Late twentiez >///> im old. sideblog where i just reblog stuff from things im currently obsessed with, created separately bc i jump so fast from one obsession to another lmao
the life-changing trip with Zuko evolved into a running gag which then devolved to the rest of the gang developing a "crush" on him as they grew up and egging him on about how pretty he is, and they get (fake) petty with each other about who gets the most hang out time with him. Meanwhile Zuko is always like 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄because someone ALWAYS ends up crying or annoyed ahem it's always sokka or aang and they're like "ZUKO YOU LOVE ME RIGHT?😭😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺😩😩😩" and he's like "sure." and they're like "NO, YOU DON'T MEAN IT" and it's just him like 😑
Do you have any recommendations for Zutoph/Toko's fanfics?
Hey! I'm so sorry for answering so late! But I just have found your question in my askbox sorry!
I already answered this but I'll paste my answer here and add one new recommendation!
Toph and Zuko: Allurance by Anniered. Honestly I read it long ago but I remember that I liked it.
Your Heart and My Heart Are Very, Very Old Friends by Naite_Laef. One of the first fics I read.
7 works for Toph and Zuko by Strangestar. I really like toko modern au
Mirrors by zematerid. I do like this one very much.
Just Between Us (Did the Love Affair Maim You Too?) by LJF. I love that Mai here is written with a respect. This fic notices how Toph and Mai have a lot in common. That's one of the reasons why I think why Toph and zuko relationship would be possible, Toph is really similar to Mai in many ways, to the girl with who Zuko is in love in canon.
fifteen for a moment by LJF. One of my favourite.
The Phoenix and The Mountains by writinggoblin. this one made my heart melt.
Ojos by en_vente. I really love it and recommend all fics by this author!
MDNI 18+ 〃 Ryomen “beefin’ with my chick while I’m in jail” Sukuna.
A/N: it's finally here oh rejoice i am free flies away
Criminal!Sukuna who’s scary as fuck. He’s so jacked it borders on obscene – muscles stacked on muscles and veins crawling beneath tattooed skin, shoulders stretching at the seams of his uniform. He’s got this sorta unperturbed vibe. Real musky and muscular, stalking around like he’ll beat up the first guy that looks at him wrong.
Criminal!Sukuna who got locked up for some undisclosed highly illegal bullshit nobody ever gets a straight answer about. Speculations are thrown around the prison yard – drug dealing. Drug trafficking. Body-part-trafficking. Cannibalism (yay!).
He doesn’t bother to correct anything. Just sits in the corner with an arm slung over one knee, brooding, grumbling “King of Curses, they used to call me..” beneath his breath. The nutjob.
Criminal!Sukuna who has the whole wing convinced there’s no way in hell he’s got a girl on the outside. Surely not. He’s so immature and ill-natured – even more so than his cellmate, Gojo. Which is saying something.
To the little lady who might end up having to deal with this brutish man, well.. Gojo extends his sincerest condolences. He’s fairly certain any sane person would run for the hills.
You are not sane. He supposes this is why you and Sukuna get along.
Criminal!Sukuna who lights up in the most feral way whenever your name comes up. Won’t admit it, of course. But it’s obvious how he stops pacing when the mail comes. He snatches your envelopes out of the stack like a territorial dog, scowling at anyone who looks over.
Criminal!Sukuna who sits in his cell reading pages upon pages of you calling him a brain-dead brute with no sense of decorum. Threats piling up saying you’ll break things off completely if he doesn’t clean up his act when he gets out.
He smiles anyway. Because the letters smell like your perfume. Lips splitting wide in that creepy, clinically unwell way that has Gojo surmising Sukuna must have stockholm-syndromed his way into his relationship somehow.
Criminal!Sukuna who writes back instantaneously. Pencil scritching against paper like he’s got a vendetta – and perhaps he does, because he writes venomous, downright heinous shit. All watch your tone and you won’t find a better fuck, signed with a little sketch of his dick. For good measure, of course.
𓀐𓂺 𓀐𓂸
Criminal!Sukuna who spends half his sentence arguing with you through busted-up phone receivers and glass partitions. Sometimes you’ll be face to face at the visitation area, nary a word spoken. Once, you threaten to “start seeing someone normal”, and he slams the counter so hard the whole thing jostles.
There’s something special in the way you speak to him. Like he’s an exceptionally stupid man, and not a dangerous bastard with an egregiously extensive crime record.
“Do you want to get out of prison,” you hiss, enunciating each syllable with a finger jabbed hard at the glass, “or do you want to buttfuck your cellmate?”
Sukuna’s sprawled in his chair, massive arms folded with a sleazy grin, eyes glimmering with mirth. He leans closer.
“Depends. You gonna dump me if I do?”
“Maybe.”
The phone receiver slams against the cradle on his side so hard the inmate six seats down flinches. Sukuna stands to full height, chair scraping back loud across the floor. Hunched over the counter.
“You try it,” he sneers. “See what happens.”
A normal person would back down right about now. Think: hey, this probably isn’t a healthy or sustainable relationship! I should end things right here!
You do not. Instead, you stand and collect your things, a vein pulsing at your forehead as you muster a sweet smile. “Maybe I will.”
He stares ahead three long seconds after you leave, then drops back into his chair, muttering curses beneath his breath as a reprimanding guard draws near.
Criminal!Sukuna who finally gets that long-awaited conjugal visit slot after years of good behavior (read: not slamming anyone’s head into a wall for about a week and a half). And lucky him, you’ve requested special accommodations! – a little trailer just off prison grounds.
He would’ve been fine fucking you for all to hear, too, but he digresses.
He’s half-hard just from the walk out the confine, veins prominent as his cuff-clad hands twist together. Too busy thinking to bother snarking at the guards who trail behind him.
He wonders what he’ll do when he sees you first. Maybe he’ll smirk, make a snide comment. Or maybe instinct’ll take over, and he’ll bury his face in your hair and his dick in your pussy. Who’s to say?
He’s excited. Very. In many ways.
Criminal!Sukuna who’s one foot into the trailer when he freezes up. The guards have to push him through, slamming the door behind him as his system reboots.
Something tambourines across his ribcage as his eyes meet yours, pounding, pounding– fuck. There you are.
God, he’s missed you.
“You’re staring.”
“..you’re breathing.”
“Yes, that tends to happen.”
His fingers twitch, a soft exhale escaping.
He can’t even find it in himself to be pissed. You’re so pretty. Especially when you’re mad. The angrier you get and the sharper you snap back, the brighter that little gleam in your eyes burns.
Sukuna likes it. He likes it a lot.
He likes you a lot.
The sole reason he even bothered to behave long enough to earn this visit was so he could see that exact frown on your lips once more.
Criminal!Sukuna who’s snapped out of his reverie with the telltale warning of your fingers threading through his hair.
Then those exact lips slam against his with a hiss, your teeth clashing, biting and pulling at his bottom lip as if punishing him for all the time you’ve lost.
His hands – still restrained – press into your waist.
He can’t be bothered to care.
He’s on a sugar high for the first time in months, swallowing down your sativa taste until he’s lightheaded and preening, the outline of kuna junior™ peeking out his orange garb to wave hello.
Your grip on his hair tightens, tugging when his metal cuffs digs into you. In the way. You shoot him a glare, and he snarls beneath his breath.
“Hold still, woman.”
“I am holding still, you dolt–”
There’s a sharp crack!
All you see is the flex of his forearms before the cuffs give way, steel snapping like cheap jewelry and skewing across the trailer floor.
Criminal!Sukuna who hauls you up by your thighs, slamming your back against the flimsy trailer wall so hard a framed motivational poster clatters to the floor. His mouth’s on your throat, kissing tattoos into your skin while he grinds his aching length against the warmth of your clothed cunt.
Criminal!Sukuna who swipes your panties to the side instead of bothering to take them off. There’s a wet spot where he’s been grinding that has his smile spreading mean, two fingers rubbing at your clit before dipping in and crooking up.
“No one’s been spreading you right, huh? Miss me that bad?”
“Missed the dick. Didn’t miss the mouth.”
He snorts at that. Mutters “brat” beneath his breath as he drags his fingers out, slow and glistening, smearing slick along your folds before pushing them back in deep. “Lucky the mouth missed you.”
Criminal!Sukuna who drops to his knees. More collapse than kneel, weight falling hard as he plants himself to the floor, thighs spread wide, hands gripping at your ass to pull you closer. Then he smiles up, tongue running along his molars in anticipation.
Criminal!Sukuna who eats you out like he’s starved. Who dives in with no preamble, mouth sealing over your cunt, tongue flat and broad and greedy as he drags it from your entrance up in one long, lewd-sounding swipe. He takes a moment to grin against your clit, tongue swirling messy circles as his nose presses to the warmth of your skin. Then he’s enveloping the puffy nub between his lips and sucking hard enough to make your hips jerk, humming low when his fingers swipe through your folds and meet a gush of arousal. You buck into the feeling with a whine his name, nails scraping through his scalp, and he practically groans, a hand dropping down to unzip and jerk himself off.
Criminal!Sukuna who gets slower when he’s about to insert himself. Who brushes his tip through your folds, kissing gently at your clit before going back down to gather slick. Then he notches himself at your entrance and thrusts in, agonizingly unrushed, grunting as he sinks into your warmth.
It’s been a while, but his dick still recognizes the feeling like a soldier coming home from war. The fluttering, the way you suck him in like you never forgot him at all – like you waited for him just like he waited for you and worried for him wholly more.
The stretch aches. Your nails rake bloody reality down his back. A groan escapes unbidden – guttural and painstricken and all the more relieved that he’s here, and you’re here, and you’re his.
Criminal!Sukuna who fucks you mean. At first. Sharp and punishing, hips snapping like he’s trying to escape by rocking the trailer to nirvana. Each thrust has a gasp slipping out of your pretty lips, of which he drinks down with fervor, tongue swirling and coaxing yours to muffle the sounds so the guards outside don’t get a free audio show. His balls slap wet against your skin, swollen from months of nothing but his own fist and your perfume-stained letters.
