angie

24 . mdni

[amusingstar]

trash beasts!! — ★

— enjin wishes you’d shut up sometimes. he figures out how to do just that in his own way in the privacy of your practice room during the midst of a band competition.

drummer!enjin x fem!reader — band!au WORD COUNT: 11.5k WARNINGS: 18+, mdni, smut!!, oral/blowjobs, dirty talk, fingering, p in v sex, looots of nicknames, mock sympathy, creampies, sexual tension, they’re real nasty

The new drummer in your band was aggravating, to say the least. Incredibly aggravating.

Aggravatingly handsome. Aggravatingly good at playing the drums. Aggravatingly good at getting under your skin.

The issue was, he hadn’t even done anything to warrant such a sour distaste from you. He was just… there. Always there, with his stupid tattoos and tussled hair, or his inked fingers that constantly twiddled a drumstick when he wasn’t busy slamming on a cymbal and bobbing his head to his own sound, or his ridiculous clothes that somehow made him look even more sinful.

The other issue was, he wasn’t even new. It’d been almost a year since Enjin had joined the band, courtesy of Gris finding him so easily after your last drummer dipped out for a rival band. For almost a year, you were tormented, trapped in between hating him and wanting to fuck him.

It was all so aggravating.

“You’re lookin’ reeeal grouchy today,” the man in question said smugly from where he was slouched lazily on the black sofa with an arm thrown over the back, cigarette burning between two of his fingers.

He cocked his head in question when you threw him a sideways glance, a complacent smirk curving at the edge of his lips.

“Princess doesn’t feel up for playin’ today, huh?”

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” You asked sharply, fully sending him a glare that did nothing to deter him. If anything, it only amused him further.

“Not particularly,” he mused, lifting the cigarette to his lips to fester more of the smoke into his lungs. It curled into the air as he exhaled, purposefully blowing it in the direction of where you sat.

Though a smoker yourself, his smoke probably had disgusting toxins in it that would fuck with your brain and make your thoughts become even more of a nuisance. Maybe that was the reason why you were even having thoughts about him that always ended up furthering your one-sided beef.

You made a point of wrinkling your nose and waving the smoke away, Riyo snickering from where she sat towards the window with her bass in her lap.

“Leave her alone, En,” she cooed, plucking lazily at a string. “First competition of the season. She’s probably nervous.”

Zanka let out a snort from somewhere behind you where he was tuning his guitar.

You let out a defeated sigh, sinking further into your chair. While you appreciated Riyo’s weak attempt at defending you, it was all far from the truth.

Competitions were nothing new to you. In fact, Gris made sure that the band always had the first step into any competition in order to be prepared, so it wasn’t nerves that were souring your mood.

Though, you could admit, you did feel a bit rusty, having not competed since last year’s festival. And now with a new drummer, one full of such ego and arrogance, it had you wishing you could shove a guitar pick up his ass everyday.

You weren’t too sure how this would all play out this year.

“Yeah,” you muttered. “Jus’ nervous.”

Enjin let out a low hum in acknowledgment, though from the knowing glint in his eye, he didn’t quite believe it.

“Nervous, huh?” he asked loosely, curling his fingers around his cigarette to take another easy hit. “You don’t strike me as the nervous type.”

You shifted uncomfortably against the cushions of your own sofa, crossing your arms over your chest. Despite your disdain towards him, he always seemed to read right through you, like you were a locked up box that only he held the key for.

Aggravating.

“It’s our first competition with an idiot drummer,” you said slyly, drumming your fingers against your bicep. “You’d be nervous, too.”

Unsurprisingly, he barked out a wild laugh, head thrown back against his sofa. He never took offense to any criticism, and it only irked you more. He got under your skin so easily, so why was it so difficult for you to do the same?

“Good point, doll,” he huffed through a laugh, finishing off his cigarette and flicking it to the lone ashtray on the coffee table. “Lucky for you, this idiot–“ he jabs a thumb towards his chest, “–knows how to play some mean fuckin’ drums. So you don’t have much to worry about, ‘ight?”

Before you could strike up a retort, the door opened with Gris filing in.

“Got about ten minutes of down time before we need to set up,” Gris said with a smile, hands on his hips, taking up the doorway. “Think you can be ready by that time?”

“Yeah! Plenty of time for our lovely singer to wind down from her nerves,” Riyo teased, already standing to get herself together. You could hear Enjin snicker from across from you.

“Oh? Are you nervous?” Gris asked kindly, ever the sweetheart as always.

You shot a glare at Riyo’s back where she packed up her bass and slung it over her shoulder. Zanka joined her, his own case resting lazily, avoiding your gaze.

“M’fine,” you muttered with a huff, giving Gris a wave of your hand.

He cocked an eyebrow but didn’t pry. “No need to be nervous, anyway,” he assured. “We’ve done this a million times. Set up in ten, alright?”

He offered another one of his infamous smiles, holding the door open for Zanka and Riyo before fluttering out behind them. The click was loud when the door shut, leaving the room to fall into a deafening silence.

You didn’t know why you stayed. You should’ve stood, followed behind Riyo and left Enjin behind in the room alone to his own devices. You didn’t know why you were still here, slouching on the uncomfortable couch, eyes piercing into the old carpet like it personally offended you.

“You don’t trust me as a drummer,” Enjin suddenly said. It wasn’t accusing or defensive. It was a simple statement, something to break the chill in the air.

“I never said that,” you murmured awkwardly, finding a loose string on your ripped tights to be all the more interesting.

You moved mountains to assure you were never in the same room as him alone, spending nearly a year fighting off unfamiliar urges and pushing him to the farthest corner of your mind.

“Y’sure are actin’ like it.”

But he was making that difficult.

You really should’ve left with the others.

You sniffed, risking a look at him up through your lashes. You kept your expression neutral to hide the burning irritation that was building up inside your stomach.

“Maybe I just don’t like you.”

Enjin grinned, amusement practically seeping through his teeth.

“Nah,” he breathed, smile widening. “I think you’re lyin’.”

He stood from the sofa, the clinks of his cluttered jewelry and chains filling the room. You watched as he stepped closer to you, long legs stopping short to where they nearly brushed yours from where you were seated.

You looked up at him as he towered over. Enjin leaned down to become eye level with you, that stupid grin on his face only becoming more punchable the closer he got.

“Knock ‘em dead tonight, sweetheart,” he said slyly. “Been waitin’ almost a year to see what you’re like when you’re competin’. Been wonderin’ if you’re all bark or if you’ve got some bite in ya, too.”

He stood tall as you gaped at him, watching his broad shoulders as he turned to saunter out of the practice room, leaving you alone with a heavy silence.

…What the fuck?

Your eyes remained on the door, even after it was shut. The sudden butterflies in your stomach had you feeling nauseated as they tried to fight their way out. A light sheen of sweat began to fester at your temples.

Enjin was many things — annoying, stupid, egotistical, arrogant, selfish, and did you already mention annoying? However, flirtatious was not one of those many things.

With plenty of women who came to see you play outside of the competition aspect, sure, he was a flirt. One of those types of guys who fucked now and talked later – a whore, if you will, thinking with his dick first and feeling with his heart after the fact, which even then is a stretch.

But with you? You wouldn’t exactly deem most of your conversations as flirtatious. Light banter, maybe. Argumentative, certainly. It never bordered on flirting.

Right?

Fuck.

Now that you were sitting here, his words sat on your tongue like lead, heavy and rancid. It curled something uncomfortable in you, like maybe you were the idiot.

