identical to a cat caught in curiosity as he stared at where you once stood. That's all it took? Seriously? All it took for you to lift that pretty face of yours up and flash that saccharine smile at him was for him to lift some fucking boxes? A shaky exhale rolled from his throat, choked with a laugh that mimicked a madman, one you'd find chained and bound in white. You thanked him. You wanted him. Wanted him there with you, wanted the help only he could provide. Wanted a strong, powerful man - which he was! - by your side. Not that scrawny excuse of a boy. Him.
It was the first time you'd willingly granted him your attention, not from obligation due to his position, nor intimidation from the stories you heard in the halls, ones from Anya and Daisuke who revealed just how unfavourable Jimmy could be. You wondered when you'd be next, after all, he was around you so often, maybe he was waiting for a screw-up just to unleash his wrath on you. Jimmy, meanwhile, had found the cheat code to your attention - no, not just your attention - your approval. Working. Fucking, working.
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Jimmy waited in the control room, leg bouncing with anticipation as he flicked through the cameras, waiting to see you. He'd disconnected one of the controls, leaving the Tulpar without air-conditioning. Jimmy already knew how to fix it; he'd done it before when he was trying to fall asleep in the cockpit, and Swansea had touched something he shouldn't have. He wasn't even intending to touch the damn thing until the older, corpulent man made a sly comment about Curly being the most capable on the ship, sending the brunette into a fit of stubborn determination. And as irritating as the memory could be, at least it led to something good. The second Jimmy's eyes landed on your figure heading down the hall closest to him, he called out.
"Hey, I need a hand here!" He grinned ear to ear when he heard your footsteps, struggling to not seemingly predict that you'd be the one entering the room. You glanced around, face flushed from the heat trapped in the stale room, and when Jimmy caught sight of you, he bit his tongue nearly in half. Sweat rolled down your temple, your lips parted as you sucked in the air thick with sticky humidity. Your uniform was unzipped only a few centimetres, but Jimmy didn't need to see past the dip of your collarbone to know how hot you must've been, literally and figuratively. His lower half pooled with a different heat that stirred something angry in his pants, leaving the two of you slightly breathless for significantly different reasons. God, he wanted to lick the sweat off your skin.
He nodded to the controls, slowing his pulse with a cool, controlled breath. "The cords got pulled, 'course, it's gotta Swansea again." He glanced at you, hoping to see you agree with his comment on the older man, but when he saw your brows furrow at the unnecessary jab, he stammered. "I, er, I need you to reach behind there and connect the cords back to the outlet. Thought I could do it, but, heh, guess I got more muscle than I realised." He bit his lip, a self-satisfied grin on his face from what he thought was a humorous line sure to pique your interest in him. He watched you bend down, reaching behind the control station and stretching your arm as far as it could go.
For a split second, Jimmy considered slamming the station against the wall, pinning you in place, imagining the way your small voice would yelp. He trailed his eyes down your body, from the curve of your breasts to your perfectly accentuated ass. This uniform could make a model look raggedy, and yet it seemed the fabric bent to your will. Jimmy's heart raced, imagining how you'd react if he came behind you, his rough hands on the globes of your ass, how you'd whine as he cupped your cunt through your pants. Fuck, he could feel himself hardening at the thought. You'd be trapped there, at his mercy and will. He swallowed as he imagined how you'd moan with each harsh love bite he left on your neck, how the scent of your fear would roll off you in waves that would crash against him until his groin ached. But then he remembered how sweetly you smiled at him in the storage room, and he shook his head, turning his face back to the station. He couldn't do that, not to you. You'd be terrified! You'd probably never look at him again. You'd be hurt, no, not just hurt, you'd hate him. Jimmy couldn't risk that; he couldn't risk you hating him. Hell, if you hated him, he'd fall apart.
A small 'woop' snagged his eyes back to you as you stood back up with a proud smirk, glad you'd finally connected to that stupid outlet. You were so blissfully unaware, looking up at him with those pretty doe eyes that still hesitated under his gaze. He returned that grin, leaning against the button panels while the vents rumbled back to life, buzzing softly in the stale room as cold air wafted through. You waited for any further directions, shifting your foot to the door until words fell from his mouth. "Guess you've got the brain and the beauty." He flashed his teeth in an uneven curl, trying to play off just how sleazy the comment truly was. Your cheeks reddened, flustered by the compliment the older man gave you before bowing your head in a simple, polite nod. "Heh, thank you." You were grinning ear to ear, just like he'd hoped. Man, this was easier than he thought. If you were that easy to sway, then, by all means, he already had you.
As you turned on your heel to leave, Jimmy's eyes fell from your face to your chest, hidden beneath the thick fabric of the uniform. His imagination was running wild, gritting his teeth to distract from the throb in his boxers. He should've left the AC off for just a bit longer, just to see if you'd sweat enough to soak your shirt. Maybe even give him a peek at those perky nipples through your bra. He'd bet his life you were a virgin: perfect. Perfectly made just for him. He'd earned you, after all, through his years of suffering. It only made sense God would send him His best broad. No marble carvings of Goddesses and idols could equal just how ethereal you'd look when you were bare beneath him. You'd make the most perfect sounds and squeaks. Hell, those pretty lashes of yours, wet with tears of pleasure, would be enough to make him bust right there and then. You slipped out the door, smiling to yourself as Jimmy watched with his brooding eyes, a thousand thoughts planning out everything he'd do to you if he just got you alone for just a minute.
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Jimmy hated mornings; he'd usually sleep in until everyone else had gotten to work. The five hours of sleep a night was inhumane in his opinion, and he refused to be constricted to those little nights' rest. After all, the stress he had as a co-captain was enough to halve his lifespan; he didn't need a sleep debt on top of that. He'd rather deal with a cheery suggestion from Curly to be an early bird (no doubt caused by various crewmate complaints) than actually put the effort in to be punctual.
Well, that was how he used to be. No, now he had a reason to wake up on time - not even on time, early. He loved sitting there, on that old, dusty couch, staring at the televised sunrise. Not because of the peace, or because it was fun, God knows that couch had been there since the Tulpar was first built. No, it was because you'd be there. He'd sip his coffee, pretending like the brew didn't taste like shit, reading whatever newspaper he found lying around. A faux of who he was, but was it really a faux if he was willing to bend to your ideals? You probably wanted a guy like that anyway, a peaceful man. It took every muscle in his body not to toss the drink and paper aside when he heard your footsteps, forcing himself into some feigned interest in sports or whatever shit his eyes first landed on until he saw you step into the living space. You were always quick to greet him, and even on the days when you were slow to; on the days when he'd internally panic and slip out a desperate 'good morning!' you would reciprocate his words with equal delight.
It was on one of those mornings that Jimmy stood up from his placement on the couch under the guise of getting more coffee (He dreaded how it would taste on his tongue, but anything to keep himself near you). He watched you closely as you ate a protein bar, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. What he'd do for it to be his cock in your mouth instead. You'd be a good sucker. Even if you were shit, you were perfect. He hitched his breath eagerly at how you'd choke around him. You'd probably look up at him with those big, teary eyes, too, maybe even gag on his cum and hit his thigh desperately for air. Fuck, Jimmy had already handled his morning wood, but just the thought of you had him ready to go again and again.
"Not much of an appetite?" Jimmy queried, taking a sip of the burnt, black tar in his mug. You tensed when he spoke, taken off guard by his sudden inquiry before shrugging your shoulders. You'd warmed up so much since your first day. You still stuttered occasionally, and there were days when you couldn't meet his eyes, but you weren't as skittish or ready to flee. You were learning. Learning your place beside him. That was fine; he could be patient. You were making...progress. Even if it was slow. Even if he did get so frustrated that he gripped the kitchen bench to keep himself from just grabbing and forcing you flat against the top.
You chewed your mouthful of food, covering your lips with your smaller hand in a polite act. How innocent. You were such a dainty little thing. "Honestly, I'd much rather pancakes or something..." You joked, tossing the wrapper in the bin. Jimmy perked up. Pancakes, huh? A sweet tooth for a sweetie like you. He took his eyes off you for only a second to check out the food storage. Some of the food was off-limits, only accessible through the captain. But Jimmy could get it. He'd get the sun for you if you asked him to. All he had to do was prod Curly a bit, and he'd get access just like that.
The next morning, he had just what he wanted. The pancake mix was torn open on the counter, half of the powder on the bench and the rest in the bowl. Jimmy was fuming. He just couldn't get it right. The mixture was clumpy, almost dough-like, despite being a 'just add water' package. He had hoped to surprise you, and yet when you walked out, he was still stirring the lump-filled mixture, brows furrowed, and his lips curled in a snarl. A thousand excuses already formed on his tongue, incoherent blurbs, but he could improvise a bullshit answer if given a second to think. Even if it was hard to think about anything other than you when you're here. You paused, eyes scanning the empty box, dirty bench and a red-handed Jimmy with a wide-eyed expression. You nodded your head once the image became clear of what exactly he was trying to do before you walked over, hands clasped behind your back. You lowered your head so as not to impose and parted those plump, bitten lips he stared at so often.
"Do you...need a hand?" You asked cautiously, afraid to offend him in case he'd actually had some elaborate plan for the mess on the counter. Jimmy swallowed the lump in his throat, doing his best to compose himself. It wasn't even a vulnerable moment, but it was the most vulnerable he'd ever been in front of anybody that wasn't Curly, and yet you looked past any possible embarrassment to simply help. What a sweet angel you were, like cotton candy and desire wrapped into a perfect young woman. His woman. You added more water to the mixture, cleaning the kitchen of Jimmy's mess as he stirred the mixture. It smoothed out, his lips parting as he realised just how easy it was to fix what he was convinced was a failure. No, it's because it was a failure. He had followed the instructions, and it turned out like shit. But you, you were just different. Better. Above any of the other people on this goddamn ship. You were just a fucking saint.
The pancakes sizzled in the pan, the aroma wafting throughout the living space. You were setting the table, humming a tune so soft that it sounded like flower petals flowing through the breeze. He liked this; this...domesticity. Him cooking in the kitchen, you setting the table, the silence of the morning: perfect. His mind drifted as he stared at you. He could imagine this life every day: a gold ring on your finger, a couple of ankle-biters running around, a big house, a white-picket fence. He cracked a smile - it was so close. That was a life he was so close to snatching. A life he'd earned. With you. He flipped the pancake, a smile falling as a pair of footsteps entered the space.
"Good mornin', Jimmy." A chipper voice called out to him.
Curly. Fucking Curly.
Jimmy's lips twisted into a scowl, one he beat down so you wouldn't see it. Jimmy grunted, a wordless acknowledgement to his friend's presence, before lifting his tired eyes up to your face. But something was wrong. Terribly wrong. You were looking back, but not at him. At Curly.
Why the fuck were you staring at Curly?
Curly walked over to you, your eyes on him the entire time. This was a mistake; you never made eye contact with anyone. Because, if you did, it'd be with him first. You should be staring into his eyes, smiling up at him. The spatula fell slack in his grip. Curly greeted you, taking the utensils from your hands and helping you divide them evenly for everyone. You struck up a conversation with the blonde, Curly's eyes crinkling with every sentence slipped from your lips. The easy camaraderie between you two made Jimmy feel sick to his stomach. This was wrong, this wasn't real. Maybe you were just...trying to show off. Yeah, you were trying to show off just how friendly you were, how perfect you could be for Jimmy. But he knew that wasn't true, because your eyes were locked onto Curly like he was a fucking God. Like he was your God.
Jimmy sat at the table, fists clenching around the fork in his hand as he watched you two. Conversation buzzed at the table. Anya and Daisuke got lost in some chatter about a musician Jimmy could give two fucks about. Swansea was grumbling occasionally to the two young people, the playful laughter grating on his ears. Jimmy didn't care about them; he didn't care about anyone. He only cared about himself and you. And right now, you were staring at Curly.
Your plate was empty, and your cup was dry. You had no reason to be at that table, no reason to stay. Jimmy entertained the idea that maybe you had stayed for him, maybe you adored how his warmth soaked into your side. He never sat anywhere else aside from the head of the table, so you should've been honoured that he even considered moving just to be closer to you. But as he watched you, his eyes narrowed. You hadn't spared him a glance since sitting down, hadn't even flickered your eyes to him. No, you were devoted to Curly's eyes, those baby blues that followed every curve of your face. It was sickening just how close you two looked. Curly stuffed his mouth with the bland, flavourless food, lips tugged up in a smile as he listened to you yap attentively. Your voice was like honey, easy on the ears, and Jimmy swore a single minute of conversation with you could've left his heart intoxicated with yearning. But you were here with Curly instead.
As everyone parted, Jimmy stood in the hallway by the sleeping quarters, his eyes darting. He had meant to go to his room, to pace out his frustration - maybe punch a wall if it got too bad. But as he passed, his eyes landed on your room. He hadn't entered it yet, didn't have a reason to. Not until now. Not until after seeing how fucking intimate you and Curly were. He flickered his eyes to the dining area. Everyone had thanked him for breakfast, surprised by his sudden good attitude. He didn't spare them a glance, though; he just stared at you. Waiting. Waiting to hear that sweet praise grace your lips, to hear your delight in how considerate he was. Your face turned to his, your eyes met, and his heart clenched as he waited...
And then Curly got in the way. Opening his big, loud mouth, praising Jimmy with words that meant nothing to the brunette man. And Jimmy's throat bobbed as you looked away, attention re-directed to the captain. The captain who got everything. Even Jimmy's soulmate.
Jimmy twisted the metal knob, and the door to your room opened so silently that the air didn't disturb it. Chills rose up his spine, prickling his body hair. The room smelled like heaven. It smelled like you. The bed was made neatly, and your table, desk, and cupboard were all clean, without a single pencil or book out of place. He liked that, liked to know how disciplined you were. It meant you'd be more willing to listen to him, and easier to train. His hand grazed over your bed, the temptation to lie on your bed and soak in the warmth of where you once lay so profound that he had to pull himself away to avoid disturbing the unwrinkled sheets. Next, the cupboards. He opened them carelessly, mind locked onto one thing, the one thing he'd wanted to see for days now, the one thing his cock bounced at the thought of.
Bingo.
He clenched your panties in his fist, bringing the soft cotton to his nose. He inhaled deeply, frustrated that all he smelt was the floral scent of the laundry detergent and not your essence. He pocketed the underwear, digging through your lingerie drawer to pick and choose which ones he wanted to keep. He knew he couldn't take too many, knew you'd realise if half of your drawer went missing. That's why he only picked his favourites. The first white one he picked was cute and simplistic; the next was a cute white one with a pink bow at the front. He loved that pair; it reminded him just how innocent you were. But his favourite pair, the one that made his mouth drool, the one that made his cock throb with arousal, was a black thong. A translucent black g-string that looked like a slut's dream. He couldn't believe his eyes - his perfect angel was a secret succubus. A perfect blend of innocence and sin. He sniffed each pair, keeping the black one to his nose for a particularly long time. He could imagine you touching yourself in it, rubbing your clit through the fabric as you moaned out his name. Fuck, he bet you brought them knowing he'd be there - knowing your soulmate would be waiting here just for you.
An alarm blared through the ship. Something was wrong with the controls. He jumped to his feet, glancing around to ensure he hadn't left anything behind to suggest his presence before swiftly making an exit. By the time he got there, everyone had gathered, and Curly had fixed the issue with ease. Daisuke, the idiot, had touched something he wasn't supposed to, sending the system into panic mode. Christ, being stuck with these imbeciles for the next one hundred days would probably get him killed. Jimmy's focus landed on you, on the way you stuck to Curly's side, shoulders eased as you two laughed at the silliness of the panic. His brows furrowed, hair falling across his face as he watched. His face felt tight, his nose scrunched in disgust like a potent smell hit his nostrils. Curly didn't know the first fucking thing about you; he didn't care about you, not like Jimmy did. Curly didn't feel the pull. He didn't have a pinky finger strangled around an invisible hook of fate. He wasn't worthy of your attention. You were the one thing Curly couldn't have. The one thing Jimmy deserved to have. The only thing Jimmy needed.
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From the first day you set foot on the Tulpar, you knew you were in for the experience of your life. You'd been training for this moment since you were a teenager. Space had dazzled you, and to be surfing through the night with the stars was a dream come true. The crew was lovely, too. Daisuke was a beam of sunshine, Anya was a close confidante, Swansea was a comedic grouch, and Curly was a heart-throb. You couldn't have asked for better company! You'd grown close with each member throughout the days, especially Curly. He was so sweet and considerate, the first to lend a hand when needed and the last to clock off. You'd kept your interest at bay, initially. He was the captain, after all. A significantly older captain, nonetheless. You were fresh out of university, and he was, well, he already had a few years of experience. But it was hard to hide the shy smiles and the way you'd pitch your voice ever so slightly whenever he was around.
Oh- right! There was Jimmy as well. Jimmy was...well...
Jimmy creeped you out.
Something about him spiked your nerves. You'd tried to warm up to him, had tried to create a friendly relationship, but he always seemed on edge. Like a rubber band about to snap. The first day you met him, he just stared down at you wordlessly. His shoulders were stiff, and his shadow seemed to absorb any nearby light into its void. You cursed yourself for the stutter on your tongue, and it seemed it had irked Jimmy, who stood over you, waiting, like a bomb on its last few ticks. If Daisuke hadn't made his confusion clear, then you were sure Jimmy would've slashed you with his tongue.
From then on, you kept your distance. You'd chat with Anya throughout the day, enjoy your breaks with Daisuke, occasionally banter with Swansea, and, although you knew it was wrong, you'd have a bit of a flirt with Curly. You kept it subtle: a simple compliment on his cologne, admiring his go-lucky attitude, batting your pretty eyelashes at him every time you looked up at the man. Then he started reciprocating it. He always flashed you a smile whenever you entered the room, but now they were softer. Sweeter. His eyes would linger on you for a few moments longer than necessary. He'd speak more when he knew you were listening. Sometimes his heart would pound so loudly when you stepped closer that he feared you'd hear it.
Curly was the first to approach you one afternoon as you sat on the red couch, knee tucked to your chest as you stared at the fake sky on the screen. You were distracted, lips pressed into a thin line, and eyes droopy. Concern glazed his eyes as he sat down, offering a kind simper. "Hey, Y/N. Are you alright?" He kept his tone light, wanting to ease whatever burdened you. Your cheeks grew hot as Curly neared your body, blinking up at him as your word-retrieval failed. Then, you stuttered. "U-um, yeah, sorry. I'm a little...out of it." You tried to remain level-headed despite how your heart raced, and you yearned to inch closer to him. Curly tilted his head, his soft blonde locks bouncing. He didn't buy it, and you knew he didn't. You sighed, eyes falling to the dirty ground as you struggled to figure out just how to express your concerns to him. After all, how do you tell someone that their best friend - their brother - creeps you out?
"...Um, Jimmy, he's..." You paused, waiting to see his reaction. His brows had furrowed slightly, but not in anger, in concern. Worry. You considered the words on your tongue carefully, softening them to ensure they avoided any possible offence. "...have I...irritated him? He seems to follow me around a lot. I mean, I know he's the co-captain, but..." You trailed off, stomach flipping anxiously. Curly waited a moment, digesting your words. He knew Jimmy was somewhat of an acquired taste, more of a confrontational hardhead than the gentle giant Curly was. But Jimmy had it tough! His parents didn't understand him, school was difficult - (sure, Jimmy never studied or put in any effort, but he was a good man! If you squinted hard enough). If Curly hadn't gotten Jimmy the job here, he'd probably be in jail. Curly's calloused hand hovered just above the small of your back, hesitating for just a moment before he tenderly pressed his hand down. He glanced at your face, testing the waters to see if his touch was welcome or not, and when you curved your back to lean into his touch, his heart skipped a beat. You looked up at him, eyes snagged on his lips before falling into his ocean blue eyes. His lips curled, flashing his pearly whites and inching closer.
"Jimmy's...tough. But he's a good guy." Curly grumbled, voice toasty like a campfire crackling in winter. You nodded, focusing more on the proximity than the justification of Jimmy's actions. "He's a bit of a mystery sometimes, but he just wants what's best. Don't worry about him." Curly swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he stared down into your pupils, his mouth dry with nerves. Was he making you uncomfortable? Was he overstepping? You shifted in your seat, lowering your leg and turning your body to face Curly. He could feel his face burn as his smile grew, his palms sweating as he tried to not look like a fool in front of you. And, little did he know, but that's exactly how you felt also. You felt short of breath, almost alien, as you kept your position. Did he think you were weird for breathing too long? Did he think you looked weird as you adjusted yourself? God, did Curly think you were weird? It was such a childish concern, and yet you felt like you were standing on the edge of the waterfall, risking a slip at any misstep. You broke eye contact, a bashful smile on your lips, biting the plump skin as you chuckled on a breath.
"Thanks, Curly." You murmured, relaxing your muscles. Curly watched you for a second longer before slipping his hand from your back to your hand, which fit so perfectly in his own. "No problem. And, you can call me Grant." He waited, hoping he'd made the right call, that he hadn't been too intimate or assertive. The last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable, especially considering his position as captain. But when you intertwined your fingers in his, batting your eyelashes up to his soft gaze, he knew he'd made the right call.
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Curly was a sweetheart. Your relationship had been blossoming throughout the weeks with inside jokes, teasing banter and whispered flirtations. On the surface, you seemed like nothing more than a pair of good friends, but beneath it all was a confession not yet surfaced. You two hadn't uttered a word of love to one another, not even an admission of liking each other, despite how clear it was (to Swansea, at least) that you two were far closer than the others. You'd told Anya about your silly crush, and she'd been your biggest supporter, winking at you every time Curly entered the room or quietly clapping every time she passed you two working on a task together. Even hugging you when you told her quietly one night that you feared Curly would forget you at the end of the cargo run, reassuring you that Curly wasn't like that. He'd never ghost a girl; hell, he'd need to be dead before he broke your heart.
The days were growing blurred, and the work was significantly more overwhelming the longer you were there. Maybe you were just sleep-deprived, maybe you were imagining it, but it really felt like things in your bedroom were going missing. The first thing you noticed was your underwear. It was such a strange thing to realise because who in their right mind would even go into your room, let alone steal your underwear of all things? Some of your deodorants had been opened, too. New ones. Ones you'd been saving for the return trip. It wasn't so much of a big deal, but you knew you hadn't opened them. Well, maybe. Maybe you'd opened them in a morning rush? Was it possible? Yes. But was that something you'd done before? No. It was just such a strange thing to experience, like a ghost had been summoned to move little things - things so subtle that it drove you crazy. Some of your pens were missing, also. Not important ones, just regular black and blue pens you used when you wrote in your diary. Which, speaking of, where the hell was your diary? You swore you had left it on your desk after going to sleep, not its usual spot, but you had been so tired that you didn't think it was a big deal, and, again, who would notice? Then, the next morning, it's like it evaporated into thin air. You checked under the desk, under your bed, your drawers, everything, and yet it seemed to have simply vanished.