Criminal!Sukuna who slows down when your legs lock tighter around him and your teeth find the side of his neck. He’s still buried to the hilt. His hips rolling in filthy circles, grinding his length against that sweet spot that makes your toes curl and your vision go blurry.
His forehead drops to yours, sweat-slick hair sticking to skin as his voice lowers.
“..say you love me.”
Criminal!Sukuna who lets out a tch when you don’t answer fast enough. Who pulls almost all the way out, letting you feel the drag of every veiny inch, then slams back in so deep your mouth opens in a silent cry.
“Say it. Tell me you’re mine, tell me you– fuuuuuck. Been thinking ‘bout you. Dreaming ‘bout you, every night. Jerked off so much I thought my dick would fall off.. c’mon, baby. Say it. C’mon.”
Criminal!Sukuna who starts begging when your walls pulse around him. Not pretty begging, either – pissed-off. Hoarse.
“Don’t do this to me, please– fuck– just say it. Say you love your piece-of-shit boyfriend. Say you’ll wait. I’ll be good, I swear– only you, just for you, I’ll get out– so say it. Say it. I need you.”
His thrusts turn erratic. Sloppy. He’s close, and he’s trying not to be, trying to drag it out as long as possible before the moment fades into steel bars and white walls of nothing.
Criminal!Sukuna who shivers when you finally card your fingers through his hair, yanking his head back so you can look him in the eye.
You’re pretty. Always pretty, but especially pretty like this, lips swollen and tears pooling at your eyes out of overstimulation.
“I love you, you stupid, stupid man.”
Criminal!Sukuna whose whole body locks up. Whose cock pulses violently inside you – once, twice – and then he’s cumming with a strangled groan, doubling over to hold you tight as he fills you up. He keeps grinding, encouraged by the way your walls milk his length, cum leaking out in a frothy little ring that has his chest preening.
Criminal!Sukuna who doesn’t pull out after. Just stays seated inside, trembling, face buried in the crook of your neck and arms wrapped around you like you might disappear. Who mumbles against your skin, barely audible –
“..missed this pussy.”
He’s still half-hard, twitching every time your walls clench around his oversensitive length. Already thinking about round two.
But despite his perverted words, and his overeager dick, you know exactly what he’s trying to say.
Criminal!Sukuna who spends the rest of your visit inside you in some capacity – fucking, eating you out with your thighs locked around his head, making you ride him on the tiny bed ‘til the frame creaks dangerously. Every time he cums, he begs to hear you say you love him again, hissing it back at you like a promise.
When the guards finally bang on the door to collect him, he snarls “five more minutes” and shoves his tongue back in your mouth. Trying to swallow you whole and take you with him.
Criminal!Sukuna who leaves the trailer with his shoulders loosened, lips swollen, fresh bite marks ringed around his throat and oh-so visible with his head held high. The dopiest, most lovesick grin painted fond across his lips.
He’s gonna get out of here. And when he does, his girl’s gonna be waiting.
––––
Criminal!Sukuna who gets released on parole after god knows how long. The guards walk him out, and the world feels a little different. The air is clearer. And his woman–
.
Where the hell are you?
Criminal!Sukuna who’s a little disappointed when his parole officer is the one to escort him home. But he can’t be too upset about it. You must’ve had it hard, too. He’ll make it up to you.
Criminal!Sukuna who almost breaks down the door on his way in.
DAAAARLING. GUESS WHO’S BACK FROM JAIIIIIIL–
You’re sitting on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, remote in one hand. Unimpressed.
“Hi,” you sniff.
His eye twitches.
“Woman.”
“Yes?”
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Sitting.”
He drops his duffel bag with a heavy thud. “Yeah. I can see that.”
Criminal!Sukuna who starts prowling around the apartment like a bloodhound. He checks the kitchen and the hallway and the bathroom and the bedroom – including the closet, the door to which he swings open so hard it bangs against the wall.
Bathtub. Bed. Under the bed. Back out again.
He stands silent for a long moment before storming back into the living room, planting himself in front of the couch and looming over you with a scowl.
“You told me you were seeing someone.”
You lean a little to the left so he doesn’t block your view of the TV, ignoring the freshly released menace like you haven’t been yearning for his presence for the past four years. Serves him right. “I told you maybe.”
“Maybe means yes.”
“No,” you reply, calm, “Maybe means maybe.”
“Maybe means there could be some guy sitting in my apartment right now.”
“Our apartment.”
“Same difference.”
You don’t respond, and he feels the panic set in.
Sukuna trusts you. He knows you waited, and he knows you didn’t have to.
What he’s more uncomfortable with is the memory of all those nights in his cell staring at the ceiling wondering if he would come back changed.
It’s not like he’d know if or when that would happen. It’s not like you’re blind to that possibility. You’ve probably spent just as much time wondering the same thing – if the man who came home would still be the one you loved, or just some asshole you’d have to learn to live with until your lease was up.
And if you did anticipate that, and you did move on, and there is some other guy? What then? What useless method of intimidation or blackmail or torture could possibly earn back your heart if he had already lost it somewhere along the way?
You glance up after a bit. A wry smile blooms across your lips when you see the worried set of his brow.
“There is no guy,” you snort.
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you pick me up?”
“You know where the apartment is.”
“..would’ve liked balloons, at least.”
You register the little quiver in his voice with a hum.
It’s kind of funny, because when he first got into prison four years ago, he was the one who tried to cut things off. Said he didn’t know you at first – assumed you wouldn’t want to associate with a convict. And now here he is, asking for welcome-home balloons.
“Wow,” you muse, pausing your show, “prison really softened you.”
He glares down at you. You smile back.
And then he lets out a long, aggravated exhale, drags a hand down his face, and plops down onto the couch. The whole thing dips under his weight.
“Missed you,” he murmurs.
You laugh and let him pull you into his arms.
“You big baby.”
Criminal!Sukuna who’s “reformed”. On paper. Ankle monitor long gone and patrol officer off his case. He’s even scored a legitimate (albeit mundane) part-time mechanic gig, which you’re 90% sure he got solely because the owner of the shop used to joyride with him. Some big burly guy named Toji who overcharges his clients and busts all his earnings in a casino at 4am, no doubt.
Still, the itch never leaves.
Criminal!Sukuna who can’t quite give up that pesky little habit of his. He’ll steal anything he can. Snatching your lacey panties right out the hamper just to shove them in the washer four hours later after jerking off until the fabric is soaked. And if ever you ask, he’ll just shrug and feign innocence.
“Dunno. Maybe they ran away from your stank ass pu–”
You don’t let him fuck you for the next two weeks, and from the desperate look on his face when you pass by, it isn’t difficult to assume he’s in just as much agony as he was when he was behind bars.
Criminal!Sukuna who “borrows” your car keys and drives off. He doesn’t have anywhere particularly important to be, but the jingle in his palm and the roar of the engine give him that good ol’ dopamine hit. He goes down three blocks to the gas station just to buy the same energy drink you already have three packs of in the fridge, then comes back home and acts like he wasn’t just driving on a suspended license.
Criminal!Sukuna who’s reintegrated into society. And yet he’ll never truly get rid of the urge – the whisper that he could do something, and he could probably get away with it, too.
But he won’t. He’d kill himself before getting locked up again.
please write some enjin smut! maybe nurse reading helping him cum after he sprains his dominant hand and eishas out on a mission? huhu sorry if its too much🎀
AND SHE'S ON TOP OF ME,
AND IT IS, HOT HOT HOT !!
Synopsis ─ Enjin wants to crack the pretty nurse on some nonchalant type shit
AN ─ Omgggggggggg this is my first emoji anon I hope to see you in my inbox again 🥹🥹🥹✌️ this one got a lil chuckle outta me while writing icl
CW !! | Size difference, swallowing NUT, Smoking, Tiny bit of exhibitionism, praise kink
Enjin had always been a workaholic, him and his lucky umbreaker against the world. However, this time he was ironically unlucky this time. Enjin was fighting against an exceptionally strong trash beast, of course he could handle it with the help of Rudo and the others but not without injury.
He had originally planned for a broken bone but only coming out with a sprained wrist was something. It didn't bother him much, despite it being his good hand. That was until he could no longer do his favorite thing after work. Besides smoking.
Beating TF out of his shit.
Having a sprain isn't supposed to be an intellectual exercise on how to masturbate. Enjin wasn't one to even indulge in going to the nurses office but nonetheless he went anyways.
"Yo, Eisha. I gotta problem that needs fixing" Enjin said scratching his head only to be met with silence. He looked around, snooping to see where Eisha was.
"Hey! Anyone even here?" He scratched his head, crooking his neck. He let out a big long sigh before slumping on the infirmary bed, this was too much for him. First, he went up against a trash beast with a putrid smell then, he then proceeded to sprain hand, not even his left but his good hand. And to top it all off, Eisha wasn't even there.
"Alright I already hate it here.." Enjin dragged his hand down his face before hearing a voice
"Hey, you looking for Eisha?" you called out to Enjin
"Hm?' Enjin sat up looking at you.
"I asked if you were looking for Eisha, since you're here you must've been looking for her, sorry to say she's out right now!" You apologized, bowing your head at Enjin
Enjin looked you up and down before grasping his right hand "So what you're saying is, she can't fix my hand up for me" He said his half-lidded eyes looking up at you
"I'm. . . I'm afraid so, but I can help you in her absence!"