One glance at the ticking clock on the wall told you that you didn’t have enough time to dwell on it. Seven minutes had already passed with you sulking in your own confusing thoughts, so you reluctantly dragged yourself off of the couch and out the door, maneuvering through the backstage with your heart in your ass.

“All good?” Semiu asked, observing the dim stage where instruments were set up and already plugged in for the start of the competition.

Bands of all kinds were here, some still lounging in their practice rooms, awaiting to watch their rival performances on backstage TVs. Some were scurrying backstage, hurrying to get their looks together for their time slot.

Unlucky for you, Trash Beasts were up first. You weren’t sure what the universe had against you today, but it was a bunch of bullshit.

“Think so,” you murmured back to her, watching Zanka pluck at one of his guitar strings to tune it.

“Good,” she said pointedly, adjusting the round glasses on her face. “Gris said you were nervous.”

You sputtered, shooting the lead guitarist a fiery look of your own that you prayed he could feel burning through the back of his neck.

“She is,” a voice said before you could defend yourself, a large hand settling atop your head. “But she’ll kick some ass, ain’t that righ’?”

You tilted your head back to see Enjin towering behind you, smacking on a piece of minty gum that mixed with his cigarette smell that infiltrated your nostrils. You begrudgingly grabbed his wrist and forced his hand off of your head like you were a damn dog, watching his lips perk up in amusement.

“M’not nervous,” you defended to a very unconvinced Semiu. “Just a bit annoyed that we’re the first ones performing.”

Enjin was much too close for your liking, his arm pressing into your shoulder and his heat radiating off of him like a furnace. It settled something wicked in you, a brief warmth that spread through your stomach like wildfire and dared to fester lower.

Jesus Christ, you really needed to get laid.

“Uh-huh,” Semiu said plainly, staring at you for a moment too long before growing bored and moving on. “Alright. No more games. You’re either locked the fuck in, or you’re comin’ out of this shit as losers, and I ain’t associatin’ myself with that. So, you either take a line to get rid of those nerves, or you kiss a championship goodbye. Got it?”

You took a deep inhale, holding it before releasing it slowly through your nostrils. Though Semiu was only partly joking, there was a larger part of her that definitely wasn’t, and you truly didn’t want to stick around long enough to see it in action.

You wondered if she knew — knew that you were completely enamored with the idiot beside you, that is. Semiu knew a lot more than what she led on, lots of times before you even knew yourself.

“Yes, ma’am,” Enjin said first, grinning down at her. You felt your eye twitch at the damn gum smacking, and even more so when his arm came to slump over your shoulders. “Ain’t got much to worry ‘bout with this one. She’s got them smoooooth vocals, y’hear?”

Your lip curled up as you rolled your shoulders to let his arm fall away. He merely snickered, throwing innocent hands up and taking a step away. His warmth went with it, and you nearly slapped yourself for the brief flicker of disappointment.

“Please shut up,” you muttered in annoyance.

Semiu looked at you expectantly, and you straightened up. “…Yes, ma’am. I’ll lock in.” You crossed an X over your chest. “Scout’s honor.”

“Attagirl,” Ejin hummed as if you were even talking to him in the first place, giving you a clap on the shoulder and sauntering away to his drums.

Jesus. You really wished he hadn’t said that. God, he made hating him difficult.

The words rang through your head like church bells and you aggressively shook your head to will the unholiness away.

You heard Semiu let out a loud sigh, pressing her manicured fingers to the bridge of her nose. You pouted, shoulders drooping in defeat.

“Children,” she muttered under her breath. “All of you, really.”

She lifted an accusing finger and jabbed it your way, nearly pressing it against your nose. Your eyes went crossed looking at it.

“Lock. In. You’ve got this shit, ‘ight?” she encouraged, pressing the tip of her finger into the center of your forehead and knocking you back an inch.

“Ach, jesus, okay, lady,” you complained, rubbing the palm of your hand over the tender spot of your forehead.

Semiu gestured for you to join your band, and you reluctantly shuffled to the mic stand, avoiding Enjin’s burning stare along the way. He was testing his drums, knocking wooden sticks against the cymbals and snare drum to loosen himself up and get into his zone.

You busied yourself with adjusting the mic stand, twisting the indented plastic ring and sliding the stand down to accustom to your height. You tapped a finger against the microphone, hearing it lightly buzz across the stadium where large crowds chattered away behind the tall, red curtain.

“You good?” Gris asked, nearly startling you out of your daze. He smiled apologetically, one of his hands rubbing along the back of his neck, the other gripping the neck of his guitar.

“‘Course,” you shrugged dismissively, clearing your throat. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Enjin. That’s why.

That stupid, ugly, big oaf that was practically prisoner in your thoughts.

You dared to risk a glance in your peripheral of Enjin from where he sat on the back of the stage, surrounded by a variety of drums. You felt your heart in your throat when he was already looking at you, and as if sensing your watchful eye, he gave a lazy thumbs up, crooked grin on that stupid mouth of his.

“Prooobably because you’ve been a bit out of it,” Gris said sympathetically, his own eyes shifting to Enjin before returning to you. If he noticed anything, he didn’t mention it. “Just seein’ if you’re locked in or not, y’know?”

“Jesus, I’m locked in, I swear!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up. “Why’s everybody bein’ such a worry wart?”

Gris’ eyebrows raised in surprise before his smile turned into something a bit more sheepish.

“Alright, alright, you’re locked in,” he agreed through a strangled laugh. He reached his fist out and held it to you, waiting for you to acknowledge it. “Let’s kill this shit, then, yeah?”

You glanced down at his inviting fist, woefully lifting your own to slam your knuckles against his in a pitiful fistbump. He gave one last ruffle of your hair as encouragement before turning to the others, calling out orders that the show was to begin.

You stood at the microphone, peering at the ugly red velvet that kept a barrier between the eager crowd and you.

You tried not to let your mind wander, you really did, but Enjin always had a funny way of crawling into your mind like an aggravating maggot that was desperate to eat away at your brain matter.

Yeah, you thought, you really needed to get laid. You were astronomically down bad to the point it was embarrassing.

Maybe after the competition, you’d go out to the bar by yourself and get plastered. Meet a cute guy that kept your attention long enough to have you being pulled into his bed, satiating the itch that seemed to only grow more and more irritating the more you let it fester.

So infested with your own muddled thoughts of an idiot, you barely even noticed your band’s group being announced, as well as the curtain beginning to split in two sections. The spotlight became all too bright from where it shined down on you with the power of a thousand suns, but you quickly gained your composure, placing on a confident smile, greeting the excited shouts with a wave.

Enjin forced himself to focus as he led the band into the first song of the night, lest he ruined the entire battle from the first note. This was his first competition with Trash Beasts, with you, and he’d be damned if he fucked it up before he even had a chance to show off.

Truth be told, it was probably a horrible idea of him to be so smitten over a brat like you.

The two of you were bandmates, and you had been there long before he ever was, the binding glue to the entire band held together with just your pretty voice alone. One he hated to admit that he listened to on repeat during nights he found the silence too loud.

He wasn’t even the type to like women – not romantically. It was only ever sexual, something he smothered himself in between the legs of pretty women and a rolled blunt. Hell, he didn’t even know what kind of feelings he held towards you. They were foreign, an enigma with a missing puzzle piece, something he loved to shove deep down and mask over with a goofy smile and snide remarks.

It was hard to deny any of that, though, when you took over the stage like you owned it, prancing around in an outfit that would surely come back to haunt him later on after he’s had one too many shots.

You had the stage presence of somebody who’d been doing performances for their entire life. It was second nature to you. Muscle memory. Something that clicked into your brain the moment the curtains opened that morphed you into an entirely new being.

