dd!!

19/\/\/\ Maybe I’ll write someday(no I wont)

[ewnamored]

(IR)RESPONSIBILITY ••• ꒰ ENJIN X FEM!READER ꒱ | PART TWO

Tired of being a virgin, you’re ready to find yourself a man you deem suitable. Gris, your safest choice, turns you down, so a casual group trip to a nearby settlement becomes your plan B. But Enjin, secretly crushing on you, can’t stand to watch you flirt with others. After he sabotages your hunt, the confrontation soon exposes your secret to him. Suddenly, he’s faced with a choice whose answer is far more obvious than he expected. WORD COUNT: 18.8k.

CONTENT: not suitable for minors, SMUT with plot, virgin!cleaner!reader, push and pull, some fluff, bad humor, anime spoilers (at least for the last episode’s after end credits), jealous & protective Enjin, sort of toxic dynamics, reader wears makeup and dresses in a feminine way, drinking, Enjin’s kind of nice/patient here but he’s also insufferable (and makes some disrespectful comments), unprotected + rough sex, praise, dirty talk, oral fem receiving, hair pulling, multiple o’s, grinding at the dancefloor.

A/N: This is a repost from my previous blog. There is now a new part two written for this current blog, therefore I had to reupload the first part. Now, I want to preface this by saying: don’t consider this story to be a realistic take on first time. And, obviously, you don’t have to be a virgin to read the story. I’m just having fun writing dirty Enjin. The reader’s age isn’t specified, other than her being an adult, so it’s really up to you to decide what you consider losing the v card late. And while I’m not a virgin myself, I think there’s nothing shameful about being inexperienced, regardless of how old someone might be or what this fic might portray❣️Everything written here is for funsies.

“You should save it for someone special.” — is the sentence that makes you realize you are being friend-zoned.

Friend-zoned by Gris, who, in your humble opinion, sometimes worries too much about being chivalrous. Friendly rejected in a narrow space of a work truck you have dragged him into for privacy, with you and him currently hiding in the underground garage.

Expected in hindsight, unexpected in impact.

You exhale deeply, receiving little relief when the car still stinks like the brand of cigarettes devotedly smoked by a certain individual. The plea in your eyes is tainted with a speck of annoyance. “I don't care about someone special. I might as well never find them,” you reply with exasperation, rubbing your face. Most are asleep at this hour, yet you are here, almost begging to be ruined by a handsome man.

Gris frowns, as if he believes you are undervaluing yourself. “How come? You are a lovely woman, and…”

You admire him for his reverence, but honestly, his romantics have you nearly cringing when you're on hunt to be fucked…

… For the very first time in your life, in fact—if not including the way he’s fucking up with your ambitions.

You think his reasoning is something a teenage girl would love to hear, and while she deserves the best, it’s not something an adult woman who has made up her mind — mind you, with maturity and hours of pondering — would now want to hear.

“Look, I won’t pressure you — it’s all your choice. But I want you to know we don’t have to be in love for this. That’s totally fine by me. No grudges will be held,” you try to bargain with the most cordial tone you can muster, even if your fingers nervously drum against the armrest. You want to respect his feelings no matter how eager and frustrated you may be.

Gris laughs nervously; you for sure are one of an attractive lady in his eyes, yet he’s not sure if he’s willing to complicate the teamwork friendship built between you two in exchange for few moments of relief. Being so close to you has him flustered already — your top lingers low on your chest today, as if you deliberately chose to use a bait on him.

“I appreciate that. I really do. You could say I’m flattered it’s me who you chose to entrust yourself with… Regardless, I still don’t want getting any weird ideas about you after the fact.”

He pats your shoulder, and as soon as he escapes you and your alluring perfume, you’re left alone with your own thoughts.

You’re in quite a pickle.

Remaining as a virgin at your grown age has became dull, like having a layer you are unable to shed off. It’s not that you’re saving yourself for marriage or are necessarily afraid of intimacy… It is instead fate who has funny ways of cockblocking you from gracing some dude’s bed.

You’re desperate to know what sex is like, not to mention, frankly said, you are pent up, horny, and agitated with no man to take the edge off till this day — and your job certainly leaves you stressed out. No boyfriend whatsoever, because how do you handle one, being a Cleaner and living in HQs? The idea is too exhausting just as a sound of it.

It’s not that finding a man to sleep with is difficult — you’re sure there’s many who would have jumped at the opportunity of popping your cherry. No, you’d have preferred for it to be with a man you think you can trust, like other Cleaners that would try to protect your life should there be a need to. And while maybe the idea of screwing your own teammate doesn’t sound most professional, you assume many here have done worse things, even between each other, not exactly always following strict work ethics… As long as you bother to distance yourself emotionally after, why would it ruin your relationships? It’s all fun.

With Gris crossed out on the list of candidates, you don’t think there’s really anyone else around to ask. Boss obviously is not an option, you have a bad feeling about Tamsy, Delmon still mourns his deceased wife (and who can take that size anyway…?), Bro Santa feels more paternal to you, August would tell everyone in a feat of excitement, Follo is probably a virgin himself…

Then there’s Enjin. And maybe with him you could have a good time, you’re about ninety percent sure he’s into you, and perhaps you do reciprocate that attraction, but it’s just…. no. You’re worried he’d brag about being your first, or even hold it over your head for a while after. Or he would laugh at you for being a virgin despite your age. Besides, hearing about his escapades to town, you don’t want to become just another woman on his to-do-list. He’s your friend you like to drink beer and play games with, not sleep with, unless you want to catch feelings for a man who also happens to be not most open emotionally or capable of handling a woman’s feelings for that matter.

Sleep hardly comes to you that night.

“Good mornin’.”

It is Enjin’s raspy morning voice that pauses the train of your thoughts that unfortunately have crossed the side into another day with you.

He shuffles into the grayish, slightly worn out communal kitchen of the headquarters, scratching his hip under his long sleeve, all exhausted and with swollen eyelids. The metal chair screeches as he throws himself on it. Yawns. Then coughs up the morning phlegm like an old man, grossing you out.

“Good to who?” you grumble from above the stone counter, fumbling with the dilapidated coffee machine mocking you, providing little cooperation today. “Especially when you’re making ruckus at seven in the morning.”

“Huh,” he mumbles to himself, trying to remember if he’s done anything appalling towards you yesterday. It’s difficult to brainstorm with a sleep fog in linger, but he can’t really recall anything too bad in the end... “Your coffee’s brewing, isn’t it? You’ll soon get your caffeine shot,” he says bluntly. “Don’t take it out on me.”

Dangerous move, assuming your emotions are fickle from something as simple as caffeine withdrawal… although he does find you being a bit angry kinda hot. A smidgen of passion never hurt nobody if only enticed a simple guy like him.

He steals a glance at you right after “insulting” you. The worn out t-shirt you slept in but no bra under is a deadly combination that reveals the outline of your breasts, your shorts are barely peaking under the length of your tee as if you might as well have none on… The intrusive thought comes, as he half a mind considers dropping something just to see you bend down, but he chases it away — you’d probably kill him once you catch up to his scheme anyway, and his murder is not as hot. He burns the image in his head for a later reference instead.

As for you, you don’t say anything in response — you only send him a glare before turning your head around as to not let yourself be provoked further. You don’t need more of headache. Any other day, you would catch up with him by blabbering about your latest mission and injuries you suffered, complain about your own team, brag about a cool trick done with your Jinki — he’d too in return — but nothing hearty is initiated this time.

He’s not deterred by it, standing up and coming closer to you, with the saunter drowsiness brings. Up close, he eyes your face intensely, as if it will give him an answer to your moodiness, so long as he bothers you long enough.

And you hate how observant he can be, quite often at that. Always investigating someone’s personal interests, yet revealing so little in return.

He looks ridiculous to you, squinting his bleary eyes. “What?” you bark out, reaching out for your favorite mug you then slam down next to your prepared breakfast, unable to handle the odd suspense he’s creating.

“You’re pissed off about something,” he voices the obvious like it’s a conspiracy theory.

“Yeah, you,” you mutter, finally pouring your coffee in.

He rolls his eyes and yawns again, this time at least bothering to cover his mouth. “Figures. And besides me?”

You scoff. “Like I’m telling you anything.” He’d probably laugh at you — both for your failure with Gris, and as well the one to be laid for so long. Or even worse — he’d tell you you lacking sex is where your attitude comes for.

“Why not? Come on, don’t you want to give your best buddy Enjin some juicy gossip?” he says with a subtle taunt in his rasp, leaning in closer to you until you feel a bit hotter in your face.

You can’t be that desperate, that just a bit of male attention works on you! Although, with his morning hair still falling down, or his sweatpants hanging low on his hip, it’s reasonable that you are distracted.

This is how male birds flaunt their appeal to a female, or so you have heard somewhere. Knowledge on animal species is still being gleaned on the Ground, yet you have a feeling that, ironically, their mating rituals are not so different from the women and men’s one.

“No,” you say eventually, all stern, remembering the question still stands. You elbow his stomach to dominate your personal space again.

“Ouch!” he hisses, stepping away from you as if you just burned him. “I’m a victim of violence over an innocent question?”

A bit smugger, you rest your back against the counter. “I don’t need your cigarette breath on me. Who smokes before eating anything?” you mock.

“Fine, have it your way,” he says reluctantly— and dramatically — before leaning against the same surface, almost knocking the cupboards with his head due to his height. Damn him being tall too... The worst men receive the best gifts. “I’ll find out… one way or another anyway.”

“No, you will not!” you say, affronted, and take a loud, aggressive sip. Even if you make an educated guess he’s deliberately inciting your mood to be worse.

“Yes, I will,” he mocks in return, mimicking your appalled tone, then laughs at the unimpressed look you give. “Okay, I won’t pry, just cause I don’t want you retaliating.” He sighs woefully as if he let go of a good deal — just for you. “But I’ve got a hunch you’ll tell me on your own terms anyway,” is added cockily.

You shake your head, tired of his assertiveness. You’d rather not have a big mouth around him, but Enjin happens to have a talent for opening up people… or sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong in general. You only hope Gris will keep his shut. “Anyway. Are you going to just stand there, or…?”

“Oh, I’m not hungry yet,” he throws nonchalantly. To be expected when he smokes first thing in the morning. Although, he still might be hungry for something else.

“Then why are you even here?” you ask with confusion, wondering if he made his trip here only to annoy you.

“Well…” he drawls, thinking of a quick excuse. Saying he's there to charge his energy for the day by ogling and teasing you isn’t the best clincher. “Coffee.”

“You don’t drink coffee,” you point out bluntly. “Thankfully.”

“Maybe I want to try one made by you,” he musters something beguiling, if not straightup flirtatious, smirking as if he considers himself so witty.

“Yeah, right.”

Dammit.

You don’t believe him and that sucks for Enjin, because lately, he’s been making many useless routes around you just to “run into you.” One too many of the unexplainable events and you’ll know he’s been following you, as a result of something about himself making him want to see you often, admittedly very pesky to him — and it’s not just your delicious body.

“Yeah, no, I was just…” he circles around the cupboards, pulling out a few snacks. “…getting those for Rudo before others can get their hands on those later. But don't tell anyone.” He winks at you, internally believing he made a smooth exit out of before he could be caught in a lie.

Except, you think you can’t be that stupid. You can tell there’s something up, the unnatural nervous energy about him, even if his explanation is plausible; however, you plan to ignore the conundrum until you’re done with your rejection-woes.

“Huh. Yeah. My mouth's sealed. Anyway. I’ve gotta get ready for a mission, so…” You hastily grab your plate and mug, suddenly feeling exposed in your pajama you were too lazy to change from yet.

“Alright.” He doesn’t tell you what a bummer it is you’re leaving so soon.

“And, Enjin…” You stop two steps after trailing off. “Sorry for snapping at you for no reason,” you say reluctantly. Looking back, you snapping at him over your personal affairs, maybe you were too rough on him…

He doesn’t gloat at your admission, nodding once, as if appreciating you taking responsibility. “Good call. Thanks,” he acknowledges calmly.

But when you pass him on your way out the kitchen, right as he’s lighting up another cigarette of this morning, he gives your ass a good look.

And you can feel that gaze.

“I saw that!” you scold from behind your shoulder and move faster to scurry away from him and the kitchen he’s occupying with his annoying presence. “I’m taking that apology back, you don’t deserve my kindness!”

“Right, my bad,” he replies unabashedly, “Just don’t forget about the upcoming grouping.”

When you’re gone, he cusses under his breath, letting out an exhale so dense it ricochets across the empty room. You’re entering his head like an uninvited, nagging, and pushy guest far too often. One time even, as he was helping you fix cupboard door with loose bolts, he let it fall on his head instead of holding it properly for you because he got distracted by the sight of your top riding up from your arms reaching high.

“She’s a trouble,” he complains aloud to no one.

Most of the Cleaners tend to spend their free time on their own. It’s really Enjin who organizes any outings between you all; drags others along to settlements with him if he has to.

Tonight, it’s the kind no kids are allowed to — his own team stays behind, while it’s you, him, Semiu, Gris, as well other willing adults that tag along.

The air in this club is steamy from the heat dancing bodies create, shoving each other at the brick walls covered in old alcohol advertisements, especially that the spacial capacity of this popular spot must have been exceeded a long time ago.

Youth gathers here the most, looking for escape from shitty jobs. They occasionally bump into your black table that’s as rocky as they are, worn down after the years of overuse.

The tiled floors are sticky under your shoes and have turned gray years ago, their pollution being in remembrance of debauchery that constantly happens here.

But Enjin finds it particularly difficult to concentrate on having fun for once.

He’s not adjusted to seeing you in anything else than your uniform or clothes to lounge around the base. That shorter dress of yours, tight and off shoulders, woven in your favorite color, is certainly a conspicuous man lure. It might be dark here — even for a glam scene moderate light is supposed to create — as the old bulbs still wait to be replaced, yet he’d recognize the shape of your body everywhere. Then there’s your makeup, lips plumpened with gloss, and whatever magic Riyo did with your hair for her amusement.

To his dismay, this outfit works out for you well. You’ve been gaining attention and traction ever since you walked into the place, and to add fuel to the fire, you’ve been sending mutual looks to some of the men around. He can’t tell if you’ve always been the flirty type and you hid it well from him, or is it something about today’s weather.

The place is stuffy, smells like vodka and vomit, which only irritates him further. The air is trash inside, the literal trash air is trashy outside too, when do you even catch a break?

It’s only some guys that give up when they see his glare, Enjin’s bull eyes peaking through his smoke like the red dot of his cigarette, a warning road sign hanging next to you. Givers generally don’t have the best reputation among normies, as they’re seen as materialistic and overly attached to their possessions. But it’s also their gaze, that is oftentimes dull and razor in comparison to those of other people; it’s the cockier ones that remain dauntless in face of Enjin.

“Someone catching your eye?” Semiu teases you, her arm draped over the back of your chair. “You've been eying quite many men lately, I noticed.”

Enjin looks at you both with suspicion — smartly seated across you for a better view. It’s clear you and Semiu know something he doesn’t.

“On a hunt today?” he butts in scornfully, and you don’t like his attitude that’s been throwing you off from the start of this evening. He's been killing the mood since you stepped inside, doing so in a way far worse than usual. No yapping about his team’s achievements today, that Rudo this, Zanka that, and all that jazz. No teasing or hollering or cackling or dumb games.

You tense up defensively — no, seriously, what is his problem? “Something like that. I must have fun once in a while, right? It's the least I deserve for putting my life on the line all the time…” you speak with sarcasm.

“Guess so… though you immediately running after some douchebag kinda beats the purpose of coming to the bar with your friends,” he’s really bitter, brows pinched together in judgement. “Just don't ditch us too soon.”

You can’t believe his sudden aggressiveness — who does he think he is to dictate your behavior, out of all people too?

“You’ve got plenty of people to talk to. Other tables with our guys to join. And don’t act as if you wouldn’t be doing the same,” you glare at him. You’ve been sipping on a tawdry cocktail as to prevent yourself from getting wasted and ruining your plan to conquer some guy, but in the end, you might need something stronger to be able to deal with Enjin’s brattiness.

“Touché,” he mutters and takes a cigarette drag a bit viciously. “But the difference between you and me is that I at least organized the fun for everyone.”

“Yet it’s not like I’d have any fun with you when you have a stick up your ass today anyway,” you grumble, entertaining the idea of stabbing him with a tiny drink umbrella in your hand. It’s a grueling labor, avoiding his moodiness as to not shatter your excitement for tonight.

“Oh yeah?” he mocks and points a dramatic finger at you, like there’s some kind of accusation brewing. “You sure gonna have a lot of fun looking like that,” he drops this bomb on you.

He realizes what he said when your mouth falls open and the table turns silent; or rather, he realizes what it sounded like. While he was just a projecting and jealous idiot, he ended up sounding like a chauvinistic pig without meaning to. If anything, he tends to say awful things half the time, but this time, he catches himself in this act right after.

“Looking like what?” you and Semiu synchronize angrily, daring him to finish his nasty thought. Gris knocks his ankle under the table, scolding.

Enjin raises his hands (and cigarette) in a placating gesture. “Wait, you got it all wrong, silly,” he laughs off, simultaneously getting rid of the stress the idea of losing your approval brings. Or how scary Semiu can get. “I mean to say: looking gorgeous. But yeah. Who am I to stop you? Go ahead and have your fun.” He shrugs.

“Hmph. Thought so,” you say with head high, eyeing his simple pants and t-shirt up and down. He can't say anything on your spotless look when he barely put any effort into his!

And soon, ironically, and very unfortunately for Enjin, the fun does end up coming to you.

The man who approaches your table is immediately stared down by him, but this one doesn't relent, leaning down to whisper something close to your ear that almost makes you giggle. A type of guy to wear a polo shirt with a fit too tight to accentuate the muscles he pumped to catch attention of women and all.

And so Enjin is forced to watch you being stolen from him in front of his very eyes. You and your pretty dress walking off with that beau, heading to the dance floor.

He doesn’t know who is he more mad at. At this point, he for sure regrets taking you here.

“Why you’re giving her a stink eye all evening? She's looking pretty, she should be getting it all out,” Semiu says dryly, disrupting Enjin’s war of thoughts.

“Not that I care,” he scoffs and crushes his cig butt into the ashtray. That’s the thing about Enjin — he can be quite dramatic, and when he does, he looks absolutely childish. “I’m doing just peachy,” he sighs, trying to not sulk over the loss of your presence.

“Easy now with that attitude,” she teases. “You’ve had a long day of doing absolutely nothing. Must be exhausting!”

Gris has been watching the bickering all this time in contemplation. He has a pretty good idea of what you’re attempting to obtain from these men, and he’s unsure how Enjin would react if he were to know — only that it wouldn’t be a pretty sight. He stays silent about that truth, choosing to distract his friend.

“Hey, Enjin, how about we play pool—”

“No,” Enjin shuts his offer immediately.

He huffs in disbelief. “So you’re going to stare at her like a murderer all night?”

“Not staring. Watching. Look at these guys, they’re just… shady,” Enjin says grumpily. He slumps himself in his chair, crossing his tattooed arms before he turns into something akin to a guard dog.

Semiu and Gris send each other exasperated looks. Their colleague is not someone they want to nanny tonight.

“Well, it’s not like she can’t help herself in case she needs to. She’s not defenseless, so why won’t you just mind your business?” Semiu scowls and stands up. She’d much rather find a nice girl to talk to than witness Enjin’s whining all night. “I have to get away from this party pooper,” she mumbles to herself.

“Just making sure nothing bad happens,” Enjin replies nonchalantly, not even looking at her, as he locks into monitoring you, playing with his umbrella he picks up from his thighs.

It's hard to locate you amid the flutter of dancing people and kaleidoscope of colorful lights, but when he does… You’re apparently having a lots, lots, and lots of fun.

When he previously thought of you dancing, he didn't expect it to be… this sort of exhibitionistic display. You backed up against a male body, it not even belonging to your previous catch anymore, but to a new one as if you are passing men around. And his hands all over your body… as you move to the rhythm of music, grinding together. He’s seen you flirt with men occasionally before, yet it has never quite reached this level.

This is perhaps a price Enjin has to pay for not making moves on you much earlier. It is definitely a nightmare played out in reality to him. How do you cope with multiple men touching the woman you’re into, all transpiring in the momentum of one night?

There’s adrenaline coursing through his veins, and it’s a miracle he’s still sitting in that chair. His hand flexes its fingers, and some kind of anxiety lingers in his stomach.

He tries to look away. He really does, remembering Semiu’s wise words. He tries to concentrate his gaze on another appealing woman he’d normally love to chat with. Who is he to stipulate what you do and with whom?

Yet there's this ugly feeling brewing in him, a foreign concept to him, and Enjin is incapable to accept the notion you're into someone else and that you’d dare to let them touch you so easily — unused to such a vision. Every heart brutality sent his way is on top of you ignoring his flirts for the past months, like he’s lesser than strangers.

He barely hears Gris trying to talk sense into him, busy watching your dress’s skirt ride up your bare thighs with every sway of your hips he thinks he’d treat better than any of those horny leeches. Then buy you a drink (and maybe some other stuff on different occasions if you smile at him like that often enough.) The only positive outcome is that you look absolutely gorgeous while you’re at your ritual.

He didn't feel this envious even the day someone else won a ticket lottery for Too Lily’s concert.

Enjin’s not the one to loose his cool easily, nor is he the one to react with aggression on a regular basis — even during fights. But he might as well go to hell for his transgressions tonight, as this much — you being entertained by some other asshole — he can’t let go of.

He stands up straight, hastily inhaling the leftovers of his drink for a confidence boost.

“And where do you think you’re going, Enjin?” Gris asks sternly, having enough of his infantile games. He’d prefer to stop any fight from escalating out.