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Jimmy couldn't believe his luck.
He'd been growing bolder since the first day he entered your room. He'd peek in during the busy breakfast period, disappearing before the sight of you and Curly could boil his blood. At first, it was just the panties. He already had three pairs, he didn't need more...but then he found the dirty hamper in the laundry room and, well...how could he resist? He was perfectly content with sniffing the clean ones in your room, though. He had been contemplating taking a bra, too, but you only had a few pairs, and it'd be really obvious if one of those disappeared. Instead, he liked to grope them, imagining it was your breasts cupped in his palms and not the fabric that held them. Besides, you'd need all the bras you could find on the Tulpar once he had you, because he'd be ripping them off every night. He liked to sniff your deodorants when he could, too, groaning softly as he rubbed his manhood through his pants. Fuck, it smelled good, and he imagined how it'd smell mixed with your sweat, melted into your body oils.
He liked to lick your pens, too, convincing himself that in some sick way, he was technically licking you. Had you touched yourself with them? Had you held these pens while shakily writing about how hot he was? It's not like Pony Express would allow any self-pleasuring toys on board, so you'd have to use whatever you had on hand. And why not the very pens in your hand, the very pens now wet with his saliva. He'd dry them off, of course. With your panties.
Nighttime was his favourite time to visit you, though. At first, he could barely twist your doorknob, breathing shakily at just the thought of entering your room while you were still in there. He had his excuses lined up already: wrong room, thought he heard something, escape before you could see his face. But he already knew you wouldn't do that to him. No, if you saw him in your room, you'd be ecstatic. Probably invite him into your bed, confessing your love a thousand times over. And apologise for letting Curly get so fucking close.
His breath was manic, soft growls no louder than the buzz of the aircon straining from his narrow throat. He was really doing this. He was really going to violate your privacy in the dead of night. The door slid open, not a single disturbance in the air.
And there you were: unconscious and tangled in your sheets, no less than a couple of metres in front of him. He could've died right there with how fast his heart bashed against his ribcage, bludgeoning itself into a puddle of mashed blood and gunk. Hell, his mind was going through so many motions he might've just had a brain hemorrhage from the intensity of each introspection justified through narcissism.
Each step was slow and calculated, like a fly dancing around a web, testing the boundaries between fate and unthinkable consequences. He stood in front of you, eyes trembling with each second of adrenaline bursting through his blood. You were fast asleep, taking in slow, deep breaths. Your face was at the perfect level for his cock. Hell, if he just angled himself right, he could probably whip his cock out and slide it into your mouth. You would choke so soundly, maybe even flash those pleading eyes until he filled your mouth to the brim. He lowered himself slowly until he was crouched face-to-face with you. He grinned as he watched you intently, fixated on you. You looked angelic, emanating a glow identical to a princess pulled out of a fantasy novel. You were so oblivious, so unaware. You wouldn't even realise he was there unless he was right between your legs, and you'd be a good girl and spread them for him.
Jimmy raised his right hand slowly, so slow that one might mistake him for a statue. Then, he touched your cheek. It was a ginger touch, like some stray strands of hair had tickled your skin, and you reacted appropriately. You stirred in your sleep as a soft groan rumbled in your chest. You scrunched your nose, readjusting to squash your face into the pillow to keep your irritations at bay. Your hair splayed on the pillows, and Jimmy's eyes pierced through the dark, straight at your soft locks. Could he? He glanced around the room, seemingly waiting for a sound to suggest he leave, but there was none. His eyes shot back to you. Should he? Jimmy dipped his hand into his pants pocket, pulling out a shiny pair of scissors.
They were a last-minute resort. A solution, had he found Curly in your bed with you. He ran his fingers through your hair: soft, like a bird's feathers. He pinched a small clutch of strands between his pointer and thumb, the hair located right in the centre of your scalp. You wouldn't notice it was missing, nor would anyone else looking your way (only he should be the one looking at you, anyway. Shit, he should stab out the eyes of anyone else who dared to try take that away from him).
Snip.
He kept his fingers tight around the thin lines of hair, breathing heavily as the excitement pumped through him. Fuck, that was exhilarating. He stood back up, a satisfied smirk on his chapped lips as he sauntered to the door, looking over his shoulder at you when he noticed something peculiar. A small, black book on your desk, flipped open to a random page. He knew he should leave in case you woke up, but the curiosity was worth the risk. He pinched the book silently before disappearing into the night, leaving you completely unaware of what had just happened.
Jimmy, though, was anything other than silent in his room. He couldn't believe he'd lucked out on snatching your diary. His eyes skimmed through the words, blocking out all the irrelevant information. All that mattered was you and him; anything other than your personal thoughts or his deserved name on the page meant nothing to him. He sat on his simple, sturdy chair, fly unzipped and cock bobbing in the air. He'd been fapping for hours now, unable to tear his eyes from your diary. Jimmy had found the most wonderful thing in your thoughts, something that had sent the blood rushing to his groin. A crush. You admitted you had a crush. You didn't name who, but he didn't need a name - he knew the name. Jimmy fucking Zare. He slid his hand up to the tip of his cock, the head flushed red and swollen. Pre-cum sputtered from his hole, jagged breaths straining from his lungs and choking on his bobbing throat. He narrowed his eyes down at the paper.
"He's a wonderful guy. He's so tall, and his hair is so well-kept."
Jimmy grinned, squeezing his cock as he rubbed himself down to the base, his balls tight with anticipation.
"Every time he smiles at me, I feel so shy. I wonder if he thinks I'm pretty."
Jimmy's eyes rolled back as he increased his speed, legs stiff as his muscles clenched. Shit, yeah, that's what he wanted to hear. He jerked forward, the pleasure in his pit building.
"I think he likes me, too. Well, Anya thinks so. I don't know, though. I think I'm reading into things. I just want to confess to him and see if he loves me, too."
Jimmy groaned as his cock trembled in his grip, thick ropes of cum shooting onto the bedroom floor, pebbles of fluid trickling down the base of his shift and onto his thick fingers. He choked out a guttural moan, head thrown back as he sucked in as much air as he could into his lungs, which strained with rapid growth. His cock softened, but one glance at that diary and he was stiffening once again. His cum-covered hand slammed onto his bed, snatching a pair of your dirty underpants and scrunching them to his nose, breathing deeply. Smelled like heaven. Smelled like you. His member twitched as he thought about how you had worn this, had this piece of fabric rubbing against that perfect, little pussy he so desperately wanted to fuck. He was so horny right now, he might just go check up on you tonight after all. He wrapped your panties around his cock, pumping himself once more as he continued to read.
"I really like his stubble. He told me he wanted to shave it, and I nearly cried."
Jimmy breathed a chuckle, your playful sentence sending serotonin throughout his system. You cared about him so much that you were willing to shed tears over a little stubble? Good. Jimmy jerked himself faster, chasing another high.
Wait...when had he mentioned his stubble to you?
"I know he's a bit older, but he's never once made me feel stupid. He even offered to teach me more about the Tulpar after we landed."
His movements slowed, still trapped in his pleasure but now much less oblivious to your words.
"I think I'm in love. With the captain, nonetheless."
Jimmy froze, hands stilling on his genitals as he stared at the paper. You had meant that as a compliment, right? Because Jimmy was so capable. Because you knew Jimmy was a true leader. You hadn't meant to word it that way. You write at night, after all, maybe you'd just had a simple slip of the mind. Jimmy released his shaft, grabbing both sides of the hardcover now.
"Anya said-" Boo, who cared?
"Daisuke was so-" Unimportant.
"Swansea-" Old bag, old news.
"Grant and I-" Who gave a fuck about -
Curly.
Jimmy stared down at the paper, hands unsteady. And then he blinked, rereading through the diary much more clearly. Why was it that you were referring to Curly by his first name? He hadn't taken much notice of the name Grant, because no one called Curly that name. It was a name Curly had left for his personal life, a name that wasn't a secret but was simply unknown unless asked. And yet here you were, doodling in your diary, writing Curly's name on every single fucking page. Jimmy scanned the pages, his pupils thin like a snake's. Grant. Grant. Grant. Grant Curly. What the fuck? Jimmy's breath came in sharp, ragged breaths, like a violent ocean crashing against a cliffside. His previous euphoria was lost to the rage bubbling inside of his intestines, hot and lethal in its volume. When the fuck did you and Curly get so goddamn close?
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"I'm not paying $700 for two shitty properties!" You stated with a bright smile, giggling at Curly's playful eyeroll.
"They're not shitty properties. If they were, you wouldn't want them." Curly affirmed, inching his face closer to yours with a cheeky grin that sent your heart into a thousand roses. You two had been playing Monopoly for nearly an hour now - well, Daisuke, Anya and Swansea were there, too, but you and Curly had been in your own world the entire game, whispering stupid jokes, entertaining teasing banter, exchanging long glances...
Anya smiled fondly at you as you not-so-subtly flirted with the captain, perfectly content to laugh along with Daisuke's horrible methods and Swanseas grouchy humour. She batted her eyes at you, nodding her head to Curly in a silent acknowledgement of your closeness to the captain. You looked away shyly, though it was clear between the two of you exactly what she meant. You and Curly were so clearly crushing, and that realisation made butterflies swarm your insides.
The game ended with you bankrupt and Curly the sole winner. Turns out you should've just paid that $700, and Curly was quick to tease that. You both were packing away the game, playfully jabbing at each decision you'd both made throughout the game. Daisuke and Anya were chit-chatting on the couch, Daisuke eagerly showing off his Game Boy and demonstrating how to play a few of the games he'd packed aboard, and Swansea was off having one of his naps. Jimmy passed by briefly in a foul mood. It seemed his day off was going anything but swell, and he chose to keep his bitching and complaints to the silence of the cockpit.
You took Curly's hand, guiding him far away from everyone else and into the privacy of your sleeping quarters. Your hands were shaking, and your throat was tight, wrapped with hesitancy and a fear of consequences. What if you had misjudged things? What if you were in over your head and had just assumed his friendliness to be a romantic interest? What if he rejected you?
You didn't shut your door, too suffocated by the presence of Curly in your room and the thoughts scrambling your brain to mush. Curly followed you with overwhelming trust, guided by your movement to wherever it was you wanted to speak. His eyes warmed as he thought about how sweetly you had asked, a plea in your tone and a hint of excitement. He found his tongue caught when you invited him into your room, doing double takes to ensure no one saw him enter, especially not the certain someone privy to teasing the poor blonde into bashful shame (to be fair, Jimmy had always meant it degradingly, but Curly always seemed ready to bounce any insults off him).
Curly stood in front of you, his eyes so gentle that they could've been clouds on a soft sunset. His smile was faint - a patient expression meant to put your clear anxiety at ease. You relaxed your shoulders and breathed calmly, nervously taking one of Curly's hands in your own, to which he reciprocated your touch by circling his thumb on the back of your hand.
"Grant, I've been wondering..." You began, your chest vibrating slightly. You looked like a flower in an earthquake, overwhelmed by the uncertainty of what would happen should you have mistaken your real position in his life.
"I know we're still crewmates and I hope this doesn't interfere with anything, but...I've been really thinking about..." You swallowed. "About how...close...we are." Curly nodded his head closer, soaking in every single one of your words. His smile grew, his canine catching in the dim light in an uneven grin, and he released a chuckle of an exhale. You bit your lip, giddy that Curly reacted so sweetly, like an excited puppy.
"You're so sweet, Grant. And you enchant me like no one has before. I've never met a guy who makes me feel the way you do." You looked down, body trembling as you finally uttered what your mind had been blocking out for weeks now. "Grant, I...I think..." Your nose twitched, anxiously tapping his hand in yours.
"I love you."
Silence. Curly's hand stopped circling yours. His eyes widened, a dumbfounded expression planted on his chiselled features. You felt like a tectonic plate crashing in on yourself, colliding with the stupid thoughts and feelings you'd convinced yourself were true. You felt like such an idiot. You slowly pulled your hand away, assuming his silence as rejection when Curly tightened his grip. His other hand came to your jaw, tilting your face up to his own, which were shining with a newfound light. Then, he began to laugh, a bright laugh full of fervour as he cupped your cheek in his large hand.
Curly couldn't believe his ears. He was sure you'd never take any real interest in him. He was just the captain of the ship. Sure, in his youth, he might've been considered a lady-killer, but he never put any time into that concept to let it grow. He was a working man, one now doomed to be married to his job. But now that bleak reality melted away as he stared into your sparkling eyes, so full of nerves and yearning that he couldn't help but lean down to lessen the distance.
"You're so beautiful, Y/N." Curly complimented, gingerly pressing his lips to your cheek. It was a tad prudish, but he was concerned he'd overstepped had he connected his lips to your softer ones. After all, he couldn't fathom the idea of making you uncomfortable after you had just laid out your heart to him. He connected his eyes to yours, his face bloomed into a red blush and a gaze that could only be described as loving.
"I loved everything about you from the moment I met you." Curly asseverated, his heart bouncing around in his chest. You perked up, leaning into him and meeting his stare with your half-lidded one. As he pulled away, you wrapped your arms around his neck, keeping him close enough to press your lips to his. It was only a peck, but when you broke it, he reconnected, your lips locked in a few shy pecks that grew easier and longer as you found each other's balance.
Finally, you both parted, slow, deep breaths keeping you both from being light-headed from the intensity of your confession. Your eyes fell down shyly, and he grazed your cheek to keep himself tethered to you, even twirling your hair on his finger.
"...so, does this make us..." You weren't sure exactly how to say it, but the eager smile gracing your lips made it clear. Curly matched your expression.
"If that's your pace, that's mine, too." He reassured, showing great comfort in your relationship, whether it was ready for publicity or not.
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Jimmy paced around the cockpit, growling and grunting each time he thought about it. Your sunshine smile, Curly's cheerful grin, the way you two were so fucking close, so fucking intimate.
It should've been him.
He threw the paperweight across the room, the heavy iron banging against the wall and crashing against the ground. He was steaming with fury. What were you playing at? What were you trying to do? You must've known he had been visiting you - you had left that diary out on purpose, to encourage him to be more forward - to force his hand.
Jimmy collapsed into his co-pilot's seat, clutching his head in his hands. He needed a break. He needed something to take the edge off. He pulled himself from the chair, barging through the door and down the hall, directly towards your room. He muttered to himself, angry rumbles about how unfair it was. Curly got everything. The world bent to his fucking will - the one time he had been given something - given someone so clearly his, Curly just had to get in the fucking way. Jimmy's eyes locked onto your bedroom door, his adrenaline surging. He didn't know what he'd take: maybe another pair of panties, maybe another pen. Hell, maybe he'd actually go through with it and snatch a bra. If you wanted him to be forward, he'd be fucking forward.
Jimmy paused. Your bedroom door was cracked open ever so slightly, just enough for light to seep through and reflect off one of his eyes. Voices. Your voice, your unmistakable, angelic voice...and Curly's...
Jimmy listened intently, his eyes darting across the scene with each syllable. At first, he thought you were going to tell Curly to back away. You'd been thinking...of what? How you love Jimmy? How you can't live without him? How you were made for him? You hoped your rejection didn't interfere with the crew? But those fantasies fell flat when he heard it: the dreaded confession. The most hellish, vile words spat out from those cotton-soft lips.
You loved Curly?
Jimmy saw red, his eyes wide, his pupils narrow, his face twisted in a scowl so deep it revealed an animalistic, primal rage never before felt to him. The blood pumped through his veins like thunder bellowing over mountains, the adrenaline making him feel so sick he could throw up right there and then. How could you have fallen in love with fucking Curly? How could you have denied your love for Jimmy?
What did Curly have that Jimmy didn't?
He wanted to grab Curly's neck and squeeze until Curly's eyes went bloodshot and his throat swelled. He wanted to bash his head against the fucking wall until all that was left was a pathetic clump of wet sludge. He wanted to rip out Curly's throat and watch him gurgle on his own blood. His mind fogged, and he fell back a few steps, his body moving before his brain could catch up. He retreated back to the cockpit, dry heaving as his oesophagus strained. This wasn't real; you weren't fond of Curly whatsoever. He would've noticed if you were. No, you must've been testing him again. Again? Why? Why did you have to keep giving him these fucking tests? He collapsed back into his seat, rocking back and forth as he thought back to every single encounter you had with him: you smiled at him, you laughed when he was around, you looked at him with those beautiful, magnetic eyes. That wasn't for nothing - that wasn't just friendly, there was more to it. There had to be more to it.
There was more to it.
He needed to take things to the next step. He needed to eradicate the problem. He needed Curly dead.
Jimmy's eyes shot to the route map, hands shaking with a newfound determination. There was only one way to remove Curly and keep you safe. Only one way for him to secure an immediate position as Captain. Only one way to truly prove to you just how worthy he was of your devotion.
In a few days, they'd be in range of a communication centre. It was the best place to be if you wanted an immediate response to an incident. It'd guarantee a rescue should something happen to the ship, especially if it were to be adrift in space. The best thing about it? Asteroids were extremely common in this area, too.
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You and Curly had been going steady for two days now. You had told Anya the very night you'd confessed, the two of you celebrating with giggles and a long conversation about just how handsome and perfect Curly was. You were a proud girlfriend, kicking your feet at just the thought of your new, beautiful blonde boyfriend, and Anya was the most supportive best friend you could have. Aside from her, though, no one else was told. And no one needed to be. Your chemistry and attraction was so clear that Swansea and Daisuke didn't need to question whether you were dating or not because you and Curly never stopped talking about each other. It was the little things that really set it.
Curly would help lift something heavy onto one of the shelves, flashing his iconic, toothy grin before rushing off to help someone else, and you'd twirl a piece of hair on your finger, sighing, "Isn't he so thoughtful?"
Or you'd help Anya finish off some of her paperwork or clean up some things in the medbay, ensuring the place was tidy enough for her to work effortlessly, and Curly would walk in, place a hand on his hip and smile at you then look down at Anya. "Isn't she just the sweetest?" He'd rhetorically ask, already set on his answer as he returned to his task. Anya always gave you a look afterwards, and you'd both laugh together.
On the third night, you were in his room. You'd been cuddling since downtime, lying atop Curly, who had wrapped one muscular arm around your waist and the other on your back, giving him access to fiddle with your hair. You'd been talking about your day, yapping about the morning, and your conversations with Anya, and some of the silly jokes Daisuke had told you, typical things that always lit up your day. Curly had assigned himself as the listener in your relationship, patiently nodding to each and every detail you uttered. You nuzzled into him, your head against the crook of his neck. He was so warm, like a natural heat radiator, and you wondered how he hadn't suffered heat stroke yet in his uniform. You glanced at the clock, beginning to get restless. It was getting late. You knew you should go back to your room and let Curly rest up, but the thought of your bedroom made you queasy. You couldn't explain it, but something was wrong. Maybe it was haunted, maybe it was the quiet darkness getting to you, but you never felt alone in there. You always felt like there was something just around the corner, like you could feel hot breath on the back of your neck.
Curly furrowed his brows at your sudden silence, slowly rubbing your lower back. "Hey, what's on your mind?" He whispered, his deep voice grounding you from your paranoia. You gulped, shaking your head. "...it's nothing, it's just...I feel like I'm losing my mind." You confessed, pressing your face against his warm body as though it could absolve all your fears. "Sometimes I feel like I'm not alone in my room, like someone else is there. I know it sounds silly, but in the middle of the night, I swear I can hear somebody else breathing while I sleep." You looked at Curly for an answer, anything that could ease your anxiety. He didn't say anything at first, simply twirling your hair around his fingers before kissing your cheek.
"It's your first time on a ship, Y/N; it's natural to feel this way. I was the same." He reassured, wrapping his arms tighter around your smaller body. "Once you've done this a few times, you'll feel better. I promise." You nodded, your heart less unsteady as his words sank in. This was...normal. Okay. Sure. You trusted Curly, and if he claimed these fears would go away, then you'd believe him. Curly noticed your apprehension, still uneasy about the unknown noises in the night that had you dreading sleep, and the last thing he ever wanted was for you to feel like you couldn't come to him for something. So, he dipped his hand down to the back of your neck, moving your face to his.
"How about this: why don't you stay here tonight? It might ease your nerves a little bit." Curly offered, his breath fanning your cheeks. Your eyes widened: Really? Stay here? You blushed, smiling softly. "Really? Are you sure?" You asked, afraid to overstep, but Curly nodded. "Of course. I want you to feel safe. I can't let my girlfriend go to sleep afraid." Curly affirmed, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, one you reciprocated. You deepened the kiss, your hand behind his neck as you leaned in closer to him. You slid your other hand down his chest, feeling his toned body beneath his singlet. Then, you began to kiss down his jaw, leaving small, red marks across his flesh. Curly's hand came to your jaw, pulling you back up to kiss your lips.
"No, baby," He voiced, already aware of what you were trying to do, "not yet. I want your first time to be special." You paused, a bit disappointed, but ultimately, it was a respectful thing for him to do. He wanted to make your first time wonderful, and you smiled sweetly at him as you kissed his lips once more.
"Okay, we'll wait for a different day." You nodded, curling back into his warm body. Curly wrapped his arms around you tightly and pulled the blanket higher, ensuring you both were warm and comfortable.
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You woke up on top of Curly, a small dribble of drool tracking down your chin and onto his singlet. You had been exhausted that night, your eyes so heavy that they felt like bricks. That was the first time you had slept well in weeks, and it felt somewhat poetic that it was the same night you spent with Curly, tangled in each other's limbs, atop one another and in a deep slumber. Curly was still fast asleep, snoring softly with his hand still tightly wrapped around your waist. You bit your lip and kissed his jaw, resting against him once again as you waited for his alarm, the same one that would signal another working day.
The morning went by pretty standardly. You made Curly a cup of tea, the two of you watched the televised sunrise, and Jimmy came out not too long after (though he was clearly irritated, so you chose not to say more than a greeting) and then it was the start of work. The tasks were easy enough, simple procedures, cleaning, checklists and the like. You'd just finished your first break when you passed Curly, your blonde boyfriend briefly stopping to check up on you. You liked these quiet convos, the ones that you technically shouldn't be having but felt like a cute one-on-one briefing. You told him about the mess in the storage room and how the crates were stacked like a maze, and he told you about how chaotic piloting through here could be and how he was glad he had Jimmy to assist in the safety of the Tulpar. You two parted, a quick peck before you did that left you in giggles and him with his staple sweet smile.