Again, Enjin didn’t know if it was sexual or something deeper than that. This was all very… new to him.

Never had he met a woman that made both his dick achingly hard in his pants while simultaneously making his heart stutter in his chest.

The crowd went crazy over your vocals, and he couldn’t help the grin that curled at his lips as he banged along to the beat of the song. Even as his arms moved on autopilot, his eyes remained on you, watching and noting every flicker of movement across the stage.

The way your throat strained with every heavy note. Or the drop of sweat that slid from your hairline and down to your eyebrow. Or the way your chest heaved in between quick breaths before you continued singing.

Fucked. He was completely fucked. Fucked, fucked, fucked, as Semiu would put lightly.

You were the only thing that ever invaded his thoughts. You were like a sweet poison that he couldn’t keep his mouth off of, suckling greedily for more and more, never getting quite enough.

He wanted you. Badly. No matter how much of an asshole you were to him, no matter how much you seemed to hate him.

He’d never wanted anything so badly before.

And now, watching as you fluttered along the stage in your band outfit, ripped tights giving off an edge to your thighs that dared to poke through the holes, or the skirt that gave little to the imagination as if swayed to and fro with your cute dance moves, he knew he was in too deep.

Fuck, dude.

How did he even get to this point?

This wasn’t normal for him. Maybe it had been too long without sex. Maybe he needed a shot at the bar and a pretty girl to wrap their manicured fingers around his bicep and ask for his name.

Maybe he wanted it to be you that he was defiling in the comfort of his messy sheets, hearing your pretty moans slip from your mouth as he fucked into you until you forgot your own name.

Frustrated, he could do nothing but bang on the drums harder, praying that the sounds are loud enough to rattle out those thoughts.

Your chest burned as you hurried off of the stage after the last set. Three full songs, new and never performed before, left in the hands of the judges to announce a score at the end of the competition – it left you all the more breathless.

Your band followed behind you, sweat mixing in their messy strands, glistening against their skin under the backstage lighting. You looked no different, makeup smudging under your eyes, skin desperately crying for a good facial cleanser and shower.

However, none of that mattered, given the circumstances. You performed well – all of you. Even… Enjin.

Hell, you hated to admit it. You wanted so badly to prove yourself right, that he was going to fuck up the competition and be a horrible drummer. You prayed he was so horrible that he was forced to leave the band, and you could finally feel a moment of peace since he’d joined.

Instead, his performance was electrifying. He controlled the flow of the songs so easily, so confidently, that he was damn near the best drummer you’d come across. Miles ahead of your previous drummer.

You knew he was good, having performed with him and the band at underground bars and paid-under-the-table stages in the Grounds until competition season, but still. Seeing him compete, sticks slamming against his drum kit like it had personally offended him, sweating dripping down his brow?

You were so fucked!

You desperately tried to avoid looking at him as Semiu cheered the five of you on, but your eyes kept creeping over to watch him.

Blonde hair plastered to his forehead in a sweaty heap. His jacket now taken off and looped around his waist, showing off the shiny sheen of sweat that layered on to chiseled muscle and biceps. His chest rising as he fought to catch his breath, tongue poking out to swipe along his bottom lip.

You quickly looked away and squeezed your eyes shut, willing that all-too familiar warmth in the pits of your stomach to go the fuck away. It was unbearable at this point, unable to so much as look at the idiot without feeling a fuckin’ throb between your legs.

Aggravating. So fuckin’ aggravating. You hated him so badly.

You hated yourself even more, knowing you wanted nothing more than for that stupid tongue of his to be swiping along your lips instead. Whether it be the ones on your face or the ones between your legs, you don’t think you particularly cared at this point.

The results for the competition wouldn’t be out until all bands performed. The top six bands would go on to play at the next competition in a few weeks, then the top three, until a winner was announced.

You practically buzzed with adrenaline, restless on your feet as you tuned out everything Semiu was saying. Your fingers twitched by your sides, eyes mindlessly watching one of the backstage screens as the next band began to perform.

You needed a smoke. Or a shot. Or a line. Or – something. Anything to ease your mind and let you drift off into blank space rather than an unrequited horny rivalry.

“Drinks on me if you make it in the top six,” Semiu said as if she had read your mind. “Until then, stick around and wait for the results. I don’t care what you do, so long as it’s in this building until the final call. Am I clear?”

Her eyes found yours and she narrowed them as if that warning was merely for you. As if she could see the bundle of energy you were containing with an itch needing to be scratched.

The band quickly agreed, and she waved a hand to dismiss you. Riyo and Zanka immediately set off to watch the performing bands together, excitedly chittering amongst each other. Gris mentioned something about needing the restroom, cluelessly wandering away with his eyes searching for a sign.

You stood in place as Enjin watched Gris’ back, before his attention turned to you. That sleazy grin crooked up on the corner of his mouth, and you desperately wanted to punch it off as much as you wanted to kiss it.

“Quite the performance, huh, lady?” he teased. His hand fumbled around in his pocket, seemingly twiddling with something that he had hidden. “Told you you’d kick ass. And yet, somehow, you were nervous.”

Somewhere deep, his words tugged, and you swallowed that praise down, putting on a scowl instead.

“I told you I wasn’t nervous,” you retorted sharply.

He chuckled, cocking his head slightly to the side. His eyes bore into your face and you continued staring at the TV screen to avoid it. His eyes seemed to follow yours, pretending to be intrigued with the performing band.

“You seem to be wound up awfully tight tonight,” he noted casually, eyes flickering over to your tense shoulders and permanent scowl. “How’s about we put the beef to the side until the results come in and celebrate our first competition together?”

You slowly turned your head to look at him, taking in the easy smile. His hand was no longer in his pocket. Instead, he held up a crumpled old box, popping open the lid to showcase a few prerolled joints that were practically calling your name.

Fuck. Even the sight of it had your hands itching to pluck one for yourself.

He shook it as if taunting you, the joints rattling lightly in the box.

“What d’ya say?” he asked lightly. “Joint for your thoughts?”

Your shoulders dropped in defeat, knowing you had already lost the battle before it began. Your mind desperately needed an outlet, and he was practically waving it in your face. There was no way you’d say no, and perhaps he already knew that.

“Maybe just one,” you muttered shamefully, embarrassed that you had fallen for it so easily.

Enjin was supposed to be the man you hated. Sure, you wanted to fuck him, but still. He was a menace! You were supposed to stick to your guns and never give in, no matter how pretty he was under the stage lighting or how convincing the raspiness in his voice was.

Yet, here you were, shuffling down the hallway of the backstage like a fuckin’ puppy, following behind him until the two of you were shut into your assigned practice room.

The air was cool from the air conditioning, and you released a relieved breath, flopping down onto one of the sofas. While you expected him to sit across from you on the other sofa, he instead sat beside you, his long legs spreading just enough to brush against the side of your thigh.

The breath you were releasing got choked in your throat, and you quickly recovered by pretending to cough, turning your head away.

“Jesus, girlie, we ain’t even started and you’re already coughin’,” Enjin said in amusement, slouching into the couch so his feet could plant to the floor comfortably. “Thought you were a smoker.”

“I am,” you defended almost immediately, shooting him a sideways glare. “My throat’s just… sore. Y’know, from singing.”

“Mhm.”

Enjin had that stupid fuckin’ grin on his face when you looked. Completely unfazed by your typical attitude, one he’d grown accustomed to over the year he’s come to know you. One he wished he could fuck out of you one day just to hear you shut the hell up.