“That guy over there with her looks like trouble. Don’t trust him one bit. I’ll keep an eye on her from up close,” he makes an excuse, not caring whether it’s believable or not. In a way, he does find many guys here shady, because… well, he’s a guy himself, surrounded by many other guys, and so he knows what his kind can be like. There is actually some protective urge gnawing at him. “Watch after my Umbreaker!”

“Enjin!” Gris calls him from behind but has to give up when he notices his friend has already disappeared into the crowd. Going after him would only create more commotion, so he counts on you putting him in his place and Enjin normally straying from whittling people down. He shakes his head with annoyance and chugs down his beer.

Hopefully no teeth will be smashed into smithereens tonight.

You’ve gotten really invested in the process of suitor- chasing, alcohol in your bloodstream aiding you in your hunt.

You’re circling yourself between different men, making assessments of their likeability before you can choose the winner of the night. You’re no longer looking at their face, but only judge how good you feel in their arms from behind you. The fact you’re doing this around strangers is as marginal, considering they’re busy with their own affairs.

Your favorite song is playing. The smoke machine is filtering through and adding to the sultry atmosphere. Blinking lights have turned you dizzy, going with the rhythm of your body so well that you have to turn up your workout. Nothing can go wrong when you’re having this much fun.

Eventually, the one you end up with has really handsome hands, that stay steady and rhythmic on your hips. Big, calloused, with a strong grip on your hips. Nice.

You lean back against his toned chest more comfortably, smelling cigarettes through the crowd of different colognes and perfumes. The mysterious stranger has to be tall too, and as his hands don’t wander around too fast and desperate — not out of modesty if still he moves skillfully and sensually, awaking your nerves — you think that maybe he is be the one. You don’t need to turn around to see his face to know he’s got a nice body on him, or that he’s especially capable of paying attention to your needs rather than solely grabbing curves for himself.

He’s only awfully quiet, which you absolve him of by assuming he wants your focus on his touch first and foremost.

Him presumably about to grind against you like with those men before, you think the least getting-to-know-him thing to do is to look down at his hands over your hips, feasting on the sight; but when you do, different swirls and lines mix into your blurry vision.

Maybe the lighting here isn’t the best, you’re tipsy too, but a bad feeling starts gnawing at you the more you concentrate on his arms, your mind churning a familiar photographic memory. Dark, intricate patches and lines contrasting the lighter skin, condensed the most across the bottom of his hand and forearm. Black nails, except for the pinky fingers. There’s many people here whose skin is adorned by tattoos, but this is too specific.

“Enjin?” you ask, astonished by your realization.

What. The. Fuck.

You're too scared to whip your head around, refusing to confirm this mindfuck-worthy discovery. Your body is rigid.

The suspect tenses up behind you, although, doesn't stop moving you two.

You almost trip over your own feet, moving along only out of shock — and it’s not as if there’s much space to get away within the first place.

Finally, he allows himself to speak and reveal his identity.

“Yes?”

He has shoved himself between other men in order to retrieve you from them — smarter than fighting, but astounding in audacity nevertheless.

“What are you—” words barely leave your mouth, as you’re still dumbfounded. What’s gotten into his rotten mind to decide to do this? He’s never come this close to you before.

“So what if it’s me? You’ve been dancing with many men tonight, I shouldn’t be any different?” he speaks with some irritation lingering in his voice, close to your ear, in result teasing it with shivers.

You can't tell if his he’s shaming you for your indulgence, or is simply making a counterargument, though it’s difficult to deny his body has been feeling nice on yours. You’ve been thinking about him a lot lately yourself, that now, you haven’t acted with rejection yet.

“None of them are my teammates…” you argue weakly. “You fucker…”

“Hm, fair point, but are they this nice?”

His fingers stroke your hips, rubbing faint circles, before squeezing on them and tugging you even closer — and your stomach rushes with butterflies, against your good conscience. Are you this sensitive from alcohol, or is he that good with his hands?

“Enjin…” you murmur shakily, sensing that your defenses are falling apart under just a little of dexterous stroking.

“Yeah?” he drawls, leaning down to rest his face in your nape, and his light hair grazes your nerves even more.

You feel his heart thrumming against your back. He’s not immune to you either… though that much you could predict from his boner starting a formation poking at your ass. “What prompted this?”

His hands tighten on you, previous anger making its presence for one more moment. “You can’t trust these guys,” he abuses that excuse again.

“And I can trust you?” you’re confused about his hypocrisy, as you are offended by it. You finally turn your head to face him, even if sideways. You blow air at the sweaty strand of hair coming across your face, frustrated.

Enjin is always so keen on staying secretive about his past; he might as well be another stranger to you. How do you trust someone you know relatively little about?

He doesn’t reply immediately, forgetting anything perceivable when your eyes lock with his; both pairs buzzing with lustful energy, electrifying.

When he remembers to speak, with him amused by a cute puckering of your lips from indignation, suddenly his anger begins to disperse: if it weren’t for these dudes before, he wouldn’t be there with you, so maybe he ought to be grateful. “That’s for you to judge. However…”

His hands wander up to your waist, slow, as he observes the way your lacquered mouth parts open in response, and he rubs at your side.

“You said you wanna have some fun, didn't you? Don’t think I didn't notice the way you look at me sometimes. Even just this morning, for example…”

The fact he has caught you staring fills you with embarrassment; although, the traces of arousal between your thighs make it harder to care about being exposed.

Two can play that game, apparently. He’s pulled to you, you push, until he pulls you close himself. Repeated daily.

“I…”

“It doesn’t matter. Just focus on me,” he assures lowly.

You shouldn’t be doing that, but you end up relenting to his whims, alcohol and feelings winning over.

You close your eyes, letting your ass roll with his crotch, side to side, until you fall to the rhythm of slutty remix playing. It’s still all new for you to feel a man’s bulge pressing into you. You shiver from the sensitivity it brings, and while you might have not done this before, you can tell he’s packing a nice size in his pants.

As for Enjin, he’s losing his mind, having you this close — his dick has never been more painful in its hardness, your perfume taunts his nose, and it’s a blessing you haven’t pushed him away. The weight of your body against him will ghost him for a while. And then goes that dress again…

Soon, you get lost in him and the music. Your body is all hot, your blood pumping everywhere, and it’s not alcohol — even more so when you hear his sighs near your ear. Your tension is growing quickly, especially when at some moment Enjin bends you over a little…

Too quickly — because he brushes against your panty-clad outline after your dress finally reveals it, bringing a foreign sensation to those regions, and you refuse to make a fool of yourself in front of everyone, as the contact this direct almost allowed for a shameful sound to leave. So much for drunk and horny confidence, when you get scared by a bit of petting and actual grinding, having not anticipated it. With other guys before, you’d leave before anything too serious could develop, not finding them that interesting.

You’re suddenly pushing yourself away from him. But he keeps you close, thinking you’ve simply come up with the maddening idea of being a tease.

“Let me go, Enjin,” there's clear fluster in your voice, as there is some forcefulness behind it to assert yourself in your decision enough.

You yank again and again and it’s only then when he finally lets you go, worried about making a scene that could cause misunderstanding, as well your reaction.

“What’s gotten into you so suddenly?” he asks with confusion.

You don't answer, quickly making your exit without looking back, on chase to separate yourself from the embarrassing encounter.

“Hey, wait, I'm sorry if I get ahead of myself, but you were—” he tries to summon you back, going after you through the tight corridor of other people you butt into and simultaneously irritate this way. His heart is pounding, as he wonders if he has just ruined any chance with you, even if you clearly were into him here for a sec.

He grabs your wrist only after you escaped the crowd, stopping you shortly before you could get away further.

“You're seriously going to ignore me after this?” his tone turns grave from the thought at your cowardly audacity.

“It was a mistake,” you say roughly, trying to remove his grip.

To your relief, Enjin does let you go, not wanting you to bruise yourself from the struggle; however, he’s on guard, ready to stop you again in case you think of running without some explanation.

Remaining silent for few seconds, he tries to gauge your feelings. You’re moody, appearing a bit troubled and tired by something, all that excitement from before gone like a poof.

“Mistake how? I would have thought it’s because of me, but, uh, you looked oddly shy all of a sudden…” he sounds openly suspicious. Oddly, as coming from someone who was ready to conquer the male cluster tonight.

He’s really too smart for his own good. Words get stuck in your throat, and you have to sit down from the alcohol blues coming in, choosing a spot at the empty booth behind you. You only perch yourself on the edge of the leather red seat, ready to flee the hell away from him should the conversation progress in a wrong direction.

“Well?” he prods further. “You're gonna tell me what’s going on, or does the little escapee feel like avoiding me for the rest of the night?”

You pick on your dry cuticle, shuffling your feet from restlessness too. “That’s… none of your business. I really don't want you laughing at me,” you finally reply, words coming out clumsily.

You’re acting really weird to him. “And how would you know I'd laugh at you, whatever this is about?” he’s affronted, as if you have no faith in him.

Your face deadpans — it’s obvious.

“Fine, maybe I laugh at others sometimes—” you raise your brow, “half of the time,” he corrects himself dramatically, “but what if I promise I won't laugh at you? I can tell whatever this is, that it matters to you,” he grins like a seller, thinking he’s so nice to you.

“I don’t believe you,” you say outright.

Enjin scowls and ruffles his hair, offended you can’t appreciate his kind offer. “You’re being difficult.”

As if he isn’t just nosy. As if you didn’t hug his boner few minutes ago.

“Whatever,” he acquiesces with a heavy sigh. “Let’s make a deal, so you can stop second-guessing me. If I laugh at you, you’re allowed to ask Gris about one very embarrassing for me moment. Eye for an eye. You can have all the giggling fit shit that you want if I ever laugh at you first.”

When you think about it, that’s rather honorable of Enjin. Nonetheless…

“But why do you even care.” You stand up, approaching him more closely again, as if you’re gearing up to squeeze something honest out of him.

He eyes you warily, while his heart picks up a familiar pace of excitement he can’t accept till this day. As for your question, he thinks you don’t need to know the real reason, nor is he good at vocalizing those type of feelings.

“Well…” he scratches the back of his head and looks around — anything to avoid seeing your cleavage and becoming your fool again — everyone seems to have great fun, except for you two huddling this corner of the club. “I'd much rather know why, than stay thinking I came out as a creep to you. Set things straight between us...”

As well know your secret goes unsaid. It’s some weird type of responsibility sense, watching after other’s troubles inadvertently. He’s taking on that role with his “kids” all the time, for example. But above all, with you, he needs to know it all with even more urgency.

For you, you suppose that’s fair — not wanting any loose ends. You have to reap what you sow because you didn’t stop the dance on the spot and now you owe him an explanation for the sudden rejection.

But being mature enough and communicating is so much trouble if you’re not even able to at least reward yourself by bringing any man to some love hotel with you.

“If we must have this conversation, let’s have it tomorrow when we have sobered up. I’m suddenly feeling exhausted,” you say listlessly.

He lights up a bit, as weird as it is to you. “So it’s a deal?”

You hold him in suspense, staring at him with some type of theatrical disdain. “Yeah, it’s a deal.”

You spit at your palms before connecting them for a handshake.

With the next day’s arrival, you begin to think you don’t remember the last time you were this nervous; not even the usual missions have you this apprehensive like one conversation to have does.

Telling Gris about your sex life, or lack thereof, was quite easy in comparison to telling Enjin, as you find the first rather comforting when he’s not exercising his inhumane strength on trash beats.

Resided in your room and warming your bed for the sake of stability the familiar space brings, your nerves are still wracked when your space is being disturbed by the possible end of your reputation breathing down your neck.

Meanwhile, Enjin has been forced to sit on a tiny stool of your vanity table, as if going through some punishment, picking up every of your possessions he has no clue what they’re for.

However, it’s a tiny discomfort to the reveal you make at last.

“You’re a what?”

His jaw is hanging low in shock, and your powder brush falls on the wooden surface. He felt your secret is something big in his bones, but you still being a virgin, that’s unprecedented to the idea of you he has had in his head all this time. He’s known you for quite a while, and yet, somehow something so significant has slipped his way.

You anticipate his laughter, or at least a snicker to make it in character. You’re pretty sure if it was anyone else confessing, he'd be laughing in a robust way you old virgin, before eventually choosing to give some backhanded yet useful and almost life-changing advice and assurance.

But nothing comes to violate your ears.

He himself has no idea what to do with this confession.

“Don’t make me say it again,” you mumble, picking at the threads of your blanket. It’s the worst moment, anticipating what kind of opinion he’ll express.

“But…” he trails off as he stands up, not knowing what to do with himself either. He takes a few steps back and forth across your limited space floor before looking at you with confusion again, trying to crack the code like a man who was suddenly deprived of any brain cells.

Math isn’t mathing here. He literally remembers — vividly at that — what you were doing last night.

Unless… it was a ploy to find your first guy. Just a rather bold and straightforward one.

“How is that possible?” he exclaims with frustration, his hands on the hips. “I mean… it’s not that you’re bad-looking,” he gulps at the thought of you when you— “Besides, some men will get their hands on everything. How come you are still one?”

“It was more of my decision…” you admit awkwardly. You’re a tiny bit relieved he’s not turning his lung upside down from laughter, although you were not prepared to be bombarded with questions.

“So you’re a prude?” he asks bluntly, sitting down again.

You forgot that lack of laughter still doesn't contradict the existence of a foul mouth.

You shut your eyes, exhale deeply as to not let yourself be provoked, and open them with scornfulness etched over your face. “Not necessarily,” you say in a brusque tone.

He weighs your answer, wondering how much he can get away with fooling around before you’d turn too defensive and kick him out; you’ve got to have your blood boiling from embarrassment already. That's why he takes on a route of being a better listener.

“Then what is it?” Resting his elbows on his knees, he leans forward.

He's overly curious to your liking. You could have just finished the conversation here, as soon as you gave him the evidence it wasn’t him but your fears that you underestimated that had you running away last night. However, you’d rather shut this chapter close. And maybe, just maybe, you want him to know for the liberty of your soul. The worst part of this avowal is behind you, right?

“Well… you know how it is,” you start, speaking with more evenness. “Growing up as a Cleaner, I never had a chance to settle down with anyone. And while men in the nearest settlements exist, I was too invested in fighting to even bother with finding anyone… not to mention, I didn’t want it to be a bad experience...”

Well, those arguments personally have never stopped Enjin from pursuing other people — what else can you do between the missions and not go crazy? Nonetheless, yours are still sound. Everything makes more sense now, too — flaunting yourself to these guys yesterday was about finding the perfect one to lose your virginity to.

“Until now,” he finishes the conclusion for you with a hum of annotation. “So you’re finally tired of waiting?”

You nod. Suddenly, your body feels much lighter, cathartic after making all that admission. Now you can move on, and—

“Does that mean I ruined your hunt?” he cups his chin in thought, as he tries to not sound satisfied. That idea shouldn't make him so happy.

Forget it. You grow irked again, your eyelid twitching as you’re brought to remember the failure Enjin enforced on you. “You did, now when I look back at yesterday,” you huff out with anger, crossing your legs and resting your face against your hand in sulk. “Why did you get in my way anyway again?!”

You even throw a pillow at him he catches anyway.

Upon your question, he looks to the side to be avoidant, he himself turning fairly grumpy. It’s not as if he could admit he felt unreasonably jealous. “Told you these guys seemed shady.” Same old excuses.

“And I’m not a child. I can take care of myself,” you declare sternly.

“You were also drunk,” he points out stubbornly.

“Not the first time, not the last time. And even if you were to be right, you couldn’t simply pull me away from them?”

You suddenly recall the way he danced with you. It makes your body throb with heat, you have to adjust your position. Wrangling with him is getting tiring, but there’s also something very hot about it, the chemistry you can’t deny.

Right. Chemistry.

It finally hits you, and you feel so dumb for not realizing that earlier. It’s just that you never imagined Enjin to be the type, and that theory escaped your mind when you were busy stressing out about what you did with him.

“Wait… Were you jealous or something?”

That’s got to be it. The only plausible explanation for him being overprotective out of the blue.

His eyes widen and a lump gets stuck in his throat. “Fuck no,” he replies viscerally, sitting up straight as if he was burned. His thoughts are racing, as you battle each other with eye contact meanwhile. Your steel gaze covers him with cold sweat, and his mouth opens up to form another curse that never leaves from how speechless you’ve rendered him. Accusation like this shouldn't be giving him plethora of heart jumpscares, he shouldn't be so defensive, but you’ve been having funny ways of messing with his brain.

In conclusion, you knowing the truth about the extent of his possessiveness would be his pride taking a hit.

“I’m not,” he eventually puts the pressure on his words.

At this point, he’s dragging on the inevitable.

You frown, standing up from your bed. “Then what would even be your problem, huh? And no, I don’t believe you for a second it’s about being protective.”

“Tsk. Don’t act like our attraction isn't mutual,” he mutters quietly.

“What was that?”

“I’m telling you, I’m not jealous!” he leans forward and ruffles his hair out of frustration. This is really hitting his ego. His heart. Whatever that is making him so susceptible to you.

You realize the tiny power that gives you. It’s not often you see him like this, stumbling over his words, a telltale of some sort of vulnerability.

You turn this discovery into teasing him, getting back at him spoiling your fun, as you inch closer. “You were jealous, yes, you were!”

He tends to admire you in secret, for your wrong and right, but your jokester move is too much at the moment. Enjin grits his teeth, raising his head up to look at you with almost a plea to stop. Let him have this one. “Stop, I don't know even know what’s jealousy—”

But you’re relentless, smirking as if you won. “It’s okay to admit that you are. Maybe I’ll make it better for you after.”

Until he can’t take it anymore.

He makes a space for you between his legs, then is drawing you close by your waist before tugging down on your hair so your lips can meet his.

He was indeed jealous.

He’s kissing you. He’s actually kissing you. To shut you up, although, if you desperately seek your truth, this is the only way he’ll let you on the window of his heart.

You stand frozen in stupor at first, while his mouth is moving already. Your rationality tells you to push him away, to not make things even more complicated between each other; your body says fuck you. You dig your palms into his thighs and kiss him back with twice fervor, pulling out a gasp from him.

At least this one is something you have experience in.

Your own emotions erupt, catalyzed by the shocking gesture. All that tension that's been hanging over you like a cloud that could never rain until a thunder struck it; your dissatisfaction with him; your attraction for him.

You bite at his lip with anger that he groans, and he pulls on your hair harder, deepening the kiss. His other hand wanders up to your face, tilting your face so he can lick across your lips before pushing his tongue in.

You moan at the sensation enhanced by keeping your eyes closed, rolling your tongue with his. Tasting tobacco, smelling that tobacco shooting straight through his cologne, experiencing his strong grip on you, you feel yourself getting heated up. There’s nothing on your mind other than him, your hate too, and if someone were to interrupt you two now, you’d probably want to kill them.

Enjin shares your sentiment especially, humming deep in pleasure, as if he’s having the time of his life. Both of your chests are going at the crazy rate. He’d rather regret some things later than now let you go. Maybe he would have never gathered enough confidence in any other circumstances, so if it’s possibly his only kiss with you, so be it.

You eventually end up on his thigh, drawn down by him, as his hands begin a tantalizing route over your body. Then they go down to your hips and ass that he squeezes handsomely until you whimper, and now it’s you tugging on his hair, his Choker, then brushing his chest with an angry growl, until you both start a game of trying to one up another.

Your results are messy, with teeth clinking, but you can’t stay away as if every brush of lips is not hard enough.

It’s only when your oxygen is sparse that you forcefully pull away from Enjin who would gladly go longer, even at the expense of his breath.

You take a step back and stumble on your feet, breathless and dazed, as you fix your hair. You stare at each other: Enjin’s honey eyes are hooded with desire, while yours are no better. There's even some flush decorating his face.

You plop yourself back on your bed, slowly coming back to reality.

“What… what was that…” you ask quietly, trying to shake yourself awake. Your heart goes for your throat, and your nerves are still pretty much awake, as if awaiting more touch.

“You wouldn’t have shut up otherwise,” he scoffs, although his features have softened. It’s not affection, it’s not tiredness, it’s some you-torment taking over he for once capitulates to.

You linger in silence, none of you winding up to properly comment on what has happened.

You think you should kick him out at this point. You really should. You can’t start something that has no guarantee or even any steady foundation. You should be mad he’s meddling with your sex life too. However…

He can tell what kind of troubled thoughts you’re experiencing, and since he’s not done getting to the bottom of your virgin issue, he decides to overstay his welcome.

“… Soooo,” he clears his thought, changing the subject for the sake of you two, as if the kiss didn't happen.

You think that’s maybe for the better, even if a switch up leaves a bitter taste in your mouth — on top of you still feeling him on you. “What is it?” you mutter, limply pressing your head against the wall behind your bed.

“Do you plan on going back there again?”

“I guess so,” you say nearly bitterly, your mood turning sour after an awkward confrontation. It’s as though he’s messing with you and you’re letting him. Playing push and pull. “Unfortunately, I have exhausted my other safe options?” You sigh.

“What other options?” he narrows his eyes, jealousy striking again.

Uh oh. You implied that without thinking. “Well… I might have asked… Gris… to help me. He refused,” you say hesitantly, anticipating the worst reaction.

Enjin’s jaw drops for the second time today. He thinks that’s even worse. You fucking his own friend. It’s personal as hell. Clenches his jaw, he glares at you. Seriously, it's betrayal after betrayal.

“Let me get this straight. So you thought of asking my own friend you’re not even that into. Yet you didn’t think of asking me?!” he almost yells, all dramatic.

That’s his problem?

“I mean—” you stutter, not wanting to give him the real reason as to why he was excluded in case he becomes even more offended, even if you’re right to worry he might take you for granted. “Well, would you even do it?” You smooth out your covers, not wanting to look at Enjin.