That should've been how the rest of the day went: giggles, tasks and a tired finish. That day should've ended like every other day you'd ever had here. But it didn't. You remembered exactly where you were when the ship suddenly jolted, sending you tumbling into a few boxes in the storage room. You stood steady again, inhaling sharp breaths. Had that just happened? Another sharp jolt sent you flying back, and then the alarms started blaring. They were loud, furious alarms, ones that screamed in your ear until your ears were ringing. You slapped your hands against your head, running out into the hall to see what the hell was going on. Had someone tampered with the controls again? Was the Tulpar air ventilation obstructed? What could've happened that caused the ship to scream? You called out to Curly as loudly as you could, unable to hear the sound of your own voice over the blaring alarms.
And then it happened. The worst sound anyone on a spaceship wanted to hear. Something slammed into the front of the Tulpar, the sounds of metal screeching as it was forcibly bent in on itself by an unstoppable force, the sounds of pipes exploding, glass shattering and fire blazing. The force had sent you flying back against the wall, hitting your head on a power box and knocking you out. You awoke not long after, with the alarms quiet and the sounds of buzzing, escaping steam and strange crackling noises from around the ship reminding you of what had just happened.
Where was everyone?
You stumbled around the halls, croaking out the names of your crewmates despite the agony in your throat. You inched closer to the cockpit, tenderly touching the bruised top of your head that had slammed against the power box, the lack of blood relieving, but the pain concerning. Hopefully, you didn't get a fracture. You paused outside the cockpit. You hoped to God that Curly would be in there, fixing whatever happened, making things better like he usually did. The door hissed open, and you choked. It smelt horrible, like fuel, burnt flesh and blood. Anya was already inside with Swansea by her side, Daisuke standing off to the side. The poor boy looked sick - hell, they all did. Anya was staring down at something behind the pilot's chair, petrified, and Swansea was at a loss for words. The second their eyes landed on you, they all tensed, the welcome not so warm nor so welcoming.
"...what happened?" You muttered, stepping inside. Why was everything so tense? Why was everyone avoiding eye contact with you? Where were Curly and Jimmy? You took another step closer, and Anya held up her hands.
"Y/N, no, please, stay there." She politely warned, and your heart sank at the sight of blood on her hands. You shook your head despite your unwellness, refusing to be useless in a clear time of need.
"Are you bleeding? Anya, let me help." You were no less than a metre away from the chair when something crunched beneath your foot. It was a sticky crunch, like crumbs and watery starch mixed together in a strange combination of thick fluid and soft crackling. It stuck to the bottom of your shoe, and you hesitated as you glanced at the soul. It was black and maroon, the two mixed together in a strange velvet concoction. You don't know why you did it: maybe you were just dazed, or curious, or both, but you dipped your hand down to touch the odd scrap, peeling it off your shoe with strange ease. It felt odd, like brittle leather, yet the soft belly was squishier and redder, too. You glanced up at Anya, opening your mouth to inquire about the odd item when you noticed more flecks of it around the ground. Some were smaller, some were larger. Some even resembled things all too familiar to you. One piece had a thick centre with two longer digits connected to one end, and some small ones were in thin cylinder shapes that were only a few centimetres long. There was one particularly strange piece that was the size of your palm. It was flat, like a disc, but there were small, tiny curls at the end of it. You gently pinched the curls in your pointer and thumb, surprised by how easily it snapped off. It almost looked like burnt -
Hair.
You froze. Hair, it was burnt hair, shrivelled by the heat. Which meant...
You gagged, stumbling closer to Anya. The entire floor was covered in specks of burnt human flesh. You turned to Anya, intending to grab her, warn her, tell her, do anything that your frantic mind could think of. But Anya wasn't looking at you, nor the fried skin confetti'd around the room. She was looking down. And as you followed her gaze, your mind slowed to a halt, you saw it.
Red. A clump of red. Red that, in the worst way possible, somewhat resembled a human. And staring up at you from that bloody puddle of gunk, flesh, and muscle on the floor was an eye. A baby blue eye. You didn't need to think to instinctively know what - or who - was laid out in front of you like a fresh kill, except this one wasn't dead. No, you knew he wasn't dead because of the rattling. The sickly, strained, choked rattling that burst through his chest in puffs. The eye didn't falter; it just stared straight up at you, unblinking and aware. A thousand words trapped behind a slack jaw.
You knew you didn't pass out because you never saw black, but you didn't remember anything after that. Maybe it was the shock and inability to process such a traumatic sight, but you had no memories between seeing Curly's mangled body on the cockpit floor and seeing him now through the medbay window. Anya had wrapped his wounds as best as she could with what little they had. The return trip was supposed to be easier, supposed to be the guaranteed end to the long journey, and yet it was the most incomprehensible horror you'd ever witnessed. Anya was traumatised, that much was clear. She couldn't bear the sight of Curly, or the sounds he made as he gurgled on the pain killers. You'd taken up the role as Curly's caretaker, not just for Anya, though. Because...it was Curly. Your boyfriend. Your lover. Now reduced to burns, blood and muscle. But it was still Curly. You could see him, sometimes, pleading to you through his gaze for you to understand him, even if it felt like staring at a monster rather than your lover.
You hadn't spoken to anyone since it happened, not Daisuke, or Swansea, not even Anya. Jimmy was just as shocked as everyone else when he saw the state of Curly, gagging at the stench and even excusing himself to supposedly throw up. He took up the role as captain not too long after, being the one to carry Curly to the medbay and monitor his condition before Anya finished patching Curly as best as she could.
You opened the medbay door, gagging at the overwhelming scent of a salty, metallic combo sludging its way down your throat and violating your senses. Immediately, you covered your mouth, tears blurring your vision as you stepped inside. Curly looked so helpless. In a puddle of his own blood, his skin was torn away, leaving him vulnerable. Nothing uniquely his remained, nothing except for his one baby blue eye, the same one you'd stared into multiple times before: a part of him that you'd fallen in love with. You took the pain meds from the drawer, hands shaky as you stepped closer to Curly.
"Grant, are you still there?" You asked softly, waiting in silence for a few seconds. A long groan filled the air, followed by that same rattling. You swiftly held up the pills, tears brimming in your eyes. "I have some pain meds, okay? I'm gonna help you." You told him clearly, dropping the tablets in his mouth. Immediately, he began to gag, gurgling on the tables as his broken body strained to be of any use. You grit your teeth at the sound, praying it'd stop soon, but it always seemed to drag out just a little bit longer than the last. When the noises finally stopped, you eased your muscles, trying your best to be the supportive, loving girlfriend even though life had just turned in on itself.
You spent most of the day sitting on the metal chair beside Curly, refusing to leave him alone. You hated the stench of blood and the horrible moans he'd made from the pain, but you didn't hate Curly, far from it, you loved him. Loved him more than the stars in the sky. You refused to leave him for the first night and the second, insistent that you needed to stay in case the pain medication wore off in the middle of the night. After all, you couldn't leave him in so much pain for so long, and you could survive a few nights out here with him. And he needed you. Even if he knew that you couldn't stand the sight of him, or that you were disgusted and horrified by the coppery, mangled mess he'd become, he needed you, and you'd stay right by his side for every minute of it.
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He'd done it. He'd actually done it!
Jimmy couldn't believe his eyes when he walked into the cockpit on that fateful day. The sight of Curly's burnt body, a pile of muck on the floor, was exhilarating. He had to leave before anyone saw the Cheshire grin on his face or heard his cackling turn into cruel jeering, bursting into his room and then bursting into a fit of laughter. He played the part of a shell-shocked friend pretty well, refusing to speak to anyone or look them in the eyes, but it wasn't entirely an act; it was partly because if he did, he wouldn't be able to keep his excitement down very long. Curly was irreparable, a useless clump of cells soon to be squashed into the ground, and now Jimmy was the successor. The captain. The winner.
And so began his dictatorship on the Tulpar. He was quick to scorn Curly, reciting how selfish it was for him to crash the ship, that he should've known how to avoid asteroids before he became captain, that if Jimmy had been in the cockpit, then none of this would've happened. It's a good thing Jimmy sent out an SOS to the communication centre before the asteroid hit; otherwise, you'd all be doomed. Wasn't he just the best?
And yet, you hadn't even turned your head his way.
He didn't understand. He was the captain now, the hero of your journey. He'd called for help, he kept things running, he had proven himself to you, hadn't he?
So why did you keep going back to Curly?
He paced outside of the medbay, glancing in occasionally to see if anything had changed, but it hadn't. You were still there, arms and head resting against the metal table, exhausted from the sleepless nights you spent beside Curly as if you could truly help him. It was sickening just how devoted you were to that clump of shit. Jimmy had burnt him to a crisp - Curly was literally just blood and muscle now - and you still stood by the bastard?
You really were testing him, huh?
The door hissed open, and he stepped in, watching as you strained your neck to look at him. You were tired. Deep purple eye bags dragged down your cheeks. Your lips were bitten to the point of bleeding from the stress and trauma. Trails of dry tears carved your skin. Your eyes were red and burning as you could muster no more water to leak down. It ached Jimmy's heart to see you so deflated, over a sack of dead weight, too. His face was stony as he stepped closer, stopping by your side. You both didn't say anything, choosing to instead focus on Curly, who released slow whines and raspy wheezes, incapable of filling his burned lungs.
"...How are you holding up?" Jimmy asked you, his eyes still dead straight on Curly. He feared that if he looked down at you, he'd smile. You shuffled, shrugging your weak shoulders as you softly sighed, the sound like a harp from heaven.
"I'm not," You answered truthfully, the nasally sound of your voice giving away just how many tears you'd shed since the incident. "I just don't understand how this could happen. He'd told me we were on course; there shouldn't have been any problems." You recalled, voice shaking as you remembered the sound of Curly's voice and how he had laughed off your concerns only a few days ago. God, you missed his voice.
Jimmy nodded to your words, placing his hand on your shoulder and waiting a moment to gauge your reaction. When you eased, he gently massaged his thumb across the dip of your bone. "Shit happens. Curly was too naive to see that." His eyes traced your face, each hard feature of his softening at your beauty. Even in despair, you were the most elegant creature he'd ever seen.
"You look tired, doll. Why don't you go to sleep?"
You shook your head. You couldn't leave, not now, not when Curly was awake and aching. Your hand trembled around the pill bottle. "I can't yet. It's nearly time for his meds." You stated simply, your words strangled as they ended unusually fast on your tongue. Jimmy gritted his teeth. You just wouldn't leave his side, would you? The darling, doting girlfriend - that should've been his. Not Curly's. His. Jimmy inhaled a sharp breath, biting his tongue, and he clenched his fist until the knuckles whitened. This was just a game - a game to test him. And he'd not just play it: he'd win it.
Jimmy sighed exasperatedly, folding his arms as he feigned a memory meant to invoke your empathy. "You know, I don't know if Curly ever told you, but we grew up together." Jimmy started, watching as your eyes lifted to him: as they should. "We've been close since childhood. Hell, he's like a brother to me." Jimmy turned to look down at Curly, from his scalped crown to his limbless nubs. He could feel his lips curl, and he forced them downwards. "I think you're the only person here who understands me." His tone shifted slightly, a different meaning altogether behind that statement that he hoped you wouldn't notice. His eyes shifted down to you. You were quiet and contemplative, considering what he'd said. Then, you held his hand in your own, squeezing it reassuringly. His heart skipped a beat: a lump in his throat he wanted to swallow down with a smile.
"I'm sorry," You voiced, struggling to your feet. You were off-balance and light on your feet, so tired you could collapse with a breeze. "This must be so hard for you." Jimmy smiled at your kindness. You really were an angel. He adjusted his position to be directly in front of you, bodies only a foot apart. Your head was down, but your eyes peered up to his, searching for a vulnerability: an understanding. You were coming around. Hell yeah, you were looking to him for support. Jimmy covered your hands with his large, calloused ones, feigning sensitivity to disguise his elation.
"It's hard for both of us." He corrected, circling his thumb on the back of your hand to ease you into a false sense of security. "I'm the only one who knows what you're going through, Y/N." He boldly moved one of his hands up to your face, pinching your chin and guiding your face to meet his. "I'm here for you." He grazed his thumb along your cheek, wiping away some of the moist trails that trickled down from your waterline. You sniffled, breathing softly at the tenderness of his tone.
"Thanks, Jim- er...captain." You corrected quickly, shifting your eyes down. Jimmy chuckled, a cocky grin spreading across his lips for just a moment before he schooled it. "Don't worry, doll. Jimmy's just fine." He couldn't deny that the sound of 'Captain' rolling off your tongue was arousing, the title secured to his name. It suited perfectly: it was supposed to be. But he much preferred the sweet shift your voice made when you pitched out each syllable of his name. It sounded better, sounded right. It didn't matter that he had berated and snapped at Daisuke and Anya for the slip of their tongue, or that he had been furiously reaffirming his position as captain to them, because it was...you. You already knew. And you had earned your right to call him by his first name by being perfectly tailored to him.
Jimmy brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his voice grumbling like distant thunder. "Why don't you go to bed, dollface?" He asked once again. Your mouth opened, ready to remind him about the medicine, but Jimmy simply slipped the bottle into his hand. "I'll take watch over Curly. You go rest those pretty eyes." You bit your lip, partly tethered to the medbay out of obligation and yet so unsteady that you might collapse at any minute. Your lips twisted into an unsure curl, thoughtfully considering the offer, but when you strained your jaw on a yawn, you knew the answer. And Jimmy did, too.
You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around Jimmy, too lost in your sleep-deprived mind to realise the unusualness of the act. But Jimmy didn't complain; he instead wrapped his arms around you instantly, pulling your body tightly against his. He wasn't as warm as Curly, you noticed, more neutral, like lukewarm water. But that didn't matter, because you weren't seeking Curly in Jimmy, you were seeking assurance and understanding, and Jimmy was right there for all of it.
Jimmy was in disbelief. He hadn't expected a hug, not yet, but he wasn't complaining. Hell, this was a good sign, a great sign! You were initiating affection, proving just how devoted to him you really were. He knew you had just been testing him, and now he'd earned that affection he'd been chasing for so goddamn long. He pulled your head against his chest, his arm across your shoulders and his hand on your lower back. You felt perfect against him, like two puzzle pieces locked together. He took the opportunity to quickly sniff your hair, catching a whiff of that gentle, sweet scent he'd long learned to associate with you. How perfect.
Jimmy's head lowered, and he stared down, directly at Curly. The hunk of flesh just lay there, uselessly, seeping into the bandages, pathetically wrapping his body. He looked so broken. And Jimmy loved it. He smirked at Curly, his brown eyes locked onto Curly's ocean blue one, and then Jimmy's smirked cracked open into a large, maniacal grin, his eyes wide in a state of hysteria. He looked insane, completely lost in silent derangement as he looked down at the remains of his supposed 'brotherly best friend'. Curly could only stare back, his eyes panicked and iris shaking. His eyeball caught a watery shine, but now with burnt tear ducts, nothing could sustain: He was just there. A witness to an end.
You left Jimmy and Curly alone, rubbing your irritated eyes as sleep began to catch up to you. The second the medbay door hissed shut, Jimmy engaged the lock. He waited for a second, ensuring nobody would pass by before dropping his head, strands of his brown hair curtaining his shadowed eyes. And then, he began to laugh. A rumbling laugh that bellowed into frenzied cackles. He spun to Curly sharply, a mad buzz in his pupils as he strode to the living corpse. "I hope you're fuckin' happy, because I know I am." Jimmy mocked, pocketing the medicine bottle as he stared down at Curly. Curly could do nothing but lie there, listening. His eyes were glassy, moistened by a realisation he should've come to a long time ago.
"If you'd just stayed in your fuckin' place, maybe you wouldn't be all burnt up to shit." Curly groaned, laboured breaths passing through his strained lungs. Jimmy glanced at the clock. Two hours past midday. He was overdo for a pill. He cocked his head. "Feeling a lil' hurt, Grant? Medication worn off?" Jimmy raised his hand, the sight of his nearing digits sending Curly into frantic wheezes and gasps. "Why don't we have a look?" Jimmy dug his fingers into Curly's squishy, bloody arm, wriggling into each curve of his muscles and veins. Curly's breaths spiked, panicked and sharp, but he couldn't utter a scream. He couldn't express any of this burning and excruciating agony Jimmy forced onto him; he could only take it and hope it'd end soon.
"You should've known she was mine. It was so fuckin' clear. Always on me, flirting with me, she wanted me from the start, but you just had to swoop in. Be the fuckin' hero of the story. Well, guess what!" Jimmy slammed his palm against a thick layer of muscle, shooting pain up Curly's arm. "This is my fuckin' story. And now you're just a pile of shit. No hands to touch her, no dick to fuck her, no fuckin' voice to even talk to her." Jimmy leaned forward, digging his nails into Curly's limb and down it until small clusters of blood and gunk piled under his nails.
"Just dead weight."
Jimmy harshly snatched his hand back, his palm soaked in Curly's blood as the man lay there, still staring. Jimmy wiped his hand on Curly's bandages, grunting from the scent of stale copper. Revolting. Pathetic. This was the great Captain Curly? Jimmy stared down at him, his eyes swimming with disgust but his grin brimming with amusement. Reduced to nothing. As he always should've been.
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Usually, you can tell what a person will be like within a few minutes of conversation with them. Sure, there's the depth that comes with a closer bond, but an initial briefing can provide a lot of information about their character. When Jimmy met you, he knew exactly what fate had designed. You were so sweet, like sugar water, and just as tasty to the senses. Your voice was like a harmony, your features like a painting, your skin as soft as cotton. You were everything Jimmy had needed in life: an equal. Someone who could understand him and test him. He'd never felt so passionately for anything in his life, not until he met you. That black void in his pit had been sealed - his tormenting brain now silenced. Your eyes had never reflected degradation when you looked his way. They never seemed mean-spirited or rejected. You were always so...bright. Like heaven incarnate.
Like an angel.
His angel.
From the beginning, he knew you were everything he'd ever needed. A lover. A devoted partner. Someone who would love him unconditionally. You'd see to him every night and look to him when you needed help. You'd be unbelievably loyal, so that he'd never have to question your position. Because you were perfect. And Jimmy had earned that perfection. That's why God had gifted him an angel in the first place. The most gentle, sweetest, beautiful angel.
And right now, his angel was devoted. Just not to him.
To fucking Curly.
After your nap, you came back, blissfully unaware of the torture Curly had been through from Jimmy's hand and the painkiller deprivation. Jimmy had hoped you'd praise him for his part in the play, for discarding Curly's position of power and claiming it for himself. But you didn't. You simply thanked him, took the meds back and went right back to your place by Curly's side, like a loyal little puppy. It was revolting, watching you degrade yourself to a position next to the croaking mould of a monster, and it made no sense to him. The test should be over by now. He'd eliminated Curly - cast the man into flames and watched him burn black and red. What more did you want? What did it take to end this gnawing sense of desperation? He'd crashed the Tulpar - he'd earned the title of 'Captain', he was doing everything at your whim just to earn a moment of validation.
So what was he missing?
He watched you closely from sunrise to sunset (as he did most days). You'd lend him a clue, right? A hint for what he'd forgotten. He watched you in the medbay during the mornings, barking orders to Anya, Daisuke and Swansea and sending them as far away from you and him as possible. It didn't matter if his commands made sense or not; they were crew, they should've known their tasks already. Even with tasks necessary to the captain's role, it seemed Jimmy couldn't handle them. At least not with the same grace as Curly. Swansea needed the captain's gun to access supplies? Jimmy would shove the old man off, demanding he wait until Jimmy was finished 'working'. Yeah, working. Totally not leering at you from afar. Daisuke had a question? He'd direct Daisuke to Swansea. The old man was his mentor, after all. He should then act like it. Anya needed to do a mandatory check-up? Anya was easy to scare. A simple glare at her and she'd excuse herself. Well, not for long. He knew he needed to do it eventually, but he'd rather do the mandatory shit when you were sleeping, slipping away to do real "work" for an hour at a time until you were awake again.
Jimmy took over for you daily now. Once night hit, he'd enter the medbay, taking the pills from your hand just to toss them aside once you retired to bed. That's when his sadistic fantasies came to life in the form of gruelling, sweat-inducing hours of torture all at Curly's expense. He'd experimented with a few things now: rubbing alcohol, salt, small incisions on small sections of his body, enough to hurt like hell but be unnoticeable in the chaotic folds of his tendons and flesh. His favourite part, though, was digging into his flesh with his bare hands. He'd ensure not to wash them of whatever alcohol, salt and dirt was already clinging to him, purposely gripping the fragile bone of Curly's jaw and staring directly into his eye as he dug into the maze of his muscles, sinking his fingers into the ends of his burnt nubs and thighs. It felt right. Like an earned treat for all the rage and jealousy that bubbled inside of him - the envy that made him want to rip out his insides and tear apart the dreaded feeling that greened him.
The torture always ended the hour before morning when he'd clean himself of any evidence. No one would question why one of the towels was now soaked in blood - Curly's constant bleeding excused that. No one questioned why Curly's breathing would hitch every time Jimmy entered the room, after all, the ex-captain was now just flesh and blood. He could be straining his breath for a variety of reasons, considering his condition. If only someone could just see what Curly saw. If only someone saw the monster behind the facade. The very poor facade. The same one Curly had defended for years.
Jimmy watched you intently throughout the next few days. Waiting for a hint at what he'd missed. He heard a lot of the same shit. "Good morning, I love you, I hope it doesn't hurt," blah, blah, blah. Meaningless shit. He had to force himself to stare straight and not roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of your faithfulness to a blob of tendons.
"I was so worried I'd lose you last night." Jimmy rolled his eyes to the ceiling, feigning a yawn.
"Come on, just stay a little longer." That was a plea not even a saint could preach faith into.
"Don't scare me so much, okay?" Jimmy internally scoffed more at the underlying meaning than the pathetic humour accompanying it.
"Please, don't leave me." That one frustrated Jimmy the most. Don't leave you? You were mocking a corpse on the verge of death. If you wanted a man who wouldn't leave you, then Jimmy was right there! No, instead, you focused on the weak one. The pathetic, crisped, coward that was now nothing but a sick joke - an excuse for what was true power.
Why were you so obsessed with a dead man? What was it about Curly that kept you tied to him, no matter how mangled and fucking ugly he was? Why did you still insist on being so goddamn stubborn?
...
Jimmy watched you slip two pills into Curly's mouth, cradling Curly with your company. You talked to him every day about this and that: how your day went, how you felt, all the lovers' shit that made him sick to the stomach. You always loved to talk, talk, talk. Talk about shit that you could talk to him about. At least he could actively listen to you. At least he could actually utter a sentence! Instead of croaky groans and puffed wheezes.