Dismissing that thought, he quickly tugged a joint out of its wrinkled case, reaching into his other pocket to fish out an old lighter. You did nothing but watch the TV in the room as the performances continued outside, the muffled sound of heavy bass and drums rattling the walls.

“Here,” he said, and when you turned to look, he was holding the joint out to you, the filter facing you. You blinked in confusion, looking up at him before he snickered. “Ladies first, doll. I’m a gentlemen after all.”

Rolling your eyes, you plucked it from his fingers, placing it between your lips. You went to take the lighter, but he surprised you instead by flicking it a couple of times to life, cupping the end of the joint and bringing the dancing flame to burn the paper until the familiar taste of herb invaded your tastebuds.

Mumbling a thanks, he merely shrugged, carelessly tossing the lighter on to the table. He leaned back on the sofa, head pressed against the back of it, eyes trained on the TV.

You did nothing but puff at the joint, watching the TV with him, though you were hardly paying attention. A band named the Raiders blasted from the TV, filling the room with its edgy noise, yet it all droned off into muffled quiet when you couldn’t stop focusing on the warmth his thigh emitted into yours from where it dug in.

“They’re pretty good,” he mused from beside you, eyes squinting to get a better view.

You slipped out of your daze just enough to listen to a few chords before shrugging. “They’re alright,” you mumbled back, filling your lungs with more of his earthy drug.

You held the joint out to him, ignoring the way his fingers grazed yours when he took it. You swallowed, letting your hands fall into your lap instead.

“How supportive of you,” he teased with a grin. “Such a team player.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and settling deeper into the couch to the point you were peacefully melting into the fabric. “It’s a competition, idiot,” you muttered, glancing at him from your peripheral.

He snickered through a hit, smoke pillowing out of the corners of his mouth and rising into the air in a curling dance. You tried not to watch too hard.

“Nothin’ wrong with bein’ nice to your enemies,” he mused, leaning over to tap the burning ash into the lonesome tray on the table that still held his old cigarette butt from earlier. “Might not be such a grouch if you gave ‘em a chance.”

“If some people learned to shut the fuck up, I might be more open,” you snapped defensively, though as always, he took in stride like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Enjin blew a low whistle before taking another heavy hit on the joint. Once finished, he passed it back to you, which you graciously plucked and began nursing.

“You always this much of a bitch, or is it just with me?” he dared to ask, though his tone remained amused.

“M’not a bitch,” you retorted blandly, keeping your eyes glued to the TV.

“And the sky isn’t blue,” he argued back instantly, smirking when you shot him a wicked glare. He threw his hands up in defense before letting them settle atop his thighs. “Just sayin’. You got all this bark like a little ass chihuahua tryna fight a rottweiler. It’s cute.”

You nearly crushed the joint between your fingers when he talked. That stupid pool of warmth settled at the bottom of your stomach, and you could do nothing but sit there and let it fester until it made you sweat.

God, you wished he would shut up. He was always talking, always reading you like an open fuckin’ book, and it was so irritating. You truly despised him.

You said nothing, simply letting the smoke filter in your lungs and turn your brain into putty. The effects of his weed settled deep in your bones, sifting through your bloodstream until there was nothing but a comforting buzz.

The silence was comforting between you, though you weren’t too sure if it was from being high or from actual comfort in his presence.

“You know what I think your problem is?”

Ah. So much for relaxation.

You finally turned to look at him, joint burning between your thumb and index. You stared at him with a look of boredom, one you had to muster to hide the growing complexity that would certainly shine through your pupils. The type of complexity that was telling you that fucking your bandmate was completely reasonable.

“Yeah? What’s that?” you asked.

Enjin grinned impossibly wide. His arm lifted to rest on the back of the sofa near your head, and he leaned forward in your bubble, nose practically brushing yours.

His yellow eyes bore into yours like knives, and you could feel the tension cutting right through your corneas.

“I think,” he began, voice so soft and sultry it had your head spinning, “that you haven’t been fucked properly in a minute, so allll that frustration is bein’ taken out on poor ol’ me.”

The room suddenly felt much warmer, temperature rising ten degrees. You could feel a small drip of sweat along the back of your neck, trailing down and dipping into the collar of your shirt. The air around the two of you felt thicker, suffocating you until your lungs burned and ached.

“…What?” you asked breathlessly.

Enjin did nothing to break the two of you apart, the tip of his nose bumping into yours. The joint that was burning in your fingers, forgotten, was plucked away from his own. He lifted it until the filter was pressed to your lips, and you did nothing to fight back. You simply parted your lips enough to wrap them around the joint, inhaling the drug.

“Oh, I think you heard me loud and clear, doll,” he hummed in amusement. He pulled back just enough to stare at your lips, watching them puff on the joint.

Even as the joint was removed from your lips and instead placed between his, you said nothing, merely blinking at him in bewilderment.

 “Hm. Didn’t really take you for the shy type, but maybe you just needed somebody to shut you the fuck up for once, yeah?” he breathed, the billowing smoke curling around both of you. “You’re reeeal cute when you’re not barkin’.”

Your mouth opened, then closed, then repeated until you decided to keep it shut. For once, you didn’t have a clever retort or a witty comeback. The weed was definitely getting to you, rendering you stupid, your brain shutting down and becoming nothing but a buzzing pile of mush.

He successfully had you speechless, and you hated it. Hated him. Hated how much you wanted him.

“I despise you,” you said, though your voice came out much weaker than you intended, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?” he pressed with a wicked grin. “You gonna do somethin’ about it?”

If he was high too, then it didn’t show. He was always so easily confident in everything that he did, it was annoying. He didn’t seem phased by anything. Not even being within an inch of your lips. That was something weed could never change about him.

You chewed on his words and swallowed them. They felt heavy going down, filling your stomach with an uncomfortable flutter of what you could only assume were butterflies. Honestly, though, they felt more like moths with how conflicted you felt.

Fuck.

This was an open opportunity, right in the palm of your hands. You didn’t think he was teasing you for the hell of it. Not this time. He was still nose to nose with you, a challenge glinting back at you in those stupid eyes of his.

He wanted you to make the first move. To let go of that built up tension that had settled in your bones for nearly a year. He was offering you an outlet, free of charge, and you were slowly falling into the trap.

“Cat got your tongue, or do I gotta fish it out for ya?”

That was the final straw. His pestering words had you growing the balls you wished you had long ago, lifting a hand to fist into the collar of his stupid tank top, urging him forward until your teeth clacked with his.

He let out a surprised groan, clearly not expecting you to actually do it. A sense of accomplishment settled somewhere deep inside of you, knowing that for once, you were the one catching him off guard.

His hand that rested on the back of the couch slid to the back of your neck, rough fingertips digging into your soft skin and keeping you still.

His lips moved hazardously against yours, completely taken over by need. The two of you fell into a chaotic dance of lip and tongue, somehow creating a rhythm that only musicians like you could find after such disaster. 

“Shit,” he breathed through a quick break in your kiss. “Fuck, thereee she is. See? Ain’t that hard to just shut up and let somebody take the reins for once, hm?”

Your chest heaved as you caught your breath, your eyes shimmering with a mixture of annoyance and desire as you stared at him through heavy eyelids.

“I hate you,” you muttered, voice laced with lust. “I really fuckin’ hate you.”

“I know,” he practically purred, leaning in to smile against your lips. Not quite a kiss, but bordering, until he switched it up to brush his lips across your cheek and along your jaw. “That’s why you’re gonna let me fuck that attitude right out of you ‘til you’re nothin’ but a cryin’ mess. Ain’t that righ’?”

No. You wanted so badly to fight, to tell him to fuck off and leave you alone, but you couldn’t. No matter how much you despised Enjin, your desire to fuck him weighed even more.