“No way,” he snickers. He wants you — badly — yet, he doesn’t want the consequences of getting that close with you. Regardless of whether he’s offended you didn’t include him in or not.

Which also makes him a huge hypocrite because how do you refuse to sleep with a woman but also not want her to sleep with other men?

You glance at him, raising your brow. “Why not? Don’t you find me attractive?” now it's you being nosy. And maybe a bit offended yourself.

Seriously. What type of question it is. Of course he does. Just the imagination of having you, taking your virginity especially, as he teaches you to take him and subsequently ruins you for others, makes him insanely hard at the thought. As much as the thought is not the healthiest kind.

“Don’t let me make yourself question your looks, idiot.” Even he wouldn’t go that far. “I simply don't want to look weirdly at you after the fact,” he says bluntly and stretches his arms above his head, aching from sitting in that tiny chair.

“How so?” You're confused, considering the previous events.

“Well… we work together, don’t we? Don’t wanna start being distracted mid job because I remembered.”

“Yet you danced with me. And now you kissed me?” you point out with exasperation. Your hands flail while you gesticulate, as if you were painting that image.

“Yeah… low effort, low risk. We’d probably not remember it a day after. As for the kiss… well… consider it blowing some steam off,” he says dismissively, hiding behind nonchalance.

That's just cold. You’d wince if you didn’t know he’s playing down the kiss, for some complex reason. He’s been more easy to read lately, whether he realizes that or not. You’re only feeling disrespected by that.

“It’s not like I would ask you anyway... I guess I’m back to bothering some guy in town. You can leave now,” you say, exhausted by that back and forth.

“… What?” he splutters from disbelief.

He forgot that just because he ruined your plans to lose virginity last night, doesn't entail you have given up on them entirely.

Seriously.

Enjin wants to believe the sudden distraught misplacement he experiences is coming from the raw need to protect you — against men willing to prey on your inexperience only — but he’d be lying if he said he didn't hate the thought of another man touching you just as much.

He used to think you're no virgin, yet finding out he could theoretically be your first, he is now aware of what is there to be taken granted for… or to never gain another chance for. Or what is out there for you to be hurt in a way different than coming from a nonhuman monster.

There’s many things and people to lose on the Ground in general, in this forsaken trash land, and so he’d like to keep you close to him. For some reason.

“You said you wanted a good experience,” his voice cracks from the slight panic. It’s so comical, you want to laugh a little.

You shrug your shoulders. “I also want to get done with it. I don't expect sparks.”

“No, no, listen—” he hesitates when you lower your brows over your eyes in suspicion. “I… I didn't know it’s that important to you. I can do it.” Those words leave his mouth instinctively. He almost regrets them when he catches up with reality, but he’s more set in stone about being your first than against it.

You look at him with surprise, taken aback about his sudden change of mind.

He immediately makes an excuse, logical. “You can’t trust those guys, strangers, yeah? Too rough, not clean enough, boring — and you’ll remember that for a while, if not forever. You don't want to let them hurt you either.” He leans back against your vanity more confidently, trying to sell you that opinion.

You know he’s not wrong about anything that can go wrong; it’s really the matter of sleeping with Enjin out of all people that boggles your mind.

While you like to believe you know better and can at least put effort into finding a right man to hook up with, a guy you’re into and guy you know suddenly feels safer after his suggestions and persuasions… after the kiss and the dance that both still have you with heads in the clouds also.

He at least has proven he's good at those things.

You both must be insane to be entertaining that, but you have been dead set on losing your virginity for a while now. It’s a matter of getting over it, so you can know it’s like, as well start your sex adventure.

You stand up, crossing your arms. “Are you sure? Because I don’t want you chickening out in the middle just cause you changed your mind, wasting my time,” you're adamant about him being serious with you. No games for once.

“Yes…” he responds shakily, quite in disbelief you’re actually permitting that heaven for him. “As clear as day.” He stands up too.

Truly insane. And yet…

“Alright then… but we’re doing this based on my rules. And we're still just friends after, right?”

The place you and Enjin end up settling on is his room. Or rather, you insisted that it’s his, refusing to associate the upcoming memories with your own room.

You meet him close to midnight next Friday, knowing most people around will be busy in the common hall or out, reducing the likelihood of someone finding out what the duo of you is up to.

You’ve been here in the past, although back then it was only for an inquiry about something. You thought he’s messy, as he is wild, exactly replicated in his room: from the cigarette maker spilling scobs on the tiny TV stand, through the bottles clinking over the collapsing dresser, to the laundry on his chair still waiting to be folded. You noticed some porn magazine you’d tease him about, and then the wallpaper peeling off at some corners. He was in need to clean that nasty dust from his dark furniture. Worse, the hefty smoke produced repeatedly had jaundiced some things yellow — the transparent curtains especially. And then, under the terrible light of rusting desk lamp barely scratching the gloaming atmosphere, Too Lily’s poster was beamed at. It was only his precious Vital Instrument that received a reverent spot on a special hook specifically mount for it on the wall.

As for today, everything seems clean. The metal bed has fresh black sheets, the floors are swiped, distracting items other than the picture of his team are hidden, and his blond hair is seemingly still damp from showering. Enjin put in some effort into making sure you’re comfortable, or that he doesn’t embarrasses himself.

And coming inside his bedroom, Enjin didn’t immediately push you on bed or whatever you might have imagined about this setup with him. He was only back to his cocky self, eager to impress you.

He’s currently taking it slowly with you, getting you into mood, as well working against your nervous tension. His experience coming in handy.

“Feel me first.”

“H-huh?”

Enjin’s crotch is flush with your ass, taunting you with his bulge. It’s too much already for your untouched body, and your head spins at the friction. It’s like it was back at the club, except you’re now fully sober, taut as a bowstring. Not to mention, you barely lasted waiting those few days preluding to seeing him — and he was doing no better.

“See what’s it like. Small steps. Get used to feeling me,” his teasing is tinged with tiny breathlessness on his own.

“I don’t need you to coddle me—”

He presses his hips closer in response, having you whimper. “Not coddling. It’s called foreplay, stubborn woman,” he chides lowly. “Unless you want it painful.”

“I know what that is!” you exclaim. But when his hands get all over your torso, groping every curve and plush through your clothes, you start craving more of that foreplay. “I’m a virgin, but I’m not clueless…”

“No complaining,” he feigns a tut. “I’m being nice to you, little overthinker.”

He cups your breasts, fondling them through your tee — you dressed simply to not be conspicuous to others you pass on your way to this room, but (un)fortunately forgot to put on a bra after showering due to your stress having you all over the place, giving him this advantage by an accident. He is indulging himself with your chest already, straight out of his wet dreams.

“And I know it feels good. Aren’t I so caring, taking it slow with you?” he taunts additionally.

You give him payback, pushing your hips harder at him that he grunts, even if it drives you mad as well.

“You can’t just—”

“Then don't provoke me, asshole,” you bite.

He snorts, a bit charmed by your spirit. “Even now, you have a spunk in you…

So do I.”

His hands finally slip under your shirt, roaming across your front. You get goosebumps immediately, your body absorbing a new touch on your skin.

Enjin groans at the direct weight of your breasts resting in his palms; your nipples are hardened already, forming nicely between his fingers. His cock twitches against your ass.

You chew on your lip, biting down any louder noises out of the need to preserve your image; though, you can feel aches growing between your legs.

“All nice and sweet… how dare you keep this body covered for so long, huh?” His voice is a never ending reminder of his presence all over you, drawled and intimate.

“S-shut up…” you stammer, getting shamelessly hot amid the fluster his words bring. He’s always so damn talkative, uttering things with every fiber of his being, and you suspect he’s about to become ten times worse.

“I could shut up… but then how else I’ll keep you on your toes? I’m building up the tension.”

His hands never stop fondling and you inhale sharply when he tweaks your bud.

You lean more against his chest, needing something to hold onto — and glad that you can’t see him just yet. “Can’t you just fuck me already? I can take it…” you whine.

“Trust me, you can’t. Not yet.”

That claim only adds to the buildup of your anxiety, as well to the excitement, heat building up in your belly. Some guys overestimate their size, but you can literally feel that he’s not lying, his bulge growing with every of your noises.

Enjin kisses at your nape, above your Choker, while his hands keep playing with your chest, mostly squeezing gently.

It's all nice. Fuzzy. His hair tickles your skin, his lips spread warmth everywhere, and then he’s rubbing your nipples again.

“E-enjin…” you say shakily. No longer able to maintain composure, a moan slips out from your lips.

His name fallen from your lips is a sinful dessert, and he wonders just how many repetitions he can pull from you. Something tells him you indeed can take more, as you fit in his arms and are succumbing to their magic rather quickly. Not to mention, you do seem kind of desperate like he has read from your actions towards finding the right guy.

“Shh. I've got you,” is pressed into your neck with another wet kiss, his lower lip dragging it.

Eventually, not many sounds can be kept with the mouth barrier. And they sound better than they did inside his head during imagination hours.

There’s plenty of fish in the sea, but he wants a siren like you.

It’s becoming increasingly hard for him to keep his ministrations strictly about you; to abstain from taking more immediate action.

“Ah, whatever, come here.”

He guides you onto his bed, pushing you down so your back lands on it.

You feel more vulnerable than you did before, lying with your chest heaving in anticipation. The suddenness in which he did further sends a dizzy spell through you.

He’s soon crawling to be above you, his hair framing his forehead — he didn’t bother to style his hair up after washing, capable of looking even more handsome this way.

Your breath hitches when he moves between your legs he spreads using his knee and presses his hardness into your clothed cunt.

“You’re still doing fine?” he asks intensely, as he allows himself to take in you sprawled underneath him.

“Yeah…” you nod. Everything is a lot as ever, but you are not ready to give up on making this milestone.

“Good. Arms up.”

Following his words, your shirt is taken off, ensuring your chest is exposed and his for the taking. His goes off too, Enjin feeling hot and needing to feel your skin on his through no barrier. His tattoos come into your vision fully, as your mouth waters at his torso; their unique and repeated design forms a question too, but you leave that for another time.

One hungry look is served at the sight of your tits and hips — ingraining his belief he’s never been more obsessed with a woman before. Then, without a word, his mouth is all over your neckline, as his hand caresses your waist. Enjin doesn’t bother to explain this process to you when he rolls his hips forward to grind into you, though proper words are knocked out of your mouth too.

His greedy kisses are wet and messy, you find yourself tilting your head for him when he launches an attack on your neck. “Enjin…” you call out quietly with a whimper.

“Mhm. Keep saying my name. It sounds nice when you’re not pissed off at me once in a while…” he says with a low murmur, a few words every kiss.

He sucks on your skin around your Choker before lying down a tiny bite, as if to judge just how sensitive you are. He just can’t get enough of you once you let him on top of you, trailing saliva all over you, with his brain forming a disarray of emotions about how much your presence in his life constantly pushes him to be a man reduced to the one resting at your feet.

You grab his forearm from a surprise, feeling him hit a neuralgic spot.

“Gonna make you feel so good… just you wait…” he purrs into your throat, his cock throbbing at the thought of making you cry for him.

His mouth goes lower, giving your breasts proper attention — grazing his teeth across the top of them before soothing the nerves here with a quick kiss.

You can tell you’re getting nasty wet underneath your bottoms, your clit pulsing when he occasionally puts more pressure with his groin there. You're dizzy, overwhelmed from him targeting your body from both sides.

“S-slow down…” you mumble weakly, even if your hand goes to the back of his head to keep him close.

He makes a quiet growling protest, looking up at you from underneath his lashes. “No,” he licks at your nipple, watching you wriggle in reaction, “don’t act like you don't need me.”

Because he for sure needs you.

Before you could tell him you would never need a man like him, he’s already shutting it down with a suck on your bud. Meanwhile, his hands holds your hips down, using them as a leverage to slowly keep thrusting forward.

You're losing your mind, digging your fingers into his nape. While your anxiety surrounding your first time still rules your mind, you start fantasizing about being fucked by him, spilling tiny moans from the stimulation he’s providing, as your body arches from the pressure of his mouth a little.

Enjin alternates between both sides, groaning every so often from the friction on his clothed dick miserably trapped in his pants. He himself wonders just how much he can even afford, being with a woman he’s been dreaming about for months like a sore loser. Just your chest in his face is his undoing.

Tiny beads of tears gather across your lash line, and that motivates him to go further.

“You’re crying already?” he teases, though his eyes soften the tiniest bit from the way your lips tremble, proving you’re untouched.

“I’m not crying… I’m just sensitive…” you say petulantly, shyness tightening your chest.

“Right. It’s still a long way ahead for me to really mess with you,” he grins a little, adding to your fluster.

Just what exactly will he do with you? You wonder.

He’s soon kissing down your stomach, coming dangerously low towards your abdomen, his hand playing and slightly slapping at the band of your pants as some kind of forewarning.

Your muscles tense up underneath his mouth and messy hair, skin prickling with tingles, as you circulate your breathing with ragged pace increasing itself. Your legs clench around his sides.

He’s growing brisk in his movements, needing to get into your pants asap. He’s about to see the pussy he’s been thinking of, imagining how you’d squeeze him when fisting his cock. Not to mention the few bonds destroyed because he thought of you when fucking another woman.

You can’t even care you’re exposed to your fricking coworker and a friend anymore; every kiss is one more to the excitement and nervousness of what he might do next.

And he doesn't plan on making it easy. Biding his time, counting his blessings to ensure he’s taken every part of you for his mind to rage about later. If you weren’t inexperienced, he’d love to keep you here all night.

“You’re gonna let me eat that pussy, yeah?” It’s not a question, if only the only most rational outcome for him, spoken deeply. Enjin looks up at you intensely, expectantly.

“You don't have to…” you trail off.

Him fucking you is one thing, him shoving his face into your loins is another, demanding more closeness… In hindsight, you expected a bit of stretching before being filled, in almost unceremonious fashion, sufficient enough to step away from the virgin title; Enjin seems keen on making your first impression much better. Whether it’s care, his fetish, or perfectionism.

“But I want to. Be grateful for full service. It doesn't come cheap,” he teases, all arrogant. He could say it's just to get you more ready, but munchies also come to him in different forms.

Your pants are therefore stolen from you, slid down carefully down your trembling legs.

Enjin doesn't immediately get you buck naked, staring at you with a starving gaze, as he sits up to be on his knees for a second. Irresistible is little to call you, for lack of a better word.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” he asks lowly, tugging at the apex of your thigh and hip while his finger hooks itself around your panties. If you weren’t a nervous wreck, he’d just bruise your body by fondling it for hours, inspecting every part for enough material to be a content man.

You wriggle your hips, restless under his scrutiny, and he bites his lip with appreciation. Reality truly is much better than daydreamed visions.

“You better don’t hide anything from me tonight, you hear me?” is what he highlights before your panties are made to fly across the room, leaving you with nothing and all vulnerable.

“Just be quick with it…” you demand shakily, your tone anticipatory. It’s odd to let him see this part of your body.

But his mouth slacks at the sight of your untouched cunt, glistening from your wetness. He spreads your folds apart, imagining his cock between those. You jolt at the foreign touch. “Would you look at that…” he mocks, embarrassing you. “I’m glad at least she’s been agreeing with me.”

“Why won’t you just—” you try to make him shut up, unused to hearing those things, but he's already lying down and spreading your legs to be between them. It happens so fast, you worry if you can even handle his enthusiasm.

He blows hot air onto your pussy, interrupting your argumentative talk that tries to arise again. “Yeah?” He rolls your clit with his thumb, up and down, eliciting more for him to eat from; your legs try to clamp on him immediately, taken aback by sudden force of tiny pleasure.

“E-Enjin…!”

“Uh huh. You weren’t lying…” he remarks — too cheerfully, glad that your body is agreeing with him.

The fact he’s about to your first is really something difficult not to be smug about when he’s been eying you for months, and while he’s aware it’s a mean move to brag about that as if that’s all that matters, he believes it’s more elaborate than using you — especially that he strives to make you feel good.

It took him long enough to make a real move on you, after he almost has lost you to some dude that who knows if he wouldn’t become your boyfriend after.

So he wastes no time gluing his mouth to your slit, manhandling your thighs in effort of keeping his source open. He’s rolling around your clit with the tip of his tongue, licking a stripe downward, before slurping begins. His nose knocks at you as he goes down on you.

You tug on his hay blond strands with a moan, finding the sensation of his tongue lapping at everything your body produces with no gradual takeoff out of this world — as much as a new experience in this place is weird to come touch with. You wonder if he's been thinking about doing this to you before, for him to have no qualms about driving you crazy from his mouth alone. Maybe he imagined the more graceful way he’d do it, only for all plans go to ruin because his only goal in actuality is to be voracious.

“So good…” he groans between the smacks of his lips, getting his face wet as he messily spreads ecstasy everywhere across your pussy. “You're gonna have to let me do this more often, hm?”

It feels good for you to, especially when his tongue gives your bud more attention or shallow dives inside, stretching you gently before something else will.

You’re quickly getting greedy, trying to hump his face, moaning higher and higher.

To your delight, he doesn’t stop you, only growing harder at the sight of your enjoyment and you taking what you need. The slight ache on his scalp makes him grind into the mattress, as he leaks pre-cum sopping his boxers.

If he ever decides to be boring and stop smoking, he suspects this is how he’s gonna deal with the mouth tics.

“Enjin… I’m…” you heave, whining from what he’s doing to you, suffocating his sides with your legs too.

“Mhm. That’s right. Make a mess on me. Show me what you crave,” he says hastily into you, spreading vibrations down your legs.

A tension is building up in your hips, needing desperately to be released. Your hole twitches, still waiting to be filled, as your clit throbs madly, pent up and about to snap. The temperature of your moist body feels as if doubled, sending more shivers into your system.

“Pleasepleasepleasegiveittome—” you sob as you finish, almost ripping his hair off, your feet kicking up.

Even after, Enjin, satisfied by your body indulged, doesn’t stop going, licking you clean.

You have to forcefully pull him away.

He gasps, inhaling air as if he just ran marathon, stuck in a pussy-drunk state. All dazed by you staring back at him with teary and heated eyes, he has to shake himself off to remember his ongoing objective.

“Yeah, you’re fine, you’re fine. Come here, pretty girl,” he says gently.

He maneuvers you to rest against his chest, between his legs, as he props himself against a pillow.

You let him handle you, still coming down from some type of dumbness. “Why are you holding me like that?” you gulp, overwhelmed by the warmth and sturdiness against your back.

“You’re asking a lot of questions for an amateur today. Stop fussing, dummy…” he says lazily, brushing the inside of your thigh.

It’s not like he can tell you he wants you close, for some reason.

You exhale irregularly, titling your head towards his shoulder for more steadiness. “But I want to know.”

“Let’s just say, it’s more comfortable this way.”

He looks down at you, you chewing on your lip as you observe his hand getting closer and closer to your wet heat again. You’re no longer as nervous, too lustful to care about complications.

“You’re going to do something or not?” You’re growing impatient, needing yourself one step closer to him fucking you even if you just came.

He finally taps his fingers at your slit, as if scolding you for your hastiness. “You’ve gotta trust the process,” he murmurs into your ear, circling around your hole without pushing in yet. “No attitude.”

His index and middle finger prod at your mouth. “Get them extra wet.”

With a bit of hesitation, you suck on his digits, trying to coat them in much as saliva as possible. To him, the sight stirs his guts, another thing to remember for a while — your glazed over eyes, your mouth working hard on his hand as if it was his cock instead. He has imagined you sucking him off many times.

When he finally pushes in one finger into your tight hole, his arms embracing you from the front, even just that feels plenty. Because one is thick and long, pulling apart at your virgin walls, and when his fingertip curls inside your hole, it grazes something good too.

You huff out air, as he slowly thrusts it in and out, slowly building up the depth to the bottom line tattoo on his finger. You’re still wet from previous affair, so the combo of that and saliva has him gliding in enough to push another in soon.

“So much complaining before but look at ya… sucking in my fingers in like your body can't get enough…” he says unabashedly, chuckling slightly.

You’re almost scared from how easily this type of talk comes to him. But when he speeds up his actions, it’s not like you can give a damn about anything other than the friction and stretch turning your insides even warmer so nicely, sting or not.

“Ugh… it feels so weird…”

“You’ll get used to it.”

You jerk your hips along his movements, and soon, he starts hitting your clit with the ball of his hand while he keeps going in and out.

His other hand cups your chin and turns your head to the side for a kiss. Any distraction from his balls almost turning blue with no attention yet proves useful — he still pulses against your ass. The kiss is clumsy both from his and your fault, accompanied by hums and greed exchanged.

Enjin pulls out his fingers somewhere half into your another orgasm, concerned you might get too sensitive before he can even make you cream on his cock; he doubts a third finger would fit in anyway. Though your sultry whine almost has him giving in.

“Alright. Time for a real fun.”

Those words are a trigger for your heart to start pounding all over. You’re also made to ache terribly as he licks his fingers clean, staring you dead in the eye.

He pushes you onto your back again, but before he could get on top of you, he decides to make an offer first.

There's a good reason for why he kept his pants on the entire time — otherwise, you’d have been stressing out about his size, trying to flee before you could even be split apart.

“Wanna take a good look at it first?”

You bit your lip and nod, inviting him to lie down next to you. You already have a vague idea of what it’s like, however…

You’re screwed is what you realize when he pulls his sweatpants and boxers down and his cock springs free against his abdomen, beige tip turned almost red and leaking. Big is a connotation for scary, especially when it’s meant to be weaponized for the first time, and you think you have made a worst gamble choosing Enjin out of all people.

And yet… you really want to challenge yourself to take it. Why not go all out if you’re finally getting this stuff done? Make this event really remarkable.

“I wanna touch you too,” you demand all of the sudden.