He thought over your interactions with Curly. There had to be something to clue him in, something underlying that would secure your heart in his hand.
Worried about him all night.
Stay a little longer.
Don't scare you.
Don't leave.
Jimmy paused, his lips parting as he mouthed the words. Oh, God, it was so obvious! He burst into laughter in the medbay, controlling himself swiftly to ensure no one heard him, and once he was sure he was safe, he leaned forward. Die. Curly had to die. That was the only way to keep you to himself. That was the only way to end this constant torment that made him want to rip out each strand of his greasy hair. The only way to release the envious monster leaking into his very soul.
He had to kill Curly.
He chuckled. Wow, weren't you just a little sadist? Pushing a man to his very limits.
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You'd been tossing and turning for ages. Ever since Jimmy had taken over as captain, the sleeping hours had been extended by three. You were grateful, definitely. Your sleep debt had been racking up, and it helped to have a longer time to drift in and out of consciousness, considering the night terrors awoke you often. But tonight was different. It felt draining, like a battery with a busted charger: an attempt that would never work. You'd slept in every position your body could allow, and yet each one filled you with more adrenaline than the last. It didn't make sense: you'd slept fine - as fine as you could - the nights previous. So why is it that you couldn't catch a wink of sleep tonight?
You sat up on your bed, your loose shirt hanging off one shoulder while your pants rode up, a cold breeze chilling your thigh. You couldn't shake the uncanny tickle up your spine. The intuition that something was wrong: something...had shifted. As much as you hated the dark twists of your mind in the depths of your rest, you'd rather deal with flashbacks than this cruel, unsettling flicker hatching in your belly.
You just needed a walk. Some fresh air. Maybe talk with Jimmy and see if he had these same issues, too. He'd been so helpful lately. He'd watch over Curly while you slept or helped around the ship, sit with you when you had a concern. He wasn't your first choice, but he was definitely the second, and it was a comfort to know there was someone else who could understand the depths of your trauma to a similar degree.
You dragged your feet down the cold, quiet hallway, careful to not disturb your sleeping crew. The darkness seemed wary, as though any imaginary monster was cowering back, stripping you to vulnerability to the ship itself. Your bare feet tensed on the freezing metal floor, your heart pounding against your ribs. You were just anxious, for many good reasons. The crash, Curly, the nightmares, you had a reason to be on edge. You hoped Jimmy wasn't too tired of listening to your blabber. You always did avoiding telling him much, certain it was information that'd be stored somewhere less favourable. Maybe not rumours and gossip, but...something else that you weren't too familiar with. You turned the corner to the medbay section, freezing at a strange sound.
Gurgling.
Your ears perked as you focused, trying to determine the sound. Was it one of the broken pipes? Was there another issue to repair? No, it sounded wet. Was something leaking? You shuffled forward with tentative steps, light on your toes to try find the source of the sound. It was getting closer to the medbay. No, it was coming from the medbay. Your brows furrowed, doubling your pace. What the hell was going on in there? Your stomach twisted when you felt a fresh wave of air hit the hallway, the only location it could come from being the room. But that couldn't be possible - the door was always shut. At least, every time Jimmy was in there, it was. It was a contamination risk considering Curly was more susceptible to diseases without his skin, plus, no one could stand the scent of Curly's failing flesh, and the pungent aroma had been limited to just the medical centre. So why now, in the dead of night, was the door open?
You crept closer to the open doorway, straining your eyes in the dark. The lights were off inside. That wasn't right. That wasn't protocol. The gurgling grew worse, more strained and strangled before sudden bursts of rasped puffs softened in the air. And then there was silence. You stood frozen in the doorway, hunched over as you tried to make out the shapes in the darkness. You blinked a few times, beginning to see silhouettes of the tables and chairs. And directly in front of you, at Curly...and a figureright beside him. You flipped the light switch on, flooding a dirty white hue throughout the room, and what you saw right in front of you sickened you to the core.
Jimmy was hunched over Curly, his hands clawing into Curly's weak throat. His arms were soaked in blood, from his hands to his sleeves, and as he looked over his shoulder, you could see the red staining the front of his uniform, too. Curly lay there on the table, bare, his bandages unwrapped and strung down the side or clumped at the floor. His eye was glassy and his mouth agape, his tense jaw now slack and loose. You were at a loss, frozen in incomprehensible terror and horror. What the hell had just happened?
You didn't linger on the thought for too long, your body moving long before your mind could catch up and slamming yourself against the table edge, grabbing at Curly desperately.
"Oh, my God, Curly? Curly, baby, don't do this to me. Please don't do this." You pleaded, tears burning your waterline as you tried to find a place to feel for a pulse or to see a breath, but there was none. Even his beautiful eye had clouded over. This wasn't true; it couldn't be. You refused to believe it. He couldn't have been gone. You had seen him only a few hours earlier when you had swapped shifts with Jimmy. You'd blown him a kiss, reassuring him you'd be back. That you'd be there. And now he wasn't.
Tears slipped down in rapid lines, your chest heaving as you pathetically pleaded to a man no longer there, lost in a deck of fates created in your mind, filled with 'what-ifs' and heroic scenarios. Curly couldn't have been gone. You dropped your head against the table, snot trickling down your nose and drool soaking on your tongue as you sobbed out. Then, you turned. Jimmy stood beside you, breathing heavily. So heavily that you thought he might be in hysterics, lost in a world of grief like you were. But you were poorly mistaken.
Jimmy stared down at the corpse of his childhood friend, his eyes widened to the point they looked like saucers. His pupil was shaky, and his lip quivered. He looked confused, almost dazed. But then he flickered his eyes to you, and his cheeks tightened, his lips cracking as they stretched into a wide, maniacal leer. His eyebrows lifted as though he were pleased, unfazed by the fact that his brother was now gradually cooling on a metal surface. Then, he snickered, dropping his head down but not breaking a moment of eye contact.
"He's dead," Jimmy stated simply, his tone so casual with ease. You dropped your shoulders, your eyebrows dropping as you watched Jimmy with a struggling and slow shake of your head. He was laughing. Laughing at the sight of his dead friend. Laughing at the literal blood on his hands.
"You did this?" You realised, hand falling down to what remained of Curly's arm. Jimmy's smile slackened, an uneven curve to his lips. He rolled his eyes, seemingly exhausted by your question as though it was the most obvious and childish inquiry. "Of course I did, stupid. What else was I supposed to do? Chase your tail until he croaked?" Jimmy chuckled, so relaxed as though he were telling a joke and not reciting the murder of his brother. You shook your head, static in disbelief. "You didn't make it easy to figure out, dollface. But I got there. I always do." Jimmy stepped closer to you, and you flinched back, choking on a blocked exhale. A single tear rolled down, one frozen from the grim reality you'd now trapped yourself in.
"You killed him." You choked, breathing, hiccuping as your sobs fell from your tongue, held back by the adrenaline surging through your veins. Now was not a time for weakness; it was for survival. Jimmy held up his bloody hand, silencing your voice as it hit the air. "For us! I killed him for us, Y/N, don't act so fuckin' innocent!" Jimmy snapped at you, your body stiffening. He'd never snapped like that at you before, and after seeing what you just had, you wondered if you'd be next. Another body on the chopping block.
"If you weren't so stubborn, I wouldn't have had to work so hard," Jimmy accused, taking a step closer to you. You jumped up to your feet, no longer crouched to Curly's level, as you kept all of your focus on him. Jimmy noticed your staggering, but he didn't care. This was the moment: the confession. The unity he'd been waiting for since the day his eyes fell on yours.
"There's nothing in our way now, baby. No more tests. No more bullshit. I'm fucking done with the bullshit." Jimmy's voice strained as he spoke, each word more guttural and primal than the last. He was coming undone: falling apart at the seams. And accusing you of his downfall. You shook your head frantically, eyes darting between his blood-soaked uniform and his unhinged expression stretched wide on his face. This wasn't your fault! You didn't even know what he was talking about. You took another step back, suffocating on the tension and gagging as Jimmy closed the distance with a step forward. You opened your mouth, struggling to form a sentence before blubbering out a flurry of stutters.
"I-I don't know - I'm n-not -" Fat tears bubbled down your face as your head spun, bile rising up your throat. "You're sick, you're fucking sick." You snapped at him, shutting your mouth as Jimmy's smile faltered, half his joy replaced with an uncontained rage. He waited a moment, a muscle twitching in his cheek, before flashing you those white canines, any happiness in his smile dispersed and replaced with fury. "Don't. Lie," he warned, his body towering over you. You swallowed, knees weak as you froze, caught like a bunny. "Not to me." Jimmy breathed slowly, leaning forward ever so slightly to you until you flinched, still uneasy. He frowned. You were scared. Of him, nonetheless. Jimmy softened his face, attempting to relax your quelling anxieties.
"Shh, I know, I know. It's a lot more intense when you see it, but I did it, baby, I set you free. And now that Cur-he's gone...we can be one, like we were meant to be." Jimmy's face shadowed, staring down at you with a burning intensity, one riddled with an anguish he'd been fighting for weeks.
"I'm not playing any more games, Y/N. I'm sick of the games."
Jimmy went quiet, and the air stilled, thick with the tension of his warning. Everything else he'd been saying, though laced with misunderstood delusion, had at least been lighter on the mind compared to his final warning. Games? What games? You inhaled sharply, your heart beating rapidly. Jimmy hummed at your silence, watching you for a long, long moment, and once he saw the anxiety roll over your shoulders and the anticipation shape your figure did he smile. A soft smile. A genuine one.
Jimmy tilted his head, looking down at you like a flower yearns for the sun. "Don't be scared, Angel." He whispered slowly and sultrily, raising his rough hand to your jaw. He licked his lips eagerly, ready to finally taste you. And then you locked your eyes onto his hand, and before Jimmy could react - before you yourself even realised - you turned and sprinted. Fast. Your bare feet slammed against the metal floor, your brain numbed from thoughts, as escape became your only solution. Run. Run fast. Before it was too late. You imagined his breath on your neck as you ran, imagined the cruelty it took to end your lover's life, and any sleep you'd once had was now re-energised into pure adrenaline. You didn't even know where you were going, just far from Jimmy, far from the medbay, far from...everything.
You slammed your hand against the button to the storage room, tears wetting your cheeks. You hadn't even realised you were crying; you hadn't made a single sound in your distress. You couldn't, you physically couldn't utter a phrase. It was like you were completely locked into survival. The second the door opened, you threw yourself inside, running through the maze of boxes in an attempt to find anywhere to hide - anywhere to cower from Jimmy Zare.
Jimmy watched you run with a sigh. Of course. Fucking games. He turned to his right, pocketing a syringe he'd already set. He had planned to visit you after Curly was dealt with, but it appeared he'd have to do things the hard way. He stalked after you slowly, listening intently to any taps or clutters. He walked through each part of the ship, analysing each room with a sharp eye. He had a feeling he knew where you were: the only part of the ship someone could realistically hide, but as much as he despised them, he kind of liked this game. This one was fun. This one made him feel powerful.
He skulked to the storage room, his lips curved as the doors hissed open with ease. He took a single step inside, perking up to the ambience present. Yeah, you were in here. He could feel it. Feel the pull that had him hooked since the first day you'd met. He walked slowly but purposefully, ensuring to hit crates and rattle plastic. Anything to let you know that he was here, and he knew exactly how to find you.
You had cornered yourself behind a half-stack of crates, the boxes so lazily strewn about that it would be nearly impossible to get near you without making a sound. The room was pitch black, the only light coming from the doorway, which promptly shut after a few long seconds. Then, it was an abyss. You trembled beside the crates, knees pulled to your chest as your breath laboured, struggling to calm yourself as you shook. Each little noise Jimmy made echoed through the room, each rattle bouncing off the walls until you couldn't identify its origin. You huddled into yourself, squeezing your eyes shut as if it'd go. As if he'd go away.
Tap. Rattle. Tap. Rattle. Silence.
You held your breath, waiting. No sounds. Your lungs burned, desperate for a fresh breath, but you refused, turning your head to stare in the direction of the door. Silence. Your throat bobbed, and finally, you exhaled.
And hot breath hit your cheek.
Time slowed as you widened your eyes, turning your face to see two vivid, brown eyes staring straight back at you. Everything stopped as you both just stared at one another, lost in two very conflicting emotions: your fear and his exhilaration.
After a very long moment, and before his second breath could fan you, you moved, brushing your shoulder against his before his hand tangled in your hair, brutally ripping you back towards him. You were winded against his chest, gasping for air as Jimmy slapped his hand over your mouth, your feeble hands clawing at his. He cursed as he struggled to keep his grip, your sobbing voice ringing out into the room.
"Please, don't kill me! Please, Jimmy, don't - don't do this!" You pleaded, sobbing until drool dribbled down your chin and your eyes brimmed with overflowing tears. Jimmy sighed dreamily, harshly clutching your jaw in his hand until the bone creaked. "Oh, all this time and you still haven't caught on, huh?" He snickered, forcibly tilting your head to look up at him. "Cute as a bunny, and as dumb as one, too." He dipped his head to your hair, inhaling deeply before releasing an exasperated breath. Then, he licked your flesh, savouring the warmth on his tongue and leaving a trail of saliva in his wake. He pressed a sloppy kiss to your cheek, pressing his face to yours. "I'm over the excuses, Doll." He licked the salty flavour of your tears off his lips. "You can't just carve me open and leave me to bleed." He craned your neck painfully, a soft whimper falling from your lips. "So quit being a fucking victim."
You squeaked as his warm muscle trailed your cheek, completely dumbfounded as your eyebrows creased in confusion. What the hell was he talking about? When the hell did he get so psychotic? You gulped, straining to control your breaths which clawed at your ribs. "...what?" You whispered. Your hands gripped around Jimmy's, weakly trying to pry him off, though every strain led to a tightening grip. Jimmy chuckled darkly, pulling your hair back to extinguish any thoughts of rebellion. "What?" He mocked, shaking his head. He was almost amused by your baffled face - half-amused and half-tired. He nuzzled against you, kissing every bit of exposed skin that met his eye. He was like a leech, sucking at every spare section he saw, stuck onto you like a parasite. You wriggled beneath him as he loosened your jaw, the bone aching and bruised. Begrudgingly, he pulled away, his free hand slipping from your view.
"God, I love you." He confessed, pulling back a few inches to stare directly into your glimmering eyes. He was so fond of them - fond of you. His lips curled into an even smile, a gentle one so opposite the chaos you'd just endured. "And now we can finally be together. Like we were meant to be." Something sharp poked against your neck, and you jumped, making Jimmy yank you back into place. The small, sharp sensation returned, teetering on the fragile layer of your skin, prodding as it prepared to insert deeper.
"Don't be scared, sweetheart." He angled the syringe, staring into your eyes. "And don't be stupid, either." The needle pierced your skin, sinking deep into your flesh as a cold liquid oozed into your body. You yelped, fresh tears falling down your lashes as you peered up at Jimmy, black dots obscuring your vision. Jimmy returned your gaze, his eyes never once leaving yours as your eyelids grew heavy and your breathing shallowed. And then it was all black.
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Your bones felt creaky, like a rusted door hinge. Your muscles were locked, too, as though they were hardened cement. What the hell happened?
Jimmy. Jimmy's what happened. Your mind flooded with memories of Curly, your poor, loving boyfriend, now lifeless due to one psycho's breakdown.
Your eyelids were heavy, and you blinked a couple of times before a small sliver of light peered through the darkness. Your body was slack and heavy, and your mind was a maze, but you could at least register some things: That Jimmy was a murderer. And this wasn't your room.
The doorknob clicked, and you flickered your gaze in that direction, squinting as you made out the outline of a dark figure. His uniform was still bloodied and dishevelled, his hair flat and his posture easy. You didn't have to stare long to know who it was who stood there, and your eyes narrowed at the man who'd ultimately destroyed one of the best things in your life.
Jimmy was humming a tune to himself, a casual smile on his lips as he unzipped his uniform, the coppery scent of Curly's blood a refreshing reminder of how far he'd come. How easy it all would now be. He spun on his heel to look down at you against his bed, hair splayed across his pillows and eyes staring straight at him - it sent a thrill up his spine, heat building from his groin to his heart. You were finally awake.
He strode over to you, uniform discarded, and now wearing only the stained, white top and loose, black pants. His body was marred, his hands covered in scars and scratches from a life of rugged violence. His arms held marks, too, of a story too old to be retold. Jimmy cradled your face as he stared down at you; all the rage and violence from yesterday dissipated into what was now a lovesick, neurotic simper.
"Good morning, beautiful." He cooned, leaning down to press a kiss to your frozen lips. You tensed up as he smothered yours with his, his tongue sliding across your bottom lip and gliding along your teeth. He gently pried open your jaw, forcing his tongue into your mouth and licking aimlessly in your moist cavern, his actions thoughtless and on an impulse. You wanted to throw up and run, struggling to gather your strength, but you were only able to shift ever so subtly. Jimmy pulled away as he felt your strain; a line of saliva connecting you as he flashed a bashful grin.
"Heh, sorry. Used a bit too much last night." He teased, referencing his miscalculation of the strength of the drugs he'd pumped into your bloodstream. He crawled on top and straddled you, both of his hands grazing up and down your sides, mapping up your curves, dips and features. He dipped his head back to your neck, inhaling your scent as one hand slid up to your chest, gently groping you through your pyjama top. Your breath hitched instantly, eyes darting around the room in a quick panic before he kissed your temple to calm you.
"It's okay, baby, it's all sorted now." Jimmy crooned, squeezing your breasts once again before kissing down your neck, placing sloppy, hot kisses until he reached your collar. His thumbs rubbed over your nipples, pebbling them to his satisfaction. "There's nothing in the way anymore. We can finally be together." He lay beside your unmoving body, one arm pulling you close to his until he was practically spooning you, the other hand on the back of your neck to guide your face to his. He just stared at you, as if taking in every single line of your face, like you were a scripture from the Gods and he was a devoted prophet. He slipped his leg between yours, tangling you together like a vine strangles a tree and rested his face in the crook of your neck, now at peace and without a worry. He listened to the pulse of your veins and the anxious breaths that lulled him into a state of relaxation. Exhausted, his eyes fluttered shut, and you listened to his breathing fade into slow breaths and an eventual deep snore.
The day was uneventful, aside from the shuffling outside of Jimmy's door that no doubt belonged to Anya, Daisuke and Swansea as they processed the grief of Curly's death. Jimmy faded in and out of sleep, content with the feeling of your frame snugly clicked into his. He'd speak every so often about everything, mostly praising, uttering how lucky he was to have found you before someone else did, or how aggravating your 'tests' were - though he understood your reasoning for them. Understood that they were necessary for the prize to pay off. You recovered slowly throughout the day, your limbs less weak, allowing you some basic movement. By nightfall, you could sit up on the bed, forced against the pillows and in Jimmy's lap (so, it really didn't feel like much of an accomplishment), but at least you could push against his arm every time he got too touchy.
And touchy, he was. The second his body clock sensed the incoming approach of night, his touches got bolder. He began to suck at your neck again, even nipping it in some sensitive parts until purple hickeys were left in scattered splotches. His hands began to wander, too, from the sharp angles of your shoulders to the dip of your hips. His hips would gyrate ever so slightly whenever you shifted from the uncomfortable proximity, the feel of your body on his already shooting a million thoughts from his head to his dick, which you could feel was hard and pressed against your ass. At first, you simply rubbed his arm and nudged it away, growing increasingly irritated as he persisted, eventually resorting to swatting and smacking.
Jimmy scowled as you brushed him off. What was with you and your fucking games? Couldn't you let him just have one win? Why was it always a dance with you? He tried to entice you with his actions, initially snatching your hand in his and kissing it, hoping to sway you into giving up this pathetic act, but every rejection was a tear in his heart. He'd fought for you, hurt for you, killed for you. And you were still hurting him. Like he didn't matter. Like you hated him. Finally, when you grumbled an irritated 'stop' and smacked him again, he snatched your hand in his, pushing you off him and flat against the bed. He stood up, turning to you with an enraged expression which he struggled to soften. It was just a game, he reminded himself, just another fucking test. Because if it wasn't, then that meant you didn't love him. And that wasn't an option for you.
"You're pissing me the fuck off, Dollface." He snapped, puffing up his chest as he towered over you, shadowing your body. You struggled to sit up, legs still under the effect of the drug and heavy beneath you. You slipped them off the bed, anchoring you to the side as you faced with a cautious but firm gaze.
"You're a fucking psychopath, Jimmy." You replied swiftly, hands gripping the mattress to comfort you in a gaze that stared down at you so uncomfortably. Jimmy sneered, his cheek muscle twitching in fury at your bold claim. He grabbed your jaw roughly, pushing you back an inch to re-establish his position above you.
"Psychopath?" He breathed, narrowing his eyes as if waiting for you to correct yourself. You didn't. "Fine, you wanna be a fuckin' brat?" he growled, heaving breaths before releasing slow, deep chuckles. He leaned forward, pressing a soft, tender kiss to your cheek and grinning when you flinched. He kissed further down your jaw and then your neck, his kisses like a vile venom threatening to pierce your skin with his sharp teeth. He continued until he was on his knees in front of you, kissing all the way down your clothed chest until he was resting his head against your stomach. He hummed and waited for a moment, his chest pressed against your knees until he began to rise up once more, tangling his hands in your hair. He yanked your head back, the burn making you yelp and tears prick in your eyes, and then you felt it: a cold, sharp metal graze against your leg.
Jimmy stared down at you with a half-tired expression and a glimmer of amusement. Hell yeah, you pissed him off. But you were the most entertaining thing in his life, and he'd do anything to keep that spark of yours burning. "If you don't quit acting like a fuckin' idiot, then I'm going to slash Anya's throat." He propped up the axe in his hand, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. "Unless that's what you want, baby. Is that what this is all about?" He twirled your hair. "You want me to kill Anya? What about Daisuke and Swansea? 'Cus I'll do it. I'll axe them in their fuckin' sleep if that's what it takes." It was an offer, and when you didn't reply and only looked up at him with that dumb, doe expression, he took it as a promise. Without another word, Jimmy turned on his heel, leaving you on the bed in a world that crashed down with each step that he took to the door.
You felt sick. Like you'd been punched in the gut and stabbed in the chest. He was lying, he wasn't serious, he wouldn't do that. He couldn't...but when his hand reached the doorknob and twisted, the axe in his hand lifted in preparation for a pre-planned blow on the first to meet his gaze, you crumbled.