You needed him biblically.

Needed to trace your tongue along those stupid tattoos of his, to feel the heaviness of his dick in the back of your throat, to feel the head of him press into your cervix until you were nothing but a babbling mess.

“Yeah,” you said instead, completely against your own stubbornness. It felt sour coming out of your mouth, but you couldn’t deny yourself any further. It’d be torture if you did.

“Oh?” he breathed, his grin only widening further. You could see a glint of something primal in his gaze, like he was waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. “Looks like it’ll be a lot easier than I thought.”

Before you could think up something cocky to say, his lips mushed into yours so desperately that it hurt. You sucked in a breath before letting him completely take over, losing the battle against the clack of teeth and tongue.

You were completely under his whim, already faltering in your own fight.

You don’t remember how you ended up in his lap, but your thighs caged each of his thick ones, his hair tangled in your hair to tug and hold you in place. His free hand rested on your hip, thumb brushing along the hem of your shirt and dipping under the fabric to brush against your smooth skin.

His mouth was sloppy against the column of your throat, yet so painstakingly slow that you wanted to grab his own head of hair and force him to move quicker. You knew he was doing it on purpose, and it aggravated you to no end.

“You’re too fuckin’ slow,” you complained, though it sounded far more needier than what you intended.

Your hand flitted up to curl into the messy strands on his head, hips shifting impatiently. With a grip of his hair, you pulled him back to pout down at him, to which he responded with a lazy grin.

“Needy thing,” he noted smugly. The fingers that threatened to slip under your shirt had successfully broken through the barrier, coming to curl around your ribcage. “But m’not here to go at your pace, doll. I told you that I’m gonna fuck that attitude out of you, and I meant it.”

His hand continued to slide up, sending goosebumps along your skin. He stopped where your breasts rested, fingers coming up to tug one of them out of your bra, letting it fall into his hands. Without a warning, two of his fingers pinched at your nipple until it hardened under his touch, causing your back to arch.

“You got a problem with that?” he challenged.

You couldn’t help but scoff, feeling that familiar bubble of annoyance rise in you. You couldn’t help it — you had a temper, which is exactly what he’s trying to get at. With all of the heavy adrenaline from the busy day, you wanted nothing more than to simply pull out his dick from its restraints and fill yourself up with him selfishly.

Something in his pupils darkened at your lack of response, and the hand that was tangled in your hair slipped down to grab at your cheeks, fingertips digging into your supple skin. His force caused your lips to mush together, and you pathetically faltered.

You hated how the roughness only spurred on the wetness between your legs more. It was incredibly hot, and you hated it.

“What’d I ask, doll?” he asked again, giving you a second chance to answer. The hand that was on your breast plucked at your nipple once more, pinching it with his rough fingers.

The sensation had you squirming, a breathy noise escaping your throat.

“You asked… if I had a problem,” you mumbled through his grasp on your cheeks.

“So you do listen,” he noted dryly.

His fingers let go of your nipple, gliding his hand across your chest to tug the other breast out, repeating the same action on that one. He ignored your useless squirming, eyes unwavering from yours as he held your gaze.

“And do you?” he asked slowly.

You should’ve said no. Should’ve immediately submitted and apologized for not listening to him. But unfortunately, mama didn’t raise no bitch, and you could feel that familiar urge to fight back and make it his problem.

“Yeah,” you said bluntly. “I said you’re too slow.”

Enjin froze where he sat, his eyes practically piercing through your soul. His hand beneath your shirt had stopped moving, leaving your nipples to poke through the fabric of your shirt, unattended.

You immediately regretted being a brat. You had never seen Enjin appear so serious, so pissed, and though it was all for the love of the game (and dick), you weren’t exactly sure you could handle all that. After all, from where you sat in his lap, you knew he wasn’t exactly lacking in the dick department — in fact, he was excelling, and the thought of seeing it up close and personal had you nauseated from nerves.

“Is that so?” was the only thing you heard before you were suddenly shoved off of his lap.

Your knees hit the carpet before you could think, a small ‘oof’ leaving your mouth. Your eyes widened in a mix of fear and excitement when you realized what was glaring back at you, unable to look away as Enjin’s large hands began unbuckling the belt of his pants.

Shit. Shit, shit, you were so screwed.

A smile lifted on your face, and Enjin’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance.

“You smilin’?” he asked huskily, cocking his head to the side. As if a wicked thought came across his mind, he chuckled. “S’okay. Won’t be for long.”

His words made your smile drop as you shifted your eyes to look up at him. That look of uncertainty on your face had him being the one to smile this time, wicked and evil.

The idiot was just as perverted as you.

His pants became undone and his large hand reached in to tug himself free. You felt your mouth go dry at the sight, swallowing down a lump in your throat.

Yeah. You were completely screwed.

He was big. Much bigger than anybody you’d been with. The tip was an angry flush of red, and the more you moved down to the base, prominent veins popped and curved along the smooth skin. Trailing down to where it connected with the rest of his body, tufts of blonde hair peeked out and trailed up to his belly button.

“Where’d that smile go, doll?” he asked mockingly, lips puckering into a fake pout.

You let out a shaky breath, willing yourself to meet his eyes and keep his gaze. You were too mortified to stare at the monster between his legs, lest you wanted to face the reality that that thing would have to fit inside of you.

“Sorry,” you whispered weakly. Pathetically.

Enjin almost didn’t recognize it as an apology.

You? Apologizing? Unheard of.

“You’re sorry?” he cooed, reaching a hand out to rest it along your cheek, his ring finger rested under your ear. You couldn’t help but nuzzle into the touch, your pupils becoming more pleading.

You gave him a curt nod, one at which he laughed at.

“That’s too bad, sweetheart,” he said with a dramatic sigh. His gaze lowered to your mouth, thumb brushing along your bottom lip. You part them instinctively. “M’still gonna fuck this mouth regardless.”

An excited warmth filled your stomach, and you shifted on your knees restlessly, eyes dropping down to the cock he held with his other hand. Pre beaded at the tip, and you impatiently leaned forward to poke your tongue out and collect it on your tastebuds.

Enjin let out a surprised noise before slipping his hand to the back of your head instead, not quite guiding you forward but rather resting it there, encouraging you if this was still something you wanted.

To back out now would be silly of you. You definitely wanted this. It was a long time coming, and you could only hope that it was a long time of you coming if you continued.

Ha.

You couldn’t help but wrinkle your nose up at your own joke that played in your mind. Enjin threw you a curious eyebrow raise but didn’t question it, merely watching as you finally leaned forward enough to take the head of him into the warmth of your mouth.

Instantly, he let out a sigh, sinking into the sofa and letting his head fall back against the back.

You were eager to get a taste, eager to make this entire fantasy worthwhile, but damn was his dick big. Even with experience, you could feel the corners of your mouth slightly stretch to accommodate his girth as you slowly took your time sliding your mouth down.

His hand in your hand slightly tightened. You could feel him holding himself back until you got adjusted, and a flicker of annoyance flashed through you.

Lifting your head and releasing him with a pop, you glared at him, keeping a hand wrapped tightly around the base.

“What was that you were saying earlier?” you asked, clicking your tongue in thought. “All bark, no bite?’ Cause that’s what I’m starting to see, too.”

Enjin’s eyebrow cocked up and one corner of his mouth lifted into a crooked smile. He adjusted his hips, lifting them to move a couple inches forward, boots planted flat on the floor.

“I was tryin’ to be a gentleman,” he muttered in feigned amusement. You could feel the annoyance seeping through. “But since you wanna keep yappin’, I’ll give you somethin’ to shut you the fuck up.”