“Yeah?” His eyes light up in something like positive surprise. It’s rather hot you’re eager to please him too.

“Yes,” you admit, squeezing your thighs at the thought. It might be your first time, but after how long you were deprived of good fuck, you don’t want anything taken for granted. Not to mention, you’re obsessed with the idea of controlling Enjin’s reactions, knowing at least a quarter of your effect on him. “Just tell me what to do,” you give him a look under your lashes, your hand coming across his happy trail.

He sighs with a tremor, laughing self-deprecatingly at how foolish you’re getting him. He quickly removes his clothes, throwing them on the floor.

“Spit on it first. Add some glide,” he instructs with anticipation painted in his voice.

You do as he said, letting a globe of saliva fall on top of his cockhead. Enjin shivers as it hits his weakest spot. Then even more as your fingers tentatively envelop him, before they start to spread your spit across his length.

He’s hot and heavy in your hand, and you carefully watch for his reaction, while getting used to handling a man.

He moans quietly, looking at you with tiny desperation, and this micropower you carry over him has you even hornier.

You’re stroking him while looking him in the eye, a bit faster than before, your thumb playing with his sensitive tip that only makes him more squirmy in his legs. There’s his palm eventually having to hold onto your waist.

It’s almost funny to you, that even clumsy work like yours can rattle him this much; although, it motivates you to do even better, as if you have discovered your favorite new hobby.

Though, when you tug on his skin a little too hard, his hand falls over yours. “Easy there. It’s not going anywhere…” he chuckles.

“Sorry…” you wet your lips, not that sorry.

His hand doesn’t let go of yours. Enjin moves it so you know the right pace — way too close to one he picks when thinking about you — his own flexing from the pleasure you’re giving him.

He’s also way too close in general, thanks to you. Which is crazy, considering he’s usually more durable — as if he’s that addicted to you.

“E-enough. Don’t forget what you’re here for.” He doesn’t want to finish before he's even inside of you.

Eventually, he pulls you away, slowly sitting up. He’s looking for something on his bedside table, while you give yourself prep talk inside.

“Will it hurt?” you ask the most dreaded question.

“Despite what they might be telling ya, it’s not supposed to hurt if done right. Uncomfortable at most. And I plan to do a good job with you…” he throws over his shoulder.

Something about the way he says his last words has you feeling restless. Like he’s implying you really are in for a lot.

You finally get to see what he’s been looking for.

“Are these necessary?” You’re somehow feeling annoyed.

“Huh? You’ll get knocked up otherwise,” he points out brusquely, as if he can't believe you’d not know at least that much.

“Enjin, I’m not stupid,” you deadpan. “I’m on a pill. Got ready ahead… just in case.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I… unless you care, I wanna feel it all clearly… no barriers,” you explain with your cheeks turning hot.

Enjin gulps, his Adam’s apple moving, and wipes his face. He's got to he too lucky. You, him, raw as his kryptonite… it’s too good to be true, and he’s already been granted a lot.

“So?” you bring up again.

The box he prepared is thrown back to its place. He’s climbing up the space above you with more vigor in the movement, not going to waste such offer. “Do you ask a starving man if he needs to eat too?” he grins.

One of the pillows is shoved under your hips, elevating them higher for his access. Another goes behind the headboard.

It’s still unbelievable you’re letting him do this to you.

Enjin wordlessly pats his shoulder, and you drape your legs over them.

He takes a one more good look at you, witnessing your needy state, eyes directed at him for help and no one else, as it always should have been. Your body he’d die for. Your vulnerability he feels scared taking advantage of.

“Dammit…” he mutters under his nose, wondering if or how will he survive you.

“I need you,” slips out from your lips without a shame, and he questions his sanity when something twists in his stomach from this line.

“Yes, I know. I’ve got you.”

He doesn’t fuck you with his cock immediately. With his hands on your waist, he’s moving his hips and gliding it across your slit instead, holding the tip against your clit for a bit longer, relieved to finally make a more direct contact… If anything, you somehow managed to got him nervous as well, and he doesn’t want to push it in just yet, breathing deeply only from the brushes against you.

You crane your head back on the pillow, taking in the foreign sensation with goosebumps rising on your skin, still so sensitive from the previous joys.

“Just put it in already…” you say impatiently, squirming under him. He didn’t even take you yet but you’re already feeling Enjin-deficient.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself like that—”

“I’m not that weak,” you insist, curling your tone with a whine that does not lie.

And he could wait, and maybe he should… except, none of you can really do that, or you two might end up going on a rampage.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you…” he acquiesces. It’s funny how often he tries to deny you, only to fail at that by permitting leeway.

He rubs himself twice before he’s pushing in, just a head in at first, followed by his grunt.

Your breath stutters; your hole wants to push him out, unused to any bigger deal inside, but at the same time, he’s rubbing your nerves that were screaming to be scraped against nicely. There is some discomfort, naturally, but you don’t move to reject him away.

“Ah… Enjin…” you wince. You grab to hold onto his forearms before subconsciously tracing his tattoos with your fingers for comfort.

The tense look on your face threatens to make him nut on his spot — you barely able to take his thick size shouldn't excite him, but the fact it’s his you’re struggling with, adjusting to being filled, that much fucks up with his brain.

There’s some concern too. “Gentle. Steady. No need to rush,” he comforts quietly. He kisses at your calf, going up to your ankle, teasing the skin to relax you.

You nod, biting your lip as some sweat breaks on your forehead. You think that the stretch cannot be only about your walls unadjusted to penetration, but stemming from Enjin simply being huge.

He thrusts in shallowly, still staying just head inside and grinding to get you more wet and used to him staying inside. Every brush against your entrance prods your muscles to part for him.

He rolls your clit with his index finger, another pleasure aiding you in relaxing, that he can fit it another inch soon.

You gasp, digging your nails into his skin.

“Easy, easy… Nice and slow…” he groans out, feeling tortured by the pressure on his cock. “You’re doing well.”

He commands himself for his restrain — with how hot and tight you are, it’s a challenge to not just push in at once. He’s not that mean, thankfully, rubbing himself inside of you instead.

“N-not fair,” you mumble.

“What again?” He wouldn’t know anything in this state.

“You don’t deserve that size,” you say randomly, glaring at him through the blur of your tears.

He laughs, rather softly. “A way to insult a man. Yet here I am, opening you.”

Convo is good, distracting you as he pushes in another inch in; in tune with your reactions. And he’s even not halfway through.

What happens next is therefore sudden.

He bottoms out — or rather — you decide to push yourself onto him with the slide of your body down, too keyed up and wanting this stressful moment gone, on a shortcut to the best part.

You both gasp loudly, he from the surprise, and you from the angry sting the stretch brings. Nonetheless, you’re proud of yourself, even as your chest rises quickly from the intense pressure.

“You're ridiculous, I’m trying to be gentle and you—” And you’re smiling at him, cheeky from your “achievement”, regardless of your tears. “You’re insane,” he says with exaggerated disbelief.

With your clear demand to not beat around the bush further, he starts moving in your pussy, almost fully in, mesmerized by your eagerness to be taken by him enough to take him in one fell swoop.

“Good fucking girl. Taking me so nicely. You would have thought this isn’t her first time—”

He’s moving a bit faster, even if your squeezing barely loosens.

“Or that she’s made for me.”

And faster.

“Might make her run back to me...” he rambles heatedly.

That sounds humiliating — to be wrapped around Enjin’s finger — but it’s not as if he’s any less addicted to you. You try to remember the exact moment you two started clicking, the first time you got to know him, and just when did you start getting close enough, but it’s difficult to come up with in this state.

It’s also irrelevant at this moment.

He as well may be deemed as barely holding up above you, his hands suffocating your hips, emulating the grip of your virgin pussy on him. Big teary eyes looking up at him will stay in his head for a while. You moan so nicely for him, as if you really were his girl.

And it’s becoming increasingly impossible for you to deny how much you want him on your own. Your body is thankfully adjusting fast enough, whether it’s your stamina from fighting trash beasts or eagerness, but you never stop feeling full and stretched.

“Fuck, don't stop…” you plead, digging your nails into his back when you draw him closer. “I can take it.”

Enjin growls at your words; it’s undeniable he is one hell of a lucky man, and you being this wanton for him barely allows him to maintain any self-restraint.

So much for being gentle with you because it’s your first time.

“Yeah? Want me to make a mess of you? Want me to make you come so hard you won’t be walking after?”

You nod your head fervently. “Y-yes. Need it so badly!” you babble, scratching at him.

You now regret you didn't have him like this earlier. Enjin is many things, but he's also attentive and intuitive enough to give you the best of the first times; if not also ensure you want no one else after as an extra side effect.

His dick twitches at your words. Enjin grabs you by the underside of your knees and pushes your legs to your chest before sinking deeper into you, right as he sets on a faster pace, each of the thrusts coming with a harder pressure and depth than before. His tall body pushes and crushes you into the mattress with expertise, handling your with ease the same way he handles his umbrella.

He kisses you madly, accepting your whines like they’re medicine. Your hand trails upward and brushes his undercut, making him hum. His mouth sucks on the tip of your tongue before biting it gently and kissing you deeper.

Withdrawing, he bends you further as to stay close to your messy face.

“O-oh, you are such a lucky woman…” he laughs breathlessly, squeezing your poor legs. “Getting so spoiled on your first, it’s got to be a relief you picked me for this, huh?”

You mewl. He talks awful much, you can feel the heat in your belly mix with shame and excitement. You don't want to make him too cocky neither, but you’d be lying saying he's not giving you the best time of your life at the moment. Fills you to your limits.

“Say it. Not Gris, not any guy in some town, but Enjin,” he demands roughly.

“Can’t, won’t—” you protest, your guts churning.

“Come on. Don’t be so mean to me, darling,” he drawls. “I’m working reeeaaalll hard for you.”

“E-Enjin—” you’re actually parroting him out of desperation, your horny brain susceptible to his wishes; except, it’s so hard to to form a coherent sentence on your own at this stage of being ruined.

He grins, rewarding you with a deeper thrust. “Just like that. Full sentence: Enjin’s the best first guy to have,” he coos.

“Enjin’s the best…” you moan, clenching around him when he hits that spongy spot inside you and keeps going at it, “first guy to have!”

He’s never forgetting these words.

“Good girl.”

And it also seems that his girl — his, as he cannot comprehend the idea of letting you go after this — needs a little more than tenderness, have been going on without a proper lay for so long.

Your face is in the pillows next, while he’s pulling your hips for you to stay on your knees, your ass in the air to never neglect his eyes.

The position makes you feel him even better as he slides in again, grabbing your hips. You bunch up the sheets of his bed into your hands, as you can feel his vein scraping your walls perfectly.

“Oh, please…” you cry out into the plush.

“I didn't even ask you to beg and look at you doing that on your own…” he marvels greedily. He wastes no time, resuming pounding into you with his balls hitting you, and your hole thanks him with more juices.

“So good…” you moan out, your eyes rolling back when he keeps hitting your spot back and forth. Muting any bed sounds was redundant when the skin, wetness and your own screams make enough noise for any theoretical passerby. Nonetheless, the frames of his furniture are still jeopardized and screech when they’re getting loosened with every thrust.

His hands take on massaging your ass, spreading it to see how well you’re taking his size, appreciating your curves, with many curses accentuating his satisfaction.

“Throw yourself back on me. I wanna see how badly you need it…”

You whine when he stills his hips in place, but you start doing as you’re told, waving your body to start using his cock to the hilt.

“I can’t…” you warble, yet you can’t stop either. You’re taking slower but deeper than he did, your toes curling against the bed sheets when you point his tip to curve into you. He only helps you by grinding, spilling occasional praise too. You can tell you’re getting closer, your abdomen tightening. “I’m so full…”

All that precaution to be gentle, only for you to be so slutty in a stark contrast. And he does like women who are a little naughty.

Enjin throws his head back a little, getting off to the slow friction forcing him feel to every thrust dragged along his length, your little show, even if he gets a bit impatient to not rut into you again.

“You could kill a man this way, you know…” he groans, slapping your flesh once to see it jiggle.

You’re not any better, no matter how frenzy your shoves are, or the sting of his hand that amplifies your pleasure. Showing your enthusiasm, you still think your work is not as good — not as fast and impactful enough as when he was doing it. “Not enough…” you mumble. “Please, I wanna cum!”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” You’re back at his dick with a hand on your waist shoving you down to his balls.

He’s worse than before, now focused only on making you finish, he not so far behind.

You almost fall down when he begins rubbing your clit, your hole tightening and tightening— until the coil snaps and you come, with the pulsing that begins right after, that his hips stutter. It’s so intense you can’t tell whether you get loud or nothing is vocalized from how speechless he rendered you. Blinding hot, searing pool, covering any nearly painful soreness that’s been growing.

You’ve had some orgasms before, pleasuring yourself; but it’s different this time, you coming on something real.

And you discover that you absolutely love to cum. Your first on him.

The tight space your pussy creates almost pushes Enjin to the edge, that he turns up on his motions, forcing you to ride out your orgasm as you lie under him all useless and fucked dumb. Your head is pushed down by his solid palm.

“Take it… take it deep in…!” he yelps through the constraint of his throat. “You’re gonna remember this like no other day…”

Until he finally spurts inside you, filling you with warm sticky, moreso ecstatic from not having to pull out. His hand threatens to crush your bones, and he bites his tongue as it all ends with a rough call of your name. He collapses on top of you and takes you down with him, sweaty and hyperventilating, still sheathed deep in you so nothing can spill.

“Geez… you…” he heaves, “You really are insane…”

“You okay?” he eventually asks, lifting his body so he’d stop crushing you, checking for any regrets.

“Yes…. But… more…” you whine into the pillow.

He has to make sure he heard you right; you turn your head to the side when he brushes your hair off your face, your expression still delirious.

“Ugh… I have created a devil…” he says dryly, then laughs.

Onto your fours you go. Your hair is grabbed by him to give you even more of pleasure by inducing aches before he shoves you onto his sloppy dick again. The squelch is worse than it was before; sheets stick to your damp body as well.

Your legs, lingering as a jittering mass, have their knees almost give up. Yet Enjin doesn’t let you get away from it, even as you get overwhelmed, using your hair like an impromptu leash and keeping your back arched for him. His other hand fondles your moving breast from below, reminding himself of how much he loves them.

The headboard of his bed that walks around is really lucky to have that pillow, otherwise the wall behind would be almost as ruined as you are.

He curses when you are adamant on tightening near your another orgasm. “You’re a trouble… fucking insatiable doll…”

He feeds you with his decent amount of cum again soon enough. Tucks it in right after, making you gush when you peak again.

You can feel it everywhere over your body you’re at the brink of exhaustion, but before you’d let his dick and your sore pussy rest, there’s one more thing you need to consider yourself fulfilled.

Riding him, watching Enjin downplayed to an upmost mess on his own.

“Whoa!” he makes a sound of surprise, finding himself being pushed down onto his bed right in the middle of trying to get up.

You straddle him, on your way to get what you want as if all these previous orgasms put you in a succubus alike trance — with an objective to suck Enjin dry.

“You’re still not done?” he asks with incredulity. Although, you putting your body on display hardly makes your choice rejectable. You shouldn’t even be able to move around; still, judging by your legs playing their own plea at his sides, catching a break would be smart.

However…

“Just once more, please…” you plead with big eyes — deliberate move — and he’s a terrible sucker for that. You’re already grabbing his cock popping hard again, raising yourself to be above it.

Enjin gulps. Then he snorts, astonished by the fact this is what you’ve been hiding in yourself all this time. “Are you sure you’re even a newbie? Maybe this is how you lure men in…”

He only can get himself comfortable, watching you stretch yourself with obsession. Eager to sit on it is a huge compliment. On his.

“No, this is how I lure men in—” you snap your hips down, taking him all in that way. A tiny pain shoots through you when you knock your own cervix, but you soothe that by planting your hand against his stomach to start chasing another ecstasy, thrusts made to be desperate.

His legs tremble and he gasps. They were already screwed, wrung out by all the magic of your hole, but now he’s entirely about to lose any weight in them.

“You little…!” he holds onto you from surprise, warbling sound escaping his throat.

You have to be natural. You're having too much fun for the first time, crazy and over the moon, making a toy of his cock and moving fast like there’s no tomorrow. If the world was ending, you’d probably want to fuck him, then cry about it not being enough because he’s too tired to go forward.

“I’m sorry, I’m just…” your delirious voice jumps as you do. “So relieved to know what it’s like…”

He can't really deny you, even if he’s worried his cock might fall off soon. You're just there, riding him like there’s no tomorrow, whipping previous cum into cream with the thrusts. And yet his body decides there’s still more he should give you, as every slap of skin of skin brings him closer to another load to gift your wet walls with.

Maybe he should become your fuck friend. It's good for a spirit. It’s good for team merits. He empties your balls in you, you get your itches scratched, you two make wonderful fighting duo in result.

Except, then he’d hate the idea of you not being attached, you making his heart terribly unhealthy without ever coming close enough.

Maybe he should become your—

“Seriously, girl, where did all this energy come from…” he whines, clenching his jaw from how impossibly sensitive you’re getting his cock. Still, seeing your own legs shake and fumble your pleasure, he helps you, pulling you up and down with the leftover of strong hands. You really make a great team — cause you grind onto his blond pubes when he takes you down, pleasing your swollen clit.

He’d think you were training for that stuff with how easily you swallow him.

“Don’t care, I wanna cum—” you cry, fussy on top of him, raking his stomach that his breath hitches from the sting you bring. “I’m so close—”

Enjin obliges, manipulating with your clit sticky with your and his liquids, that annoyingly managed to drip out of you.

He has to fix that.

“That’s right. Come on me again,” he demands, needing to see you unravel for the last time this night, his dark gaze not straying away from any jiggle or facial contortion.

Your feet dig into his mattress as you finish, crying out his name. You collapse on top of him, your breath exhorted to treacherous levels, and you are a sweaty and lightheaded mess.

Still not done, he thrusts clumsily into you from below, letting you cling to him in that oddly intimate position.

A few more chases later, he empties himself into your hole, adding to the blend of fluids staining yours and his thighs in between; some has dried a long time ago. His voice is stuck in his throat, scraped, he can only choke on his moan.

You both take few seconds to catch up with any sense in the cottons of your brains fucked out. For a blink, he thinks you weigh him nicely, as he rubs your back and soothes your whimpers mindlessly.

It’s by miracle that he succeeds in unpeeling your shaky form from him before setting the breathless you next to him comfortably, even if at the expense of awakening some tenderness in his hips. “Careful there…” he mutters gently, straightening your poor limbs.

Your mess spills all over under you as you shiver from the sensitivity, and he watches his dark sheets become clearly stained, mesmerized from how much you took from him.

The realization of what you did together slowly starts settling in, seeping in quietness from you and him if not to include the labored breathing; albeit, among the aches and hormones lingering, giving fucks brings more thrill than regret.

Enjin’s still dutiful, that despite his exhaustion, he remembers to look clearly at you and make sure you’re not broken.

You’re as tired as he is, if not more — nothing above the norm. As he cleans you with the towel he had prepared earlier and drops it to the floor before beginning to massage your tense legs, you stare back at him with a bleary smile.

Something about that tiny curve makes his stomach clench with something plummeting in it. This is why it’s dangerous to stay around after sex… however, he doesn’t have it in himself to make you leave. Besides, that would be a really foul behavior towards someone who was made to have her first time with him.

He’s ready to ask if you’re alright to be on the safe side, but you’re already getting back to yourself, making a first complaint:

“You’re just so adamant on yapping your mouth. Your mouth doesn’t shut even as you’re guts deep in me.”

He raises a brow before snickering, even if you somehow manage to make him embarrassed. He stretches his arm to the side of the bed before offering you water.

“All that moonshine? I was saying whatever,” he says nonchalantly.

You desperately chug on the liquid, fed by him. He drinks after you.

“Oddly specific moonshine,” you rebuke bluntly after.

“Yeah. Performance nervousness.” He shakes his head as if you’re dramatic, pretending it’s not a weird feeling to have you naked and spent in his bed. All because of some jealousy and messed up sense of responsibility…

Among other feelings he still finds difficult to voice out openly.

“Anyway. Let’s go take a shower.” He pats your ass, for once not reaching for a cigarette immediately after a fuck.

“Us?” you question through your yawn.

He gives you unimpressed look — didn’t he just take your virginity? “Duh. We've got to save water. Unless you want to take an icy shower after me?”

“You’re saying you’d go first? Ladies first, don’t you know!” You slap his shoulder in offense — barely, not having it in you to actually hurt him.

Enjin scoffs with amusement. “No less. But I doubt you’d be able to walk on your own, so I might as well be done before you even get your ass up.”

He’s got a point.

But as soon as he tries to stand up so he can carry you to bathroom, enacting some Prince Charming, he is forced to have a painful realization his legs refuse to cooperate, and falls back onto the bed.

You laugh shamelessly at him, watching him turn into a plank. “Wow. That was embarrassing.”

He scowls, pinching your hip. As you squeak in surprise, he draws you close, then pulls covers over you. It’s nice, if he ignores the sticky quality of your bodies.

“Okay. Maybe a nap first…” he mutters tiredly, resting his head on your shoulder — unapologetically claiming it as his warm pillow.

Unexpected to you.

“… Enjin?” you ask hesitantly.

You’re not immune to the effects this type of closeness brings either. Except, you at least know how you may feel about him — so it’s still a food for thought about why he’s doing that personally, especially since he does not talk about himself often.

Sure, it might as well be him only giving you aftercare after squeezing all the life force out of your body, but if you were consider everything else that happened between you in the last couple of months, or even just that night at the club…

One of his honey eyes open. He speaks quietly, cozy and relaxed; he’s usually calm and nostalgic after sex, now he’s even peaceful.