You pushed yourself off the bed, collapsing instantly to the cold, hard floor that echoed a 'thud' throughout the room. But you didn't care if you were winded and weak, legs turned to jelly and trembling, because you were terrified. Terrified to hear the screams of anyone else you cared for. Terrified of causing another death. Tears were streaming down your face as you crawled to him, weak and pathetic and utterly hopeless. You choked out a strangled plea, looking up at Jimmy with snot running down your lip and eyes flooding till you couldn't see.
"No! No, please, don't - Jimmy, don't, please." You begged, chest rattling with each desperate whimper. He paused, looking down at you with a neutral frown and interested eyes. Your arms burned as you tried to move, and eventually your body collapsed, simply lying there as you looked up at him from the floor, a drooling mess.
"I'm sorry," You hiccuped, your face curled down. "I'm sorry, Jimmy. Please don't kill them, please...you can do anything to me but don't hurt them." Your head fell to the ground as your sobs overtook, puddles of water forming on the cold metal with each blink from your eyes. You waited there, expecting to hear the door open and the inevitable slam of an axe on squishy flesh, but as you waited, your ears ringing with a reality not yet told, only silence followed. Then the footsteps returned, slow and methodical, until they stopped right at your head. You peered up to see Jimmy, staring down at you with a shit-eating smirk. He was overjoyed, almost vibrating with excitement at the sight of you so broken down. Prick.
"Oh, baby doll, did I scare you that much?" He cooed, pushing a lock of hair behind your ear. You didn't move, simply staying pressed down as though you could ignore him forever. He cupped your face in one hand, pulling you up to look him dead in the eye. Your teary lashes fluttered as you met his gaze, and his heart skipped a beat. So pretty, even at your lowest point. Jimmy slipped his hands beneath your body, propping you against his as he carried you back to the bed, resting you gently on the cushions. You were as stiff as a brick, but you didn't speak this time, keeping your mouth sewn shut. Jimmy wiped your tears with his thumb, pressing a soft kiss to your nose before he pushed you down against the pillows. You didn't dare to move, didn't dare to even breathe too loudly. Maybe if you were still enough, it'd all disappear and wouldn't have happened at all.
ââââąâąâââ (NSFW)
Jimmy slipped his hand beneath your shirt as he pressed gentle kisses along the angle of your jaw. His hands contrasted your cool skin, the heat soaking into your bones and sending goosebumps over your body. One of his rough hands slid further along the curve of your stomach, resting on your ribs right under your boob. He nipped your neck as he cupped your bare breast, leaving a love bite in his wake. His hand was rough and worked, calloused from years of experience on both the ship and in violence, though despite the gruffness of his skin, his touch was gentle and tender. He rolled his thumb over your nipple, circling the pebbled bud as he continued to grope and mould the sensitive flesh. You sucked in a deep breath, heart pounding in your chest as the pleasure lulled through your body, easing your eyes into half-lidded semi-circles. It was hard to deny that euphoria bubbling through your abdomen or the way your heart caught in the bob of your throat. You wanted to hate it and reject every moment of it, but Jimmyâs touch was gentle - gentler than youâd expected - and when you glanced down at him, you could see the fascination in his eyes. He kept pawing at your breast, his mind wandering as though he was taking in every shudder and shift of your body.Â
He pulled his hands out for a moment, leaning up to place a kiss on your lips before his fingers pinched the hem of your shirt, pulling it up in one swift movement and bunching it over the swell of your chest. You stiffened as the cold air bit your vulnerable flesh, your nipples perking in the cold, and your legs shifting from the tension. Jimmy held your face in one of his hands, angling you to look up at him with your flushed face. He stared into your eyes for a moment before a smug smirk trailed up his lips, and he kissed you once more. âAinât you so pretty?â He rhetorically asked, his teeth flashing for a moment before he palmed both of your breasts in his hands. He crawled back down to face your chest, his hot breath fanning your skin, before a hot, wet strike pressed down on your nipple. You gasped, head falling back as his tongue flicked your tit. He waited a moment to gauge your reaction before lowering his face once more, capturing your right nipple in his mouth.
He didnât even wait for the realisation to hit you before he sucked harshly, biting down just shy of painful and making you yelp. The pressure was intense, and he matched the shock to your system by pinching your other nipple between his thumb and finger, sending your back to an arch. You whined at the pleasure as your mouth fell open, sucking in gasps of air to help even out the surprise of his clear experience. Your hands gripped the bedsheets tightly as though you could squeeze out the feeling, but each suck to your nipple sent rolls of heat down to your core, making you squirm and whine. Then, your hands slid up to his shoulders, gripping him tightly to keep him from getting too rough. Jimmy moulded into your overwhelmed pushes and subtle pulls, adapting to your comfort level.Â
Finally, he popped his mouth from your breast, his eyes glinting with an experimental excitement. He hummed as he pressed his mouth to your tit, placing a few sloppy kisses on the wet surface before moving his face to the other one heâd neglected. He licked the side of your boob, blowing on the areola as his stubble tickled your skin. âYeah, you like that, dollface?â He teased as he nipped your nipple, chuckling when you squeezed his shoulders. He twirled his tongue around the perky bud, blowing on your sensitive swell with a cocky grin. âSlut.â
He popped your nipple into his mouth, sucking on it softly as his hand kneaded your aroused breast. You bit your lip as the pleasure coursed through your veins, rocking your body with his touch. Jimmy bit on your nipple once more, tugging on the delicate bundle of nerves before pulling it between it tight lips and releasing. You hitched your breath at the waves of pleasure, gyrating your hips for a moment before stopping as quickly as you started, turning away with a shy face.Â
Jimmy slipped his hands down your body and to your hips, firmly keeping you in place as his kisses dwindled down to your pelvis. He dipped his hands to your thighs, the numbed flesh at the mercy of his strength. Had there not been drugs in your system, you likely wouldâve tightened your thighs like a vice or even kicked him. At least, thatâs what you told yourself. But you werenât so sure. There was a heat in the pit of your core, one that had grown the longer Jimmy played with your chest. Jimmy pushed your thighs apart, hooking his fingers around the elastic of your waistband. He yanked down your pants until they pooled around your knees, and he propped up your legs to throw them over his shoulders, allowing his head to be right between your thighs, fanning your clothed cunt through your panties.
Your heart skipped a beat when his hot breath hit such a vulnerable spot, a spot no one had access to before. His fingers drummed along the fat of your ass, squeezing the firm globes as his nose nuzzled against your clothed lips. He sniffed, moaning as your scent infiltrated his nostrils and making his eyes roll back. âYou smell so fuckinâ good.â He praised, his kiss-swollen lips pressing against your clit. You gasped, chewing your lip to suppress the sounds that Jimmy had already heard. He curled his lips upwards, poking out his tongue to drag slowly up your slit, feeling the fabric soak beneath his muscle. An indication of your arousal.Â
âYeah, you like this, donât you?â He sneered, his cheeks tight from the grin that stretched too wide. His thick finger pressed against the hidden bump of your bud, circling the sensitive bundle before guiding it down to your hole. He pushed slightly, parting your lips around your panties and wetting them further with your slick. Shit, he couldn't hold back anymore. He was desperate: desperate to finally touch you. Desperate to finally bury his face between your thighs and lap at your cunt until you came. Desperate to taste you. He slipped his fingers beneath the elastic stretch of your underwear, tugging the fabric off with a swift snatch, a soft gasp inflating your lungs. The cold was immediate, settling on the cool fluid between your folds and tensing your muscles hastily. You bit your lip as the cold nipped every part of your body, from your bare breasts, curved abdomen and the fat of your thighs.
Jimmy was awestruck, like a kid in a candy store. He was seeing you there for the first time, finally seeing what had been hidden beneath the panties he'd stolen so often. He pried your thighs open wide, pushing them up and flat to give him the best view of your cunt. There you were, laid out like a flower, your folds parting slightly to reveal the small peek of your clit and the slip into your hole.
"You're so gorgeous," Jimmy whispered. He placed two fingers on either side of your lips, spreading your vulva to his gaze. He exhaled a hitched breath, almost bursting at the seams with anticipation. Jimmy gently blew against your slickened making you quiver and instinctively try to close your legs, but he slapped his hands on your inner thighs, keeping you spread. "No, doll," Jimmy warned with a sly grin and crinkled eyes, "just let me have a taste." The tip of his nose grazed the throb of your clit, and you could feel each rumbling vibration from his eager breaths and groans. Then, a sudden, cold blob of spit hit your clit. You arched your back as the saliva trickled down your bedewed slit, his thick fingers catching the blob and gliding it throughout your inner lips. You gasped at the feeling of his digits so comfortably trailing your most vulnerable spot, moistening your pre-lubed folds.
"J-Jimmy," You stuttered, voice lost as when his tongue peeks out from between his cracked lips and darts straight into your hole. You moaned loudly as the muscle slides inside deeply, lapping at each slippery liquid coating your insides. You try to get up to look down at him. However, he lays a hand flat on your tummy, keeping you submissive to him and flickering your wide eyes to everything else in the room that could distract you from the overwhelming euphoria massaging into your body. His tongue is magical, dipping into every crevice of your cunt and dragging through the most pleasurable sections you weren't even aware of. Small drops of your syrup dribbled down the sides of his mouth, his stubble now soaked with your juices. You wriggled as your body weakened to him, gripping his shirt tightly as though that'd prevent any more mind-blowing ecstasy from intruding your brain - but then, his thumb pressed down hard on your clit, rubbing sloppy, rough circles and sending jolts through your system. Instinctively, your fingers curled into his hair, and your back arched as you screamed out a moan.
Jimmy was delving into your cunt like he was possessed. His nose nudged against your clit, his thumb rolling over your small bud as he kept tongue-fucking you until his senses were enveloped by you. Then, his tongue slipped from your cunny to your clit, clasping his lips around it and sucking harshly. You cried, mixed with pleasure that morphed into small hints of pain. Pain that was the most euphoric thing you'd ever felt. Your back arched, arms so weak and shaky that they fell slack, your hands locked into a death grip around the locks of his hair. Jimmy couldn't care less about the burn on his scalp; all he cared about was you. His thumb moved from the hood to the sap trickling from your hole, pulling the delicate flesh from your entrance to better show the mess your hole had become. So wet and glistening. Evidence of your love.
Jimmy glanced up at you, a blush clear on his face and eyes so blown that you could've sworn you saw love hearts for pupils. "Such a pretty pussy," he praised, one of his fingers prodding at your hole. Then, without warning, it slipped inside of you to his knuckle. The sensation was unlike any other - like a burn and kiss at the same time. The sensation made your head tip back into the pillows, profanities flying out of your mouth in an incoherent slur. In an instant, you lifted up your hips, burying Jimmy's face deeper between your thighs until his stubble prickled your skin. He muffled out a surprised groan that made your eyes snap open, immediately lowering your hips just to pull him closer as your thighs clenched around him, his fingers curling at your g-spot and sending your body into convulsions.
"O-oh, my God. Jimmy, I'm-" You could barely speak - barely think. A tightness formed in your womb, and you fluttered your eyes shut, eyes rolling back as the pleasure coursed through you. Jimmy prodded another finger to your core, waiting not even a second before slamming it inside of you, ripping a moan from your throat that fell into a cry. Jimmy's thrusts increased in speed until your fluids were flicking into the air, wetting your thighs and trickling down his wrists. His free hand grabbed one of your asscheeks, arching you up to bury himself deeper into you. He rutted against the bed, his cock now rock hard and desperate to be inside of you. Your eyes rolled as you swirled your fingers in Jimmy's locks. The rope in your womb grew tighter and tighter, each muscle in your body squeezing until they cramped.
And then it stopped.
Jimmy pulled his face away, his chin soaked with your fluids as he kneeled between your legs. You blinked, whining from the loss of pleasure when your eye caught sight of the massive tent in Jimmy's pants. Holy shit. It was bigger than you'd ever expected, definitely a fair amount of inches that were completely foreign to you. Jimmy climbed on top of you, pressing a kiss to your lips once more, allowing you to taste your flavour on his tongue. He rubbed his thumb over your cheekbone, his hand coming down to tug on his black shorts. "I'm g'na make you feel so fuckin' good, dollface." He breathed, his cock springing from his boxers. The tip was flushed red and angry, pre-cum bubbling from the slit and rolling down his veiny shaft. There was a slight curve that angled to the right, his veins prominent through the girthy length. You stared down, eyes wide as you swallowed down your heart. It was the biggest thing you'd ever seen, and you subconsciously attempted to tighten your thighs despite the numbness buzzing through you.
"J-Jimmy," You began with a warning tone, clearly intimidated. He hushed you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and marking you with more hickeys. "S'ok, baby doll. It won't hurt a bit." He glided the head of his cock up and down your slit, lubricating his dick and wetting you further with his sperm. The head flicked your clit, making you whine with each jolt. He pressed one more kiss to your cheek, lining up his fat cock with your hole. He pushed in a half-inch, barely penetrating you before he pulled back, then he did it again, but this time pushed himself in just a half-inch more. He listened intently to your breaths, pausing with each sharp inhale that passed your perfect lips.
"Heh, I bet Curly never even made it inside, huh?" Jimmy mocked quietly, not to you but to the ghost of Curly's memory. "Too much of a gentleman." Jimmy jerked his length, pumping himself to ease his aching cock that throbbed with desire. He gripped your hips hard, keeping you in place as he lined himself up with your moist slit.
"You ready, doll?" He asked quietly, slipping the tip in just a few centimetres. You didn't say anything at first, your hands clawed into his shoulders to stabilise you. You bit your lip, face falling to the side. "...Mm," You hummed, unsure. Jimmy pushed further inside another inch, making you gasp softly, not out of pain but out of anticipation. He rubbed his cock as he waited, pumping the shaft as he prevented the desperate, primal need to jerk forward and slam himself inside to the hilt. You flickered your eyes up to Jimmy, your pupils glistening as you finally dropped your head in a simple nod. Then, Jimmy rammed into you without a second to waste. You hadn't even had a chance to gasp before he rutted inside of you like a bitch in heat, your head dropping against the pillows as you screamed out. It stung a lot worse than you thought it would, and your voice caught in your throat as you fought your brain for a response. Jimmy immediately stilled inside of you, the fat tip of his cock nestled into the back of your womb, kissing your cervix. His untrimmed pubic hair nipped your clit, his member pulsing inside of your tight cavern. A small trickle of blood coated his shaft and rolled down to dot the white linen of his bed, and you scrunched your nose at the scent, sucking in slow, deep breaths to ease your pain.
"I-it's big," You stuttered out in shock, squeezing around his cock. Jimmy groaned, his hips stuttering a few times before he stilled, struggling to keep himself from pistoling until your cervix bruised. "Fuck, you feel so good, doll. So tight and wet and perfect." Jimmy cooed, his cockhead twitching against the back of your hole. He slipped sloppy kisses up your neck and face, biting his lip to prevent a crashing wave of lust, encouraging him to ram into you. He focused on your deep breaths and slow sighs, your chest kissing with each shaking inhale that inflated your lungs until you were ballooned. Maybe you were buying time with denial, or maybe you were lost in a world of pure bliss. Either way, Jimmy was sure he'd make this the most wonderful thing to ever break you in.
He rocked his hips back until just his tip remained inside. He slid his thumb over your cheek, watching as your eyes fluttered open to look at him, the light glistening off your wet lashes. He gingerly kissed your neck before holding your hips in place and then slamming his cock back into you, hitting your womb with a harsh thrust before continuing to ram into you in an endless stream of sexual stamina. You yelped out as you held him tightly, fresh tears slipping down your face from the combination of strange pleasure and blissful pain. Your legs involuntarily jerked when he hit that special place in the back of your cunt, stars dancing across your eyes with each violently desperate thrust. His pubic hair pinched your clit, small shocks of pain running through your body until you were open-mouthed and drooling.
"Oh, God, Jimmy..." You moaned with a squeaky voice, arching your back as you gripped onto him like he was an anchor in your chaotic sea of euphoria. You rocked with his body, your hips meeting his as he pinned you beneath him, fucking into you so feverishly that the bed creaked and squeaked. You were lost in a sex-drunk haze, eyes rolling back as he kissed your cervix with each violent thrust. You groaned when the tightness returned to your core, wrapping around your nerves and tugging each time his cock slammed at a perfect angle or his untamed hair tongued your clit. His hands began to wander, one squeezing your breast in his hand while the other wrapped around your throat, his grip tightening enough to make you gulp, though not cut off your air.
"Yeah, you fuckin' love it, slut." He spat, pinching your nipple until it stung. You hummed out a low moan, your head swaying. "No..." You rejected, cheeks flushed from the embarrassment of his degradation. Then, you felt it, a sharp, stern slap across your breasts, leaving a burning mark on your flesh. You yelped, voice caught on his tightening hand. "I said you're a fuckin' slut who loves my cock." Jimmy slapped your tits once again, his cock still pistoling into your insides. "Isn't that right, bitch? You're a fucking cock-hungry whore, and you love it." You cried out from the pain, biting your lip with a tremble. You werent, you told yourself. You didn't love this; you didn't love losing your virginity to a crazed stalker like Jimmy. But it did feel good. Fuck, it felt so good that your eyes rolled back when he slammed into your womb once again, tearing a moan from your mouth. "Say it!" Jimmy snapped, spittle flying onto your face. You held onto him tightly and turned your head away.
"I-I love it-" You stammered, losing your voice in between gasps for air. Jimmy tilted his head mockingly. "Love what? Speak up, dolly." He sneered, eyes locked onto your teary ones. When you jerked your head away again, he squeezed your throat until it pulsed, the sudden lack of oxygen sending your face back to his in an instant, and your blown-out pupils met his deranged, shaky ones. "Say you love my cock. Say you love it when I fuck you." He leaned closer, his breath fanning the apple of your cheek. "Say you love me." You sucked in desperate breath after desperate breath, whimpering beneath Jimmy as he ploughed into you, your breasts now tender from the earlier abuse and still groped beneath his rough hands. Everything was so overwhelming, and the tightness in your womb only grew with each moment, leaving you a squirming mess. You held your tongue for a moment, hoping you could muster enough stubbornness to survive the violation of your autonomy, but it was a losing battle. Your clit was twitching, and your breasts were receptive to Jimmy's calloused hands. You could even feel yourself squeezing around Jimmy's cock now, greedily sucking him inside until his cock was nestled into your heat. You were close, close to coming undone and succumbing to arousal, and you gave up your fight as you neared your pique.
"I-I love you," You stammered, your soft voice hidden beneath your squeals and Jimmy's animalistic grunts and groans. His ears perked at your sounds, locking onto you with his undivided attention. "What was that, baby doll?" He smickered, leaning in so close that your noses brushed. You gulped. "I love you, Jimmy." You finally confessed, snapping your face from his as you wriggled with your incoming high. Jimmy's face cracked open in a massive grin, his eyes shaky as sweat rolled down his face and dropped onto your hot skin. He began to laugh, an exhilarated laugh that bounced off the walls and surrounded your close bodies. Then, he picked up his speed, slamming into you over and over again. Your legs twitched helplessly at his mercy as his own body dripped with sweat, his veins pulsing as he gripped you tightly to keep you in place. "Fuck yeah, I fuckin' knew it!" He roared, squeezing your throat tightly as he rammed into your aching womb. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, greedily attacking at whatever he could until your saliva trickled down your face. "I love you, too, baby." Jimmy declared, pushing up both of your legs and pressing them against your chest. "We're made for each other." You screamed as he thrusted into you from a new position, the fresh angle allowing him direct contact into deeper places in your hole. You held onto Jimmy tightly, the knot in your stomach tight with anticipation before, in a sudden flash of white light and bliss, it snapped.
You screamed as your orgasm crashed over you in waves, your body rigid and flooding with bliss that resurfaced with each twitch and gasp. Your head fell into the pillows, eyes rolled into the back of your head as your toes curled so tightly they numbed. Jimmy kept pounding into you, staring down with a cackling smile, before his balls clenched and he leaned down to bite into your shoulder so hard that his canines sank into your flesh. He buried himself into the back of your cunt, cum shooting thick ropes into the back of your cervix and flooding your tender womb. You cried at the hot, sticky sensation soaking into your pussy, falling limp beneath Jimmy as he collapsed on top of you, still deep inside. He panted heavily as his own high piqued and slowly vanished, his strength regaining quickly. He licked the bite wound on your flesh, grinning at the sight of his mark before slowly pulling out his softening cock.
"You were amazing, beautiful." He complimented, sloppily kissing your messy mouth as he fell onto his shoulder beside you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. Cum trickled down your pussy and thighs, the wet trails of your slick now staining the bed sheets and forever holding the scent of sex. You said nothing, choosing to remain silent as you counted your breaths. Jimmy didn't care, though. He already got what he wanted. You were here, now, beside him, leaking with his cum. In his bed. In his room. You'd confessed you loved him. Shit, he nearly came right there and then when you did. He cupped your cheek gently as he wiped the remains of your tears, pulling you against his hard chest as he did his best to soothe your quick heart.
"I love you so much, dollface," Jimmy grumbled with heavy eyelids. He sniffled in the stale air, now filled with a scent uniquely yours and began to nod off, your shaking, sex-weakened body in his muscular arms that chained you there to him. You were too lost in your own head to speak. Too lost in the what-ifs and the theories of a life where you hadn't ever met Jimmy at all. But you shook your head and sighed. You didn't want to think about that right now, not when he was breathing down your neck. Not when your clit still twitched from the thought of how he'd filled you with his cum. It felt hypocritical. To insult him while equally squeezing your thighs together from the thought of how he'd so ruthlessly fucked you until all you saw were stars. It'd been a long day: a long week. Fuck it, it'd been a long life ever since Jimmy walked into yours. But at least everyone was safe now. At least the problem of Jimmy fell onto your shoulders and no one else's. At least you didn't know how rough the future would be with a man like Jimmy tethered to your side at every waking moment.
At least you could just shut your eyes, fall asleep and reawaken in another world where everything was completely fine.
ââââąâąâââ
Holy guacamole, this was approx 26,000 words.
Anyway, hi guys!! I hope you like my Jimmy Zare fanfiction!! I want to fuck this man so badly its genuinely appalling, but I hope you all like this! I'm sorry for Curly, but I do have something in the works to make up for him ;)
If you want any more Mouthwashing fanfics lmk!! I will write for everyone (only platonic Swansea tho).