His hand was quick to wrap your hair around his fingers, tight against your skull. Before you could barely suck in a breath, one of his thumbs hooked into your mouth and pried open your jaw, sinking his cock into your warmth.

Your eyes went wide and your hands were quick to dig into his thighs as the burning stretch of your mouth took over the more he forced himself inside. You could feel the sticky tip claim the back of your throat, and you gurgled around him, eyes burning with tears.

“Ohhh, that’s better, yeah?” he jeered, grinning down at you like you were a damn piece of meat. “That shut you right up. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

He cackled low, the sound vibrating all the way through his body. You felt it in the back of your throat where he became relentless, hips thrusting up from the couch to force himself deeper. You could do nothing but sit there and take it, moaning pathetically around his dick, saliva blubbering out from the corners of your mouth in a dribbling puddle.

“God, look at me, angel,” he huffed out, voice laced with pure desire.

Your watery eyes drifted up to stare up at him, pupils blown black, a glaze hazed over them. Your mind was turning into mush at the mere suckle of his dick, and you could only imagine how fucked you’ll be when he actually takes you.

“Yeeeah,” he said smugly, his free hand coming to brush against your cheek. His thumb lightly rubbed away a stray tear that cascaded down your cheek. “So fuckin’ pretty when you’re not talkin’. Even prettier with a dick in your mouth, fuck.”

Your thighs instinctively squeezed together, and as if he had tunnel vision and could see right through you, he clicked his tongue.

“Needy li’l thing, aren’t ya?”

You hated how his words, so degrading and mocking, sent heatwaves that throbbed right into your pussy. Every shift of your hips or adjustment of your position did little to provide any stimulation to your poor clit that practically begged to be touched.

He knew that, too. He thrived off of knowing that.

“Poor thing,” he mocked, pouting down at you. As if to prove his point further, his hand in your hair pressed you down until your nose collided with the soft tufts of pubic hair at the base.

You had to force yourself to breathe through your nose, feeling the thickness of his head dipping dangerously into your airways, bruising the back of your throat.

Helpless tears streamed down your face, and your fingernails dug into the denim of his cargo pants, desperate to cling on to something.

Your eyes met his once more and as if he felt pity, he pulled you back up by the hair, all the way until he popped out of your mouth with nothing but a thick string of saliva keeping you connected. Your breaths came out shaky and raspy, panting from the lack of oxygen.

“Think you learned your lesson yet, doll?” he asked sweetly, dipping his thumb into the plush of your bottom lip, breaking the string of saliva. “I’d be more than happy to fuck it into ya if you haven’t.”

Tempted to say no simply for the fact that he was offering to fuck you through it, you decided against it, your mind too clouded with lust to want to argue anymore. You were pliant and satiated, desperate to get a taste of him inside of you.

“En,” you whimpered pathetically, eyes glossed over.

Seeing you in this state, so sweet and pitiful, made his heart pick up speed. This was a sight he imagined for nearly a year — a painfully long, dick-aching year — and now, he wished he could photograph the look on your face and permanently inject it into his veins to replay any time he wanted.

He’d be damned if this ended up as the only time. He’d be damned if you didn’t end up as his by the end of it. 

He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, his resolve faltering. How could he keep up being so nasty when you were this sweet from a little weed and some dick?

Fuck.

“C’mon,” he urged, shifting a boot under your ass to nudge you up. “Stand up, sweetheart.”

You followed without complaint, sitting up on your knees and pushing yourself with your hands to stand on shaky legs. You peered at him, lips glossed with spit, makeup smudged filthily under your eyes.

You were a sight to behold, and Enjin nearly busted all over his pants like a high schooler just from looking at you.

He reached forward, steadying his large hands on your waist. He hummed in approval at the feeling of your warm skin under his rough palms, moving to slip your shirt over your head.

You did little to fight it, simply lifting your arms and allowing the fabric to fall to the floor in a ruffled pile.

Your breasts were already spilling out of your bra from his previous teasing, so he made haste to unclip it from the back, letting it fall to the floor with your shirt.

God, you were a dream.

He eagerly pulled you in, spreading his legs to fit you between them. He wasted no time in placing a hand between your shoulder blades and pressing you against him so his mouth could slip one of your nipples into his mouth, tongue circling around it greedily.

You let out a surprised yelp, fingernails digging into his broad shoulders to find something to ground you. Your skin rose with goosebumps, and a shiver ran down your spine.

“Fuck,” he murmured against you, teeth clamping lightly around your nipple and tugging. You were so responsive, squirming in his hold and letting out pretty gasps that it drove him crazy. “Such a pretty girl.”

He pulled back for a fraction, only to switch to the other nipple, unwilling to leave it neglected. Your legs trembled as you held yourself up, mouth letting out soft whimpers with every lick and suck he did to your poor bud.

“Take these off,” he grumbled, fingers slipping down to the waistband of your skirt combined with the tights you wore underneath.

You couldn’t help but huff out a laugh, dipping your own fingers under the bands and sliding them down your thighs, careful not to rip the already shredded tights.

They’re cute! you had told Gris when he asked what the point of them were.

They’re… ripped, he had said with a sigh, before muttering about how he didn’t care all that much and that he was wrong to question a woman’s fashion sense.

Enjin thought back to that time, nearly wanting to strangle Gris for being so fuckin’ airheaded when they were the perfect type of tights to squeeze your thighs and show off enough to skin to have the average man drool like a dog.

He never imagined he’d be watching you slip them off, leaving you completely naked and bare to him.

“Fuck, look at you, angel,” he sighed dreamily, a crooked grin quirking up on his mouth. “So fuckin’ pretty. Too bad your attitude needs work.”

You couldn’t help but pout, and he seriously nearly caved in right there.

Where was his argumentative girl, the one who threw insults every which way and called him

the most vile names a person could think of?

Already fucked stupid, that was what. Stupid and high, and oh so pliant for him already. You got your face fucked for a bit and you were practically purring in his lap like a damn cat.

His fingertips drifted down your sides, his touch featherlight, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He settled one of his hands on your hips to hold you steady while the other slid between the aching pussy between your legs, slipping his calloused middle finger along your soaking folds.

“Christ, doll, y’already this fuckin’ wet from a little blowjob?” he asked tauntingly, grinning wickedly at the way your knees knobbed together as you struggled to stay standing.

“S-Shut up,” you managed to mutter, and he was too infatuated to care that you talked back.

His eyes flickered down to your aching heat, taking in the way his finger was absolutely soaked with your slick. He shifted so his ring finger joined with his middle, slowly slipping along your folds, gathering up your nectar.

He slid the tips of his fingers up until he gave an experimental circle of your clit. You nearly clambered forward, knees buckling. His grip on your hip tightened, and he urged you back on to his lap, hovering just enough to where he could admire your glistening folds that puffed out and chased after his prodding fingers.

His cock stood heavy between your bodies, nestled right against his belly button, the head leaking small droplets of precum. The more he touched you, the more it seemed to twitch on its own, like it was itching to get a feel of your gummy insides.

He glanced up at you the moment he inserted those two fingers, dragging them along your walls and pressing into the hilt of his knuckles. He watched your face fall, mouth dropping open and eyes tilting into a sultry heaviness that had him spilling out more precum from the mere sight of you.

“Thereee you go, sweetheart,” he murmured raspily, grinning up at you while he chose a pace to fuck his fingers to. A soft squelch sound filled the room, overpowering the TV that continued to play whatever band was currently competing. “She jus’ needed a little attention, ain’t that righ’? Now you’re sweet as a bunny.”