"Stroke it for me"
"I'm sorry?" You were utterly at a loss for words, what did he just say to you? Enjin took his left hand and lit his cigarette taking a deep inhale before blowing out the smoke "You don't have to, I just assumed from the way you always look like your drooling all over my collarbones like I'm a prostitute made you wanna bang me" He took another puff before blowing it out once more "I'm reaaaalllll pent from fighting those things. Help a guy out, yeah. C'mon I'll even call you pretty and what not" He said it like it was supposed to sweeten the deal, the thought of it seemed absurd! Until you were actually under him
His thick cock rested on your head as you licked the underside, it was covered at the base with tattoos lined with designs. That somehow made it even more attractive, along with the grunting he let out
"That's it pretty girl. . . Work that tongue for me~" Enjin slurred out, enjoying himself with such a pretty nurse between his thighs "I wonder what everyone would think, seeing you like this, between my legs, I'd kill to see the look on their faces" He grunts out, his left hand gripping the bed sheets "Hah- so good f'me, you're a natural girl! We- Nn-! Should do this hah, more often" You loved vocal men, and hearing him being this, shameless shamble of himself was riveting.
You were already fingering yourself due to all the tension. "Hey sweetheart, go ahead and take it all the way" He sat up pressing the tip against your lips "Well? Go on, open that mouth for me pretty girl" you obeyed opening your mouth as he slid inside your warm mouth
"Ohhhhh, yeah-! That's the stuff that'll kill a virgin" Enjin groaned as he stood up, taking his good hand and taking a fistful of your hair. "Yes, mmph-! Take dick down your throat like the good girl that you are-! You're a good girl aren't you? Hm? You a good girl f'me? Oh yes you're, Mm-!" Enjin thrusted into your mouth with such need it was hard to keep up, he kept hitting the back of your throat and you felt tears welling in your eyes from the pressure, the roughness, but you liked it
"Gooddd girllll, taking me so welll~" He said again bending over to get a better angle as he pumped his cock deep into your mouth "Don't you- mm. . . I mean, are you enjoying yourself pretty girl? I'm realllll close ta giving ya, a big FAT reward" he grunted loudly, sweating dripping down his neck glistening against his collarbone, it was so alluring to you.
"Gonna- gonna take my cum, hah. . . Like a good girl right? Hm, yeah? Yeah. Sweet little nurse helping her patient and wants payment, right, oh I got some- Hng-! Some payment for you alright, gonna pay ya reallll gooddd" Enjin was so vocal, what a slut he was, but you were enjoying the sweet ASMR
"Here- here's my payment sweetheart, take it all-! K?" He lets out one final grunt before cumming deep within your throat. His hands are sweaty, his breath is laboured, before you can spill his cum out he grabs your cheeks and squeezes them between his fingers "Swallow it for me, yeah?" You complied and with a smile he unhanded you
꒰ synopsis: Spin the bottle ends better than you expected♡
"Seven minutes in heaven, I hope in the end that I'm not a virgin" -Mindless Self Indulgence
│cw: NSFW, 18+, vaginal fingering, handjobs, oral (giving), grinding, forced proximity, public sex (technically), afab!reader/fem!reader, reader is lowkey a gooner
│ft: Enjin, Gris, Zanka (separately)
│wc: Enjin: 1.4k, Gris: 1.6k, Zanka: 1.2k
│notes: intro is the same for all, each boy's story is not connected and can be read separately, ZANKA IS AGED UP TO 18!
│AO3 Link!
│INTRO
You’ve made your fair share of stupid decisions throughout the years. But this one? This one certainly takes the cake.
With Rudo’s “Welcome to the Ground” party dying down for the night, Enjin took it upon himself to liven up the room again.
Seven Minutes In Heaven.
Flashbacks from middle school made you visibly shudder. You never found the game fun. It always ended in a closet filled with awkward glances and uncomfortable silence.
You groaned to yourself. You’d rather watch paint dry than sit quietly next to someone for 7 minutes.
Though you tried to sneak away, a surprisingly willing, Semiu stopped you at the door. She threw you a knowing smirk and guided you back to the growing circle.
“You aren't getting out of this one that easily, Y/n. You’ve been specifically requested for.”
Frowning at her words, you reluctantly sat down next to her, “With this sausage fest of a party I’m not surprised.” You rested your head on her shoulder, “How the hell did they rope you into this?”
Semiu shrugged against you, “Who knows, maybe I couldn't pass up the thought of something interesting happening tonight.”
Your eyebrows creased at Semiu’s tone. It didn't seem like she just thought something was going to happen. No - she sounded far too confident something would.
Before you could question her antics, you flinched when a glass beer bottle was tossed into your lap. Looking up, you met Enjin’s gaze with confusion.
The blonde man smirked, “Ladies first.”
You rolled your eyes, “Such a gentleman.”
The crowd surrounding you laughed, hooting and hollering for you to spin the empty bottle. You pressed your lips into a thin line. Your stomach was already starting to fill with anxious knots.
“What are you waitin’ for Y/n,” Zanka’s voice called from the other side of the circle, “You chicken?”
You flushed, “Hell no, Stick Boy!”
You snatched the bottle from your lap and placed it in the center of the circle. With a single flick of your wrist, the bottle began to spin rapidly.
The crowd roared in anticipation. Their teasing remarks continued to cut through the air even as the bottle's rotation slowed.
You could only hold your breath as the cheap beer came to a halt. Slowly, your eyes trailed the long neck of the bottle.
You felt your heart leap out of your chest. It was just your luck.
The bottle had landed on...
│ENJIN
It was a tight fit.
Though he was lean, Enjin’s tall frame took up the majority of the closet space. His firm chest pressed further into your back each time one of you shifted.
It made you nervous.
But not in a “giving a public speech” kind of way. You were nervous in a “there's a 6’3 tatted up blonde bombshell pressed up against my back” kind of way. Not to mention the “I’ve been picturing this exact position every time I get off” guilt that began to creep its way into your head.
Awkwardly shuffling your feet, you flinched when you accidentally grinded against him. Quickly pulling away, you glanced at him over your shoulder and muttered a soft apology. Though in all honesty, you wondered if you could get away with another “accident”.
“It’s alright, but…”
Enjin’s large hands pressed against the door on either side of your head, boxing you in from behind. You did your best to ignore the sudden movement. Forcing the thought “naked grandma” repeatedly to cleanse your impure imagination.
As if sensing your plan, Enjin lowered his head into the crook of your neck. His lips ghosted along the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Do you really wanna’ just stand here in silence the whole time?”
Your heart pounded in your chest. Of course you didn't want to just stand in silence. If you had it your way you’d already be humping his leg. But could you really say that out loud to your team leader without having a restraining order placed on you?
You swallowed thickly, “Can’t say I’m opposed to it.”
Enjin chuckled against your shoulder. Removing his right hand from the door, he trailed his fingers down your waist to your hip bone, “It’s called Seven Minutes In Heaven not Seven Minutes In Boredom.”
“I hate to break it to ya’ Enjin but that’s usually how this game goes.”
You rested your head against the door. Enjin’s close proximity was really starting to test your self-control. Maybe if you concentrated hard enough you could block out Enjin’s strong grip on your hip.
“Pshh, that’s no fun.” You could practically hear the pout in his voice.
Sighing, you crossed your arms, “Well, what did you have in mind?”
“How about a bet?”
You jolted at Enjin’s quick response, “A bet?” Though you couldn’t see his face, you still eyed his hand suspiciously, "What kind of bet?”
Enjin hummed, “Any.”
“Any?” You let out a dry laugh, “Are you that confident you're going to win?”
“Without a doubt.”
Stunned by his confidence, you smirked internally. Any bet you want, huh? That means he wouldn’t mind if you played a little dirty, right?
“Alright I’ll bite.” You did your best to look back at Enjin, twisting uncomfortably at the waist, “As long as the prize is a “Freebie Card”.”
A “Freebie Card” was something Riyo made up a few years back. Each person had their own cards they could give to another Cleaner.
As long as you had another person’s “Freebie Card” you could ask them to do whatever you wanted - no questions asked. It was Heaven sent when it came to passing off shitty jobs.
Enjin grinned, “Deal.”
Sucker.
You gave him your own award winning smile, “I bet you won’t offer the Boss a handy the next time you see him.”
Enjin chuckled against you, deep and throaty, “You playin’ dirty, Y/n?” Suddenly his cheeky grin morphed into a sly smirk, “That’s alright, I can too.”
You felt your stomach begin to knot at his tone. Something in you seemed to know you made a grave mistake.
“There’s only 5 minutes left,” Enjin lowered himself back into your ear, “I bet I could make you finish in 3.”
Your brain short circuited. For a second you thought you went crazy, because there was absolutely no way the Enjin just said what you thought he said.
You blinked at him slowly, “Like finish finish?”
Enjin’s smirk never left his face, "Switched from playing dirty to dumb? I didn't take you for a coward, Y/n.”
Quickly regaining composure, you tried to play off your initial shock, “Nah, just surprised you actually had the balls to ask.”
A total lie.
Enjin always dripped with confidence, you’d be more shocked if he wasn't a sweet talker. But you knew better than to stoke his ego. You’d rather stroke his-
“I like your confidence.” Abruptly, your jeans were skillfully unzipped, “But let's see how long it will last, brat.”
You quickly spun your upper body back around, watching Enjin’s hand lower into your pants. His thick fingers teased the hem of your panties before his black nails disappeared under the lace.
The outline of his hand stretched the thin fabric. It made your knees weak. You always noticed how massive the blonde’s hands were. Been dreaming how they’d feel against your skin.
You weren't disappointed.
Enjin slipped his thumb and ring finger into your folds, spreading you wide. You shuddered at the action. Grabbing Enjin’s arm for support, you waited with bated breath for his next move.
Enjin didn’t make you wait long. His lengthy fingers found your exposed clit easily. They circled your bud slowly, dragging a muted gasp from you.
Enjin hugged you closer from behind, chuckling in your ear, "Whining already? You're making this too easy.”
You sneered, “Fat chance. I can barely even feel it.”
He leaned into your neck, placing a few chaste kisses, “Really?”