Btw this is my first fanfiction with a Beta reader!! Tysm girlie ur literally my goddess ilysm. She wanted me to let you all know that you're all "freaky ass bastards" for liking this loll
I love you guys sm and thank you for being patient with me as university starts up once again. Much love and kisses <3
this was deadass inspired by the GOAT @yenayaps and the air wrap story i js had to write something about it. PLEASE. hopecore. can u tell i love ts fanart of sukuna
toxic bf!sukuna x toxic!reader
content: mdni, smut, dark humor about abuse patterns, humiliation kink, weaponizing household items in anger, codependency and unhealthy attachment, mild self-harm (sukuna crawling through broken glass without caring about cuts because heâs too turned on/apologetic), oral sex
wc: 2.3k
i love when men are silenced âĄ
creds to @/cakkezzz on x for the sukuna fanart âĄ
sukuna's convinced you're the universe's way of paying him back for every life he's ruined, every curse he's spat, every person he's torn apart without blinking. he could walk away. he knows that. doors exist. legs work. phones can block numbers. but the second he thinks about leaving for good, something in his chest twists like a knife, and he ends up right back on your doorstep with that stupid half-smirk, pretending he just "forgot his charger" or whatever lame excuse gets him through the door. he always comes back. always will. that's the fucked-up beauty of itâhe's in love with a walking natural disaster, and it turns out natural disasters are his type.
you don't fight like normal people. normal people yell, slam doors, give the silent treatment. you? you turn into a human catapult when you're pissed. and sukunaâfour-armed, curse-born, king-of-everything sukunaâhas learned the hard way that when your eyes go from annoyed to nuclear, he better start apologizing fast.
it started small. a slipper flung at his head because he ate the last slice of pizza without asking. he laughed it off, caught it mid-air, called you dramatic. cute, even. then came the tv remote because he "forgot" to text you back for six hours while he was out drinking with uraume. that one clipped his eyebrow, drew a little blood. he licked it off his thumb, grinned like a maniac, and fucked you against the wall five minutes later while you were still calling him every name in the book. adrenaline does weird shit to both of you.
but you escalated. quickly.
the dyson airwrap was first. he'd made some offhand comment about your hair looking "fine whatever" after you'd spent two hours styling it. you didn't even hesitateâgrabbed the thing off the bathroom counter like it weighed nothing and yeeted it straight at his face. plastic met forehead with a satisfying crack. he ducked the second throw (you grabbed the brush attachment too), but the damage was done. he stood there stunned, not because it hurt (it didn't, really), but because you'd actually launched a two-hundred-dollar hair torture device at him. his dick twitched in his sweats. he hated that it did. hated more that you noticed
"you good, baby?" you asked, voice sweet like poison after the fact.
he just stared, breathing heavy. "you're fuckin insane."
"and you're hard."
he didn't deny it.
the microwave came next. that one was uglier. he'd stayed out all night, didn't answer calls, rolled in at 7 a.m. smelling like cheap whiskey and cheaper perfume (not yours). you didn't scream. you just walked into the kitchen, unplugged the microwave like it personally offended you, hefted it with both hands, and launched. it sailed across the living room like a sad, beige missile. landed two feet from his shins, cord whipping like a tail. sparks flew when it hit the floor. he jumped back so fast he almost tripped over the coffee table.
"sorry ma'am," slipped out before he could stop it. low. automatic. his hands were up like he was surrendering to cops. his cock was straining against his zipper like it had its own pulse.
you crossed your arms. "try that again."
"sorry, ma'am." quieter this time. eyes locked on yours. he was terrified and horny and terrified because he was horny about being terrified.
the fan was almost funny. summer heat wave, ac broken, he told you to "deal with it" while he played games shirtless. you dealt with it by unplugging the standing fan, swinging it like a baseball bat, and sending it crashing into his gaming chair. blades bent. he paused mid-game, controller frozen in his hands.
"you threw a fan."
"yeah."
"at me."
"yeah."
"...ma'am i'm sorry."
his voice cracked on the "ma'am." you straddled his lap two seconds later. makeup sex on a broken chair is a workout.
the ps5 thoughâthat one hurt his soul more than his body. he'd canceled date night to run a raid with his dumbass friends. you waited two hours in a dress, heels, full face. came home to him yelling at a screen. you didn't say a word. just walked over, yanked the console off the entertainment stand (cords snapping like guitar strings), and hurled it. it exploded against the wall in a shower of plastic and shattered dreams.
he stared at the wreckage like you'd killed his firstborn.
then he looked at you.
then back at the ps5.
his dick was so hard it looked painful.
"babyâ"
"don't even."
"sorry ma'am." he sounded wrecked. pathetic. beautiful.
you rode him on the floor next to the broken console. he kept glancing at the pieces like they might come back to life if he apologized enough.
the cat was... a misunderstanding. okay, not really. he called your baby (a very fluffy, very dramatic ragdoll named mochi) "that furry rat" one too many times. you scooped mochi up, held him like a football, and lobbed him (gently, with perfect aim) right at sukuna's chest. mochi landed, claws out, hissed once for dramatic effect, then curled up on sukuna's tits like nothing happened.
sukuna froze. didn't even breathe wrong. mochi started purring.
"you threw the cat."
"he landed fine."
"ma'am i'm so sorry."
mochi kneaded his pecs. sukuna's boner was legendary at that point.
the empty aquarium was the finale so far. he'd "accidentally" knocked over your favorite plant while drunk, dirt everywhere. you didn't cry. you just dragged the old ten-gallon tank (empty, thank fuckâno fish were harmed in this domestic terrorism) from the spare room, hefted it over your head like an olympic weightlifter, and smashed it at his feet. glass everywhere. water that had been sitting in it for cleaning splashed his socks.
he didn't move. shards glittered around his bare feet like diamonds. he looked at the mess, then at you, eyes wide.
"ma'am," he whispered. voice hoarse. reverent almost.
you stepped over the glass, grabbed his shirt, yanked him down.
"clean it up."
"yes ma'am."
he dropped to his knees right there in the wreckage. glass crunching under him. didn't care. licked a stripe up your thigh while you stood over him like a queen. you came on his tongue with one foot on his shoulder, him murmuring apologies between licks like prayers.
later, when you're both spent on the couch, him picking tiny shards out of his knees while you scroll on your phone like you didn't just attempt manslaughter via household appliances, he pulls you into his lap.
"you're gonna kill me one day," he mutters against your neck.
"probably."
"i'll still come back."
"i know."
he laughs, low and rough. "fucked up, aren't we?"
you kiss his jaw. "perfectly."
he hardens again under you just thinking about the next time you snap. because there will be a next time. there always is.
and he'll be right thereâafraid, turned on, saying "sorry ma'am" like it's his safe wordâbecause leaving was never really an option.
not when being terrified of you is the closest thing to alive he's ever felt.
the next morning light filters through the half-broken blinds like itâs personally offended by last nightâs chaos. glass shards still glitter in corners you havenât swept yet, the ps5âs corpse sits in silent judgment on the floor, and sukunaâs sprawled across the bed on his stomach, one arm dangling off the edge, sheets tangled around his waist like he fought them in his sleep. bruises bloom faint purple across his knees from crawling through glass to eat you out on the living room floor. he looks wrecked. peaceful. yours.
you feel a flicker of something that might be guilt. not enough to apologize with wordsâwords are cheap and you both know itâbut enough to make you slide down the mattress quiet, careful not to wake him yet. heâs always been a light sleeper when it comes to you, but exhaustion from last nightâs war and the makeup sex that followed has him out cold. good.
you settle between his spread thighs, tug the sheet lower. heâs already half-hard in sleep, thick and heavy against his stomach, tip flushed dark. you donât tease. no slow licks, no kitten kisses. you want him to feel how sorry you are without saying it.
you wrap your lips around the head first, tongue flat, sucking hard enough to pull a low grunt from his chest before heâs even fully awake. his hips twitch up on instinct. you donât let him thrustâpress your palms to his thighs, pin him down, and take him deeper in one smooth slide until your nose brushes the coarse hair at his base.
âfuckââ his voice cracks, sleep-rough and startled. eyes snap open. he looks down, sees your mouth stretched around him, cheeks hollowed, and his head thuds back against the pillow. âshit, babyââ
you donât answer. just hum around him so the vibration rattles up his spine. pull off slow, let spit string from your lips to his cock, then dive back down, throat relaxing on purpose this time. you gag a littleâdeliberateâbecause you know the sound makes his brain short-circuit. it does. his hand flies to your hair, not pushing, just gripping like he needs an anchor.
âyouâfuckâyou tryna kill me?â he rasps. voice still thick with sleep, but his cock throbs heavy on your tongue like itâs been waiting for this.
you pull off just enough to speak, lips brushing the slick head. âfelt a little bad,â you murmur, voice wrecked from how deep he was. âthought iâd make it up to you.â
his laugh is breathless, almost a groan. âby choking on my dick at seven in the morning? yeah. real sorry.â
you donât reply with words. you swallow him again, faster this time, messy. spit drips down his balls, pools on the sheets. you cup them in one hand, roll them gently while your other wraps around what your mouth canât reachâstroking tight, twisting at the base the way you know makes his toes curl.
he curses under his breath, hips jerking despite your hold. âgoddamnâslow down or iâm gonnaââ
you donât slow down. you go harder. throat working around him, swallowing repeatedly so he feels every ripple. your eyes flick upâmeet his. theyâre blown black, pupils eating the red irises, jaw slack. he looks like heâs praying and cursing at the same time.
"baby," he chokes out. half-laugh, half-plea. "baby pleaseâ"
that word does something to you. always does. you moan around him, the sound vibrating straight through his cock, and he snaps.
his hand tightens in your hairânot guiding, just holding on for dear lifeâas his hips buck up once, twice, then heâs coming hard down your throat. thick pulses you swallow greedily, not spilling a drop. you keep sucking through it, softer now, milking every last shudder until heâs hissing from oversensitivity and weakly trying to push your head away.
you finally pull off with a wet pop, lips swollen, chin shiny. crawl up his body slow, straddle his hips. heâs still catching his breath, chest heaving, looking at you like you just rewrote physics.
you lean down, kiss him deep so he can taste himself on your tongue. he groans into your mouth, hands sliding up your thighs, gripping hard enough to bruise.
âstill mad?â he mutters against your lips when you break apart.
you smirk, grind down once just to feel him twitch under you, already trying to get hard again. ânah. youâre forgiven.â
he laughs low, flips you onto your back in one smooth move. looms over you, hair a mess, eyes glinting dangerous.
âgood,â he says, voice gravel. ââcause iâm not done saying sorry yet.â
he slides down your body, hooks your legs over his shoulders, and buries his face between your thighs like a man starved.
you arch, fingers in his hair, already moaning his name.
the glass on the floor can wait.
so can breakfast.
so can everything.
heâs got you pinned under him, legs hooked over his broad shoulders, folding you in half like youâre made for it. his mouthâs still slick from eating you outâchin glistening, lips red and swollenâbut he doesnât wipe it off. just grins down at you, all teeth and feral hunger, as he lines himself up. thick head nudging your entrance, already soaked and fluttering from the two orgasms he dragged out with his tongue.
âready to take it?â he murmurs, voice low gravel that scrapes your nerves raw. but he doesnât wait for an answerâpushes in slow at first, inch by brutal inch, stretching you open until your nails dig crescents into his back. you gasp, arching, walls clenching around him like a vice. heâs huge, always is, filling you to the point where it borders on pain, the good kind that makes your toes curl and your eyes roll back.
âfuck, youâre perfect,â he groans, bottoming out with a sharp thrust that punches the air from your lungs. hips flush against yours, grinding deep, letting you feel every ridge and vein pulsing inside. he stays there a beat, savoring itâyour heat wrapped around him, the way you whimper his name like a curse and a prayer.
then he moves. pulls back almost all the way out, slow enough to tease, before slamming back in hard. the bed creaks under the force, headboard thumping the wall like a drumbeat. you cry out, hands scrambling for purchaseâgrabbing his hair, his shoulders, anything to hold on as he sets a punishing rhythm. fast, deep strokes that hit that spot every time, making stars burst behind your eyelids.
âthatâs it,â he growls, one hand wrapping around your throatânot squeezing, just holding, thumb pressing your pulse point. âtake it all, baby. this what you wanted? me splitting you open?â
you nod frantic, words lost in moans as he fucks you harder, skin slapping wet and obscene. his free hand slides down, fingers circling your clit in messy circles, rubbing just right to match his thrusts. pressure builds fast, coiling tight in your belly, and youâre babbling nowâhis name, pleas, cursesâall blending into nonsense.
he leans down, captures your mouth in a bruising kiss, teeth nipping your lip until you taste copper. âgonna come for me again?â he rasps against your lips, hips snapping faster, deeper. âwanna feel you squeeze my cock like you hate me.â
it hits you like a freight trainâbody seizing, walls fluttering wild around him as you come undone. he doesnât stop, fucks you through it, chasing his own release with gritted teeth and low grunts. a few more brutal thrusts and heâs thereâburying deep, spilling hot inside you with a choked âfuckââ that vibrates through his chest.
he collapses half on you, breath ragged, still twitching inside. pulls out slow, watches his cum leak out with a satisfied hum. youâre boneless, wrecked, but when he smirks and says âso you forgive me?â you just laugh breathlessly and pull him back down.
youâve been nagging toji for weeks about wanting to him to fuck you whilst you wore some cute little costume. why? because it's hot. and you wanted to mess with him, you didn't understand why he pretended to be so uninterested!
you were sprawled currently out, body draped across his lap while he slouched against the opposite end of the couch, one hand resting lazily over his stomach, his shirt riding up granting you a glimpse of his hardened abdomen. some low-stakes betting channels flickering across the tv.
âtojiiiii~â you chimed sweetly, earning a long suffering groan. him already knowing you were about to start spouting your usual bullshit at ten oâclock in the morning.
âso! like i was saying. should i get a bunny costume? ooh or a maid costume, or how about aââ
âdoll, are you high?â
âfully sober!â you crawled your way up until you were sprawled over him, cheek smushed against him. his arms coming around you out of habit, heavy and warm, absentmindedly rubbing circles into the small of your back. the glow of x-rated lingerie reflecting faintly in your eyes.
you let out a low, dark little giggle.
âheh, how does a cow set sound to you?â
you shifted, resting your chin on his chest so you could peer up at him properly â close enough to catch the subtle twitch of his eyebrow. his half-lidded eyes rolling over to you slowly.
ââŠyou trynna piss me off on purpose?â his hand slid up your back, stopping at the nape of your neck.
âwhat? breeding is in season toji.â you chirped, smile lines crinkling 'round your eyes.
âbuy that shit and see where it gets ya.â
and you should've listened.
+
tojiâs got your arms behind your back, wrists pinned together with one large thick hand of his, meaty cock splitting you open, while the other gripped the flesh of your hip, fucking you back onto his cock in front of the large rectangular mirror of your bedroom.
each thrust was marked by the soft, delicate 'clink' of the small bell attached to the cow-patterned ribbon tied neatly around your neck, the sound almost too innocent compared to sound of skin slapping bouncing off the walls.
your body jerked forward with each brutal snap of his hips. the only thing keeping you upright is the unrelenting hold on your wrists, face centimeters from the cool glass. small splotches of fog spreading with each escaped moan from you.
âtold yaâ to stop fucking around doll. but you never fucking listen, do you?â he leaned over, his sweaty chest flush against your back as his dick continued to stir up your pussy, caging you in with all his muscle.
toji pressed a quick smack to your rear, fat globs dancing along your waterline as your mind went fuzzy. âhuh? whatâs yer excuse this time? think that shit's cute?â
âmmpnghâ toji! said i was sorryââ you whined.
a creamy white ring was already forming around the base of his ridiculously large cock, dripping down between your thighs and onto his heavy balls as they slapped against your clit, connected by webs of white froth.
and the mirror catches it all.
the way your slutty costume was absolutely shred to pieces. your cute little horned headband slipping off your face, tits spilling out from your flimsy bralette, the fragile scrap of lace desperately clinging at your waist, sheer thigh highs that outlined you perfectly, soaked panties holding on for dear life âround your ankles.
your eyebrows knitted together in pleasure as you went cross eyed, tongue lolling out, drool spilling from your mouth and onto the floor in thin strings, toes desperately trying to touch the ground as he held you upright.
and to think his sweet girl couldn't get any sluttier.. he absolutely loved it.
in fact it was the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. his eyes were sharpâhungry.
âlook at youu, doesn't my baby look so pretty? so fuckin' pretty when i fuck her.â he taunted from above, his veiny girth brushing past that sweet spot that blurred your vision, tip kissing your cervix.
you nodded quickly, making eye contact with him through the mirror, watching his lips twitching upwards in a sick grin.
âsay it.â
toji fists a hand into your hair and pulls, forcing your head back toward him. your vision blurs as you try to steady it on his faceâhis damp hair clinging to his forehead, his canines on full display in a smile as he saw your eyes flutter shut.
with one particular sharp thrust, your cute little headband finally fell off your face, falling right into the puddle of your juices with a small 'thud', soaking everything up.
âsay you look so pretty when you take my cock like this.â
âlook-ngh-look pretty when i take cock like this!â you gasped, voice cracking.
ânuh uh babyâ, he rasped, before wrapping his hand 'round your jaw instead, two thick fingers squishing your cheeks together, forcing you to look at how good he was fucking you.
âmy cock.â
this man was going to break you in fucking half.
âmânot gonna break you in half pretty, just giving this slutty pussy what she needs.â he murmured, pressing sloppy open mouth kisses to your back.
oh.
did you just say that shit outloud?
âtojiââ you mewled, getting cut off by him craning his neck to meet your face, capturing your lips in a bruising, needy kiss. biting down on your bottom lip before burrowing his face in the crook of your shoulder.
he snarled low and rough, the warmth of his breath tickling your back. âheh, look at ya, my little cow. such a greedy little girl, pussy keeps suckinâ me inâ fuckâ
his free hand slid down to your puffy clit, rubbing sloppy but firm circles with his big thumb making you cry out, as if his heavy sack wasn't already smacking into it.
your knees knocking together in a pathetic attempt to stand on your own, ât-tojiâ! sâtoomuch!â
âhuh? what was that? my cockdrunk wife said she loves when i fuck her like this?â, his grip tightening âround your wrists.
âs'not what iââ you garbled.
âanswer it.â
ây-yesh! hngâ!â
âfuckâsâwhy you wanted to dress up so fucking bad? so you could milk this dick without having to ask?â his eyes glued downwards, drooling at the sight of his dick easing in anâ out of your sloppy cunt.
"haaahhh, m'sorry tojiâ j-jus wanâed cockâ, you babbled, jaw going slack as his messed up your pussy with every brutal snap of his hips. your fingers clawed at thin air, pussy fluttering helplessly and gushing around him.
âi know baby, i know. sâwhy mâgonna give you want you wanted.â he murmurs, leaning down to place a languid stripe on your nape before sucking harshly, groaning into you.
you felt a familiar heat build in your, tummy fluttering helplessly around his thick cock, buried to the hilt.
âohâgânna cumâ tojiâ!â
he leaned down further, âyeah? whaddya waitinâ for then? do it.â
and just that you do.
hard.
juices gushed out of your pussyâsoaking his cock and spraying onto the floor like a faucet, adding to the small puddle beneath your feet that still yet to be flat on the floor, legs trembling like a mad woman.
âattaaa girl...â, he groaned, slowly and torturously rolling his hips against the curve of your ass, fucking you through your orgasm as you clenched around him.
toji eases his grip on your wrists, guiding your hands to rest against the mirror instead. your chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, the cool glass soothing your flushed cheek as you lean into it. your thighs clench together on instinct, trembling slightly as you try to steady yourself.
âsaid you wanted to milk this dick, right baby?â toji cooed into your ear, repeating your words from earlier when you sauntered in to show him your new attire that instantly got you folded.
his veiny girth twitching inside your bruised up walls, making you whine pathetically as you nodded eagerly, as if your head was too heavy for your body.
his broad frame leaned close as his hands settled above yours on the mirror, caging you in with the solid weight leaving no space for you to move.
except for back and forth on his cock.
âgo on then, cowgirl. get yourself off on my dick til' i cum inside this greedy pussy. gotta make sure it takes.â
your cute little costume will definitely be all ruined now :(
riding ex boyfriend!toji in the backseat of his shitty car, taking his cock deep inside of u and pretending not to notice the pink water bottle in the cup holder. or the tube of lip gloss on the dash ⊠or the pair of heels on the floor in the back :p
but ur mind is reeling, and u just canât cum without knowing if another girl has tojis attention now! so u ask him, with a bite to his earlobe, whether he has a new girlfriend now.
âsomething like that,â he groans, grabbing ur ass and thrusting up a couple times before filling you up with his cum. âbut she doesnât let me cum inside.â
Hey I love ur stories if youâre taking any requests could u do a story Toji is a random in the movie theaters or maybe a boyfriend and he fingers you while the movies is back and you suck his dick and fuck a little IDK JUST FREAKY LIKE SOME PUBLIC INDECENCY SORRY IM ALLL OVER THE PLACE but if you see the visionđđ
Thank you so much!! And I decided to make Toji as a boyfriend if thatâs okay. I hope you enjoyed this one đ.
Toji desperately craving you in the movie theatresđżđ„
â€ïž pairing: Desperate BF Toji x Fem Reader
â€ïž cw: public indeceny, public sex, unprotected p in v, creampies, reader orgasms 2x, just Toji being horny asf Lol
â€ïž Divider creds: @petalpxl
When You and Toji arrived at the movie theaters you thought it was gonna be a relaxing and wholesome evening but nope. Toji was really desperate for you and really horny.
Toji sex drive is so high he couldnât wait until yâall both got home. He was craving you like you were his prey. You were both sitting in the back of the movie theater, it was pitch dark in the theater expect for the movie playing. The theater was filled with some people scattered around. Toji kept kissing and licking your neck nonstop as he rubbed your creamy soft thighs.
You couldnât even concentrate on the movie when began toji lift up your skirt and slides his fingers into your soaking wet pussy and was finger fucking you which had you squirming around in your seat.
The wet sounds was hushed by the movie playing and you bite your lip to try to suppress your whimpering.
âNo panties? Such a nasty lil slut.â He chuckles underneath his breath as he watches the movie pretending that heâs not finger fucking you right now. You tried to move his hand just to move away since the pleasure was too much to bare but this only irritates him as he fingers your cunt more deeper and faster than before which causes your legs to tremble.
âA-ah! Mmmm.. D-daddyâ you whined out and You even try to eat your popcorn to distract yourself from the immense pleasure but it was not working at all in fact it was just really useless.
âSomething wrong princess?â He says with a smile as he turns his head looking at your pretty ass squirming around in your seat.
Of course he would act clueless when his fingers were deep into your pussy. He admired how you couldnât keep your composure in a room full of people it turned him on so much that his dick was twitching in his pants. Toji whips out his beautiful vieny dick with his other free hand and starts stroking his dick as he watches you go crazy from his fingers with his teal colored eyes.