You were completely checked out, eyes hazed over and heavy. Your chest heaved with every squelch of his fingers inside of you, and your hips desperately began to chase after them with every meager thrust. A needy whimper escaped your lips as you fought for more, but it wasn’t enough.

“Need more, En,” you whined, voice completely fucked out.

“Yeah?” he hummed in amusement, unrelenting on finger fucking you. “And what do you say, doll?”

Your back arched when his fingers crooked up, hitting a sweet spot that had your thighs trembling and your fingernails digging into his forearms.

“Fuck— please, En,” you cried, grinding your hips down in a pathetic attempt. “Please, I need more. Want you inside.”

Enjin’s smile only turned more sinister. His dick throbbed painfully between his legs, desperate to fill you up and finally claim his spot in you that he’s been waiting to fill ever since he joined the band. God, he’s had his eyes on you from the very beginning, shamefully fucking any woman who gave him the time of day to forget about how much you seemed to hate him.

But you didn’t hate him, no. You just needed to be treated right. Needed this pussy to be treated right, and you’d be putty in his hands for as long as you’d let yourself be.

“So she can be a sweetheart,” he mused teasingly. He leaned in to press his mouth against one of your breasts, digging his teeth in and sucking to leave a faint bruise. He soothed over the ache with his tongue. “All ya had to say was please, baby. I’ll take care of the rest.”

With a hand on your hip, he held you up on your knees. It was easy to guide his cock to your slicked pussy, dragging the head through your folds before finally, finally, he pressed through the first ring of your entrance.

Your mouth was slack, eyes struggling to stay open. He couldn’t take his eyes away from you, watching every flicker of reaction that flashed across your beautiful face. He was completely enamored, no longer aiming to shut you up but to rather fill you up with nothing but him until you forgot your own fuckin’ name.

“Good girl,” he encouraged smugly, letting you take your time to adjust to his size.

With every inch that you slowly sunk down on, you felt more and more full, feeling warmth in the pit of your belly. It was too much, but so fucking good, you wanted more. You felt greedy, wanting to force yourself down and take him all in at once.

“Easy, baby,” he murmured, eyes flicking down to the way you were swallowing him. “Not too much at once, yeah? Slow.”

“Enjin,” you huffed through gasps of air, annoyance tinging your tone. Back to your roots you go! “You’re pissin’ me off. For the love of god, fuck me.”

Enjin froze, staring up at you with an unreadable expression. You nearly regretted your words the moment they came out when you saw the pure irritation taint his yellow irises.

He was being so patient, letting you be selfish after practically fucking your throat raw earlier, and now, that little string he had left for you had snapped.

Without warning, he sunk you down on the rest of his cock, punching the air out of your lungs. He set a brutal pace, not even allowing you the time to adjust — no, you lost that privilege the moment you opened your bratty mouth.

“Enjin!” you shouted, fingernails digging into his shoulders as you tried to hold on.

His boots were planted on the floor once more as he angrily slammed his hips up into yours, resonating a loud slap sound that rang in your ears. His fingers dug into the plush of your hips, so tightly they would definitely be leaving bruises in their wake.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he huffed out in annoyance, his eyebrow twitching with focus as he stared down at your bodies. “I try to be nice, try to take it slow, and you go back to runnin’ your fuckin’ mouth.”

Enjin’s gaze flickered up to watch your expression, absolutely grinning at the drool that pebbled in the corner of your mouth and the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

The sounds that escaped you were absolutely pathetic, broken little moans that got cut off with desperate gasps of air. It was addicting, your pussy luring him in like a drug.

“Fuckin’ spoiled, you are,” he laughed mockingly, grabbing your cheeks with a hand to make you look at him. “S’that why you’re always bitchy? ‘Cause you’re a spoiled brat?”

You practically sobbed, tears streaming down your cheeks at his brutal pace, smudging your makeup in black streaks.

“C’mon, doll,” he taunted, shifting his hand to rest under your chin, wrapping around your throat. “Answer.”

“Yes!” you cried, voice wrecked, cracking with the tears that streamed down your cheeks.

“Yeeeah,” he grumbled cockily, laughing breathlessly through his aggressive pace. “Spoiled fuckin’ brat just needed some dick to shut her up this whole time.”

You wailed at the slam of your hips against his, feeling the tip of his cock wound your cervix. It was so much, yet not enough at the same. You needed more, needed to feel him burrow inside of you until you were filled with nothing but his seed.

You didn’t know how much longer you could hold on. Your stomach coiled tight with a familiar knot, and it only pulled tighter the more he slammed into you.

“En— EnEnEn,” you gasped out, brained turned to mush, unable to form a proper sentence. “Need to—fuck, m’so close.”

“Yeah?” he breathed, though he wasn’t too far behind.

He’d been dreaming of fucking you for a year. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to last as long as he normally could. Besides, with how you looked right now?

Fuck, you were lucky he didn’t paint your insides from the first thrust.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he encouraged. His hand slipped down from your throat to rest on your navel, thumb swiping across your swollen clit.

The stimulation had you trembling, uncontrollable wails filling the room. You squirmed frantically, feeling that build up ready to burst, but he held you steady with his other hand, forcing you to bounce on his dick and take exactly what you needed.

“Look at you, such a fuckin’ wreck.” He chuckled cheekily, throwing his head against the back of the couch to peer up at you in fascination. “Gonna come all over me, yeah? C’mon, sweetheart.”

Snap.

The coil in you tightened until it broke, and you sobbed as your entire body was flooded with piping hot ecstasy. It was the hardest you’d ever finished, seeing stars glimmering behind your eyelids, your body falling limp in his hold.

“Thaaat’s it, doll,” he huffed out through his own frantic breaths.

He continued to slam you down on his cock, even after your body was spent and unable to be held up on your own until he painted your walls a hot white, spilling into you with the tip of his cock practically kissing your cervix. You whimpered at the feeling of being so full and warm, and he brought a hand up to your hair as he rode out the aftershocks, cradling your head in the crook of his neck.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered through his teeth, stuck in a daze of his own high.

The room filled with comfortable silence apart from the TV and your shared heavy breaths. His ears tuned in to the TV, noting how the last band was performing and that you’d have to hurry to make it to the result announcement.

“Y’alright, sweetheart?” he asked kindly, carefully lifting your head from his neck to take a look at you.

You looked exhausted, sticky strands of hair stuck to your forehead, eyes barely open. Your lips were swollen and bruised, skin clammy with sweat.

For a moment, he felt like he’d done too much. However, that quickly melted away when he saw your lips curl into a tired smile, as if you read the worries in his mind.

“Mm,” you hummed, content. “M’good.”

Enjin smiled, breathing out of a soft laugh.

He was careful in the way he gently pulled you off of him, leaving you leaking and empty, something you clearly weren’t too fond of. He laid you back on the couch, watching as you curled into it, and made quick work of tucking his dick in his pants and presenting himself as somewhat decent.

“Wait here, m’kay?” he murmured, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your ear.

You simply hummed and nodded, tired eyes watching the last band perform.

You laid, completely spent, waiting for Enjin to return. It didn’t take him long, coming back with a clean rag he plucked off of one of the backstage workers, cleaning you up with attentive care. It made something unfamiliar flutter in your chest.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he encouraged, helping you sit up so you tug on your clothes. “Top six is bein’ announced soon. Semiu still owes us drinks for when we qualify, so perk up a bit, yeah?”

You nodded dumbly, simply throwing on the clothes without much of a care. You patted your hands against your scalp to lay down any frazzled hair, then wiped your fingers beneath your eyes to smudge away any of the stray makeup.