Immediately, Enjin flicked up on your clit, drawing another muffled moan from your lips. You threw your head back on to his shoulder, your legs already shaking from his ruthless stimulation.
“Doesn’t really look like it.”
You ignored his taunting, attempting to think of anything else to distract yourself from cuming too quickly. But Enjin never played fair. As his fingers drifted closer to your dripping entrance, his lips spilled every sinful thought he could conjure.
“I love the way you twitch under my fingers.”
“You feel so soft.”
“I bet I could fuck you right now with how wet you are.”
Enjin’s large fingers pressed firmly into your weeping hole. They stretched and rubbed the tight muscle gently, working you open. While his fingers fucked you beyond oblivion, his thumb moved to continue his abuse on your neglected clit.
Your grip on Enjin tightened as your hips jerked involuntarily. His fingers were too damn big. They filled you up more than your own, reaching spots you normally couldn't.
Then, he hit it. The spot deep in your core that made you see stars. If you weren't practically humping his fingers before you definitely were now.
Enjin noticed your response immediately. His lips pulled into a large grin against your neck as he zeroed in on your g-spot, “Feels good huh, baby.”
You couldn't form a response. Your mouth was already full of sultry whines and desperate pleas. You could only hold your hand to your mouth and hope the others outside of the door couldn't hear you over the music.
“Not uh," Enjin pulled your grip from your mouth with his other hand, “If you wanna hide your slutty noises do it the proper way.”
Roughly grabbing your jaw, he pulled you into a deep kiss. Enjin’s lips felt plush. They fit against your own like a lost puzzle piece. You effortlessly matched his rhythm, sliding your tongue against his.
Gradually, you moaned into his kiss as the pressure in your stomach began to tighten. His fingers refused to let up, scissoring and pumping your over-stimulated pussy.
With one last pornstar moan, your eyes rolled as the cord in your stomach snapped. Your legs quivered weakly beneath you, threatening to give out. Enjin’s hold seemed to be the only thing keeping you standing.
Suddenly, a loud knock at the door made you rip away from Enjin’s kiss.
“3 minutes left, lovebirds!”
You sighed in relief, at least they didn't hear you. Hopefully.
“Looks like it only took 2."
You flinched at Enjin's voice, "What?"
Removing his hand from your pussy, Enjin held out his sticky fingers in front of you face. He rubbed the clear substance together casually.
"You lose, pretty girl."
Your face flushed. You had almost forgotten the entire reason Enjin had been finger blasting you.
"Shit," You chewed on your lip as you glanced up at him through your lashes, "Freebies all yours, asshole. What do you want?"
Enjin's eyes darkened, "How about another 7 minutes?"
│GRIS
He was bigger than you realized.
Though you interacted with Gris more than any other Supporter, you never really took into consideration just how massive he was.
He loomed over you in the small closet. Both of his forearms rested above your head just to make enough room for his tall figure.
You awkwardly fiddled with your thumbs in between you, trying your best not to stare at his firm chest in front of you. It was strange. You normally had no issue talking to Gris. But with the way he was boxing you in, you were struggling just to keep the heat away from your cheeks.
“Sorry, Y/n,” Gris laughed shyly above you, “This is pry not the most comfortable position.”
Craning your neck up, you offered him a gentle smile, “Says the guy who has to fold into himself just to fit in here.”
Gris chucked softly, “Can’t say I’m the smallest guy.”
You laughed and returned your gaze back down. Though, your eyes lingered on his pants for maybe a moment too long. They were fairly baggy, easily concealing what they needed too. But his height told you everything you needed to know. He definitely couldn't be small.
“A guy your size is probably packing in more ways than one-” You slapped your hand over your mouth.
Abruptly, the closet felt ten times smaller. You could practically feel the crushing weight of the silence that answered your slip up. Shit. Gris definitely thought you were some pervert now.
Hiding your face in your hands, you immediately played damage control, “Oh God, I'm so sorry I didn’t mean-”
“Ya,” Gris rubbed the back of his neck, face cherry red, “I guess I am.”
Your eyes widened slightly in shock. The apology on your tongue was swiftly forgotten and buried. Instead, incoherent noises and mumbles cascaded out of your mouth as you tried to figure out what exactly just happened.
Sweet and kind Gris, who was a father figure to most of the team, just admitted he was packing some serious heat. You didn't know what was worse. The fact you asked in the first place or the fact you now desperately wanted to see.
You sighed internally. Screw it. You were already in the dog house. Might as well test your luck. After all, Gris was an attractive man. You wouldn't mind getting a little more “personal” with your favorite Supporter. Especially if he was interested.
Swallowing thickly, you cautiously grazed your hand against his chest. Though the move was meant to be seductive, your hand visibly shook with nerves, "Shouldn't someone else… be the judge of that?”
Gris jolted against your light touch. His already red face somehow turned a shade darker. Clearing his throat, Gris removed one of his hands from the wall and placed it on top of your own hand in a tight grip.
Tentatively, he guided your hand down his chest, allowing your hand to feel up the sculpt of his build. Though his move was bold, he avoided your stare in embarrassment.
You felt your lips tug into an involuntary smile. Taking Gris’ action as approval, you spread your fingers out wide in an attempt to feel more of him. You could feel him shudder under your touch. His toned stomach seemed to flex with every stroke of your nails.
“We have seven minutes,” Gris finally met your gaze with blown pupils, “You can use all you need.”
Your heart slammed against your chest. A new wave of nervousness cleared out any confidence you had leftover.
Gris really did want you too.
Chewing on your lip, you gently tried to push Gris closer to the back of the closet. He looked at you with confusion at first before his lean frame finally allowed you to press him into the wall. Though he didn’t move much, there was now enough room for you to comfortably kneel in front of him.
Starting to crouch, Gris suddenly caught your elbow in his rough grasp, “What are you doing?”
You smirked at his flustered face, “Judging?”
Sighing, Gris reluctantly removed his hold on you. But his eyes never left your own. They watched you like a hawk as you slowly lowered yourself onto your knees. He refused to miss a single moment of your delicate hands starting to unbutton his pants.
You tried to ignore the burning sensation of his stare. You felt a lot less confident under his darkened gaze than his sheepish one.
Pulling his fly open, you paused to take in the sight before you. Gris’ cock strained against his briefs. Half-hard and slightly leaking, it already looked far too intimidating.
You warily stroked him through his briefs, feeling up the heat beneath the thin fabric. Gris hissed at the attention. His hands remained firmly clenched on the door behind you, forcing his body to curl over above you.
“Shit- Y/n, wait-”
You ignored his strained plea, favoring to slide your finger up his shaft. His cock twitched under your touch as you finally curled your finger over the hem of his underwear. Gently, you pulled down the protective fabric. His thick length immediately sprung out from its confinement, bouncing slightly in front of your face.
Your jaw dropped at the sight. You knew he’d be big, but not to this extent. Would you even be able to fit it in your hand - let alone mouth?
Gris’ soft whine above you caused you to come back to Earth. Staring up at him, you cautiously reached for his bare length. It felt heavy in your hand. You could barely wrap your grasp around his girth. It made your stomach flip; though you weren't sure if it was from excitement or nervousness.
Locking eyes, you made a show of spitting on dick, slicking him up the best you could. Gris watched you with needy eyes. His lip was firmly planted in between his teeth as he suppressed another deep groan.
Feeling emboldened, you kissed his tip softly, “I might need a closer look to judge properly.”
Grunting, Gris pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, “I think so too.”
Gris’ words made you take a deep breath before you continued. You started slowly, mildly stroking up and down his length. It was just enough to get his legs weak and mind foggy.
You watched him with curious eyes, adjusting your grip based on his reactions. You found his sweet spot quickly. He liked it when you tugged hard, squeezing his cock in a tight grip. His hips jerked wildly every time your thumb rubbed over his tip, massaging in dots of pre-cum.
And when you had him right where you wanted him - breath quickened, core tightened, legs shaking - you pulled away.
Gris’ response was immediate. His low voice whined at the rejection, breaking at the end.
You gave him an innocent smile, “Are you ready for my verdict now?”
Gris shook his head, “No.” Reaching down, he gently cupped your jaw and caressed your cheek with his thumb, “...I think you need to look a little closer.”
You felt your clit throb at the sight of him. His hair was a train wreck and his face was dusted in a dark shade of pink. You wondered if it was too late to just ask him to fuck you.
Biting back your own satisfaction, you allowed Gris to guide your face back to his hardened cock. You licked up his length at a teasing pace. Your lips purposely lingered on his tip so you could swirl your tongue around the pink flesh.
Gris jerked against you. His hand slid from your jaw to the side of your head, clutching a fist full of your hair. You winced against his length. Gris’ grip strength was unreal - even when he was trying to hold it back.
Bobbing your head, you tried to take in as much Gris as you could. Your lips strained against his girth. It felt like trying to swallow a metal pipe.
Breathing in through your nose, you did your best not to scrape your teeth against his sensitive flesh. While you used your hands to pleasure the remaining length your mouth couldn't accommodate.
As Gris’ cock began to twitch, you felt his grip suddenly shift on your hair. He pulled your head closer, roughly fucking your mouth. You clutched onto his hips for support. His brutal pace sent his tip plowing into the back of your throat.
You groaned against him. The already little air supply you had was seemingly completely cutoff. Eventually, Gris’ hips snapped one final time. Thick fluid spilled down your esophagus in short bursts as Gris growled out a moan.
You did your best to keep his cock comfortably sat in your mouth, allowing him to ride out his orgasm. But you could feel a few tear drops begin to stream down your face at the discomfort.
Abruptly, Gris pulled himself from your mouth and squatted down. His large hands cupped your head as he whipped tears and spit from your face.
“I’m so sorry,” He kissed your temple softly, “I didn’t mean to be so rough with ya’.”
“S’alright,” You threw him a cheeky smile, “You were right though.”