âI-Iâm.. mmmâ gonna cum!â You murmured out
Your mind was so hazy with pleasure and you felt your body pressure built up and you begin to orgasm as you covered your mouth with your hand and your pussy oozes cream, spilling all over seat underneath you.
Toji slides his finger from out your creamy soaked pussy and he licks the cream out of his fingers, satisfied. âSuck on daddy dick mama please?â Toji whispers into ear you can feel the desperation in his tone and you couldnât resist him either.
You began to get out off your seat and going in between his legs and your warm wet mouth wraps around Toji dick while you bobbed your head. Toji runs his fingers through your hair as he tosses his head back, groaning out your name. âOh fuckâ Thatâs my good girl. Suck that fucking dick baby.â He huffs out as grips your head to fuck your throat.
Naughty lewd sounds were echoed along with the movie playing when Toji balls slapped against your chin and your gagging sounds were muffled by his dick punishing your throat.
Plap Plap Plap!
The people at the theatres were so oblivious. They had no idea you were a slutty girl having her throat fucked by her boyfriend. Toji hips buckled and his body tense up as he was close to cumming. âOhhh fuckk babyâ youâre gonna make me cum. Does my pretty girl want my cum huh baby?â
You nodded your head as continued to deep throat his dick. âGonna cum princesss.. and you better take it all.â Toji grunts out as he fills up your mouth with his hot load and swallowed it all like the good girl that you was.
Toji then began to lifting you up from off the floor and onto his lap. He slaps his dick onto your puffy pussy lips with a smirk on his face and he slides his dick into your soaking wet cunt deep and thrusting into you slowly as you wrapped your arms around his neck and him grabbing onto your soft ass cheeks firmly keeping you in place.
Your pussy squeezed around his dick as you took every inch of Toji. Your sexy moans and whimpers were muffled into Toji neck as he was pounding into your pussy. Toji always wanted to have Public sex with you this was a dream come true to him
âYouâre doing so good taking my dick princessâ he coos as he smacked your ass loudly not caring about the people around him if the heard the sound or not. Toji glares daggers at the stranger across the theatres and he sees the creepy person jacking off to the sight of you riding on Toji dick vigorously. âLooks like we got ourselves a lil audience baby. Letâs give em a show.â
The thrill of being watched by stranger motivated Toji to pound your pussy more deeper and rougher, hitting your g-spot nonstop. You couldnât think or speak coherent words all that came out were slurred sentences as your pretty eyes were rolled to the back of your skull. âO-oh my godd! Fuckk! Mmmm..â
âSuch a nasty lil girl getting pounded in public like this.â He huffs out. âOh goddâ Iâm about to cum doll and fill that pretty hole all in white. Cum with me princessâ toji thrusts roughly into your pussy and he begins to shoots his hot load inside you.
You then began to orgasm the second time and cream all over his thick dick, moaning loudly into his neck. You couldnât even hold back your moans because of good his dick felt ruining your insides. You were panting and breathing heavily.
Mixture of your cream and his cum oozes out and makes a mess on the seat and even drips on the floor. He kisses your luscious lips roughly and by then the movie was over. The few people that were about lto leave the movie theater didnât even bother to look at yâallâs direction since Toji was big scary looking guy and they didnât dare want to cause no trouble with him.
âI love you so much my pretty princess. Letâs go home and cuddle together.â He happily says and Yâall were the last ones to leave at the movie theatre and he picks you up into his arms since you couldnât walk from being fucked so good and puts you in the car and yâall drive back home together.
cw: explicit smut, toji eats you out on the phone w/ shiu.
Tojiâs got you spread out on the living room couch, one leg hooked over the backrest, the other pushed up and out by the iron grip of his forearm. Your shorts and panties are long goneâcrumpled somewhere on the floorâand his broad shoulders keep you pinned open.
His phone buzzed on the coffee table. He didnât even pauseâjust reached over with one lazy hand, thumbed it to speaker, and answered without lifting his head. âYeah?â Voice rough, muffled against your pussy.
Shiuâs voice crackled through the speaker. âYo, you busy? Got a job lead, need to talk details. You free to call?â
Toji dragged his tongue up slow circling your clit with the tip before sucking it into his mouth hard enough to make your back arch off the couch. You slapped a hand over your own mouth to muffle the whimper.
He pulled back just enough to speak, lips shiny with you, breath hot against your throbbing cunt. âYeah,â he drawled casually, âIâm free. Just eatinâ. Whatâs up?â
Shiu snorted on the other end. âEatinâ? This late? You order takeout or somethinâ?â Tojiâs tongue flicked out again lapping at your entrance before plunging inside, fucking you with slow, deep strokes. Your thighs trembled around his head, pussy soaking his face. âSomethinâ like that,â Toji muttered, voice thick, lips brushing your clit with every word. âTastes perfect. Real fuckinâ good.â
You whined and despite your best efforts the sound carried. Shiu paused. ââŠYou good, man? Sounds like youâre multitasking.â
Toji laughed as he sucked your clit again, hard, popping off with a wet sound that was obscene even over the phone. âYeah,â he rasped, dragging his tongue flat up your slit one more time, slow enough to make your eyes roll back. âJust⊠enjoying my meal. Keep talkinâ.â
Shiu sighed, clearly suspicious but too used to Tojiâs bullshit to push. âAlright, whatever. So the jobâs in Shibuyaâclient wants it quiet, double the pay if we wrap by Fridayââ
Toji hummed like he was listening, but his mouth never stopped. One thick finger slid inside youâthen two making your thighs squeeze around him harder. You were dripping down his chin, soaking the collar of his shirt. He didnât care. Just kept eating like your pussy was the only thing on his mind while Shiu droned on about payout and timelines. ââyou in or what?â Shiu finished.
Toji pulled back just long enough to answer, lips swollen, âMhm,â he finally grunts into the phone, voice lazy. âDoubleâs good. Send me the location.â
He dives back in without missing a beatâtongue fucking into you deep while his thumb circles your clit in tight, relentless little strokes. Shiu keeps talking logisticsâtimes, entry points, cleanupânone the wiser. Toji responds in short, gruff sentences, each one punctuated by another long lick or a slow suck that makes your hips buck against his face.
Then Shiu pauses. âYo⊠what the hell are you eating over there? Sounds like it tastes fuckinâ good. You got some gourmet shit or what?â
Toji laughs against your pussy, âYeah. Real fuckinâ good. Best meal Iâve had in a while.â Youâre mortified and soaked and you feel like you about to fucking cum with Shiu on the phone. Shiu laughs. âMan, save some for me next time. Sounds like youâre enjoying the hell outta that.â He laughs slurping louder, âNah, I ainât sharingâ.â
Tojiâs thumb presses harder on your clitâonce, twiceâand you canât hold it back anymore. A muffled moan slips past your fingers. Tojiâs grip on your hip tightens in warning, but he doesnât stop. If anything, he gets meanerâtongue plunging deeper, lips sealing around your clit and sucking hard. âGotta go,â he mutters into the phone, voice rough. âFoodâs gettinâ cold.â
He hangs up before Shiu can say another word, tossing the phone onto the couch like itâs nothing. Then both hands are on youâgripping your ass, spreading you wider, burying his face so deep you feel his nose pressed against you.
Tongue and fingers work in tandemâcurling inside you while his mouth devours your clit. You come hard, screaming his name, thighs clamping around his head as you shake and gush against his tongue.
Toji doesnât let up even after you come, thighs clamped around his ears and your whole body twitching. He cleans up every drop, long, dragging licks from your oversensitive entrance back up to your swollen bud. You can barely form words. Your handâs still clamped over your mouth even though the callâs long dead, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat.
He crawls up your body, caging you in, lips brushing yours so you could taste yourself on him. âShiuâs right,â he murmurs, âYou do taste fuckinâ good.â
a/n: bro Iâm actually becoming too obsessed w toji
Smut, p in v, org@sm, he lwk has a squirting kink, getting dih down, js pure dih n puss
âShe told you she celibate, but she told me I can nail her shitâ
Fratoji found it seriously funny how he had the campus ânunâ underneath him taking his dick right now. Who couldâve known you were a slut behind closed doors, considering how many guys youâve turned down claiming celibacy. Yet, here you were on your back for him.
âAnd here I thought you were some stuck up goody two-shoes, but here you are,â he snorts, âtaking my cock like a bitch in heat.â His thrusts were fast and deep. Hitting every needy spot in your weeping cunt. You just kept sucking him back in every time he pulled back, not that he was complaining. âItâs like this pussy was made for me. Were you holding out just for me?â He teased. His chest pressed against yours as he puts his weight on you.
âS-Shut up~,â you whimpered. This was like the third or fourth round already, safe to say you were exhausted as fuck. You both came so many times already but he didnât show any signs of slowing down. His thumb was pressed down on your clit, rubbing at it in a jagged motion. Your head was thrown back as your mouth stayed agape as a series of moans and whimpers spilled out. You felt another orgasm coming as he fucked you through it. âYeah thatâs it, come on my cock doll,â he said with a smug expression. The scar on his lip high.
You did exactly that, painting his cock white. You felt limb already. Toji leaned upwards and lifted your legs to your chest. His cock bullied your poor cervix like it personally offended him. âYou can take me deeper now doll,â he chuckled, âyou feel that? All in your stomach? Thatâs all me. All me in this fucking pussy.â He held both legs together with one hand as the other went to your clit. With the overstimulation he was bringing to your clit, you squirted on his defined abs. âShit, Iâm sorry,â you apologized. âDonât be doll, think you can do it again?â He asked.
âI donât know,â you whimpered. âDonât worry Iâll get you there,â he said before flipping you over onto your knees. You felt his heavy cock plunge into you again. You moan out as you clenched around him. You felt everything in this position and fuck did it feel good. His pace turned slow and agonizing. Your warm gummy walls kept him trapped. âTojiiii,â you whined. âI know it feels good doll,â he said before moving with a quicker pace. His hands gripped on your ass as he moved. One hand sneaked around your waist to your clit. Playing with it as his fingers matched the pace of his thrusts. You squirted on him once more before he bottomed out and came in the condom.
He rolled off you and plopped onto the bed. âFuck that was good,â he sighed out loud. You hummed in agreement as you caught your breath. You then turned towards him with a half serious expression before saying, âdonât go telling your little frat boys about this.â âYeah yeah, I know. Ms. Uncrackable,â he muttered with slight mockery. You playfully hit his arm, âoh shut up.â
Although, you knew Toji wouldnât be able to keep his big mouth shut. He told em the first chance he got. Which was literally a few hours later. Hard to say you didnât expect it. At least the dih was good.
18+ toji making porn audio on twitter was just one of those âof course he doesâ things.
like, yeah, the manâs voice is sexy enough to get someone pregnant over speakerphone. deep, husky, and downright pornographic when he lets a little growl slip. add the wet squelch of him fucking his fist, and it made perfect sense people were paying for the privilege of hearing him get off.
besides, itâs not like itâs a passion project. toji fushiguro is a realist by nature, always looking for an extra stream of income. and if one of those side hustles happened to be profiting off his voice as gooning material? well. heâs never been one to leave money on the table. he never saw a reason to hide it from you, and you never saw a reason to care. if anything, you enjoyed knowing other people salivate over the same voice that called you âdollâ and instructed you to spread your legs.
one afternoonâordinary in every other wayâhe was plowing you doggy style into the matress when the thought struck: why not record this? you sounded so pretty, itâd be wasteful and selfish not to share it with his 4k paid members on patreon.
your initial shyness was predictable.
your eventual agreement was a pleasant surprise.
after your debut introduction (âthis my girl, say hi to everyone, princessâ) the first minutes were almost all him. shy, self-conscious little thing that you were; you barely made a sound beyond ragged breaths and tiny, pitiful whimpers, lost under wet squelches and the plap-plap-plap of his pelvis repeatedly ramming into your ass.
but tojiâs never been one to let nerves ruin a good time. all it took was a strategic deepening of the angleâand he had you on the edge before you even realised it. then, with a swift, confident grip on your hips, he flipped you onto your back, pinning you into a mean mating press. all your shyness fractured into shaky moans, then crescendoed into high, broken mewls. he fucked you so good until there was nothing left to do but make noise. he uploaded it later with one throwaway caption:
âsorry guys. sheâs shy lolâ
and that was that. anyone who clicked play could hear exactly how wrong that was, and how much he enjoyed proving it.
(nsfw, jerking off, no actual sex but fucking a LOT is implied, kirara is obsessed with your panties, both of you have an argument and she takes revenge(?), not proofread, mdni, female reader)
in which kirara and you are stubborn. however, the difference between both of you is that kirara is the pettiest person alive. aka; kirara cums in all your underwear!
your girlfriend is obsessed with your panties. and no, not in a cute way (if there even is one) where she buys you more, or compliments how cute you look in them.
she's a quite literally a disgusting, disgusting freak about them.
you're playing a game? she'll pull down your shorts and nose at your entrance through the cotton. you're in the shower? she's smelling the underwear you put for wash, her cock twitching to life.
case in point, she loves both you and your underwear equally. which is a bit concerning, but you don't actually mind all that much.
not until tonight.
you both always fucked like rabbits; day and night, 24/7, whenever you had the chance. nothing really stopped you, except for the absolutely relentless argument you both had tonight.
it was over something stupid, really; inconsequential when you look at it from a better angle. but you had been stubborn, and god knows kirara is as stubborn if not more than you. so, there both of you lay, going to sleep frustrated, mad, and so fucking pent up.
she'll show you. you wanna argue with her? you wanna leave her like this, where her cock is straining against the fabric of her boxers because, usually, it's the time where you clenched so perfectly around her? you want to fuck with her head?
kirara glares at your sleeping form, eyebrows furrowed, teeth worrying her lips. you're so irritating. you're so fucking irritating. with a huff, she climbs out of bed, opening your drawers.
shirts. not this one.
a thud while she closes it. she opens the next.
pants. not it, either.
thud, thud, thud, thud -- until she finally finds the holy grail. your panty drawer! of course that's the holy grail.
she quickly pulls off her sweatpants and underwear in one fell swoop, sighing in relief. she spits on her palm and starts stroking her shaft, other hand grabbing your panties and placing the area where your slick would be on her tip.
her eyes practically roll to the back of her head, groaning quietly so you won't hear her. she can just imagine it -- you fluttering around her, pulling out for a second so she can see you clench around nothing, how you'd stretch around her without argument. god, she's already leaking just thinking about it.
you would be so mad if she came in all your panties.
she grins just thinking about it. she thrusts harder, imagining her own cum is yours, overstimulating both of you real nice.
she finishes with a broken moan, not caring if you hear her or not anymore. you had to go and be stubborn. you had to leave her horny and so fucking pent up, didn't you? you just had to.
this'll be your punishment.
and so, kirara comes in every single one of your panties. not a single one left out, and by the end, she collapses back into your bed, all past resentment gone as she stuffs her face into your chest with a doped out smile as her tip throbs.
you wake up in the morning to kirara snoring in your arms, and you smile. you still would obviously have to talk this out, but at least she's still here. however, that doesn't mean you didn't get unfathomably wet in your dreams in the absence of your usual routine.
with a sigh, you gently get off of the bed, opening your drawers to find another pair of underwear. you pick one pair up, only to see it's absolutely fucking soaked.
a beat.
you should've known. whatever, you can just put this for wash. you look over the other pairs, eyes slowly narrowing as you notice that they are not at all neatly folded and super, super wet.
kirara giggles from her place on the bed, and you slowly turn.
"shouldn't have argued," she sings cheerfully, giggling like she can't help it. "it could've easily been you if you had just listened."
".. kirara."
"yeeeeees?"
"you dumped your load in all of my underwears."
"yup!"
"every single one."
"indeed i did."
"what am i going to wear?"
"you're not going commando, are you? just wear the underwear you're wearing now and change it when the laundry finishes. or buy a new pair."
you're too embarrassed to admit that you're so fucking drenched, it's become uncomfortable. so you just click your tongue.
"just.. come here," you ask, voice pleading.
"nope." she pops the p, biting her lip. "are you crazy? i'm sore! you have, like, 900 pairs of underwear."
you spend the rest of the day horny, daydreaming, and excruciatingly uncomfortable in your panties. (that is until kirara inevitably folds and fucks the living daylights out of you in apology.)
hey, at least you both won't be arguing anytime soon!
a/n: for my goat lanternsappling !! genuinely have no idea if this is waht you wanted but we ball đđ fics will come out wayyy slower than usual cuz i have finals soon and i may start writing for csm cause most fics on there are for male readers which is buns </3
đđ hot loser bf x streamer gf who turns him into an internet sensation by accident, then fucks him senseless on purpose . . .
( mdni. cw: crack vibes, fluffy fluff, age gap, praise/light degredation, possessive!toji, switch!toji but he leans more subby in this, spit kink, slight overstim, creampie )
you swear your twitch chat is starting to gaslight you.
âokay but real talk,â you say mid-gameplay, lazily slouched in your chair as your character reloads, âhow many times do i have to tell yâall i do have a boyfriend. heâs real. i see him every day. he lives here. he exists.â
chat disagrees.
isucktoes1234356: no u donât lmao
stanloonaordie: we wouldâve been seen him by now girl stop lying đ
popwheeliesnotmolly: this an imaginary boyfriend arc???
yaoiluvrx: bitchless behavior tbh
âyâall are so toxic,â you snort, sipping your iced tea as your dms light up with even more chaos. âjust because heâs not chronically online doesnât mean heâs fakeââ
you donât even get to finish the sentence before your fake boyfriend suddenly becomes very, very real.
thereâs a click of the hallway light. a shuffle of bare feet on hardwood. then:
âbabe,â comes a low, gravelly voice from off-camera, âyou want the big half or the small half of the sub?â
you freeze. so does chat.
he walks into frame like itâs nothing. messy black hair, shirtless, grey sweats hanging dangerously low. a bottle of beer in one hand, a paper-wrapped sandwich in the other. he squints at your screen like he canât even see the chat, even though itâs moving a mile a minute.
tittymcgee420: WHO IS THATTTTTT
only1braincell: THE BOYFRIEND IS REAL WTF
user21313: OMG?2?;72?17/)27?:72?;
coochiecrumbz: THE TIDDIES
bongwaterenthusiast: WHO IS BIG MEAT DADDY đđđ
you scramble to mute the mic.
âtoji,â you hiss, leaning in close. âbaby iâm live right now.â
he blinks. âoh. my bad.â he scratches his abs and takes a swig of beer. âjust didnât wanna eat without you.â
âthatâs sweet,â you say, âbut youâre shirtless and the internet is going crazy right now.â
he glances at the screen again, brows furrowed. ââŠthey can see me?â
âyes.â
ââŠfuck.â he squints. âwhich button do i hit to flip them off?â
âtoji!â
he just shrugs and saunters off, totally unfazed, calling over his shoulder. âanyway, the sandwich is on the counter. you better hurry up or iâm eating your half.â
you unmute the stream, face hot, jaw slack, throat dry. chat is losing its mind.
ifuckturanus: BITCHLESS NO MOREEEE
user50637: I OWE Y/N AN APOLOGY
ynslapdog: i forgive u for lying abt the sims woohoo cheat
cumslushiez: IâD RISK IT ALL FOR HIM
ovulationstation: HE GOT ANY BROTHERS ???
certifiedfreakazoid: i want him to split me like a sub sandwich
ynistheloml: wait does this mean my chance with y/n is officially dead đ
-> ih8monkeyslol: oh! i fear it was never alive đ
-> ynistheloml: MANNNNNNNN FUCK YOU
you let your head fall against the desk with a groan, iced tea forgotten, your character long dead on screen.
âi hate it here.â
+
later, after the horny hysteria dies down and the stream ends, you find him exactly where you expectâ spread out on the couch in the dim glow of the kitchen light, one arm behind his head, the other holding the remote, tv volume low as he lazily flips through channels he doesnât even care about.
you plop down next to him, straddling his lap with a wicked little grin. âyou broke my chat.â
âhm?â his hands naturally settle on your hips. âwhatâd i do?â
âyou walked in shirtless, looking hot, and holding a sandwich.â
ââŠand that broke the internet?â
âyes, you fucking cryptid,â you laugh. âthereâs already screenshots. people were simping. you even trended for a second. someone called you âferal lumberjack energy.ââ
âwhat the fuck does that even mean?â
you giggle and press a kiss to his jaw, voice sugary sweet. âmeans they wanna climb you like a tree.â
he grunts, large hands tightening slightly around your waist. âthey canât.â
âoh? why not?â
his eyes flick to yours, low and warm. ââcause you already did.â
your heart stutters. heâs so effortlessly him. dumb, hot, out of touch, older than you by a decade, never knows what twitch is doing but always knows what you need.
ââŠby the way,â you add, brushing your fingers over his chest, âyou know that donation from âbig meat daddyâ? during my last stream?â
ââŠyeah?â
âwas that you?â
he looks smug. âwell, i am your big meat daddy.â
you wheeze. âtojiââ
âwhat?â he shrugs. âi was supporting your business. capitalism or whatever.â
you collapse against him in laughter, nearly choking on your own breath, and he just holds you like thatâ grinning softly while you bury your face in his neck.
âyouâre unreal,â you murmur, lips ghosting his skin.
âso are you,â he says, voice rough. âand all those thirsty fucks can keep dreaming. âcause youâre mine.â
his grip tightens.
and you feel the shift.
the playful edge in his voice is gone now. replaced by something heavier. darker. possessive.
you glance up at him. heâs staring at you like heâs ready to prove it.
you hum, smiling. âmake me believe it then.â
he exhales, slow and deep, hands sliding down to your thighs.
âbed. now.â
+
you lead him by the hand, both of you tripping over your own feet, giggling in that breathless way that happens when the tension snaps all at once and itâs been building all fucking night.
he drops down onto the mattress first, already kicking his sweats down, cock half-hard and twitching with need.
âjesus,â you tease, crawling over him slowly, âyou were really about to fuck me over a sub sandwich, huh?â
ââs not my fault,â he groans, hands already gripping your waist. âyou wore those tiny ass shorts and called me hot in front of a thousand horny strangers.â
âjealous?â you grin.
âyeah,â he says, dead serious. âhate when people look at whatâs mine.â
you press your hips down against his, your bare pussy rubbing against his stiffening cock. âthen show me.â
he doesnât hesitateâ just flips you beneath him, already grinding into you, one hand pushing your wrists down, breath ragged against your ear. but heâs sloppy. desperate. eyes blown wide and mouth open like heâs begging for it.
and you know exactly how to break him.