“You’re just warm,” he brushes off your subtle implication for now. Sappy and clingy is not his style, nor his type, yet here he is, taking care of you like of his vital instrument; he probably fell a victim to this gooey and greasy heart feeling first too, knowing his luck with you. “Go to sleep. Then we’ll talk.” He pushes you closer to his chest.

You suppose it’s alright, for at least tonight.

“Talk about what?” you ask with curiosity, your own eyelids hanging lower and lower as pleasant drowsiness overtakes you.

That’s a good question. The problem is, Enjin is not exactly sure himself yet. He could talk about…

The fact that you’ve got him messed up? That there’s a real crisis of his person, to the point you make him reevaluate himself, stuck as a focal point in his mind? That he wants to both fuck you so hard you think about him and him and him only, but also desires to make you happy and content like this on a daily basis? Or is it about the whole truth that anything nowadays is somehow connected to you, him wondering if you’d like or hate those things? Or is it that he’d like to know what makes you tick? And, can you please keep getting along with the kids he cares about?

All those things said aloud, or even a modicum of them since he’s still afraid, might turn your relationship beyond salvaging. Yet life is all about taking risks — he might die any day anyway. He’s come so far with you tonight, too; he’d be a fool not to attempt an effort to keep you close afterward.

“… You’ll see,” he mutters comfortably before finally falling asleep.

Nevertheless, it’s a promise.

a/n: if you managed to finish this story, thank you for reading! now go and drink a glass of water for me, especially in case your area suffers from heat like mine does :)) and i think that as for the part two, it will be more romantic, focused on feelings more than the first part is. though smut is guaranteed. — not to spoil too much though <3

[rinskazuu]

→ what? it's just a workout ⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

synopsis. ꨄ︎ asking your bllk boyfriend to send you a video of him planking until failure (insp by this trend. please open at ur convenience. i’m not kidding when i added they WHIMPER)

featuring. ꨄ︎ fem!reader x sae, kaiser, hugo, otoya, karasu, yukimiya, aiku, shidou, bunny (separate)

includes. ꨄ︎ NSFW/SUGGESTIVE!!!! cursing, pet names, joking violence, mention of pegging (kaiser), bunny's (and maybe hugo's) might be ooc (sorry guys i can't get a grasp of his full personality off like 5 panels), implied that reader is shorter than bunny

notes. ꨄ︎ i apologize if this is corny. i'm only good at crack and being mean to the bllk men </3

♪ track. ꨄ︎ n/a

end notes. ꨄ︎ mb to the aiku stans for bullying him twice :p

join my taglist

tags. ꨄ︎ @idexmids @introspectiveintroverthere @rainychi2 @dazqa @scarlettstrawberrys @f1zzyecola @msfantasy-manga @asphodeloss @mimiluvzu2 @ratg4n

bllk masterlist | general masterlist

[slutreputation]

꒰ m. kaiser ꒱ : mine? yours.

cw ⌇ handjob ◞ overstimulation

Michael Kaiser had never looked smaller. Not because of his body, after all he was still lean muscle and tense lines beneath you, but because of the way he fought against the inevitable. Wrists pinned above his head, teeth gritted, eyes burning with the last embers of defiance.

“Don’t think this makes me your toy,” he hissed. A bluff from his side.

You only tilted your head, pressing down harder until his hips twitched upward. “You sure? You’re already shaking.”

He scoffed, a sharp exhale meant to sound cruel. But when your palm dragged down his chest, lingering over his ribs, his stomach tensed. You wrapped your hand around his cock and squeezed, and the mask he wore cracked for the first time.

A choke, then a stutter of breath. “Don’t,” he growled. “I don’t—”

You stroked him once, so teasingly slow, watching his head fall back against the pillow. He bit the inside of his cheek, refusing to give you the satisfaction of a sound, but his hips betrayed him with a helpless thrust into your hand.

Did he know how beautiful he looked like this? His blond hair spread over the pillow, cheeks flushed and eyes blown. Delicious.

“Don’t what?” you asked, tone mocking as your thumb swept across the tip, smearing precum. “Don’t make you moan like this?”

His chest rose fast and uneven. “I don’t mo—” the word broke into a whimper as you twisted your wrist, dragging another pulse of heat through his body. He clenched his jaw so hard it trembled.

“Pathetic,” you whispered and his cock jerked in your hand.

The first orgasm was ripped from him, violent and unwilling, a bitten off groan spilling out as his back arched. Hot and messy across your hand, his release painted his stomach.

He went rigid, shuddering, eyes glazed with disbelief that you’d broken him so quickly.

“Scheiße, wait. Stop, I can’t,” he gasped, but your strokes never faltered.

“Yes, you can,” you purred, tightening your grip, dragging him through the oversensitivity until his thighs shook.

He sobbed, the sound catching in his throat, a single tear sliding down his temple. “Please, it’s too much, please, I—”

You ignored him, pumping him back to hardness. So fucking cruel. Each stroke had him writhing, torn between pushing up into your hand and squirming away from the unbearable pleasure. When you leaned down to bite along his rose tattoo, he finally broke with a loud, desperate moan. One hand tugging at the sheets, the other trapped in your hold.

“Say it,” you demanded against his skin.

His lip trembled, pride still clinging. “Say what?”

You squeezed, sharp and firm. His body jerked. “That you’re mine,” you said.

He shook his head, eyes wet. “N-no, I—” you dragged your thumb over his slit, edging him with slow torture. His hips bucked, a sob choking out of him. “Scheiße, scheiße. Yours, please—”

He came again, messy and ruined, crying through it, begging for it to stop even as his cock twitched greedily in your hand.

You didn’t stop. You stroked him raw, over and over, until he was shaking so hard he could barely breathe, until his voice was hoarse from crying, until the proud striker laid beneath you nothing more than a sobbing, overstimulated mess.

When you finally let him go, kissing his sweat slicked forehead, his chest heaved against yours. His voice was a broken whisper.

“Pathetic,” he repeated your word back at himself, choking on a half-sob, half-moan.

You kissed the corner of his wet mouth, murmuring, “No, not pathetic. You’re perfect, micha.”

[beingsillyhere]

He thought he was the one who had a high sex drive until he met you...

Warnings: smut, riding him a LOT, overstimulation

You’re straddling him for what feels like the hundredth round tonight.

The sheets are wrecked—twisted, soaked, clinging to your thighs and his hips. The room smells like sex and sweat and that faint metallic tang of overstimulation. Enjin’s head is thrown back against the headboard, blonde hair plastered to his forehead, yellow eyes half-lidded and glassy, chest heaving like he just ran ten blocks.

And you’re still moving.

Slow, greedy rolls of your hips at first—milking every last twitch out of his softening cock even though he’s already spilled inside you three—no, four?—times. Each time he finishes you clench down hard, whimpering “again” in that broken, needy voice that makes his brain short-circuit.

Fuck, he thought he had a high sex drive but you...

“Jinnie… again. Please, again.”

Your nails dig into his pecs for leverage. Tears streak your cheeks—not from pain, just from how overwhelming it all is, how full you feel, how every drag of him inside you lights up that deep, aching spot that won’t stop begging.

He’s laughing now—breathless, wrecked, disbelieving.

“Baby… fuck… you’re killing me.”

His hands are still on your hips, but they’re not guiding anymore. They’re just holding on—like if he lets go you might actually break him. His thighs are trembling under you. His cock is hypersensitive, twitching every time you sink down, and he hisses through his teeth when you grind your clit against his pelvis on the next roll.

“Again?” he echoes, voice cracked. “Sweetheart, I just came. Again. You’re… you’re fuckin’ insatiable."

You whine, leaning forward so your breasts brush his chest, forehead dropping to his shoulder.

“I can’t help it,” you mumble against his neck, hips still circling slow and filthy. “Feels so good… need you inside of me… need more…”

He groans—long, suffering, turned-on despite himself.

“You’re gonna kill me, bunny. Swear to god or whatever the fuck is above."

He doesn't stop you. How the fuck is he gonna say no to that??? His girlfriend riding him again and again, begging him for more everytime she cums. He had a horrible habit of not being able to say no to you, especially if he is that deep inside.

So instead he lets his head fall back again, one hand sliding up your spine to cradle the back of your neck while the other stays clamped on your ass, helping you lift and drop even though every muscle in his body is screaming for mercy.

“Look at you,” he rasps, watching the way your body moves—breasts bouncing softly, thighs shaking, slick dripping down his balls and onto the sheets. “Riding me like you’re trying to drain me dry. Crying for more every time I fill you up. Fuck… you’re so greedy."

You nod frantically, tears slipping faster now.

"M sorry… just—need it… please, Enjin…”

He laughs again—hoarse, helpless.

“Don’t apologize. Just… fuck—keep going if you want. I’m tapped, baby. Completely fucking tapped. You win.”

But even saying that, he bucks up weakly—once, twice—meeting your rhythm just enough to make you sob his name.

Your walls flutter hard around him. Another orgasm is building already—smaller, sharper, almost painful from how many you’ve already had. You chase it shamelessly, bouncing faster, harder, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room.

"Ah, ah, it feels so good..."

He watches you fall apart—eyes dark, mesmerized, completely gone for you even though he’s spent.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “Come again for me. Milk what’s left. Take everything, you greedy little thing.”

You shatter—quiet this time, just a trembling, hiccuping cry as your body locks down around him. He hisses at the squeeze—overstimulated to hell—but he holds you through it, arms wrapping tight around your waist, keeping you seated deep while you pulse and shake.

When it finally fades you collapse forward onto his chest, both of you panting like you’ve run a marathon.

He’s still inside you. Still half-hard somehow. Still leaking the last of what he had.

You nuzzle into his neck, voice tiny.

“…again?”

He lets out a long, broken laugh—somewhere between exhausted and in love.

“Jeez, woman.”

He kisses your temple, your cheek, the corner of your eye—soft, reverent.

“I’m done. Officially tapped out. You’ve ruined me.”

Then—quieter, almost fond, he added:

“…but give me five minutes. Maybe ten. And if you’re still begging like that…”

He trails off, hand sliding down to cup your ass possessively.

“I’ll find a way to give my insatiable princess what she needs.”

And he loves every second of it.

[princessimotep]

When the fic describes the fat schlong you're about to take

[tadohazbinokayy]

actually having to write the oneshot i want to read instead of having it magically manifest on the note document in front of me

[carleycore]

bf!enjin wants to make it up to you

you knew the risks associated with dating a member of the cleaners, and enjin was clear about them.

not only could he die at any mission, but someone could also target you as a way to make a jab at him, and it didn't help that enjin wasn't always the best communicator.

he'd told you time and time again that he was no good in relationships and that you'd be better off without him, but you didn't let that stop him. you loved him and nothing he could do would change that.

or so you thought.

you had tried calling his choker and he didn't pick up which led you straight to headquarters.

the second you walked in semiu must've known what you were there for because she simply said, "he's in his room." and you smiled politely as you stomped to his room.

part of your brain knew you should take a minute, and address him calmly but the other part was beyond pissed.

he didn't even tell you he was going on a mission, didn't call you on the way there, didn't leave a note or have semiu tell you, nothing. Then he had the audacity to not even tell you that he returned?

yeah. your anger was completely justified.

using your spare key, you unlocked the door to see a shirtless enjin watching tv in his bed, at first, he seemed confused as to who was coming into his room until he saw you and he smiled.

"hey babe, don't you look as beautiful as ever." he beckoned you over and paused the tv.

you took the remote turned the tv off then grabbed umbreaker.

"woah-woah, what's gotten you so mad?" he sat up walking over towards you.

"what happened to full transparency?"

"it was a short mission, I was only gone for four days."

"why do you think you don't have to tell me these things? even now you only care because i'm holding your stupid umbrella hostage." you tried to keep the tears from falling.

"y/n," the expression on his face changed. it went from one of amusement and boredom to one of love and concern.

he reached out to grab your arm, but you pushed him away, threw his vital instrument on the bed then stormed out.

over the next few days, he continued trying to contact you, to the point you took your choker off.

you knew this was unhealthy and borderline toxic, but you wanted him to feel how you felt.

you ordered some takeout for yourself and assumed that's who was knocking. And it was! but it was enjin delivering them. with some flowers.

"what do you want?" you asked, part of you wanted to kick him out but honestly you were starving and the flowers were very pretty and hard to get here on the ground.

"took me forever to find these flowers. but I had someone use their jinki to preserve them, so they'll never rot, just like my love for you."

did he have communication issues? yes.

but he always tried and as mad as you were, you were so happy to see him in one piece in front of you.

"I'm sorry for throwing umbreaker." you mumbled as he held you tight in his arms.

"i know love, and i'm sorry too. but i gotta say, you look damn fine when you're angry."

belongs to @carleycore do not plagiarize, steal or feed into ai under any circumstances.

reblogs and comments always welcome!

[ssukidoll]

18+ cockwarming nerdjo while doing your makeup ‪‪ ❤︎‬

you're perched on satoru's lap by your pretty pink vanity (that your sweet dear boyfriend bought and built for you), applying your glittery eyeshadow to the lids of your eyes. as you lean forward, satoru's fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, a small moan leaving his lips.

you shift a little bit, adjusting yourself as you sift through your makeup bag. and that makes him mewl softly under his breath, "baby... don't move so much."

you look at your boyfriend through the mirror and the way he's fluttering his eyes shut, mouth parted slightly, and cheeks flushed a bright pink, it make your pussy clench tight around his length. "now you're being mean," he pouts, pressing his chest flush against your back, planting a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

"how am i being mean?," you coo in faux innocence, batting your lashes so coyly and prettily. you raise your hips up and slowly come back down on him while putting on your blush, and the subtle movement makes satoru whimper, burying his face in the crook of your neck, taking a small nibble of your skin.

"you know what you're doing," he huffs, pushing his glasses up his nose and his eyes look so wide and dejected like a puppy's, it makes your heart and pussy flutter. you hear him curse quietly, bucking his hips a little to gain some sort of friction and pleasure. and when he tries to continue, you pinch his thigh which makes him both squeak in pain and annoyance.

"c'mon," he whines, jutting his bottom lip out even further. "please. can we just have coitus before you leave?"

"stop saying 'coitus' and say 'fuck' or 'sex' like an adult," you say, applying your soft rosy blush to your cheeks. "and no. you're going to be a good boy and listen to me, right?"

satoru's dick twitches inside your syrupy cunt, drops of pre leaking from his flushed tip and dribbling inside of you when he hears you call him a 'good boy'. you know the effect that little name has on him and so with a defeated sigh, he rests his cheek on your shoulder, watching you with hearts in his eyes as you do your makeup.

though all he can think about is bending you over the vanity and fucking you senseless as you scream his name and cream all over his dick ♥︎ !

© agejonami. do not copy, repost, or feed any works into ai.

[satorus-whore]

‎ . ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ . ݁ 18+ | satoru using his infinity to pin you to the bed while he breeds you

“hah fuck… stop tryin’ to run, sweetheart,” his voice is a rasp, eyes blown wide, grin feral and crazed. his blindfold hangs around his neck, hair mussed.

you don’t know what got into your husband, but it was barely a few seconds before he had teleported the two of you to bed once he got home. a mess of clothes being torn off and your legs being spread apart, his lips on yours, messy and hot. depraved.

and now, he’s inching his aching cock into you from behind, stretching you out so deliciously with each second that goes by, shovelling his tip through your insides and kissing your deepest spots so sloppily.

you gush around him, whining his name, fingers grabbing at the sheets desperately as your walls spasm around him. he delivers, deep, harsh thrusts. so full of determination. charged with something completely different to all the other times he’s fucked you. his groans are rough, breathy and ragged, chest heaving with effort as he drives into you.

“‘t-toru… oh god,” you moan, muffling your cries into the bed as he doesn’t relent, hips snapping into your ass. “slow down-- mmph fuck…”

your body subconsciously tries to crawl up the ridiculously expensive and large bed, trying to get away from the overwhelming pleasure. a mix of pain and bliss from his merciless thrusts that make your eyes roll back.

then, suddenly you feel yourself getting pushed into the mattress by a force. not your husband’s sweaty body. his hands are grasping at your waist but they aren’t holding you down. no, it’s something else entirely.

his body follows yours, chest flush against your back and he’s moaning in your ear. his thrusts are simultaneously sloppy and calculated. bludgeoning each and every sensitive spot but he moves his hips like an animal in heat, rutting into you.

“s-satoru… what--” you cut yourself off with a soft gasp, when you turn your head to look behind you, energy buzzing around him, his eyes glowing.

“i said stop running, wifey,” he pants against your neck. “just take it, take it, fucking take it.”

he flips you over onto your back, immediately pushing your legs up into your chest, folding you as he pleases, treating you like you weigh nothing. you’re still pinned to the bed with the help of his cursed energy, unable to do anything but squirm and cry out his name until he reduces you to a mess of slick and tears.

you claw at his back, eliciting a soft grunt from him, as he drives deeper and deeper. the sharpness of his pelvis rubs against your twitching nub just right each time his hips meet yours, and you coat his cock in fresh slick, drooling all over him and the sheets.

“so fucking wet f’me. bet this sweet little pussy wants to be bred, huh?” he mutters, trailing hot kisses down your neck and to your chest, teeth grazing your skin. “wanna give me an heir, wife?”

you choke out a moan, back arching, when the curve of his cock caresses that spongey spot. and again, again, again. you half believe that he’s using six eyes to keep drilling into it, but you’re barely coherent at this point.

you nod dumbly in response to his question. “wanna-- fuck, ‘toru… wanna give you an heir. w-want you to fill me up,” you babble through whines and pitched mewls.

and his grin somehow widens. the way he pushes his hips into yours becomes more desperate, eager. your words egging him on. “yeaaahhh, that’s it. my sweet girl. gonna take it alll for me, aren’t you?”

“please, ‘toru, want it so so bad.” you clench around him at the thought and he groans, cock pulsing within the confines of your plush walls.

“you want it so bad, huh? awh, don’t worry, ‘toru’s got you. just lay pretty for me, ‘kay?”

a/n: i literally wrote this so fast thanks to this idea 🫶🏽 (not proofread hazel is sleepy goodnight)

perm taglist (comment or send an ask): @sugurusladyknightt @sweethearticism @cupidstrace @chewiebee @man1cslut @besidesjustmyamour @hails-trom @theevilarcher @aquariusscollection @snooptoru @snailsolidarity @julesss110 @maximasx @luvsukei @sunbumglow @satorusdollie @chuiisi @kalihrts @satorvs @synd1caate @angelabassettsbiceps @deadandhorny @dreamcastgirl99 @chosoggy @veilofsixeyes @fricks @megottheswaskikacooooke @sovaintilla @ostara-27 @valberryboos @chosokamosbabymomma @glacialcurserogue @profoundpidgeon @sugurusbadhabit @suguruss1ut @dollhousesinner @love-d-luxe @vanillaapples @paintedperidot @amarislovesmcdonalds @d011yyxx @aaylameow @ladyfaerey @liliklei @justiceforkira @d0llstappen @penguingirlanzu @daddywantsitnowsoopenup @bambiitwt

[makesyouevil]

they’ve had this conversation one hundred times

[aransmind]

[opsaefkaopjefopaef-deactivated2]

i need him so bad

[doki-doki-imagines]

tw: smut and fluff, use of safe word, breakdown (Michael), afab!reader.

author note: inspired by his current situation in the manga. And the fact that I miss him. "I miss my wife, Tails. I miss her a lot."

This wasn’t the first time Michael acted like this. Mouth biting into your neck, and hands furiously groping into your fat. Not even a hello before barging into your house, not a single care about what you were doing a second prior; he wants and takes.

You don’t mind that much, a rough fuck is a nice change and it’s not like he ever wants to hurt you, he just needs to release healthily some pent-up anger, and helping him out brings a lot of pleasure to you too. You don’t lose any time in the living room, your legs steady around his hips while he brings you to the bedroom, while his teeth mark the soft flesh of your neck.

The bed creaks under Michael’s thrusts, his strong fingers leaving indents on your skin, moans reverberating in the room. The blonde blue eyes never search for yours, his red eyeliner smudged in the corners. Michael bites his lips until he draws blood to not let any sound escape, something unusual since you tease him for how loud he usually is.

“Michael, red.” But more than that particular is different this time, something hurts and you need to take a break.

But he doesn’t stop, mind lost somewhere else, not with you. Thankfully you are in a position where you can easily move. You sit up, hand gripping his chin to finally be able to see him straight into his eyes. Michael doesn’t stop, if anything his trust only gets deeper, making you wince in pain.

“Stop Michael, you are hurting me.” There is no real anxiety in your voice, you trust him, but there is a hint of anger mixed with pain for obvious reasons.

It’s not the first time you used the safe word, but this time Michael cracks, hips finally stopping. His mouth falls into a deep frown, irises twitching and you can see a sea of anxiety into them, so deep and hurtful that soon fat tears roll down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry-“ He gasps out, hand covering his face, head down in shame. “I can’t make anything-I’m a fucking mess.”  Shivers run down his spine, muscles all over his body twitching and not of pleasure.

“Michael-“ You sit up on your knees after pulling him out. “Look at me.” You softly ask.  Michael refuses, face covered by his hand and soft strands of blonde and blue hair.  “Michael, don’t worry.” You coo, kissing the top of his head while hugging him, drawing small circles on his naked back. He keeps gasping in your arms, face still hidden, but this time in the nook of your neck.

“C’mon look at me, baby” Your voice is saccharine, trying to make him feel as at ease as possible. He doesn’t listen to you, blabbering excuses on your skin, tears now rolling down your back for how copious they are. “Shhh Michael.” You lift his face, your hands cupping his cheek to make sure he has to look at you. His eyes are red, and the pout hits you harder than a stab at your heart.