Gris titled his head in confusion.
“You’re fucking huge.”
Gris’ face went up in flames as he hid his face in the palm of his hands, “Sorry.”
You could only laugh at his embarrassed form. He was too sweet for his own good.
“And Gris…”
He peaked through his fingers.
“You may wanna pull up your pants,” You pointed at the opening door, “Times up.”
│ZANKA
You just wanted to finish.
7 minutes alone with Zanka was practically torture.
Why?
Hell would freeze over before Zanka saw you as anything more than a friend. You were partners with him before Rudo took your place. Spent far too much time around his company than you liked to admit. It was no surprise your stupid heart began to form a small crush.
You weren't mad when Zanka was assigned to Rudo. In reality, you were relieved you didn’t have to hide your feelings around him anymore. It felt like a weight had been taken off your shoulders.
But less time together didn’t stop Zanka from still seeing you as his closest confidant.
Sitting on the floor with your back against the closet’s wall, Zanka rested his head comfortably on your shoulder. You did your best to calm your racing heart. But it was a difficult task when all you could focus on was how close Zanka’s face was to yours.
“Are you even listening?”
You jumped at Zanka’s voice, “What?”
“Seriously?” He sat up straight, facing his head toward you, “What are ya’ nervous or something’?”
You huffed, “I spend every living moment with you, how could I be nervous?”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Abruptly, Zanka poked your cheek with his finger. The action made you jump out of your skin, causing you to slam your head against the wall. The shit eating grin that appeared on Zanka’s face made you frown immediately.
“You really are nervous.”
You rubbed the back of your head, “Am not.”
Zanka rolled his eyes, “Are so.”
Your eye twitched in irritation, “Never in a million years could you make me nervous.”
Except when he looks anywhere in your direction. Hell, anytime he breathes within your vicinity.
“Oh really?”
Zanka’s teasing tone made you regret your statement immediately. You snapped your eyes in his direction, waiting for whatever idiotic plan he was conjuring up.
Then, Zanka moved his hand closer to yours. His slim fingers weeded themselves between your own, capturing your hand.
“So,” He rubbed a small circle into your skin with his thumb, “This doesn't make you nervous?”
Your pulse quickened as you stared down at your interlocked hands. His skin was smooth as porcelain yet rough from years of training with his Vital Instrument. You wondered how they’d feel in more intimate places.
Swallowing hard, you avoided his gaze, “No.”
“Then,” Zanka released your hand slowly, “How about this?”
He trailed his hand along your arm, caressing your skin up to your neck. Gently cupping your nape, he allowed the palm of his hand to rest below your hairline. The pressure he used was gentle but firm. It held your head in place, forcing you to look at him.
You took a sharp breath. Zanka’s eyes bore into your own, dissecting your every move. They made you hesitant to lie. Made you consider letting him win this round so you could crawl back into your hole and forget your feelings.
But pride was the only thing you had Zanka beat at.
“No,” You gave him your best smirk, “Not even a little.”
Zanka laughed softly but didn’t remove his hold. Instead, he leaned in closer, forcing his way further into your personal space. You tried to move your head back but Zanka’s hand was a quick reminder you weren't going anywhere.
Zanka noticed your movement instantly, “For some reason, I find that hard to believe.”
You scoffed, “Are you sure you're not the one nervous?”
It was tough talk for someone who was currently red up to their ears. But the room was dark and as far as Zanka knew, you were cool as a cucumber.
“No,” Zanka continued to move closer, “My heart’s beating so fast right now I’m scared it’ll beat right out of my chest.”
Your eyes widened at Zanka’s confession. You couldn't believe your ears. Were you hearing things?
“I was really hoping…”
You had little time to dwindle on your state of hearing before Zanka almost closed the gap between you.
“You felt the same way.”
Zanka’s lips crashed onto your own savagely. He cupped your face in both of his hands, deepening the kiss as much as he could.
You could only grasp onto his shirt tightly as he devoured your lips greedily. The kiss had you seeing stars. Your tongues danced together perfectly as he gently sucked your lips.
You whined into him, pulling him closer by his collar. Zanka easily complied. Without removing his touch, he hoisted you onto his lap. His large hands grabbed your thighs firmly, keeping them spread around his waist.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, forcing him even closer. Zanka smiled into the kiss causing you to flush.
Just how long had he been wanting this too?
Finally pulling away, you watched each other with heaving chests. You slid your hands down to his shoulders, nervously gnawing at the inside of your mouth, “I think I’m nervous now.”
Zanka chuckled lowly. The sound reverberated off the walls, sending a pang of need through your spine.
“I’m glad.”
Adjusting your position on his lap, you flinched at the feeling of something hard. Immediately, Zanka’s face reddened. You had never seen him more mortified - other than the time Rudo flung shit at him.
“Sorry-”
Zanka grunted sharply as you rolled your hips against his. You met his stunned gaze with innocent eyes. You weren't really sure what you were doing.
But one thing you knew for sure…
“Are you nervous, Zanka?”
You wanted to alleviate that pressure in his pants more than anything.
Instantly, Zanka’s grip left your thighs and moved to your hips, “No.”
You shuddered against Zanka’s solid hold. His lean hands rolled your hips for you, grinding you against his already half-hard cock.
Though there were two layers of fabric between you, sparks of pleasure shot down your spine with every thrust. His thick length rubbed your clit just right. It was enough to get you shaking and panting on his lap in seconds.
Zanka easily captured your lips again as he continued to rock your body against his own. You could only grasp his shoulders tighter as you went along for the ride.
Just as you started to get comfortable, Zanka suddenly flipped you to the floor, pinning you beneath him. He threw your leg over his shoulder as he continued to thrust against your covered pussy.
You begged against his lips, pleading for him to go harder. Zanka followed your commands without complaint. His large hand used your inner thigh as leverage as he desperately grinded against you.
It didn’t take long for the cord in your stomach to wind up. It pulled taught, tugging at your stimulated lower half. You gripped Zanka’s hair as you cried out softly.
You came hard, trembling underneath him. Though the man above you seemed to be in the same position. His toned core tightened and shook against your own as he groaned in your ear.
Laying your head back on the ground you clenched your eyes shut, “I really like you, Zanka. I’m sorry I never told you.”
Zanka leaned down, resting his face on your breasts, “Thank God, or this would've been really awkward, Y/n.”
You rolled your eyes with a laugh, “You’re telling me.”
“Woah,”
You both froze on the spot.
Enjin leaned on the door frame, grinning ear to ear, “Looks like you guys had fun.”
Synopsis: Enjin’s body is covered with several intricate tattoos. But one, small, seemingly trashy tattoo is his favorite
Content: enjin x wife!reader
w/c: 1.3k master list - here
Black and red ink cover at least 90 percent of Enjin’s upper body.
His arms. His back. Part of his chest and neck. Little ones on his hands and fingers. Even his naval is inked. Together however, the design is cohesive and seamless. Bold and beautiful. Nobody would ever assume that his tattoos took several sessions to achieve or that he covered up a few dumb tattoos he got when he was younger.
Well, all except for one.
On his right pinky there is a tiny umbrella tattooed.
It’s relatively faded from age. But the lines are wonky, which is very evident compared to the straight, rigid, lines of the rings tattooed on his other fingers. It’s almost like a child did it.
Yet, despite the imperfections, he loved it.
“Staring is quite rude you know,” Enjin says, exhaling a puff of smoke from his cigarette. Beside him, Rudo stiffens up, looking away guiltily at being caught. Despite the energetic commotion of their fellow Cleaners drinking and socializing merrily, the silent tension between the two of them is loud. Taking another drag of the cigarette, Enjin sighs, “whatcha thinking about now? This party’s supposed to be for welcoming you, and you’ve been hiding out back here despite being the guest of honor.”
“I—uh…” Rudo trailed off, but Enjin could easily follow the direction of his gaze to the shitty tattoo on his finger.
“It’s my first ever tattoo,” the blond explains. He holds his hand out for Rudo to better see. A smile settles on his face. “Got it when I was about 18. Whatcha think?”
“I think it looks busted,” replies the white haired boy bluntly.
Surprisingly, Enjin cackles in laughter. He turns his hand, looking at the umbrella tattoo with fondness. “It does, doesn’t it? Definitely not the best quality, but you make those kind of impulsive decisions when you’re young only to regret them later down the line.”
Rudo frowned, only growing more confused. Not only he didn’t see the appeal in such an ugly looking tattoo, the man even agreed that it was terribly done. Wouldn’t one typically be upset about getting a bad tattoo? Not that Rudo knew much about tattoos himself, but he knew he wouldn’t want that permanently on his body.
“Can’t you get it removed or cover it up with something else?” Rudo questioned.
“Yeah, but despite its terrible quality, this tattoo is my favorite,” Enjin says. “After all, my lovely wife did it for me in the early stages of our relationship.”
You both were around 18 at the time.
The relationship was still rather new, but Enjin already knew within the first few months of being together, you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. What was there not to love about you? You were smart, witty, and gorgeous inside and out. You always put him in his place when necessary and had no problem vocalizing your opinions.
Most importantly, you were hyper independent. You held your own against trash beasts and cleaned up a fair share of Enjin’s messes. Spoiling you was never easy simply because you often refused to let him. But with time, Enjin would break down the walls you built as you did his.
“Enjin look what I found!” You enter your shared apartment, eagerly carrying something in your hand. Enjin lazily looked up from his spot on the couch, perplexed by your sudden excitement. You nearly trip over your feet to shove a box into your boyfriend’s hands.
“What is this?” Enjin curiously opened the rectangular box at your insistence. Inside was an array of items. Five slender needle-like objects. A tube of black liquid. A couple pairs of gloves along with a few other smaller items. “Is this tattoo ink?” The male questions, reading the label on the bottle.