ânah,â you whisper, lips brushing his ear, âyou get on your back.â
he hesitates. only for a second.
then: âfuck. yeah. okay.â
you flip him again and straddle his hips, dragging your soaked cunt over his cock. he twitches, trying to rut up, but you grip his stomach and pin him down.
âah-ah,â you pout, feigning innocence. âyou donât get to move, baby. just wanna see how desperate you get.â
âalready am desperate,â he grits out, biting his lip. âyou see what you do to me?â
you hum. then spit on his chest.
âgod, youâre so fucking nasty,â you murmur, smearing it over his pec with your palm. âmy big, stupid, tech-illiterate slut.â
he lets out a broken moanâ full-on whinesâ when you sink down onto him. the stretch makes your legs shake, makes your cunt flutter around him with the sheer force of it. heâs fucking massive, girth splitting you open inch by inch.
âfuckfuckfuck,â he hisses, head tilting back. âs-so fuckinâ tightââ
âyou gonna cry?â you purr, hands pressed to his chest. âcanât handle your own cock?â
âyouâre so mean,â he slurs, and it sounds more like a compliment. âyou were sweet as hell on stream, now youâre- fuck- fuckinâ milking meââ
you roll your hips harder, faster, bouncing now, your thighs smacking his with each wet slap of skin. toji grabs handfuls of your ass, squeezing and groaning, but never moving his hips like you told him.
âlook at you,â you pant. âlet your whole dick get bullied by your younger girlfriend.â
he gasps when you slam down all the way, grinding hard against the base.
âshit- baby, pleaseââ
âplease what?â
âlet me cum,â he begs, completely wrecked. âlemme fuckinâ breed you, pleaseââ
you slow down instantly.
he whines. whimpers.
âmm, no,â you hum. ânot yet. not until i say.â
âyouâre evil,â he groans, blinking up at you with dazed, glassy eyes. âmean little streamer brat. makinâ me sit through all that twitch bullshit just to torture me like thisâŠâ
âi think you like it.â
you lean down and kiss him. slow, wet, filthy. he moans into your mouth, his body trembling under yours.
âyou do everything i say,â you whisper, lips brushing his. âsubscribed to me. followed me. sent a dumbass donation with âbig meat daddyâ as the name.â
ââs a good name,â he mumbles, fucked out and smiling.
you laugh, kissing him againâ then slam your hips down.
he yelps. like he wasnât expecting it. like heâs a live wire under your hands.
you bounce harder, faster, now fully riding him. his cock hits deep, your soaked cunt swallowing him whole with every thrust. heâs so fucking loudâ groaning, gasping, mumbling fuck and baby and too good, too much, fuuuckk youâre perfectâ
you grab his throat.
âshut up and take it.â
his eyes roll back. âyes, maâamââ
you lean in, panting against his ear. âdaddy wants to be bred but canât even hold it together.â
he thrusts up onceâ instinctual, needy.
you slap his chest. âi said still.â
âfuck- fuck,â he cries, and you can feel him throbbing inside you.
you ride him like a pornstarâ like itâs your jobâ until heâs sobbing under his breath, hands trembling around your waist, and your pussyâs dripping with the mess of it all.
âokay,â you whisper, kissing his cheek. âyou can cum.â
he cums instantly. loud. desperate. so much of it.
his hips twitch, then buck. he moans your nameâ slurred and brokenâ and fucks up into you with each pulse of his cock. you ride him through it, cooing in his ear, licking the sweat from his neck, hands all over him while he spills everything inside you like heâs waited all day for it.
âgood boy,â you breathe. âjust for me.â
heâs still twitching. still holding you tight. whispering little fuck, fuck, baby as he starts to come down.
you clench around him one last time, grinding slow.
âhope the chat sees this.â
he wheezes a laugh. âput that shit behind a paywall.â
this may or may not be the dumbest thing i ever made but hey, at least i had fun writing it ;p
Kirara calling you her good girl while guiding your hips down on Hakari's cock :(
"Come on, don't be shy,"Kirara murmured, her voice soft but commanding, four piercings below her mouth catching the light as she smiled. She pressed her body against your back, hands sliding down to your hips, guiding you closer to where Hakari waited, his thick cock already hard and standing proud against his abs.
Hakari chuckled, low and charismatic, reaching out to trace a finger along your thigh. "Yeah, get over here. I've been dying to see what you can do with that pretty little body." His grin widened, but there was an edge of genuine heat in his gaze, that rebellious spark making everything feel electric.
You straddled his lap hesitantly, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. Kirara's breath was warm on your neck, her fingers digging in just enough to urge you forward. "That's it," she whispered, her loyalty to Hakari shining through as she positioned you right above him. "You're gonna take him so well for us."
Hakari's hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider as the tip of his cock nudged against your slick entrance. "Fuck, you're already soaked," he groaned, his thin mustache twitching with amusement. "Bet you've been thinking about this all night."
Kirara leaned in closer, her loose black pants brushing your legs as she helped lower you. Her eyes sparkled with that devoted gleam, watching Hakari's reaction like it was her own thrill. "Good girl," she purred right in your ear, the words sending a shiver down your spine. "Sink down on his cock now. Let me guide you."
With her hands firm on your hips, Kirara pushed you down slowly, the stretch of Hakari's thick length filling you inch by inch. You gasped, walls clenching around him as he bottomed out, his muscular hips bucking up slightly to meet you. "Shit, tight as hell," Hakari muttered, eyes narrowing in pleasure.
"Just like that, my good girl," Kirara cooed, her voice laced with affection and control. She rocked your hips in a gentle rhythm, making you grind against him, the friction building heat deep inside. Her bangs tickled your shoulder as she nuzzled closer, fingers tracing patterns on your skin.
Hakari's hands roamed up to your breasts, squeezing roughly as he thrust up to match the motion. "Ride me harder," he demanded, that gambling fever in his tone like he was betting on your every moan. "Show Kirara how much you want it."
Kirara's laugh was soft, almost playful, as she tightened her grip. "Hear that? He's rightâbe my good girl and fuck him properly." She guided you faster now, your pussy sliding up and down his cock with wet, obscene sounds echoing in the room. Her spiked choker pressed against your back, a reminder of her edgy devotion.
You moaned, the fullness overwhelming as Hakari's tip hit that spot inside you repeatedly. His tan skin glistened with sweat, muscles flexing under your hands as you braced against his chest. "Damn, you're gripping me like a vice," he growled, smirking up at you with rebellious fire.
"Good girl, keep going," Kirara encouraged, her breath hitching as she watched the scene unfold. She loved thisâsharing her man but staying in control, her eyes fixed on where you joined him. One hand slipped between your legs, thumb circling your clit to heighten the sensation.
Hakari bucked harder, his cock bouncing slightly with each thrust. "Fuck, yeahâfeel that? You're taking me so deep." His charismatic drawl turned rough, hands slapping your ass lightly to spur you on, that edge making him claim every reaction.
Kirara's guidance never faltered, her slender fingers digging in as she rolled your hips in circles. "My good girl, look at you bouncing on his cock. So perfect for us." Her voice was husky now, loyalty bleeding into lust as she kissed your neck, piercings cool against your heated skin.
The pace quickened, your thighs burning but the pleasure coiling tight in your core. Hakari's eyes locked on yours, intense and unyielding. "Gonna make you cum all over me," he promised, thrusting up with feverish energy, his mustache brushing your collarbone as he pulled you down for a messy kiss.
"Yes, good girlâcum for him,' Kirara whispered, her bangs falling into her eyes as she pressed her body flush against you. She guided you relentlessly, the added pressure on your clit pushing you closer to the edge. Her devotion to Hakari made her even more insistent, wanting him satisfied through you.
You cried out, walls fluttering around Hakari's cock as the orgasm hit, waves crashing through you. He groaned deeply, holding you down as he felt every spasm. "That's itâmilk me dry," he rasped, his muscular arms wrapping around your waist to keep you impaled.
Kirara hummed approvingly, slowing your hips to draw out the aftershocks. "Such a good girl for us," she praised, her purple eyes gleaming with pride. She nipped at your earlobe, her loose pants now discarded, revealing her own arousal as she ground against your back.
Hakari wasn't done, flipping you slightly so he could thrust up harder, his tan skin slick against yours. "Round twoâgonna fill this pussy up," he declared with that rebellious smirk, hands guiding your bounces now while Kirara watched, her loyalty fueling the heat.
"Keep being my good girl," Kirara urged, sliding a hand to tweak your nipple, her star-shaped pupils dilating with excitement. The room filled with the slap of skin, your moans mingling with Hakari's grunts and her soft encouragements.
He pounded into you relentlessly, the fever in his eyes burning brighter. "Fuck, you're addictive," Hakari admitted, his voice breaking slightly as he chased his release. Kirara's guidance had set the perfect rhythm, her hands still lightly steering your hips.
"Cum inside her, baby," Kirara told Hakari, her tone devoted and teasing, leaning over to kiss his jaw. "She's our good girlâdeserves it." Her words pushed him over, his cock twitching as he spilled deep, hot spurts coating your walls.
You shuddered through another peak, the sensation of him filling you tipping you again. Kirara held you steady, whispering praises as Hakari rode out his high with shallow thrusts. "Perfect, just perfect," she murmured, her feminine form curling around you both.
Finally, he stilled, all three of you panting in the tangled sheets. Hakari's charismatic grin returned, pulling you down for a lazy kiss. "Not bad for a first bet," he joked, while Kirara snuggled closer, her loyalty wrapping around the moment like a promise of more.
"Our good girl," Kirara echoed softly, her piercings glinting as she smiled, the night far from over in their ride-or-die world.
18+ toji's virgin gf who gets off from sucking his cock . . .
p. dilf!toji x virgin! reader
tw. oral (m rec.), masturbation (f). mdni.
when toji taught you how to suck his cock, it was more out of pity and a touch of exasperation than a selfish quest for pleasure due to how you wouldn't stop rambling on and on about the guilt you felt when he would spend literal hours with his head buried between your thighs, worshipping you till you were crying from the overstimulation and physically trying to wrestle him off of you and you were unable to return the favour.
what he didn't expect, however, was just how much you'd grow to love the feeling of having your pretty mouth wrapped around his girth.
but now, with you suckling all eager and sweet on the leaking head of his cock with soft little moans spilling from your throat and around his dick, toji realizes that maybe it wasn't all just about returning the favour anymore.
"you like that, baby ?" he grunts, his voice laboured with pleasure as he wraps a secure hand in your hair to abet the inexperienced bobbing of your head as you try to fit more of him down your throat.
"mmhm." you respond, absently, pulling briefly off of him with a lewd pop! to stroke his cock with practiced little twists of your fist, just like he taught you.
"love it sooo much" you add, staring straight into in his eyes with a conviction that has him twitching indecently hard within your grip, before you start kitten licking your way down his shaft again.
"fuckâ oh yeah ! that's a goodâgood girl."
you suck him off the best you can, your eyes fluttering shut in wanton bliss as your tongue traces along each bulging vein wrapped tight around his girth with every filthy bob of your head.
toji didn't even realize when your moans transformed into the prettiest, most needy whines he'd ever heard, his hips bucking into your throat earnestly from the added vibrations.
"look at you moaning with nothing but a mouth full of cock. such a dirty little girlâ fuck" he marvels before his words taper off into a rough groan when you drag your tongue, all slow and filthy, across the pre-cum slicked head of his shaft.
the heavy pressure of toji's cock stretching your mouth and the way he seems to throb in your grip with each grunt of pleasure rumbling out of his chest only serve to make the ache between your legs grow unbearable. and you slip a discreet hand into your panties, the lace between your thighs now soaked through with need, as you rub your clit in feverish little circles.
the increase in pitch of your whines around him make toji's eyes snap open, his cock jerking violently against your tongue with excitement when he realizes the depravity of your actions.
"holy shitâ! baby, are you â? are you fuckin getting yourself off fromâfrom sucking my dick ?"
you hum briefly in acknowledgement, too far gone to feel any sense of shame as your fingers speed up between your shaking thighs, your pussy practically drooling with a slutty amount of slick.
toji's hips buck into your mouth with a final thrust, his moans growing deep and bassy as his cock spills into your mouth with thick, creamy bursts of cum which have you struggle not to gag with the sheer amount of release flooding your mouth.
you pop off of him and swallow obediently, opening your mouth to show off how you'd been a good little girl for him and his cock twitches with renewed interest as he groans, almost in frustration, "virgins, yeah ? you guys should come with a fucking warning label."
"now, let's take care of that needy little pussy, hm ?"
a/n : praying to god this isn't awful. (first time writing for toji)
taglist : @kelbrave.
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warnings. mdni, 18+. dark content ? fem reader, band au, pet names, groupies, smoking/alcohol. fingering. blow jobs. exploitation. dub con recording. stealing. oral f receiving. established relationships.
note. regret deleting dk what else 2 post #hai
â GOJO SATORU: LEAD GUITARIST / FRONTMAN
Absurdly talented. Plays like heâs showing off, breaks strings mid-set sometimes, shrugs it off ân keeps going cuz âThe show must go on.â A crowd favorite. Knows it ân feeds on it. Doesnât tend to chase girls, they find him. Almost always disappears backstage with someone ân comes back laterâhair messed, grin half delirious, collar crooked, like nothing ever happened.
You wonder if the fame has more to do with their faces than their sound. The music doesnât do much for you, certainly not enough to justify the obsession. Youâve heard them before, just a couple songs, you can admit there's talent there. Just not cohesion. Too many egoâs, all competing, each one trying to outshine the rest. A friend drags you out despite it. The music still isnât your thing. The lead guitarist, however, is. Frosted white hair with a clean undercut. Eyes that glitter like gems.
The second the show ends, theyâre all over himâBoys and girls alike asking for autographs, pictures, fingers reaching trying to brush skin. He smiles through it, ridiculously blue eyes bright with quiet amusement. Then his gaze lifts, finds you watching, discontent etched clean across your face.
âYou looked bored.â The guitarist, whose name you find out is Gojo Satoru, stands close enough that you can faintly smell sweat and metal and his cologne. Somehow he got out of the crush of fawning hands and cameras, and youâre glad he did âcause now heâs got long, slim fingersâthe same ones that run up and down his guitar, thrusting in ân out of your sticky cunt.
âKinda,â you admit, rocking down on his fingers, hips stuttering. âNot really a fan of your band⊠sâall.â Your words come out plain, tone detached but your squelching pussy says something else entirely.
âRightt,â he hums, dragging the pad of his thumb lightly over your sensitive clit. âNot sure your cunt got the memo,â You can practically hear the grin in his voice, âShe seems like a real big fan.â He leans in closer, teeth grazing your neck, soft lips brushing just enough to make you shiver. Your puffy pussy clamps, strings of shiny slick sliding down to his knuckles and he groans, wishing it was his cock straining in you instead. Your fingers dig into his shirt, nails scraping, and his smirk spreads. If public indecency werenât a thing, heâd have the whole world watching you squirm.
â GETO SUGURU: BASSIST / COFOUNDER
His bass lines are smooth. Heâs got quiet charisma ân not much is known about him. Heâs never caught bringing anyone backstage. Usually waits till the afterparty thins, till the right person drifts close. Gives âem a look and places a large hand at the small of their back, guiding them down the hall ân righttt into his hotel room. Eventually left the band under âcreative differencesâ (fans speculate it was personal).
Geto knows girls like you, in fact heâs all too familiar with âem. The ones who see quiet and assume it means gentle, means pliable. Who think being the least loud makes him the easiest to use and exploit. The easiest to get something fromâfame, money, proximity. Youâre pretty, ridiculously so. Dress pulled so tight it passes for second skin, clinging to the fat of your breasts. Perky nipples pushing through the thin fabric, a small gold initial attached to a dainty chain resting between your bouncy tits, sticking to the sweat on your skin. You bat your false lashes sweetly and shove your rack into his arm. He knows why youâre here and itâs not âcuz you like the music.
Geto also knows himself well enough. Heâs never been the type to turn down a pretty girl, even one so obvious in her hunger, so transparent in what she wants from him. Thatâs how he ends up on the edge of the hotel bed, legs spread, cigarette burning between his fingers despite the no-smoking signs glaring from every wall. Between his legs, you lift your eyes to him, theyâre wide ân shiny with greed. If he were half as dumb and sleazy as the rest of his bandmates, heâd mistake it for lust. Geto knows the difference.
Your lipgloss smears along the length of his pretty cock and to return the favor, he leaves your pouty lips coated in a thin sheen of pre that gleams brighter the harder you press them to the reddened tip of his leaky dick.
âFuckâŠâ Geto tips his head back, dark eyes fluttering shut, smoke curling lazily from his mouth while his Adamâs apple rises and falls with each slow breath. Heâs unfairly attractive, and even if you walk away from this with nothing else in returnâthe sight of him, like this, might be enough to outweigh the stinging stretch his cock is going to cause in your throat.
You lick slowly along his heavy balls, tracing the underside of his shaft, too skilled for this to be your first time. Youâve got a pretty face, even prettier tits and that black thong that peeks for anyone paying attention when you bend, makes him wonder what else youâve been hiding. An amused grin tugs at his mouth. He knows youâre going to get what you came for. You practically already did.
â TOJI FUSHIGURO: DRUMMER
Hits his drums like heâs exorcising something. Never on time for shows ân never sober. Drum kit looks like itâs survived a fight, vanished 4 years, then came back like nothing happened when money ran low. Doesnât remember the names of the fans heâs fuckedâin stalls, tour buses. Some canât help bragging. Manager hates it ân is always on his ass. He doesnât care.
You glance up at him, eyes half-clouded, and push the words out. âArenâtchaâ gonna be late? Setâs in, like, five.â Calloused hands adorned by silver jewelry pins your waist as you straddle him, heâs drunk on Scotch and amaretto and your tight cunt that squelches loud with every bounce.
âIs it?â He slouches back an inch, long fingers drumming lazily on your skin, âThen donât slow down.â His lax smirks faint and he sounds careless, like itâs no skin off his back. Youâre starstruck, glossy lips pulling into that tiny âoâ, thinking how absurd it is that heâs still touring, still has a careerâa successful one at that. His hands slide down your waist, settling on the perk of your round ass, kneading the flesh slowly between his fingers. Pressing into the softness, watching it wobble under his fingers, a performance made just for him.
âCâmon, doll. Gonna make me cum, arenât ya?â Two quick taps against your ass, a cue youâre meant to follow, then his hips rut up right into you, enough to knock a squeal loose. You whine without meaning to.
âFinish what you started.â Youâre a good listener. A persistent little thing, tooâdonât needaâ be told twice. Your hands slide up around his neck, hips rolling into him, grinding slowly against his twitching cock, your heavy tits bouncing in time.
âFeels good, donât it?â He asks with a barely changed expression. Lazy, half-gone smile still sitting clean on his face. He cups your chin with one hand, drawing you into a sloppy kiss and you moan, almost whorish, right into his mouth.
Toji rubs slow circles on your clit with his free hand and thatâs itâyouâre gone. Puffy cunt tightening, drooling around his thick cock, arms slipping loose around his neck as your eyes fall shut. He takes his time drawing it out, drags it out on purpose to watch your pussy leak helplessly over his dick and balls, bleeding into the jet-black denim, a leather belt worn soft with age and silver studs ringing the pockets. Definitely not cheap.
â SUKUNA RYOMEN: VOCALIST
His voice is as violent as he is. Improvises lyrics mid-song for the fun of it. Impossible to manage, the band fights about keeping him. People orbit him despite knowing itâs a bad choice.
From the second he spotted you in the front row, wide-eyed with pouty plump lips, visibly out of place, the vocalist knew he was already fucked. Didnât overthink it. By the time the set ended, heâd already decided youâd be backstage, passing the task off to an exhausted staff member working behind the scenes like it was nothing more than logistics.
You play shy at first. Eyes down and glued to his neck, avoiding his but it doesnât last. Sukuna talks his way past it easily, helped along by a face that knows exactly how to work. He gets you alone, tucked away in a spare room, and wastes no time stripping himself, then you. You donât say much as he pushes your pink cotton underwear aside, the fabric framing your cunt, making your puffy folds look honey-sweet.
He sinks his cock into you slowly. A shuddered breath escapes his arousal-soaked lips. The leaky tip presses deep, brushing your cervix, stretching you wide. You open your eyes to find the tattooed man shoving a camera in your face, recording every lewd expression. Itâs become a hobby. You catch him off guard and smile sly, tongue sticking out, moaning shamelessly. That shy thing from before, completely gone.
Sukunaâs smile turns feral, teeth catching the light. Youâre a real slut, a pro in fact, hiding behind that shy act just to bait him. He hammers in faster, cock plunging deep. âPutting on that act⊠just to whore yourself for me, huh?â
You grin, pussy squelching and his flashy chain bouncing lightly against your cheek with every hard plunge. You keep whining his name, legs tight around his waist. He hammers you dumb, until youâre a wet, gushing mess. A moment before release, he pulls out and covers your stomach in thick, white lines. Satisfied, he tacks your recording onto the tour album, a collection of every girl heâs fucked, completely oblivious to his expensive chain no longer resting on his neck.
â CHOSO KAMO: BACK UP VOCALIST / SYNTH
Pours himself into harmonies, lyrics always too earnest. Loyal to the band to a fault, sometimes cries mid-recording sessions, no one ever comments on it. Not made for casual, doesnât sleep around cuz he catches feelings too easily.
The band canât wrap their heads around itâa total dork like Choso landing the prettiest girl in every room. The simple truth is that he eats pussy like a pro. Shows tend to leave him worked up, leave you worked up tooâthe fawning groupies staring at your boyfriend never help. Fameâs fun ân all till people gawk at whatâs yours.
During intermissions, heâs on his knees in front of you, one leg over his shoulder, his nose buried in the mound between your thighs. Your mini-skirt bunched around your ankles, thong pushed aside by his deft fingers, pussy completely exposed. âMm, you missed me, baby?â The way he looks at you, itâs the same look from before, the one that told you you werenât just a groupie anymore.
âYou did, didnât you? All wet just for me?â Your cunt answers, walls clenching around his fingers, another slick gush spilling out from your sweet pussy. Chosoâs a total softie, a catch youâd never trade. Bandmates joke about him being a pushover âcause heâll bend over backwards for you, every time. You love him for it. He does whatever you want, lets you push him past limits, even stupid, reckless stuff that could wreck his careerâand he doesnât even hesitate.
He never says no, couldnât ever say no to you, not when itâs your pussy on his tongue. Couldnât say no to you even when you max all of his credit cards on materialistic things, using them once and then tossing them aside without a second thought. Youâre the sweetest, and your pretty âlil pussy is the closest heâll ever get to tasting heaven.
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