“It’s not about the safe word, right?” Michael shakes his head in your hand, eyes squeezed close, long blonde lashes sticking together due to the tears. You kiss his eyelid, as fast and as delicate as a butterfly, before asking your boyfriend to open his eyes.

“I think I may know a way to make you feel better? Wanna try?” Michael nods, one hand intertwining with yours before kissing between your palm and wrist.

You take it slow, your lips drifting from his cheek to his jaw, following an invisible path that will lead to his tranquility. Your hands push to his chest “Lay down baby, relax I’m here.” You whisper and it’s enough to convince him, relinquishing the control he so likes to have.

Your lips meet his, and you can taste the salt of his tears on them. It’s a slow dance, no hurry behind your movements, not in your kisses nor in the sweet caresses of your hands. You stroke his dick, grown soft due to the breakdown, making Michael mewl into your mouth, arching his back cutely under your movements.

You lower your core on his dick, making a soft whimper escapes both your throats. It feels so deep, filling you so perfectly you almost think you were crafted for each other. Your hips slowly grind into him, your hands finding purchase on his muscular thighs, immediately flexing under your soft fingers.

“Michael, you feel wonderful-“ You gasp, mouth shaped in a cute ‘o’. The blonde under you bites his lower lip, before looking away, not being able to hold your love-filled gaze.

“No, no baby.” Your hips stop moving while you crouch down a little, hands again on his face, turning it to you “Look at me, look at how happy you make me.”  Your lips are again on his, sucking on his tongue with no finesse, the calm of before brushed away from the passion blossoming into your heart. Your hands wander to his, still gripping into the white cotton covers, afraid to touch you.  

You pull his lower lips with your teeth before breaking the kiss “I wanna feel your hands on me.” It’s an order and Michael doesn’t have the strength to refuse, your softer hands on his rough ones, guiding them towards your waist.

“Only you-“ A gasp breaks your voice “Can make me feel like this” You start to raise your hips up and down his length, thighs already burning, not used to doing the hard work, your partner too used to be in control in any position.

Michael looks like a work of art under you, blue eyes a shade deeper thanks to bliss and lips a delicious shade of red. His abs twitch at your every moan and you can’t resist the temptation to caress them, feeling them under your hands before going to his chest and squeezing his pecs, and playing with his erect nipples that were just screaming for your attention.

You can’t go on for much more, your thighs burn and your apex is approaching, and not just yours.

“Michael, I-I love you.” It’s nothing earth-shattering, words that you both told to each other on various occasions, but a gear clicks in the blonde mind, his fingers gripping tightly onto your skin, for sure leaving signs that will be evident the next day.

He sits up, manhandling your legs around his hips, his forehead knocking against yours.

“Say it again.” He orders, voice hoarse. His hands gripping your middle again, his words sending a shiver down your back.

“I love you, Michael.” You whine, but the sound is broken by his lips on yours. His hands now forcefully pushing you up and down his length, giving you the possibility to fully enjoy him, for your mind to just be filled in pleasure. 

“You are so good-“ Your foreheads brushing against each other, sweat mixing and eyes tearing in pleasure, making it hard to open them up. He pushes you even more towards his body, making you feel every curve and twitch of his body against your softer one.

“I-I’m near-“ You blabber out, but you don’t need to add anything, his tattoed hand moving towards your clit, massaging it with a calm that doesn’t suit the actual situation.

“I love you too.” Michael mewls into your ear, licking the shell.

It's the straw that breaks the camel's back, you slump in his arms, the moans that leave your mouth a telltale sign that you reached your apex.

“Baby, hold on a little longer-“ Your boyfriend gasps, finally looking at you, with no trace of the previous shame.

You feel him twitch inside you, but you don’t feel as overstimulated as you should, your walls still gripping his thick length. Your eyes roll at each of his thrusts, now arhythmic and harsh, desperate for pleasure.

“Look at me.” You have no strength left in you, so Michael takes the matter into his own hands, holding your cheek, almost squeezing your face, not being able to perfectly control his strength.

“You are beautiful-“ He is able to whine one last time, before cumming, tension leaving his body, head turned back showing you his Adam’s apple bobbing.

He lays on his back, eyes closed, pushing you on top of him. His breath is frantic, still recovering from the orgasm.

“Wait-How are you?” His eyes snap open, looking at you remembering how he overstimulated you.

“No, Micha, don’t worry.” You caress his face, brushing away some blonde hair glued on his face due to the sweat. You pull yourself off from him, making you both groan a bit.

“I’m taking a bath, you wanna come?” You ask, smooching Michael on the cheek, your hand caressing his biceps, a gesture he seems to enjoy since he relaxes under your touch.

“Yeah, I’m coming.” Michael brushes his eyes, red from the tears and the eyeliner being irremediably smudged.

“You want to talk about what happened before?”

“I don’t want to bother you with my shit.” Michael snaps back.

“It’s not shit, and I want to help you. When you are sad it’s like I get stabbed in the chest, you know?”  You reply your chin on his chest, pulling the best puppy eyes you can muster.

He looks down on you, thinking for a minute about it while brushing your hair, making you purr under his touch.

“Okay then, let’s talk about it while we bathe.” Michael accepts, kissing the top of your head.

You kiss him, a big smooch full of cheer. It’s always so hard to make him open up, but you hope the soft atmosphere will make him melt and finally open up to you.

[agnesandhilda]

chapter 261 migraine

[ode2rin]

1 | ANYONE BUT YOU .ೃ

summary. as lines get blurred, hearts get flustered, and a scheme ensues, your brother's best friend suddenly seems way more interesting than he used to be.

content/warnings. 5k+ wc (part 1/3) reader has little to no college friends | reader hates kaiser's guts | PROTECTIVE kaiser lol | | pet names (dollface) & a lot of profanity (it's kaiser) | minimal proofread

💭 masterlist | next part

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can go with you anymore.”

Your ears were ringing.

After the words hung over the line, a heavy silence descended, punctuated only by the dull thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The phone line seemed to distort, and the world beyond reduced to a distant murmur as a disorienting ringing filled your ears. Yet, despite the shock rippling through, you managed to maintain a facade.

“Ah, I see. It’s no problem. See you around!” Your chirped voice made you cringe internally, but it was a better front than sounding like a defeated kid whose mom said no over a piece of candy at a grocery store.

Before he could say anything else, you clicked the end button faster than he could spew some tacky excuse. Throwing your phone to the side, you settled onto your bed, lying on your back, staring at the uninteresting ceiling of your room.

Sure, it was no problem at all— the music festival was just six hours away, and your date had just canceled on you over the phone. It’s no big deal facing your college blockmates without a companion as initially planned, and it’s totally not a problem that you will most likely be a third– hell, a seventh wheel, actually, and have them talk behind your back – speculating about why you're going alone or if you were just making it up that you had someone to bring.

Yes, it’s not a fucking problem at all.

You don’t even like the artist lineup, anyway (maybe you’re mildly interested with one band that’s attending).  You wouldn’t bother if you weren’t just a sophomore still trying to find a group of friends you can call your own. It's embarrassing enough that freshmen even had it better than you. It’s not a race, for sure, but in college– the truth lies blatant that support systems help. A lesson you learned the hardest way.

“Y/N? Are you in there?” Three soft knocks on your door and a muffled voice, surely coming from your older brother, interrupted your pity party.

“Yes. Come in,” you confirmed. The door creaked open, revealing a mop of magenta hair leaning over your door frame.

“There’s food downstairs. We ordered your favorite.”

“We?”

“Kaiser is downstairs.”

Of course, he is. 

Your brother’s best friend must have really taken it to heart when your mom told him he can treat your family as his own. Too deep into his heart, if you could comment. You see him around the house more than you see your parents, and if that wasn’t tiresome enough, he’s literally a damn superstar in your university. Every corner, every room, in halls and library, everyone can’t seem to be over his name like a broken record.

You wouldn’t be this annoyed, hostile even, if said man was just as nice as your brother. But instead, he was far by the most obnoxious, foul-mouthed, arrogant prick you’ve ever known. Alexis should have never kicked some ball with that conceited oaf a decade ago. Life would have been so much better. But no— reality is, the bane of your existence in the form of blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, is in your house’s kitchen, probably gulping down your favorite drinks in the fridge. 

If you can’t seem to have friends, your older brother seems to be goddamn bad at picking his.

“Hey, dollface. Missed me?” Speak of the damn devil and he shall appear.

The first thing you’re met with after coming down is a sight of Michael Kaiser, sitting high and comfortably on one of the counter’s bar stools. Your gaze trails down to his hand where you see a peek of his crown tattoo— and would you look at that? He’s holding a can of your Coke Zero.

“Oh, so that’s why my life was going sideways again,” you feigned a sigh in disappointment, making sure it was loud enough for him to hear, “because you’re back.”

In your unwanted years of knowing this guy, you’ve soon realized that none of your words, no matter how sharp or snarky they get, would ever faze him. Evidence would be how he just openly chuckled at your remark. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I missed you and your smart mouth, too. Don’t worry.”

“Trust me, worry is not in the list of emotions I would ever feel for you.”

“Well, does attraction make it to the list?”

Years ago, perhaps it would have. Not that he needs to know—no chance. Your silly childhood crush on him was your deepest, darkest mistake. You might be overdramatic, but this was Michael Kaiser, and god, you would rather get caught having feelings for anyone but him.

Rolling your eyes at him, you sneer, “You wish.”

“Oh, trust me, I do wish,” he mocks your tone.

“Fuck off.” 

“That won’t get rid of me, I’m afraid,” he shrugs before winking at you. You shook your head in annoyance.

You took the seat across from him and settled. You were about to lean to reach the box of pizza at the other end of the countertop, when Kaiser reached for it first and placed it in front of you.

You turned to look at him, half expecting a smirk or yet another wink from the blonde, but instead, he was preoccupied browsing on his phone as if his body moved on its own to attend to you.

You shrugged off the weird occurrence and turned all attention to the pizza and its heavenly scent sipping through the gaps of its box, just in time for Alexis to take the seat next to his best friend. You drowned the noise of their conversation as they started talking about last away games.

Your brother and Kaiser had been the most valuable players of your university’s soccer team for as long as you’ve remembered. They were two years older, so by the time you entered university, they were already making big names in the field. Rumors had it that there were already offers lining up at their feet.

If you come to think of it, it wouldn’t be this hard making friends if you would just be vocal about being Alexis Ness’ younger sibling, but the limelight and pretentious popularity it came with was something you wouldn’t wish upon yourself. You wanted real and genuine friends, not people who wanted to be around you because it was a step closer to your brother and his best friend.

Like earlier, Alexis’ voice came reaching your eardrums, snapping you out of your thoughts. After hearing what he had to ask, though, you wished you had a way to physically block out his words.

“Are you not going to get ready for the festival?” your brother asked, meanwhile, his dear friend seemed to take great interest in what you’re about to say as both of them peered over you.

“Not going anymore,” you said, as nonchalant as you could to play pretend.

“Why? You’ve been looking forward to it the whole week.”

Heat crept into your ears and cheeks as embarrassment filled you. Sure, you might not be prancing around being all excited about it, but if your brother was able to notice it, your enthusiasm must have been evident then. God, you felt like an utter fool now.

“It got canceled,” you looked away from them.

Alexis looked at you with furrowed brows, “What do you mean? It’s not–”

“My date canceled on me. I’m not going anymore to save face and not make a fool out of myself. There, happy?” you snapped.

Before you could even feel the guilt from bursting out unprovoked to your brother, you swiftly got up from the stool heading back to your room, leaving the two of them in the kitchen looking concerned contrarily. One with worried eyes glancing at your room hesitantly, and the other one with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.

It seemed everyone was testing your patience today, as for the second time, your ears rang—not from a last-minute cancellation this time, but from the persistent sound of your ringing phone.

Your heavy eyes fluttered open, weighed down by the sleep from your ignoring-the-world nap after the exchange with your supposed date and your brother. Disoriented and groggy, you reached out, fingers fumbling to check the caller deserving of your unrelenting fury.

Kaiser, the screen read, and suddenly, the urge to throw your phone at the nearest wall almost overwhelmed your senses.

But you answered the call anyway, because logic says that he was still your brother’s closest, and sometimes, that warranted a call that might be about him.

“I swear to god this better be important–”

“Get ready,” he interrupted.

“What?”

“Look out your window.”

Groaning, you rose to your feet, moving your drapes aside to see what awaited outside.

Outside your house’s gates, a midnight blue sports car, all too familiar, was parked across the driveway. Its owner leaned lazily over its door, one hand in his pocket while the other held his phone pressed to his ear, looking right back at you with that shit-eating grin.

“What the hell are you on?” you muttered into the phone.

You instantly closed the drapes after meeting eyes with him.

It’s infuriating—He’s infuriating. But damn, does he look good when he smiles like that. And it’s not helping your case that he was clad in loose-fitting denim pants and a black shirt, sufficiently showcasing both his tattoo and his lean yet toned build.

It’s sorcery how he makes simple and ordinary clothing look like it was screaming high-end and luxury. Only he can do that, you admit.

“As I said, get ready,” he repeated over the phone, “We only have less than two hours before your music festival or something starts.”

He’s taking me to it? “Why?”

Only one word in response, yet the two of you understood what you’re pertaining to. Silence filled the line for a moment before you heard a subtle click of his tongue.

“Because you look ugly when you sulk,” and he hung up.

You should be irritated at him hanging up abruptly and calling you ugly, but for some reason you don’t know, it puts a smile on your face. 

The first one today.

Kaiser wishes he had a bigger car— which one would deem ridiculous, given that his car could easily match the price of two or even three minivans.

But if it meant having you sit not so close that your scent infiltrates his senses beyond his sound judgment, he’d gladly trade his lambo for a minivan any day.

You were intoxicating— not akin to the grip of liquor, because it would be inadequate in comparison. But rather intoxicating in the same way as the irresistible magnetism that beckons a madman to its vices.

And he must be really mad because you weren’t even sitting shoulder-to-shoulder close to him. You’re sitting comfortably at the passenger seat, a good distance in between, and yet he acts like a raging teenager who got locked up with his crush in the utility room. It is absolutely embarrassing, even for someone like him.

“Did Alexis ask you to do this?” you suddenly inquired, your gaze fixed on your side of the car.

Thank heavens you broke the silence first, because who knows what ungodly phrases he would come up with in an attempt of small talk with you?

“No. Though I bet he would have taken you himself,” he snorted, of course your brother would, “If our coach weren’t so pissed at him these days.”

Ah, so that explained why you hadn't seen Alexis around the house before hopping into Kaiser's car.

Momentarily, you turned to him. It was so swift that he might have missed it if he wasn’t so hyper aware of your every move in this damn confined space. “Is he in trouble?” you inquired to the blonde, your voice concerned and hesitant.

“Nothing you have to worry about, doll.”

“Stop with the nicknames,” you hissed, attempting to intimidate. 

Unfazed, he countered with a cheeky “Make me,” under his breath. His smirk practically audible, even without you glancing his way.

Silence overtook between the two of you once more. You fixated on the road ahead, noting the nearing destination as the glow of the festival stage lights peeked into view.

It’s your chance— your chance to release the words that have lingered at the edge of your tongue since he urged you to get ready almost an hour ago. You stole a glance at the man driving beside you. His eyes focused on the road, his left hand steady on the steering wheel while his timepiece-adorned hand rested comfortably on the gearshift. In another frame of mind, you might have found yourself lost in the rhythm of his long, slender fingers tapping against it. You snapped out of it before he could point it out.

You stole one last glance before turning away to whisper, “Thank you… Kaiser.”

Instead of saying welcome like a polite person would, your companion would of course, choose to say something as, “You owe me something now.”

Of course, you thought. Mentally rolling your eyes, you ask, resigning to his antics, “What do you want?” 

“Call me by my name.”

“Did you not hear? I said, thank you Kai–”

“The one you used to call me.”

Mikka.

It was a silly nickname you gave him– back when Alexis first brought him home for snacks nearly ten years ago. He and Alexis were eleven, and you were barely nine.

You remembered the blonde kid, all sweaty in his mud-stained clothes, clutching a worn-out ball by his hip, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity. “This is Kaiser,” your brother introduced, but the blonde stranger approached you, extending his hand.

“I’m Michael.”

“That’s… long.”

“What?”

“Your name– it’s long,” you echoed, looking up at him, “can I call you ‘Mikka’?”

“What?” Kaiser’s deep voice sliced through your reminiscence. “You had no problem calling me that before,” he pointed out.

“That’s before you beat up the boy you knew I like,” you scoffed at him, a familiar pettiness clouding your mind.

He chuckled at your retort, seemingly lost in his own memories. “Beat him up on the soccer field, you mean,” he corrected, though he wouldn’t particularly mind if it were an actual fight.

“Same thing.”

“Oh, come on! It was highschool!”

“Your point?” you countered.

“He was a snotface, anyway.” he rationalized.

“He was nice to me!”

“I suggest you rather get a dog instead— if nice is all you need. I heard dogs are fun to be around,” he sneered, “What do you think of pomeranians?”

You brushed off his question, preferring the depths of silence over the hypothetical responsibility of tending to a pup that bore more than a passing resemblance to him, both in appearance and, perhaps, in demeanor.

“I knew agreeing to come here with you was a mistake,” you sighed, exasperation lacing your words.

Surprisingly, Kaiser offered no retort. Taking his silence as a cue for your own, you settled into quietness, hoping for a peaceful remainder of the drive. Minutes drifted by until Kaiser broke the stillness with a whisper loud enough for you to catch.

“He was a slimy jerk,” he began, pausing as if hinting his careful choice of words, “and he was nice to you because he was trying to get into your pants.”

“How did you know?” you asked, meek and shy, fumbling with your fingers in your lap.  Seeking love advice and opinions from none other than the mighty Kaiser seemed absurd, but maybe, wisdom might sometimes fare well with age.

“Trust me when I say I know how boys can be,” he scoffed, a displeased furrow settling in his brows. “He wasn't the gentleman you thought he was.”

“And you? Are you a gentleman?”

Before you could stop your thoughts from escaping your rebellious mouth, the words spilled out like water through a breached dam. The lack of response from him compelled you to chew on your lip and fix your gaze on the road, refusing to spare even a glance his way, despite feeling his stare burning into the side of your face.

Meanwhile, Kaiser was aware he might be staring too long at your side for someone controlling a vehicle, but he couldn't help it. Not when you caught him off guard with a simple question, and especially not when you were trying so hard to avoid looking at him, your discomfort palpable in the air. You looked so cute—it made his mouth twitch.

Staring ahead at the road, he contemplated your question, needing no more than a minute to reach his conclusion.

When a man looks at his best friend's younger sibling in a way he shouldn’t, he’s not deserving of the title “gentleman.”

He was far from it, he concluded. With one last glance thrown your way before bringing the car to a full stop, he muttered in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

“Especially not one, doll.”

“Y/N! Over here!” a familiar voice cut through the cacophony, prompting you to scan the crowd until you finally spotted them.

Relief flooded over you at the sight of a familiar face amidst the crowd. Checking your phone had proven to be a wise decision; otherwise, you might have spent the night searching aimlessly through the vast expanse of the venue.

The venue stretched out before you was a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds that danced upon the senses. Laughter and chatter mingled with applause and the occasional roar of approval as performers graced the stage. 

Everywhere you looked there was movement and so much life. Yet amidst the bustling crowd and pulsating music, one figure occupied your thoughts more than anything else.

Kaiser's towering 6-foot frame loomed behind you, his broad shoulders carving a path of confidence through the crowd. He stood behind you like an immovable rock amidst a rushing river. And if your senses weren't deceiving you, you swore you felt the occasional brush of his hand against the small of your back, gently guiding you forward.

He was so close behind you that his breath on your nape soaked into your skin like ointment— warm to the touch, yet icy on your spine.

“Where's your date?” one of your blockmates inquired after the initial pleasantries were exchanged.

The question lingered, and suddenly, all eyes were on you. Mentally counting heads, you realized you were really on track to be the seventh wheel if you attended without a companion. Speaking of companions— you turned behind you with the intention of introducing Kaiser (not that they didn’t know him already), but your intention faltered when you noticed the scowl on his face.

“I’m the date, if you couldn’t tell,” he interjected. 

From his vantage point, he observed the widening of your eyes at his declaration. Yet, when he didn’t hear any immediate retaliation from you, he flashed you— and everyone else watching— a lopsided smirk. He sensed your blockmates’ curiosity lingering, some perhaps wondering if he was truly dating you. But none of them dared to probe further—maybe because he wasn't exactly the approachable type.

After a few murmurs of ‘oh’ and ‘really’ from your blockmates, they returned their attention to the stage, where the next performer was beginning their pre-performance monologue.

You, on the other hand, look like you were out for his blood from how you’re glaring at him. “Are you out of your mind?” you hissed under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

Yes. Perhaps he was. Irrationality had seized him upon hearing the question. After all, he was there with you, visible for all to see. Did they not see him? Did he look like a fucking chair to those people? Common sense must be a luxury these days, given its absence in this situation.

Yet, a small voice of reason within him attempted to intervene, suggesting that the question might have stemmed from genuine curiosity.

As his best friend's younger sibling, seeing the two of you together wasn't an unusual occurrence for those who attend the same university. They likely concluded that your presence with him at the music festival was simply a matter of normal friendship (which it was, but they don’t have to know that, nor does he desire for these extras to reduce it to just that).

“I’m helping you save face like you said earlier,” he tells you, still wearing that annoying smirk.

“How does telling them you’re my date help me save face?” If anything, you'd be hiding on campus after his stunt. You could only hope words won’t travel fast.

“Would you rather I tell them I'm chaperoning you because some jerk canceled on you?”

Your words stalled at the base of your throat, unable to counter his remark. That shut you up, much to your chagrin. He was right.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he quipped, grinning at your silence. “Come closer, there’s a lot of people.”