“It’s a stick and poke kit!” You say enthusiastically. “I found it on my way to Canvas Town. You should totally let me try it out on you!”
Immediately, Enjin’s face sours at the thought. “I don’t know babe…we don’t know what dumpster this was in—“
“Then we’ll clean and sanitize the equipment before using it. And there’s gloves in here. Pleaseee Enjin?”
Unfortunately, his inability to say no to you was Enjin’s greatest weakness and he relented. After cleaning the supplies to the best of your ability, you pulled on a pair of the gloves and filled the silicone caps with the ink. You originally wanted to ink your name or initials on him, but Enjin called it tacky. So, you settled on doing an umbrella, because it reminded you of his umbreaker.
“Do you have to do it on my hand?” Enjin asks, slightly amused by the intense look of concentration on your face.
“Shush, you’re distracting me,” you snap. Your hand is unsteady as you poke the curve of the umbrella’s handle before slowly making your way up the rest of the design. After a few minutes you were done. “There! Finished!” You look pleased with your work. “What do you think?”
Enjin looked at his pinky. A janky tattoo stares back at him. He then snorted in laughter. “Babe, I love you, but you’re no artist.” You hit him with the nearby pillow, making him laugh harder. Before you could slap him again, he grabbed your wrist to halt your attack and caught you off guard with a kiss. “Thank you. I love it because you did it.”
After ten years, the stick and poke tattoo has since begun to fade. You’ve jokingly asked him if he’d get it touched up by a professional, but Enjin always said that he would only do so if you did it, refusing to let anyone mess up the precious art you put on his body.
Rudo sat in stunned silence, still reeling from learning that Enjin of all people has a wife. “Wait—you’re married?!”
Enjin scowled, hitting the kid on the back of the head. “Oi, what’s with that insinuating tone of yours? My wife and I’ve been happily married for almost seven years now.”
“You don’t wear a wedding ring!”
“Cause I got it tattooed instead!”
“Then introduce me to her!”
“I can’t cause she’s gone!”
Rudo paused, a feeling of guilt settling in his stomach as his face drops. “Enjin—I—“
All of a sudden, someone slaps the back of Enjin’s head hard with a notebook. “Enjin you asshole! Don’t talk as if I’m dead!” You snap. “You’re scaring the poor newbie.”
Enjin rubs the back of his head, grumbling under his breath. “Dammit, babe I think I have a knot on my head now.”
“Oh please, your skull is too thick for any real damage to be done,” you scoff. Turning your attention to Rudo, you offer a kind smile, him blinking slowly as he takes in your appearance and Cleaner’s uniform. “I hope my idiotic husband hasn’t been causing you too much trouble. I’m Y/n. You must be the sphereite everyone’s been talking about.”
“Uh…yeah…” Rudo trails. “I thought…Enjin just said you were…”
“On assignment?” You say, head tilting in confusion. You give your husband the side-eye, which he merely responds with that goofy grin you love so much (even when you’re trying to be mad at him). “Enjin, what did you tell him?” You ask in an accusatory tone.
“Nothing!” Enjin puts his hands up innocently. “I just said you were gone. And you were. But now you’re back.” He then looks at his pinky and smiles. “Oh, and about the shitty tattoo you gave me.”
You roll your eyes, but he could tell you were embarrassed based on your bashful demeanor. Heat creeps up your neck and ears. “Geez, if you hate it so much, then get it covered up—“
Enjin pulls you into his lap by your arm, cutting you off with a kiss. The kiss deepened as he cups your cheek, one of his hands tracing down your hip. He’s gentle yet passionate, built up from the sense of longing he felt while missing you. You’re breathless when he does pull away, lips swollen, now even more flustered by the audience you two have attracted.
“E-enjin…”
“It’s never getting covered up.” Enjin reaffirms. He gives you a cheeky grin. “It’s my favorite tattoo after all.”
❀ summary enjin has a thing for hot women who are smarter than him, with nice curves, are a little naughty and very forgiving. someone who's not needy and childish. he's a simple man and you turn out to be his type and more.
❀ warnings/tags 18+ mdni, enjin is a menace, edging, orgasm denial (kinda), not quite an established relationship but a secret third option, they're secretly down bad for each other, nonjealous reader, enjin lwk wants her to be jealous, dirty talk, praise kink, unprotected sex, p in v, enjin is extremely unserious, missionary, cowgirl, enjin #needsthat, slight age gap (enjin is like 4yrs older)
❀ wc 3.5k
a/n can u tell i've been watching gachiakuta ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ enjin is fine shyttt fr and i hc that he lives to mess w u lol he just cant help but to be a problem in and out the sheets like would totally do stuff just to get a reaction out of u but not in a toxic way in a silly goofy cutesy way. he is my bb boi also this is based off that panel where enjin is talking about his type and cover art creds to @/spendthesummer on x !
Enjin would be the first to admit it—his type isn’t complicated.
He’s a simple man, really. He likes hot women who are smarter than him, with nice curves and sharp tongues, someone who wasn’t afraid to throw him off balance. He also likes women who don’t cling or whine, who don’t make him feel trapped.
But you… you aren’t just his type, you’re above and beyond it.
Smart by miles, sass sharper than his umbreaker blades. Your attitude matches his 6’3” shadow, like you’re his size (or even bigger) and he kinda loves it.
Which is why when you come back from a mission, gear still clinging to your skin, boots scuffed up from trudging through wasteland muck and walk right past where he’s sitting at one of the long tables in the dining room, posture loose, long legs spread wide, not even sparing him a second of eye contact, his metaphorical tail starts wagging like the dog he is.
He ignores the girl sitting in the spot next to him, hand resting on his forearm as she laughs a little too loudly at a joke he makes, a smirk playing on his lips.
He loves the way you carry yourself, as if the weight of exhaustion pressing against your shoulders was light, like you made light of handling what needs to be handled. He also loves (and hates) how indifferent you are towards him when he feels like he knows the truth.
He felt your line of sight burning through him when you entered the room, even if he was sitting with his back towards you. He knows you caught it all in one little glance, the girl brushing up against him, how he doesn’t exactly dodge her advances, and moved on, not showing a flicker of interest as you veer toward an empty table.
He also knows you think he didn’t notice but when it comes to you, Enjin always notices.
He leans back from the girl at his side, jacket hanging halfway from his broad shoulders, moving to his feet, boots heavy against the hard floor. By the time you’re dropping into the bench seat, he’s there, sliding in next to you without an invitation. His shoulder brushes yours as he settles in, frame towering yours even when seated.
“Sooo how was your trip to the polluted zone?” His tone is deceptively casual, but there’s a glint in his eyes, bright with mischief, always searching your face that gives him away. “Didn’t miss me too much, did you?”
Enjin finds himself leaning into your warmth instinctively as you tilt your head, just enough to make eye contact with him, the faintest curve tugging at the corner of your mouth.
“Not as much as you missed me, it seems,” you tease, a hum in your voice.
He gives you a wide grin in response, all thirty-two teeth showing unashamedly. He leans in further, elbows braced on the tabletop, further settling into your space with absolutely no plans of leaving. “Gonna let me show you?” His voice is low, just for you to hear, even with the hum of conversation in the HQ common area filling around you. “How much I missed you?”
You snort in response, rolling your eyes and leaning back from him. “I think your friend over there would rather show you.” Your glaze flicks deliberately toward the girl from across the room.
Enjin doesn’t even glance her way, his smirk growing with shameless confidence. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
“Not really, no.” Your response comes out fast and sharp.
He couldn’t lie, your indifference burns hotter than jealousy ever could and it was starting to get under his skin. He kinda wanted to see you bothered, clawing for his attention. And he knows you’re exactly what he wanted. A woman who wasn’t needy and forgiving.
But could he even call you forgiving? You were so not needy that there wasn’t even anything to forgive. It didn’t make a difference to you if he entertained girls who would flirt with him in or outside of Cleaners HQ, if he gets all protective and extra vigilant when you’re assigned missions together here and there, if he ends up in your room again or somewhere else, if he could promise you exclusivity but not commitment. You just simply didn’t mind. Like he could take you or leave you and you wouldn’t bat an eye.
And he can recognize that his fear of commitment was something of a personality flaw of his. He doesn’t know exactly how he feels about it also being a part of your personality. But what’s even worse is that you’ve got this whole grown independent woman vibe about you and it makes him all puppy dog eyed for you, tail wagging and all.
He fears he may be down bad.
-
You would be the first to admit– despite always giving Enjin a hard time– you always somehow end up like this.
Your knees are pressed to your chest, back flat against your mattress, his large frame caging you in. His shirt had long been discarded, tattoos stretching across lean muscle, sweat tracing the dips of his chest, hair hung low as it shags into his face as he hovers over you, mouth open with ragged breaths.
“Fuck–” he groans, low and rough in your ear, voice cracking like he was trying to keep the volume down as if the bedframe wasn’t groaning against the wall with each thrust, a dull thud echoing with his rhythm. You could only hope that no one was around to hear since it was the middle of the day.
You bite down on your lip hard, trying to mask the noise rising in your throat.
You’re very okay with whatever you and Enjin are. You work well together on missions when you do happen to get assignments together. And that synchronization definitely transfers to where you find yourself, more often than not.
Sure, he was insufferable. Way too flirtatious toward anything that breathes. And ridiculously handsome, charismatic, funny– all things you would never admit out loud. But that was the fun of it all. You get to have all of that without the weight of a label, of being something.
You like it like this. It’s better like this. You get to avoid all the nasty feelings that come with a relationship; in fact, you don’t owe anyone anything. Not a response, not consideration in the way that mattered; it was easy.
Enjin’s palm slides up your side until it engulfs your chest. He huffs out a little laugh, “Heh, boobies.” His hand is braced on your thigh, holding you open with casual strength as he continues his thrusts. He gives your chest a light squeeze in his larger hand.