“Do I look okay?” you mumbled groggily, looking up at Enjin from where he stood in front of you.

He held back a snort, helping you stand on wobbly legs, letting you find your balance.

“Peachy,” he teased, to which you pinched his arm and grumbled under your breath.

You hurriedly found the rest of your band backstage, Semiu’s eyes nearly bursting out of her head when she’d seen you.

“The fuck happened to you?” she asked, reaching up to brush one of her knuckles against your cheek.

You swatted her away, wrinkling your nose and telling her you’d explain another time. For now, you were worried about the scores as you joined Gris, Zanka, and Riyo, the girl in question excitedly chirping in your ear about all of the great performances tonight.

You felt Enjin lingering behind you, his eyes focused on the screen as the judges tallied up their votes.

Gris gave you a sideways glance, one to which you mirrored, before he broke out in a knowing grin, opting to shut up for now.

The waiting game for the results was torturous, but unsurprising, your band had made it through to the next round, placing 3rd — not too shabby for a bunch of sexually pent up bandmates and their first competition with a new drummer.

As promised, Semiu dragged the five of you out for drinks at a rundown old bar downtown, celebrating your successful win and already plotting on the next competition in a few weeks.

“Think round two might encourage some good luck?” Enjin asked, low enough so only you could hear.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and tipping your head back to take a shot Semiu bought.

“I still hate you,” you muttered, though your words held no heat.

Enjin barked out a laugh, slapping an obnoxious hand on the table. Your bandmates stared at him in amusement while Semiu tried to get him to pipe down, moaning about manners.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, sweetheart,” he chided cheekily, sliding his fingers around his own shot glass and throwing it back.

[kamislop]

"no kiss rule" with fwb!enjin 18+ MDNI!!!

no kissing.

should’ve been easy enough, since it was the only boundary you’d set when you said yes to this absurd agreement with enjin. he could call you at any time, waltz in your room as he pleased, and you barely had any limits when it came to sex.

but if he wanted to get his fix from you, that was the only rule he would have to follow.

should be easy enough, right?

wrong.

“fuck, girl, you’re - hah - takin’ me so well…” the lewd, wet squelch of your pussy bounces off the walls as enjin’s cock keeps pummeling your hole raw. you can barely formulate a sentence, or even a thought, face mushed so deep into your pillow you wouldn't be able to talk anyway.

but it’s okay, enjin knows your pussy’s doing all the talking for you. one of his big, inked hands is splayed over your arched back, the other keeping firm purchase on your hip for leverage. he hunches down just enough for his lips to skim the nape of your neck, for his leaky tip to brush just shy of your cervix as he gives you a deeeeep stroke that has your knees wobbling.

“aht, aht,” he warns, tapping the side of your ass twice. “ass up, c’mon, you can take it.”

you whine something unintelligible into the pillow, white-knuckled fingers gripping it like a lifeline. between enjin positively fucking the lights out of you and your tits squished into the mattress as he forced you into the most pornographic-looking doggy he’s ever seen, you can barely breathe.

when he watched the insane - and definitely uncomfortable - angle your back was arched at, he was truly grateful it wasn’t him being folded like that.

“e-enjin, fuck—” you somehow manage to huff out, turning your head to the side. “hm?” he hums, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “tapping out on me already?” he asks, hips stilling.

“fuck off, no,” you grunt. “can’t fuckin’ breathe…this thing’s suffocating me.”

when you try to push yourself up on your elbows, and miserably fail, enjin can’t help but snort, but he immediately stops when you shoot him a deadly glare. “here, lemme help.”

your hole clenches in protest at the loss when he pulls out to help you on your back. once you’re all pretty and spread open in front of him, he watches your cunt wink at him, begging to be filled up with all of his impressive inches again.

“better?” he checks in. you nod, but he gets distracted by the fat wad of spit he lets fall onto your puffy folds, fat thumb spreading it until it’s mixed with your glistening slick. it takes every inch of willpower to stop himself from eating you out again, but he knows you’re going to nag him because you’re so hungry for his dick.

so he plants his hands onto your spread thighs once more, fingertips caressing the soft skin before he moves up, up up to streeeeetch your legs all the way until your knees brush the sides of your face. you’re growing impatient, needy little sounds spilling from your lips as his cock brushes against your sensitive clit.

“enjin— fuck!” your complaint is cut short by a powerful thrust. he bottoms out in one smooth move, the mating press he’s keeping you folded in giving him the euphoric sight of a cute little tummy bulge. “hmmm?” he teases, flashing you a grin. “so bossy…wan’ your enjin that bad?”

“j-just - hah - fuck me already…”

he chuckles, face so close to yours you could count every golden speck in his eyes. “yes ma’am.”

it doesn’t take long for you to be a cockdrunk, babbling mess again, enjin’s forehead pressed against yours, open mouth huffin’ n’ puffin’ and grunting your name over and over again. every kiss of his tip against the deep spots within your walls has you keening, back bowing away from the mattress and into his body, needing him closer.

so you don’t really realize his lips are on yours, not exactly kissing, just touching, enough to swallow each other’s moans. his fingers travel up your calves to find your wrists, and he hugs both in one huge hand. he doesn’t notice it’s happening, either, lost in the bliss of the moment, until you shift your head to the side a bit, away from him.

“‘m sorry…” he mumbles, never breaking the pace as he hides his face into your neck. “you’re— nghh, you’re fine, jin…” you pant, not even sure what he’s apologizing for, mind swimming in a lust-crazed daze.

your rule is stupid, anyway. that’s the thought that crosses his mind when your hands squeeze his, your hot breath fanning against the shell of his ear. so he starts with small, tentative pecks over the side of your throat, making sure to keep you dumb enough on his cock as he moves upwards once more.

he presses one to your jaw, one next to your lobe that makes you gasp. he masks the kiss to the corner of your lips with a nibble before fully claiming your mouth. he almost cums right then and there when he feels you melting into him.

enjin falters for just a moment before he breaks, like there was still a part of him that was holding back, waiting for that one switch to be flipped. there are dangerous words clinging to the tip of his tongue, words that he needs to swallow back like bitter bile because that would ruin everything.

but he doesn’t push it, as much as he would love like to kiss you forever, he breaks away, which is also a bad mistake because he’s met by your glossy eyes, spit clinging to your maw like you’re asking for more.

it’s that exact look that makes him cave, his orgasm taking him by surprise. he pulls out instantly, coating your stomach with his release, muttering a string of curses under his breath. when he finally manages to get back to his senses, he sits back on his haunches, rubbing a hand over his face, clearly annoyed.

“fuck, sorry…didn’t mean to so soon,” there’s a tinge of vulnerability in his hushed voice. you’re still catching your breath after that earth-shattering pounding, blinking away your haze to look at him properly. it always tugged at your heartstrings whenever enjin would look like a kicked puppy— can’t shoot at a man that’s already down.

“‘s fine,” you wave him off, pushing yourself up on your elbows. “i can let you shower with me just this once, so you can finish the job.”

he lights up at that. “really?”

it’s hard to bite back your smile. “mhm, i mean, i didn’t cum, so…” you hold a finger up. “but no kissing. that was your first strike, dude.”

“hah!? strike?” his jaw goes slack. “yep!” you nod sternly.

“but you literally liked—”

“not the point! or i’m giving you another strike!”

“yes ma’am,” he holds his hands up in surrender, snorting quietly.

he’ll make you drop that dumb rule someday, he’s sure of it.

┊┊a/n. requested by my lovely @rengoatku i hope i've made your idea justice mwah

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