You huffed in irritation and decided to ignore him behind you, determined to make the most of your experience here. You’d let this slide for now. After all, he was here because of you.

But it wasn’t too long before you realized that ignoring him would be as futile as trying to pluck roses without being pricked by the thorns. You knew very well that this man thrives in getting under people’s skin.

“You should be flattered.”

Genuinely appalled, you ask, “I’m sorry?”

“Accepted.”

If it wasn’t night time and the blaring lights were replaced by the sun, he could have seen the twitch that your eye did at his retort.

At this point, murder is a tempting option. Sure, he’s taller and much bigger in physique terms, but you have the rage for it. Just one more insufferable antic—one more word— from this man and the whole university will be mourning their star player’s demise first thing tomorrow morning. 

You took a deep breath to calm your murderous nerves, “Is that so? What part of telling people— oh wait, our schoolmates who are probably whispering behind our backs— that you’re my date, is flattering to you?”

The asshole had the audacity to shrug, “Calling me yours was.”

“Well then, you should be flattered. Not me.”

“You don’t know how flattered I am to be yours,” he mused.

If you didn’t know any better, his attempt at flirting might have sent warmth to your cheeks. But this was Kaiser— no one can tell when he’s being serious or just being his usual menace self talking shit like he’s employed to do so. Good thing you had better plans than spend it on his guessing games.

Just when you’re about to berate him once more, words halted on your throat because of a sight you least expected to see.

Han— the guy you’ve been talking to for almost a month now. The same guy who was your supposed date, to be more specific.

“What? Cat got your tongue, doll?”

If cats come in the form of a familiar man who’s a few good meters away, clearly having the time of his life dancing with someone, and clearly showing no signs of unavailability to go to a music festival he asked you to, then yes, it got your tongue.

You stayed silent far too long for Kaiser’s patience. Your lack of snarky clapbacks were starting to unsettle him more than he would allow. Shifting closer to you, he followed your line of sight to see what got you stunned in silence.

Recognizing what, or rather who, got your attention, he turns to you, his voice coming out too indignant, “Do you know that guy?”

“Do you?” you counter, picking up on his tone being all too casual as if they’re acquainted. 

“He’s last week’s opposing team’s goalkeeper,” or was it ‘striker’? He couldn’t recall, so he’s more or less incompetent to him. One thing he remembers, however, “and he hates me.”

You threw him a glance, “Not surprised.”

“And do I give a fuck,” he shook his head, “Why do you keep looking at him?” Don’t fucking tell me.

Your answer wasn’t any better to what he was starting to imagine, “He was… supposed to be my date to this music festival,” you mumbled, looking down at your feet.

You didn’t want to see the look on Kaiser’s face, fearing you might see pity, and so you nailed your gaze to the ground. Totally oblivious of the man peering over you rather softly.

“Why can’t he then?” he asks, voice an octave lower.

“He said they had late notice training, so he can’t come.” 

“Well, that better be his fucking ghost yapping with a brunette then,” he scoffs, looking straight to the lying man who canceled on you.

Sick of his face and sloppy dance moves, Kaiser turned his gaze back at you, only to be filled with rage because of it.

You look sad— and it made his blood boil. Not towards you, but for you.

“Y’know what? Let’s go there,” he urged, head pointing at where Han was.

Is he fucking crazy? You immediately shook your head at his scandalous suggestion. You might be feeling a little betrayed and angry, but rationality still had its hold on you— and it’s saying to not let Kaiser go with his idea. 

Instead, you tug on his forearm, eyes still on the floor before looking up at him, “Can we leave, please?” 

Kaiser was taken aback by your sudden meekness. He wasn’t used to this— to you, being all deflated and zoned out. He was used to your deadpan expressions and your eyes that seem to roll every time he utters a single word. He was used to you being, dare he say, feisty. 

And he would rather have you stay like that all day long, even when he’s the receiving end of it.

But this? You, saying please to him, of all people? He doesn’t like it. 

If this is how he gets to make you say please, then he doesn’t want it. Fuck that, and fuck that guy. How dare he.

Kaiser didn’t say anything back at your request, but you felt big calloused hands grasp on your hand still resting on his forearm. The next thing you knew, you were walking with him, shoulder-to-shoulder while his other hand was on yours guiding you to walk out of the scene.

“If I see one—just one drop of tear, I swear I am turning this damn car around.” 

Your thoughts abruptly halted at the sound of Kaiser’s threat—his ultimatum, rather. It sounded more like a promise than a threat, and you knew this man well enough to understand that he never ate his words.

You shot him a glance and snickered. There was no way in high hell you’d ever cry in the same space where he was. It was the last thing you’d ever do, even if it meant convincing yourself that what you saw earlier was just a mere look-alike of Han.

“It's nothing. We aren’t even a thing,” you dismissed, your voice flat.

“But you thought you could be,” he countered, and damn if he wasn't right. “How do you even know him?”

“We're kind of talking, well, sort of—”

“Kind of? Sort of?” he scoffed.

“God—it's like a talking stage or something casual, Kaiser! There, got it?”

“That's not exclusive,” he remarked, adding insult to injury.

Irritation bubbled in your throat as his interrogation continued. But even before you could unleash your venom, you caught yourself. He was right. And while this man had never brought you good, it wasn't fair to make him the target of your bad.

“Yeah, it's not,” you admitted, a dry, humorless laugh escaping you. You recalled the brunette he danced with earlier. “I wasn't exclusive material for his reputation, I guess.”

What reputation? “That’s bullshit.” He gritted his teeth, his hand itching towards the steering wheel, clearly tempted to turn back to the festival.

“You said it yourself, he’s an athlete,” you pointed out, “You people never like to go exclusive with someone.”

“You people? Oh, please. Do not insult me by comparing me to the likes of him.”

The sass in his voice drew a chuckle from you. It was amusing how he said it with genuine horror, as if the mere idea of being associated with Han was an insult. “Why? Are you telling me you can commit to someone exclusively?”

“Someone like who? You?” He met your gaze briefly, “Absolutely.”

What the hell. “Stop messing around,” you snorted, effectively ending the conversation.

He was playing a dangerous game, saying that to you. Did he even realize what it did? Did he hear your stupid heart hammering in your chest? It was too loud, too obvious, a frantic drum solo against your ribs. 

And the realization settled— he made your heart flutter. 

His words, so simple, so casually tossed out, had landed like a bomb, sending shrapnel through your carefully constructed walls.

Michael Kaiser, of all people, made your heart flutter.

Suddenly, the air felt thin, the car an echo chamber amplifying the frantic rhythm of your traitorous heart. You knew you should scoff, dismiss it as another one of his infuriating jabs, but the truth was like a hot coal lodged in your throat.

“I’m not though,” he countered, eyes steady on the familiar road ahead. He sounded serious– too serious. 

As you were about to retort back, the car lurched to a stop, announcing your arrival. You glanced out the window, the familiar sight of your house doing little to ease the tension that had coiled tight in your stomach.

“We’re here,” Kaiser announced, his voice a low rumble.

Hurried and flustered by the unexpected shift in the conversation, your clammy hands fumbled with the buckle, the metal cold and unyielding against your sweaty palms. You tugged, then tugged again, frustration building with each failed attempt.

“Easy, doll.” 

Before you could protest, a large hand swooped in, effortlessly unlatching the buckle with a practiced flick. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through you, making your breath hitch. You met his gaze, his eyes a blazing blue as he held your stare for a beat too long before turning away.

Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself. You reached for the door handle, pushing it open and stepping out onto the familiar pavement. Before slamming the door shut, you paused, turning back to Kaiser with a newfound resolve.

Crouching down to meet his gaze, you surprised yourself with the words that tumbled out. “Be careful on your way home and,” you paused, “Thank you... Mikka.”

The nickname slipped out before you could stop it, leaving a blush blooming across your cheeks.

Before Kaiser could react, you slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the quiet street. 

Mikka. He repeats your words in his mind.

He watched you disappear into your house, a slow grin spreading across his face. Only when you were safely inside did he start the car, the image of your flustered face lingering in his mind.

Damn it, doll.

Meanwhile, you hurried to your room, clutching your chest where your heart still hammered a frantic rhythm.

Why did I call him that? you asked yourself.

The use of his nickname, a name you rarely uttered now, was a stark reminder that the two of you weren’t as close as you were younger.

It’s not a big deal, you tried to reason with yourself. He literally said you owed it to him, and calling it quits would be in the form of a stupid nickname. It doesn’t mean anything. Right— you were just returning a favor.

Your obvious self-deception was interrupted by the incessant buzzing of your phone, tossed carelessly on the bed. Picking up your phone, you opened one of the notifications, your breath catching in your throat.

It was a post on your university's gossip page, and there, plastered on the screen, was a picture of you and Kaiser. 

The image froze a moment in time, capturing him standing protectively behind you, his arms caging you against a barricade. Panic clawed at your throat. This picture, out in the open, could be misconstrued in so many ways. 

What were people going to think? Who took this photo, anyway?

Your eyes darted down the comment section, scrolling through a sea of unimaginable speculations, desperately searching for clues about the culprit.

Just then, a knock on the door startled you.

“Y/N? Can I talk to you?”

It was your brother— and his voice suggested he needed answers too.

Shit.

note. first mini series lmao xD will add cw as i go!

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄 !! ❞

❝ WHEN YOUR HOT COWORKER WANTS TO SUCK YOUR BLOOD, OF COURSE YOU'LL SAY YES !! ❞

✧ pairing: vampire! choso kamo x f!reader

✧ summary: choso kamo is your coworker who seems to hate your guts - even though you're both always stuck working together, but the only reason he does is because he wants nothing more than to eat you up -- blood and all.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, modern au, coworkers to lovers, vampire!choso, vampire bites are an aphrodisiac for both the vampire and the victim, no real dub/con b/c these two are already down bad for the other, mutual pining, scent kink, blood kink, blood sucking from neck / wrist, implied masturbation (m!), oral (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, implied multiple rounds, swearing, fanart by @ / yume041624

✧ wc: 7,193

It wasn’t as if you weren’t sure your coworker hates you—

 You were sure of it. 

He avoided you like the plague whenever the two of you were working on the same project. He always did his best to reply over email, avoid in person meetings, and he always seemed to get sick whenever the two of you had to greet the client together. But you didn’t know why — you hadn’t done anything to offend him, unless he had mistaken your hello for spitting in his face. And that wasn’t even the worst part. 

The worst part was that he was exactly your type — fucking hot. 

Dark locks tied into a bun with a few strands escaped its binding by the end of the day, his neat nails painted a dark purple that rifled through paperwork, his pretty lips pursed in concentration, and lovely, deep eyes that barely had stolen a glance at you but you could spend a millennia exploring—

In summary, you had it bad. 

And he didn’t seem to know — or worse, he knew and he hated it. Or you. 

But maybe something could change today, you flicked a pen up and down between two fingers as you stole a glance at him across the now empty office, the two of you were stuck working overtime on this project for two days now. But he still had managed to avoid you — but not today when you were stuck in the same conference room sorting through boxes of files that your client insisted must be done today. 

You were getting some sleep at a hotel across the street, taking a quick nap and shower before returning, but Choso looked like he hadn’t slept in days. And you didn’t know why. 

You glanced up at him between sorting through boxes, and you saw him adjust his collar, loosening his tie, fabric gripped tightly under white knuckles. His head was hunched over, his expression hidden behind the box in front of him, but you saw a hint of red in his eyes. You bit your lip, now you were worried. 

Maybe for the wrong reasons. 

“Choso, are you okay?” 

No, no, he wasn’t okay. He wasn’t okay after working overtime for two days straight. He wasn’t okay being stuck in this tiny, dimly fluorescent lit conference room reviewing files that would only prove fruitless and a waste of time for all parties, and what made it worse was you—

No, not you, his canines grew, sharp fangs digging into the soft flesh of his bottom lips, 

Blood. 

Your blood. 

The very thing running through your veins and arteries, pumping through every crevice of your body through your heart — crimson stained your insides as it would your skin if pierced or cut — and it was the very thing that Choso wanted more than anything else. 

But no, it couldn’t be anyone else’s — he bit his bottom lip as you stretched, your blouse and hair moving ever so slightly and exposing your neck — it had to be yours. 

He pressed his hand against his face, palm covering the bottom half of his face as he forced himself to avert his gaze from you, all too unaware of his thirst — the very same that pulled his muscles taut and made his mouth water at the thought of you. His face was flushed — that much was for sure, as he felt the heat radiate from his face. 

And he knew one thing for sure — that you were the one who’s blood would taste like the divine personified. But that’s why he had worked so hard to avoid you, to make sure he didn’t spend any time alone with you, lest his logic and sense fail him at once and he ends up with his fangs pressed to the nape of your neck at once. 

No, he had decided he couldn’t do that. There were far too many times he had seen other vampires find partners this way — succumb to the urge — the draw of bloodlust — only for their partner to grow addicted to the pleasure that comes from the bite, and the relationship only fell apart when it was the only thing holding the relationship together. The bite could only do so much, it was an aphrodisiac for both parties, but not a miracle worker — chemistry burns bright and fast, but it could not make love exist if it wasn’t there to begin with. 

And his avoidance of you had made any relationship between the two of you hard to happen — especially when every word you spoke sounded sweet and honeyed from those pretty lips. It didn’t help that he was reserved to begin with, but you made all words fall from his mind with only a glance — so what would a conversation do to him — much less a kiss? 

“Choso, have you reviewed this one yet?” You ask, grabbing a box from his side, “I finished my half so I thought I’d help you finish yours,” 

He shakes his head, “Go ahead. Thank you,” he barely manages through nearly gritted teeth, with barely a glance up — fuck, it didn’t help that you were always so kind, good at your job, and so pretty—

Fuck, the document he held crumpled under his tight grip, he shouldn’t have let it get this bad. Why had he let it get this bad? A few overtime shifts weren’t usually a problem for him — but being stuck with you? It was torture in the highest order — especially since he hadn’t been able to get home to his reserves at home and he had just run dry of the bottles he kept on himself this morning. 

He sees you stretch again, this time your neck, and a heat began to creep on as he watched right over the top of the document he read. 

Oh, he was so fucked. 

You were going to ask him. 

You were going to confront him about why he avoids you. You had made up your mind — you were tired of walking on eggshells without a reason. If you were going to be stuck working with him on future projects, especially with this client, he needed to tell you if this was how it was going to be. 

And yet, you still sat, rereading the same document over and over, as the two of you were almost done wrapping up your work for the night. Choso was placing the last box he finished up away, a sigh stuck in his throat as he got to his feet. 

“I’m going to head home,” he gets to his feet, a sigh on his lips, as he rakes his fingers through his black locks, “do you need help cleaning up?” 

“No, I’m fine,” and he’s grabbing his things, as you bite your lip and stare at the shiny laminate of the conference table in front of you — fuck it, “I did have a question,” as he’s walking by in the doorway of the conference room, as your scramble to your feet, reaching for him, your fingers brushing his shoulder by mistake, and he’s tensing, “sorry, I didn’t mean—“ 

“It’s fine, what’s your question?” His reply is curt but he won’t even turn to face you, his fingers fiddling with the watch on his wrist. You furrow your brow, was it you or was his body shaking? 

“I just wanted to ask you if you had some sort of problem—“ and then his bag clattered against the floor, contents spilling out, as he supported himself against the door frame, slumped against it, as his fingers gripped it. 

You gasped, a quick brush of your fingers to his shoulder again, “Are you ok? Choso?” 

Choso’s head swam — he could barely hear anything — every sound drawn out and garbled, as if he had plunged his head underwater and words were echoing in his ears. He felt his knees buckle under his weight — and he can’t think straight — and for a moment of clarity he realizes why—

Your touch — it was a spark amongst a field of wheat in a dry heat — and it was enough to set his entire body alight. And now—as he barely held himself together, muscles tensed and eyes fluttering — a haze of heat blazing ribbons up his body, and down — right to his cock. 

Fuck. He’s swallowing, his muscles taut, as he tugs at his collar, even the brush of his clothes against his skin enough to drive him to the point of insanity. And it doesn’t help that your scent fills his nose, honeyed and cloying and he squeezes his eyes shut, knowing the scarlet gaze would do nothing but elicit a scream. 

“Please leave,” he says through gritted teeth, he can imagine the concern written across your expression, “go—“ 

“I’m not leaving you like this alone,” fuck, you only draw closer, the brush of your fingers against his shoulder enough to have him nearly keening for your touch — he’d nearly do anything you want for one touch, one drop of your blood, but he can’t — he can’t, “do you need water? What do you need?” And you’re helping him sit down on the floor of the conference room, as he clutches his bag to his front, desperate for something put between the two of you. 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you what I needed, just go,” he’s pleading, head falling back against the wall — his mind is hazy, he can barely think about anything else but you — the way your soft lips are pursed in worry, the way your hands are so gentle against his skin and would feel so good gliding across his body, the way when he saw the multitudes contained within your eyes, but he only wanted to live in the warmth of your loving gaze, “I don’t want to hurt you,” 

The words come as a confession, a last plea for you to leave, but you seemingly only chuckle, furrowing your brow, “how could you hurt me when you’re more terrified than I am?” 

And oh you were so ignorant that you were inches away from a monster — a rabbit in a lion’s den, while you thought of him as a sheep — and his words weren’t enough to convince you, but maybe something else would. 

His eyes flutter open to find your own, and he finds his own reflection in your irises — a blood red reflected back in your lovely gaze, as your mouth falls open, brow wrinkled, and breath caught. 

“I-I-what?” and he sees your confusion written across your face, your fingers shaking as they brush against his cheek. Your touch sets his senses alight, a soft groan as he leans into your hand, his nose brushes against your wrist, and the thrum of your pulse ringing in his ears. His gaze finds yours — half moonshine with how it’s glazed over, “how?” 

And his lips part, when your thumb drags down his cheek, hypnotized and entranced under a spell he didn’t mean to cast. He turns his head so your fingers catch on his lips, parting almost obediently, flashing fangs that has a flicker of confusion swallowed by horror and then consumed by fascination completely. 

“Choso, what is—“ 

“You should go,” he murmurs again, “you can’t give me what you need,” 

And you’re speechless, as if you wonder if you’re seeing what you are — but the longer you stare, the quicker it seems to sink in. You swallow. 

“So you need my—“ and the sentence is cut off seemingly by the absurdity of the situation, as you mutter to yourself, “this can’t be fucking real,” 

“It doesn’t have to be, you can leave right now,” he pants, sweat slipping down his forehead, and you’re still frowning. 

“What will happen to you if I leave?” And he can’t think straight enough to lie, your fingers find his neck, to check his temperature but all it does is drive it higher. 

“Nothing you need to worry about—“ 

“Well, I am worried,” you cut him off, squirming in place, “if you just take some of my blood, will that—“ 

“It’s not just that,” he’s shaking his head, fangs nearly grazing his bottom lip as he sighs, “do you know what your blood will do to me?” His eyes seem to flash, a chill down your spine, “but more importantly worry what it will do to you,” 

And you stiffen, the spell waxing and waning as fickle as the moon never was, and that the thing about humans — you could never count on them to be consistent as all other things were. A beast can be predicted — their moves largely the same, caution put before hurt, but man gained consciousness and lost all reliability. 

And you were no beast, not like him. 

“What would…it do?” Your words are hesitant, carefully chosen, small jumps across stones rather than a leap across a rushing river. 

And he lets the raging white water brush against your skin when his hand cups your chin, leaning closer and letting his breath warm your skin, “To reduce the pain, my bite is like an aphrodisiac,” his thumb rubs back and forth across your cheek, “you won’t be able to stop yourself, and since your blood would do the same to me — I wouldn’t be able to help myself either,” his nose brushes against your cheek, as he leans in to whisper in your ear, “you should go.” 

But you don’t, silence settles over the two of you, until you choose to break it,  “I’m not going anywhere without you.” 

That’s what you had said — but how did that land you here? 

You both walked to your hotel room in silence, his flushed face hidden behind a mask, dead on his feet as he trailed behind you to the room. It was lucky you had a room right across the street from your workplace. You didn’t know what you would have done if you had to stay in the office — the blood would have been hell to scrub off the wood. 

And now here you sat after your shower, hair still damp as you toyed with the edge of your fluffy bathrobe, as you chewed on your lip. What had you gotten yourself into? You listened to his shower run, a sigh on your lips — it was fine. It would be fine. You just stick to the plan. You’d let him drink your blood, and he would lock himself in the bathroom — and you both would ride out your…symptoms alone. 

Fuck, you bury your face in your hands, what the hell are you doing? And that’s when the water stops — the quiet rustle and shuffling of himself in the bathroom makes your heart leap into your throat, as you sit looking down at the floor. 

“Are you okay?” his voice makes you jump even as you expect it, as your head snaps back to look at him. His black hair still wet from his shoulder, long locks clinging to his hair, droplets ran down his bare abs, your eyes following one down right to his happy trail only hidden away by his boxers— 

Fuck. 

He only continues to towel himself off, before grabbing his undershirt to pull it over his torso, as you choose to avert your eyes then — as if him getting dressed was any more scandalous than his shirtless state, “I am, I’m just a little—“ 

“You don’t have to,” and your eyes slide back to him, his face was still significantly ragged, dark bags and fatigue  clung to body worse than the water did — looking more like a corpse than a bloodsucker, “it’s not too late for you to leave—“ 

“No I decided I was going to help, so I’m going to,” you say, and his brow forms the same peaks and valleys he had all day — and you were sure his skin would remember the carvings at this rate, “what?”