His body ruts against yours, his hips slowly pushing himself into you. You catch him admiring the view, watching himself disappear into your cunt.
Your head falls back against the pillow with a groan. “Enjin-“
He is so unserious. Insufferable. Ridiculous.
“What?” he teases, shamelessly, leaning in to nose at your jaw. “Fuck baby, you’re so pretty— fuck— like this,” he pants above you, hips stuttering as he curses, “when you drop that little don’t give a fuck’ act.”
And because you can’t let him have even the slightest victory, not even when you’re splayed out beneath him breathless and whining his name, “It’s not an act.”
“Oh yeah?” he’s back to hovering over you, eyes low with lust, his teasing tone not once leaving his voice, “My strong independent woman.”
If you thought Enjin couldn’t shut up before.
You roll your eyes at him again.
He hooks your thigh over one of his arms, dipping his head down so his lips are grazing yours and then the pad of his thumb is brushing over your lower lip.
You bat your eyes up at him as his thumb prods at your mouth and you run your tongue over the tip of his finger that brushes past your lip. He catches his lip between his teeth, pushing his thumb further and reveling in your tongue passing over the finger, never breaking eye contact.
He lets out a low groan.
You ignore how the sound shoots directly through your core and opt to bunch the sheets tighter in your fists as he fucks into you, your body jolting in response. You’re so focused on the feeling of him sliding in and out of you, the stretch from his cock more than welcome, that his teasing quips barely make any sense to your foggy mind. The blood rushing to your ears has your head pounding as your orgasm is rapidly approaching.
But Enjin’s mouth never stops. The filth paired with the praise is enough to drive you to your edge and normally, you’d be annoyed but each word is sending shocks through your lower tummy and you feel yourself clenching around him. But you’d never want him to know that.
“Enjin, stop talking–” your protest breaks off with a moan, nails curling into the sheets.
He grins, of course, rutting into you harder, chasing the sound. “Yeah? Why? You gonna tell me you didn’t miss me?”
You roll your eyes in response– because of course right now would be the time he wants to bring up your conversation from earlier– but the annoyed eye roll turns into your vision flickering white, body arching under his lean frame.
“Enjinn–” you whine out, “Fuck, I’m about to–” your voice comes out cracked and in a whisper that’s barely audible to you in your state of mind.
You almost whine when his pace shifts, slowing down, each deep roll of his hips drag a sound from your throat against your will. His body, damp with sweat, sticks to your own as he moves against you, pushing in deep and torturously slow. He’s grinning at you from above, one elbow supporting his weight next to your head, the other arm hooked beneath your leg, securing your thigh onto his shoulder.
Your chest is heaving beneath him and it’s almost unfair that he doesn’t look nearly as fucked out as you do. Your hair is splayed across the sheets, sweat sticks to your skin and you feel desperate at this point.
“Pick it up, old man,” you hiss through gritted teeth, getting a little frustrated with his painfully slow pace.
He doesn’t give you the reaction you want. Instead, he lets out a laugh, deep and warm even through his panting. His mouth dips back to your ear, his warm breath tickles your ear and neck as you feel him place a kiss behind your ear. Bastard. Even in bed, he couldn’t help but to mess with you.
Your head falls back against the pillow with a groan. “Enjin–”
He shifts again, hooking your other leg over his shoulder so he’s trapped between both of your thighs and then he presses his weight down, chest to chest, forehead resting against yours as he drives into you, thrusts sharp and steady. You lift your hips to meet him plunging into you but he has you pinned to the mattress with the weight of his body.
The steady pace is doing sinful things to your body as you whine out his name again. Even though you’ve always been adamant on not kissing him during sex, you like when he’s pressed to you like this. He smells like clean laundry and cigarettes and something else so distinctly him that it makes your head spin. The air between you is thick with heat, breath ghosting hot across your lips everytime he groans low in his throat.
“Enjin, faster,” you mewl, drawing close to the edge. “I’m about to come.”
He hums in response. “But you look so pretty like this, baby.” The pet name does something to you, sends electricity through your entire body and you feel it in your toes as they curl.
His rhythm draws out, cruel and deliberate, each deep slide more torturous than the last. Your frustration curls heavy in your stomach, desperate for release. And then, as if he hates you, his arm moves from under your thigh and reaches around, thumb brushing agonizing slow featherlight circles over your clit. Your breath hitches, body twitching under his.
“Less talking, more making me come.” You force out, head thrown back into the pillow as you stare up at the ceiling.
Instead of obliging, he slows his pace down further, hips grinding into you with infuriating leisure. “Mmmm, I don’t know…” he drawls, tone mock-thoughtful in your ear. It sends chills down your spine. “You’ll have to ask the poor old man nicely, y’know, back pain and all.”
You groan again. He is an utterly insufferable man. “Enjinn… Make me come.” your voice cracks again, coming out higher, softer, the tiniest whine slipping through. “Please.” You add on in hopes he’ll move even the slightest bit faster.
His grin splits wide, teeth flashing in the dim room as he shakes his head. “Hmmm… not quite but I’ll take it.”
His hips snap forward with renewed force, ripping a guttural moan from your chest. You cry out as his pace turns brutal, ramming into you with unrelenting rhythm. The bedframe thuds in protest, rocking against the wall as he drives into you. Your body flutters tight around him in response, thighs trembling beneath him.
You catch your lip between your teeth again, trying to keep quiet as he bullies himself into you, practically splitting you in half. Between the relentless teasing and switching slow and fast pace, you can feel yourself dripping down onto the sheets below. You glance down to where your bodies are connected, watching as he follows your eyes to see the milky white ring around the base of his shaft and he groans again.
You can hardly catch your breath as your body quivers, the feeling of pleasure ripping through you. You’re close again, clenching around him involuntarily and of course, Enjin slows his pace again.
You cry out in frustration, unsure of how much more you can take. He’s hardly hovering over you, so close that you can feel his panting hit the skin on your face. His thumb returns, circling your clit just slowly enough to have you whining as your hips buck frantically, searching for friction. You’ve practically got tears welling up in your eyes as you look up at him and you’re about ready to beg in your desperation until–
Enjin flips the both of you over, any protest melts away on your tongue as you straddle his hips. Your eyes are hazy and the sudden movement has you feeling a little light-headed. His grin beneat you is wicked, back flat against the mattress, tattoos flexing over his chest as he sprawls out on your bed leisurely. He’s got one hand tucked lazily behind his head, bicep flexing. His other hand grips your hip, long fingers brushing the curve of your ass.
God, he looks so slutty like this.
“Make yourself come then,” he says easily as if he hasn’t been torturing you for the better part of the last thirty minutes.
Your chest heaves, a flash of irritation running through the haze clouding your head but you still plant your hands against his chest, using his lean muscle as leverage as you begin to grind down, hips rolling and bouncing shallowly at first as you find your rhythm. A smirk grows on his lips, hand sliding from your hip so he can rest both arms behind his head, elbows bent. His biceps bulge on either side of his handsome face and it gives you motivation to continue fucking yourself on him.
Normally, you’d brush off his nonchalance but seeing him watch you chase your release is doing blasphemous things to your brain. Something that would set back the entire feminist movement decades. Every sound that leaves your throat only seems to fuel him, your whines, broken moans, the slap of skin as you push through the burning at your thighs. You throw your head back, a quiet whine of his name slipping from your lips, as you try to avoid eye contact.
It’s all too much. Seeing him like this alone is enough to drive you to your release. He watches you with hooded eyes, jaw tight, and your eyes trail the column of his throat as he swallows, the knot in his throat bobbing as you move above him, chasing the edge of your release desperately.
Your thighs are trembling as you slam onto him, fatigue faltering the steady rhythm you’ve built. You feel the flush of heat and want climbing up your body, breath catching in your throat. You remove your hands from his chest, collapsing onto him, burying your face into the warmth of his shoulder as you tiredly move your hips. Your chest is pressed to his, slick skin against smooth inked muscle. He looks entirely too comfortable beneath you, broad shoulders relaxed, as you fuck yourself onto him lazily.
“Fuck baby,” he groans, voice low and gravelly. You feel him shift as his hands leave their position tucked under his head. Your breath comes out in sharp bursts as you grind into him, a mix of rolling your hips and lifting them. “You feel so good– fuck– you’re so tight.”
A moan spills from your lips despite your attempts to be quiet. His warm hands snake down your body, leaving the skin feeling cold as his graze travels. His large hands grip the swell of your ass. You continue your slow, tired, grind onto him, body too exhausted from his lengthy orgasm denial.
“You like that? Fuck–” he curses again, voice curling around you like smoke and you allow yourself to get lost in it. “Just like that.”
One hand lifts from you and comes down hard, the sound of his hand marking your ass echoes throughout the room. You whimper in response, low and directly in his ear. The sound drags a sharp inhale from him and you can feel his jaw tightening. His hands settle back on your rear, grip tightening as his strong arms haul you up and slam you back down onto him. The force makes the air leave your lungs in a broken cry.
“C’mon, baby,” he grunts, each word a puff of heat against the air, “Can’t tap out on me yet.” You feel him shift beneath you, forehead tipping back against the pillow, speaking through gritted teeth. You have half the mind to lift your head to see how he looks like this. Hair shaggy in his eyes, damp and sticking to his forehead, the tips of his hair curling. His pupils are blown wide, eyebrows knit together as if he’s the one on the receiving end of the teasing.
He looks so handsome like this.
The bedframe rattles beneath his new rhythm, each thrust aided by the power of his arms dragging you down onto him over and over. You’re so far gone, you can’t even think or speak, just moans tumbling past your lips, fingers tangled in his hair for any kind of anchor.
His name tears from your throat, high-pitched and desperate, body coiling so tight it begins to hurt. You feel his lips attaching to the skin where your shoulder meets your neck, leaving wet, opened mouth kisses. His voice is raspy and quiet in your ear as he groans out your name and it breaks you.