“Why do you want to help me?” he mumbles, arms crossed, a distinct flush in his cheeks settling that surely wasn’t just from his shower, “I don’t get it, we barely have spoken—“ 

“We have spoken, our first week,” and his eyes snap to yours, “you may not remember, but you helped me,” and your cheeks burned, squirming in place as you couldn’t quite meet his gaze, “I had messed up on a project, I made a huge mistake on a document, one that could have costed the company a lot of money, and my job,” you murmur, “but you also took responsibility, even though it wasn’t your fault,” 

“I didn’t catch the mistake either, so it was my fault too—“ and you shake your head. 

“It was mostly mine still,” you offer a small smile, “and so if I can help you like this, I want to,” you shift, swallowing as an awkward silence falls over you both that you break, “why did you want to shower first anyway? You were ready to pass out earlier,” 

“I still am,” he admits, and you notice the subtle shake of his hands, “but I figured the shower would make us both feel a little more comfortable, and it helped to…calm me down,” he cleared his throat, and it slowly dawned on you, cheeks burning, “again, are you sure—“

“I’m going to close you off in the bathroom, and we should be able to ride it out — you said you don’t lose control of yourself or become violent,” and he shakes his head, “then it should be fine,” you have him draw closer, his soft steps against the plush carpet fell silent as he sat beside you on the bed. The creak of the bed as he sat on the other side a little awkwardly, “you should be closer,” and he’s nodding, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. 

“I know, I’m just trying to…prepare,” he gives a shaky sigh, “your scent is—“ he scrubs a hand down his face, “it’s hard for me to be around, especially when we’re so close,” 

“My scent?” And his hand covers the bottom half of his face, turned away, as he murmurs. 

“Your scent is particularly strong — it’s…enticing enough for me to be distracted all day if I don't keep my distance,” and the pieces sink into place. 

“You avoided me at work because of that?” And he nods, as you bite your lip, a small chuckle on your lips, “I thought you hated me,” 

And his head snaps to you, blinking, “I don’t hate you far from it—“ he cuts himself off, his fingers grip the edge of the bed, “I’ve seen you in the office — you’re always so considerate, kind, and you always try to help, even people who don’t deserve it—“ he cuts off, “I don’t want to take advantage of your—“ 

You move closer, his breath hitching as you shrug your robe off your shoulders, leaving only your bra covering your chest, “You do deserve it,” Fuck, he was so close — you could feel the need come off of him in waves, the soft pants of his breath as his eyes fluttered. And you offer your neck to him, brushing your hair away — a silent offer. 

You see him bite his lip out of your periphery, but he’s leaning down, warm breath fans across your skin, as he ran a finger down your neck, “Fuck,” he murmurs, his voice a raspy whisper, “you smell so good,” and you nearly shiver as his lips brush your skin — soft lips against your skin, the barest brush, as if he’s trying to acclimate you to his touch. But it only stoked a fire — the same flame burning even before today, the one that wanted more than a bite at the apple — you wanted him down to his core. 

His lips press another kiss to your neck, lingering longer, as he noses the skin there, and you’re biting your lip, the want bubbling into boiling need, “Please—“ you gasp as his fangs graze your neck now, the sharp points lightly dragging across the muscle, right before his fangs sink into your neck. 

Your lips part, head nearly lolling back into his warm palm cupping the nape of your neck. Any pain only registers for a split second before disappearing under whitehot pleasure. Your blood turns to heady wine straight from his bite, his muffled moan vibrates against you, sending a wave of heat right between your thighs. Your head spins, all logic melts with as the wildfire only consumes — leaving only want behind. 

Coherent thoughts don’t form — instead fractured thoughts spiral into a chant. You want more. You want more of his touch, his body, his words. You want him. 

You want him. 

And when he’s pulling his fangs from your neck, the sound of his teeth pulled from your skin only rings in your ears for a moment, before blood roaring in your ears replaces it. Burning — it felt as if every part of your body was aching, a deep throbbing with no end in sight. You glance at Choso — and only one cure. 

Fuck, his skin looks so lovely when flushed a pretty pink — nearly a scarlet that lit a trail up his neck and across his cheekbones all the way to his ears. The heavy pants that left his lips did little to assuage the desire for him — his defined chest rising and falling with each breath he took, his long jet black locks hanging like a curtain around his gaze. 

Your fingers are reaching for him, “Cho—“ and he’s shaking his head, as his muscles tense, as he leans away from you. 

“Give me a moment,” so you do — you pull back, and he’s rising to his feet, shaky still, but seemingly for a different reason as he turns and flashes the rising tent in his boxers. 

And you press your thighs together, wondering just how big he was — eyes fixed on the growing damp spot on his boxers — how he would shiver when you squee3/ him at the base in your hand, what sounds he would make when you’d flick your tongue against his weeping tip, and how he would moan your name when he sunk into you— 

You were so fucked — if your drenched panties were anything to judge by. 

“Choso, please—“ and he already knows what you’re asking for between the lines of your plea, and his eyes find yours, his dark gaze catches yours, ensnared in the blackhole that only pulls you under and apart, pinned underneath him. 

“It’s just the bite, we can’t,” he’s covering his lips, as he takes steps away from you, towards the bathroom, “we just have to wait until it passes. It won’t take too long—” 

“What if it’s not just your bite? Not for me,” you murmur, and the words are being spilled from your lips like honeyed truth with no bitter aftertaste, “it hasn’t been for me,” his brow is furrowing as if he can’t imagine a single person liking him, “I’ve spent the last year working with you and all i know is I wanted nothing more than to be the one you smile at — the same soft way you do when you your little brother visits you at work,” 

And he’s swallowing, a deeper blush on his cheeks, “you noticed?” 

“I also noticed how you always bring the person you work with their favorite coffee order, the way you try to make others feel valued when the company doesn’t even do it, and how you always do your best — even when it comes at your own expense,” it’s so easy to say these things, but it only makes you long for him more, “let me do more — let me take care of you—“ 

And he’s covering his mouth with his forearm, “do you know what you’re saying?” you slowly get up from the bed, taking careful steps towards him, “our heads are clouded, we aren’t—“ and he swears under his breath but he doesn’t resist your approach, the bathroom door right behind him, “I don’t want to hurt you—“ 

“Do you feel the same for me?” and his gaze softens as he meets yours, “because I get the feeling you do — at least you like my scent,” a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, “hopefully not just my scent?” 

And you didn’t know it was possible for a vampire to be this pink in the face, but Choso was — and you weren’t sure if it was your words or your closeness, “It’s not just your scent,” he’s mumbling against his arm until he’s pulling it away, to reveal his lips colored a faint scarlet from your blood, “I have feelings for you — I have for a while,” 

God, he was fun to tease, “What’s a while?” you’re murmuring, his lips part, flashing his fangs while he does. His eyes avert from your face, only to land on your neck, grazing over the bite mark he left, and you decide to spare him, “but if it’s been a while for you and for me, then—” he’s shivering again, a sigh caught in his throat, muscles tensed as if he was a tiger ready to pounce. 

“It’ll be hard to stop once we start — we should think—“ your fingertips brush his cheek, his eyes falling shut at your touch, the want inside you only grew, as you felt him lean into you. 

“Who said we’re going to stop?” and he breaks, his hand is sliding around your waist, tugging you closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his words nearly muttered against it. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I am—” and that’s all he needed. 

In a flash you’re pinned on the bed, blinking as you glance at the spinning ceiling fan for a moment before he’s leaning over you. 

His eyes are tinted with red and laced with desperation, fangs flashing as his fingers cup your chin and he leans down, “I’ll show you how much I like you, pretty girl.” 

“Oh, Cho-so,” your arms are wrapped around his torso, pulling him impossibly closer, his hot tongue dragging up the side of your neck, licking at the rivers of blood dripping down, “fuck, please—“ 

“Can’t waste a single drop, not when you taste so good,” he’s murmuring, nearly hypnotized by your taste — his sticky saliva and your blood mixed together, “fuck, I could kiss every inch of you and it wouldn’t be enough,” 

“Please, I need more,” and he’s chuckling, nibbling at the base of your neck, a whine parting your lips that made him nearly bust a nut then and there, “please—“ 

And his lips find yours in a searing kiss, fangs lightly biting your bottom lip, swallowing your gasps with a smirk, and how is it possible your lips are even sweeter? It was as if you were made of molasses, and he was more than happy to indulge. He parts your lips, dragging a thumb down your kiss bitten lips, your saliva clinging to his skin. 

“You know how long I wanted this? Had to touch myself in the shower to stop myself from pinning you the moment we entered the room,” he murmurs, recalling how his fingers had reached for his cock, already nearly covered in pre, his thumb running across his slit was nearly enough to make him burst. But it paled in comparison to the sight of you, disheveled under him, eyes glazed over with pleasure, chest rising and falling fast, and your lips nearly begging him to kiss you again and again, “and now I want to take my time, love,” but he doesn’t, instead he bends down again, to nip and suck marks all over your skin, savoring the drops of blood he steals from each one — a constellation dotting your neck and collarbone to remind anyone that you were his. And his fingers find yours, just as he was yours. 

And you whimper, as he kisses his way down your arm, sweet pecks dotting down, until he reaches your wrist. He noses it, feeling the rush of your pulse underneath your skin, the sweet scent of your blood clouded his mind, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin, as he flashes a gaze upward for your silent permission. You nod. 

Your nod was all he needed, before his fangs sinks into your wrist. It was potent — you were potent rather — he had grown used to his normal supply of blood, blood that he had acquired through the proper channels, and though it quenched his thirst, it never satisfied it. 

You were more than satisfaction itself — you were ecstasy incarnate, and he was utterly addicted from the moment he had his lips pressed against your lovely skin. Scarlet dripped from the bite and the corners of his mouth — the blood flooded his mouth, an unending pool of need that only grew with each second. 

And as he pulled away, blood dripping from his lips, he watched your eyes flutter open, legs spread for him, as he licked his lips clean. 

“Such a waste to let even a single drop go,” he drags his tongue up the rivulets of blood that ran down your wrist, and a whimper escapes your lips, and his lips curl, “what do you want, love? Tell me,” 

And you’re biting your lip, averting your gaze, but he’s guiding it back to his, “Choso, please, I need you to touch me,” you cover your mouth with the back of your hand, cheeks burning, “please—“ 

He pulls your hand away, and kisses your lips again in a bruising kiss, before he’s pressing sweet kisses down your body, easing the straps of your bra down. He kisses the swell of your breasts, one after the other, making you squirm in place.

“Pretty girl,” he’s murmuring, his lips kissing each one of your erect nipples, caught in a thick haze of lust, “so good for me,” and he’s lighting a trail of kisses down your body, and he’s resisting the urge to mark up every inch of you — no, there would be time for that later, his eyes flicking up to meet your half lidded gaze, “gonna be good for me?” His skillful fingers slide under the elastic of your panties, snapping the fabric against you, making you gasp, “either way, I might just eat you up,” 

A shaky chuckle escapes your lips, “Promise?” And he chuckles, as he’s spreading your lips, leaning down to press a hot kiss to your inner thigh. 

“Be careful what you wish for,” his teeth graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, before running over the mark with his tongue, before his fingers are running over your drenched panties, and it takes everything in him not to sink his fangs into your plush thigh, but no — he’s carefully tugging down your underwear down your legs — he had to stay focused. 

His breath catches at the sight of your dripping cunt and swollen clit, glistening with your juices that told him just how much you wanted this — and it was enough to nearly have him cumming in his boxers. And then the sweet scent of your precum becomes too much for him—

And he can’t wait. 

His tongue flicks against your clit, making a squeal escape your lips, fingers finding purchase in the long strands. It’s too good — judging by the way your hips nearly rut into his lips, while your own moans his name. But it was even better for him, as he groans against your pussy, licking the pre sticking to his lips. 

“How do you taste so good? Sweetest thing I’ve tasted, as good as every part of you,” 

You gasp when his fingers spread your folds, “Cho—“ and he’s circling a tip of one of his lithe fingers around your entrance teasingly. 

He hums lightly, “Can’t decide whether I want to use my fingers or my mouth, love,” he murmurs in contemplation, whilst his tongue teases your needy clit, “what do you think, baby?” 

“I need you—anything—“ and he’s licking a stripe up your sweet pussy, before he’s sinking a finger into your fluttering walls, “Choso—fuck—“ and the wet squelch of your cunt and the feel of your fluttering walls around his digit makes his dick twitch in his boxers, “s’good,” 

And you’re melting into his touch, your juices soaking his fingers and wrist as he fucks you with his finger, knuckle deep in your warm walls, rubbing at your clit with his thumb. 

And you’re so sensitive, every move of his finger has your walls squeezing him tight, his other hand sneaking into his boxers to palm at his erection, “Cho, I need more—“ and he’s adding a second finger to the first, fucking you deep until he finds that spot — and that’s enough for you to fall apart. 

You cum, back arching as you do, stars bursting behind closed eyes, as you moan his name. He’s fucking you through your orgasm, walls fluttering around his fingers, thighs tensing around his hand. You come down from your high, chest nearly heaving from your pants, as he eases his fingers from your pussy. A soft sigh leaving your throat as your cunt flutters around nothing. 

Your eyes flutter open to see Choso licking his fingers clean — still sticky with your release — fangs flashing with the part of his lips, and you shiver at the sight. He’s leaning back down, pressing kisses to your thighs, before his tongue drags up your leaking pussy, making you gasp. 

“Please, Choso—fuck—“ and he’s smirking, glancing up with lips glossy with your release, placing a chaste kiss to your puffy clit, your eyes falling to his hand palming his boxers, “let me touch you—“ 

“Not yet, baby,” his tongue circles your slit, circles growing faster before sinking into your insides, nose bumping against your swollen clit, as he laps at your messy slit, “not until I’ve swallows every drop of you,” his fangs pinch at your clit. 

It’s already too much for you — your second orgasm sneaks up on you — a coil wound tight as he slurps and sucks at your cunt, all too eager to taste every last drop. And oh, he does — until he uses his thumb to rub at your clit, and it’s too much—

You squirt all over his face, soaking his face and fingers with your release, his lips more than eager to lap up every drop of it. Even as he pulls away, your cum is dripping down his chin, his dark eyes lidded as he looks up at you. 

And he can’t wait anymore—he needs to sink his dick into you. He’s licking his chin clean, pussydrunk on your cum, as he smashes lips to yours. Your moan is stifled as you taste yourself on his lips, tongue sneaking into your mouth as you part them for him. You hear the shift of the sheets as he tugs his boxers down, pulling his lips away only to finish kicking them off. 

But that’s not what you were looking at. 

Fuck, he was huge — his engorged tip was a deep red, large pearly beads of precum dripping down, while the rest of him was flushed a lovely pink. The veins that went along his length made gou tempted to trace them, mapping out his cock until you remembered every inch. You were hypnotized as your fingers reached for him, thumb flicking against his slit, before grasping at his base. 

He gasps, head lolling back, as you spread the pre along his length, beginning to pump him, “Fuck, so good for me, baby,” he’s covering his lips, cheeks flushed to match his cock, “please, I won’t last—“ and he nearly blows his load when your mouth sucks at the tip, before sliding his dick past your lips. your tongue tracing along the veins.

And a whine leaves his throat, as you start to bob along his length, spit and precum dripping down the corners of your mouth as you messily sucked at him. His hips jerk, as his fingers thread into your hair, tip brushing against his throat, it’s almost too much. 

He’s easing you off his cock with a tug of your hair, your lips parting with a pop, strings of saliva and precum connecting your mouth to his dick. And god, he wants nothing more then to pump his cock and let him spill all over your face. 

But no, no, he rather spill inside you. 

In an instant he’s gotten you onto your back,  the head of his cock brushing against your dripping cunt. He’s dragging the head of his dick against your dripping folds teasingly, making you squirm. 

“Please,” you’re whining, drawing a soft chuckle from him, as he’s lining himself up, groaning in unison as his tip bumps against your slit, “fuck, Choso, I need you—“ 

And he obliges, sinking into you inch by inch, a grunt from his mouth, “Already trying to swallow me whole, love? No need for that — I’m already giving it to you,” the delicious stretch of your warm walls pull him in deeper, stretching as he works himself inside your cunt, “so tight, baby,” and he’s finally bottoming out — cock twitching against your sweet cunt. 

He’s reaching places you didn’t think were possible, his 

You were far too tempting, “Please, Cho, please move—“ your words cut off with a gasp as his lips against your neck again, fangs piercing your skin as he bites you, right as he starts to slowly fuck into you. 

White hot pleasure rips up your spine — the bite and the way his cock fucks you enough for you to already cum around him, your mouth parted in moans, as your walls clamp down on him. He’s sucking greedily at your blood, and he wasn’t sure what was better, the way your sweet blood tasted against his tongue, or the way your release squelched around his dick, as he fucked it. And he barely registers that his cock is growing larger against your spasming pussy, but you sure do, as you moan his name. 

“S’big, Choso, too big,” you’re whining, as his hand presses against your lower half only to feel a slight bulge, and he only makes him want to thrust harder, too far gone to think — only one thought circling the drain of his pin sized perspective — that he wanted to fill you up, 

“Cho-so, please—“ and he doesn’t know what you’re asking him, to slow down or to go faster, as he pulls his fangs from you. And he could cum just looking at you — your forehead slick with sweat, while scarlet rivulets of your blood ran down the side of your neck, eyes blown out in such lust — and everything about your body begging him to fuck you more.  

“S’pretty for me, baby,” as he fucks you through your orgasm, another building in its place, as he watches his cock piston in and out of your fluttering cunt. And it feels too fucking good. And he’s leaning back down to lick up the blood staining your neck, as he gives a particular hard thrust that has you seeing stars, and he knows you’re close—and he knows he won’t last much longer — not with the way your vice grip cunt is squeezing around him. 

But you’re confirming it with your moans, filling his ears along with the lewd noises of skin slapping together, “I’m close—I’m—“ and he’s grunting in agreement, as his lips find yours in a bruising kiss, only to pull a breath away to ask: 

“Where?” And the flutter of your walls that pulls him impossibly deeper tells him the answer, but you reply with words as well.  

“Inside, please, need to feel you fill me—“ you cum then and there, words cut off with a moan of his name, and he’s fucking you through your orgasm. His thrusts stutter as he grows close, before groaning and pressing another kiss to your lips, biting your bottom lip to draw blood, as he spills inside you, painting your insides with his hot release, fucking it inside you as his hips slow. 

He’s pulling away from your lips, pulling himself from inside you, a soft gasp leaving your lips, as he moans himself when he watches his seed mixed with your cum slip from your pussy. 

He’s caressing you, pressing sweet kisses to your face and neck, your quiet pants filling his ears like a metronome. 

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, and your eyes flutter open, lips curling slightly as you nod, a sigh on your lips. 

“I’m more than okay,” you press your lips to his again, a sweet kiss that grows more insistent as your tongue drags against the seam of his lips, before you hear a wet squelch, and your eyes open darting down to only find him stroking his cock, “Choso, are you—“ 

“Mm, the effect of your blood hasn’t quite subsided for me,” he murmurs, “but I think I can take care of it with—“ and he’s flipped onto his back, eyes blinking up as you, sitting on top of him. 

And he sees the blatant want in your gaze, as you begin to lower yourself onto his dick, a smile pulling at your lips, as your lust pulled him under and his cock inside you. 

“I told you I’d take care of you, Choso,” and you offer your neck to him again, dragging your wrist across his face, “so let me.” 

“You’ll be working with Choso again on this project,” you have to bite back your smile, when you nod, “the two of you did a good job on the last one. Thank you for the overtime you put in. It did not go unnoticed,” 

“No problem, sir, anything for the job,” and your supervisor smiles, as you turn to leave, “I’m sure Choso would say the same,” 

“The two of you make a good team. I may pair you two together more often. Is that okay? I’ll have to run it by Choso, of course,” and you nod, hand already on the door knob. 

“I’m sure he would be more than okay with that, sir.” 

“Ah, baby, please just one bite?” Choso’s got you pressed up against the conference room door, “spending all day at work with you makes me so needy,” he mumbles against your skin, as he’s already unbuttoning your button up, the shirt already creased with he’s tugging it free from your slacks, “please,” 

“Cho, you had one this morning, it’s barely lunchtime, and you’re this desperate—” and he’s grinding his tenting erection against your clothed cunt, and your hand barely is able to make it in time to stifle your moan with your fingers, “fuck, fine, one bite, but don’t make a mess, this is a white blouse, babe—” 

He’s already tugging down your shirt, wrapping his arms around his middle, as his red tinted gaze meets yours in the shaded drawn window of the conference door. And now you were sure — your coworker loved you, even when you thought he didn’t.  

“Don’t worry, love, I won’t spill a drop.” 

✧ a/n: this fic was weirdly hard to write. i was very stuck for a while. i couldn't figure out how to write it even though the idea struck me. but i hope you all enjoy <3 thank you for @laneysmusings and @gaylatteart for betaing and being the best moral support <3

✧ taglist: @yourwaifuhatesyou, @cira273, @kakashineedstotouchgrass, @whereismysane, @kaedeolgy, @keirangoldenwatch, @indieotterxoxo, @mua-for-now, @b3llair3, @evieslook, @shervinss, @saltymeow77, @svt-backup, @dazailover1900, @kentocalls, @yamaguccitadashi, @simply-a-s1mp, @rita-ritarita, @gorepain, @jupisloveletterz, @ice-echo26, @lemonpoppy-seed, @turtletaubwrites, @complexivelovely, @tiramatsumu, @strangehuman101, @being-me-is-not-a-sin, @adrenova, @chosoitos, @stonecoldsensitive, @flyingtranscatofeffed, @sunamatic, @maetziniscool, @muichirosbestie, @monstrousbuu, @spider-fan72, @nakariabnrb, @petalshxwer, @talkativetranscendant, @fairyxgothic, @jupisloveletterz, @crystalkat6747, @unorthodoxfaithxx, @hotcocokiss, @angstigone, @sunnykento, @dantaku

[chosoitos]

I’m ovulating you already know why I’m active