White heat rips through your entire being, body seizing against his. Your release floods so hard it spills out, soaking his thighs and lower stomach. You gasp, nearly sobbing with the force of it as you press your face further into his sculpted shoulder, biting into the skin to muffle your cries.
Everything blurs for a moment, the sound of your pulse heavy in your ears as he continues slamming upwards into you, hands tight on your hips. His grip holds you steady as you tremble, his hips stuttering as he chases his own release.
His voice cuts through the blood roaring in your ears, raw and unfiltered.
“So good for me, baby,” he groans, almost reverent, “Look at you.”
You don’t even process his words as his hips snap up into yours with a harsh rhythm, ragged curses pulling from his throat, burying himself deep in you. His jaw clenches again, eyes squeezing shut as he slowly stills, breath shuddering as he comes undone inside you. You feel him pulsing inside you as he fills you with his release.
You don’t realize you’re holding the tension in your body until you feel his relax under you and you let yourself melt into his frame, bodies meshing together. The room is silent aside from the sound of heavy breathing from both of you.
After a moment, he drags one shaky hand to rest on your upper back, holding you to his heaving chest. The other stays planted on your hip. You feel him shift as he pulls his head back a bit to glance down at you. You meet his gaze.
His grin is lazy now, lopsided, sweat-damp hair falling across his forehead as he peeks down at you through hooded eyes. You’re about ready for him to fall asleep in your bed when you hear him open his mouth to speak.
“I knew you missed me,” he murmurs, voice heavy with exhaustion.
Insufferable bastard.
a/n hope u guys enjoyed ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ srry its not as long as i would like it to be but i just wanted to get sth out while my enjin juices were flowing! i do take requests for all the ppl i have listed in my bio so pls feel free to request ! my brain has been empty lately, no ideas sadly :p also been busy so hopefully this makes up for it & hopefully some ideas start flowing soon ty guys ! see u next time
❝ HIS CINDERELLA CAUSE I MAKE IT FIT ! ❞
⤷ Enjin x Fallen Spherite!Reader
>>>>>> Apparently Enjin has all the 'luck' when it comes to finding Spherites in No Man's Land. This time he's found you—a stuck-up Spherite noble—cast out with the trash. You're prissy, needy and an overall pain in his ass. Definitely not his type—but that slutty pussy sure is. ♡
>>>>>> 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢 𝟏𝟖+ for filthy enjin smut. enjin & reader are delulu & down bad. big dick!enjin. size queen!reader. bimbo!reader. sex under the influence. public sex. breeding. bjs. enjin is overall diabolical. but there's also a bit of plot too with some romance/fluff/humor. no spoilers for anime/manga.
>>>>>> 𝐰𝐜: 13.1k
𝐚𝐧: major special shoutouts to @honeybunnnnie my trash daddy partner in crime, who beta'd for me and gave me lots of good lil' gems I incorporated here. we share one horny brain cell when it comes to this man and the amount of headcanons we have made based on this that I didn't even include is INSANE lmfao.
You aren’t Enjin’s type.
That much is certain the moment he stumbles upon you after being called to check out a disturbance in No Man’s Land. Scanning the terrain of garbage, Enjin wonders if he’s hallucinating.
Still high from the night before—or maybe there’s a leak in his full face?
Either way he had to be tripping absolute balls right now because what the hell else could explain the giant kaiju-like plushie with bunny ears, wide beady eyes, and jagged teeth ripping apart trash beasts in the distance like they were wet paper towels?
But blazed or not, Enjin still has a job to do. Umbreaker sweeps him across the trash dunes in a speedy blur, but by the time he arrives he is already too late and the show is over.
All that’s left is you: a young woman passed out in a pile of demolished trash beast remains and other junk. The giant kaiju-like plushie—now inanimate and no bigger than a hand—lay beside you tethered to your person by a keyring.
Happening upon another giver in No Man’s Land wasn’t out of the ordinary, sure, but if Enjin thought he was high from seeing your jinki in action he had to be damn near in the clouds once he recognized your clothes.
Similar to when Enjin discovered Rudo, he could immediately tell by your dress you are a Spherite. But unlike the threadbare attire of the scrappy tribesmen teen, yours practically screams wealth. They are the finest clothes Enjin has ever laid eyes on. Appearing as if they are woven from gold itself, despite the fresh layer of grime that settled on them.
You aren’t just any ol’ Spherite—you’re a Spherite noblewoman.
Keh, interesting.
With a shake of his head Enjin scoops you up, heading back to HQ. They aren’t gonna believe this…
Enjin digs out a backup mask from his satchel—clearly not made for your face, because it slides right off. With an annoyed sigh, he holds it in place himself. Guess that’s his job now… at least until you wake up.
Although Enjin soon discovers a pattern of how unnecessarily difficult Spherites can be upon arriving to the Abyss—as the first thing you do upon waking in Enjin’s arms is to slap the everloving dogshit out of him.
Fuck, you have a mean right hand.
Enjin tongues a tooth to make sure it’s still there.
“Let me go this instant, you filthy kidnapping degenerate! I demand you to take me home!” You cry out.
Tears fog up the mask on your face as you clearly mistook Enjin for some kind of criminal with his ‘full face’ on. Enjin sighs, tightening his grip on you and taking the not-so-painless beating you’re dishing out until you reach the nearest city.
The very second you both are in a habitable area for breathing, Enjin unceremoniously dumps you to the ground. He catches the mask, yet he leaves you to fall straight on your ass. The fall shocks you but Enjin’s sure what’s really got you stunned is the strange bustling city surrounding you.
Removing his fullface, Enjin crouches down to eye-level with you. Overwhelmed and overstimulated by the foreign place, your eyes dart around helplessly. You’re frantic, looking everywhere for some sort of bearing of where you are and avoiding the man in front of you.
Yet Enjin just waits, clicking his tongue and rocking back on his heels, for you to quiet your hysterics enough for him to get a word in.
When your eyes, still wide with panic, finally meet, he has the nerve to raise a brow—like you’re the one being dramatic and not the guy who literally kidnapped you.
“So, as you may have noticed by now…this ain’t the Sphere,” Enjin says, balancing a cigarette between his lips.
You look at him skeptically—he says it like it’s nothing, while your world is actively falling apart. What is he even talking about?!
“I know this ain’t the welcome wagon you posh Spherites are used to but…”
Enjin pauses, exhaling smoke to the sky. Your gaze follows up, widening once you see the oddly shaped dome covering the city, a strange yellow fog in the atmosphere.
“....welcome to the Abyss, Girlie. Name’s Enjin.”
Blankly staring at Enjin, you say nothing. The both of you in a mini stare down. Although you’re the first to give by suddenly bursting into sobs.
Rolling his eyes, a thought briefly flashes in Enjin's head that he should have just left you for the raiders. Hell, he could still leave you now—you’re calling way too much attention to yourself.
However, Enjin also figures that with you all but swimming in luxury on the Sphere, you probably thought of the Pit—your so-called Hell, or its inhabitants as mere fairytale.
Enjin’s inkling is confirmed when you calm down enough to piece together that your now ex-husband had hired a bunch of shady tribesmen to kidnap and dispose of you—all to collect your inheritance.
Yeah, not your fault. Enjin thinks and cuts you a break.
For your own sake, Enjin somehow convinces you to come back to Cleaner HQ with him. He can’t return you to the Sphere himself—but he knows another Spherite who’s trying to make their way back. That small glimmer of hope is enough to lift your spirits, just barely. This time, you follow him willingly—though you still cry the entire way to HQ.
Shame how prone to hysterics you are, otherwise Enjin actually thinks you’re pretty hot. Noting how the expensive silk of your dress clings so damn well to your every curve. He’d sell your clothes while you were near the shopping district—but unlike Rudo, he doubts he could talk you out of them.
At least—not yet.
But that thought is drastically short lived as Enjin spends more time in your presence. Sure, you could have gotten along. You could’ve even been Enjin’s type. Yet there’s one glaring problem:
You’re an annoying, needy-ass brat.
Besides looks, you tick off nearly every one of his dealbreakers. You’re ditzy, dependent and whiny. Basically Enjin’s nightmare.
Plus your snobby little ass never once thanked nor apologized to him over the following weeks.
Not after he saved you.
Not after he brought you back to HQ where you were welcomed with skeptical, yet open arms—as a new, very reluctant (you had no other options really) recruit in-training.
And you certainly never thanked Enjin, even after all his shit luck, when he was assigned to be your teacher and look after your haughty ass. You have the most indignant pout on your face when Corvus announces that since Enjin found you, you're Enjin’s problem.
“You have to be kidding me? I’m stuck with Trashy Poppins here!?”
“Yo, Trashy—what!?” The reference doesn’t land with Enjin but he knows it isn’t good.
Semiu nods curtly in agreement of the pairing, amused that Enjin finally has someone to keep him on his toes as she ushers you off to get settled in.
The fuck?!
Lamenting being stuck is supposed to be Enjin’s line. Enjin had figured the logical move was to pair you with Zanka—the closest thing to nobility among the Cleaners—and let you bond with Rudo, a fellow Spherite, even if he was a tribesman.
But it doesn’t take long to realize neither boy can handle a grown ass woman like you. One flutter of your lashes and they’re useless saps—like the big sister he never had, you could soothe Rudo’s worst moods with a mere head pat.
While Zanka, older and appreciating your more ‘robust’ qualities, trips over his own tongue trying to talk to you.
Both ready to do anything just to earn a few sweet coos—unless someone steps in.
It had to be Enjin. He was the only one who could ‘resist’ your charms.
Still, Enjin’s got his work cut out for him when it comes to you—especially training you for combat and figuring out how the hell you’re supposed to use that so-ugly-it’s-almost-cute vital instrument.
He tries not to judge. Really, he does. Jinki are personal—he knows that better than anyone. But still…the fact that you even have one? That’s wild.
A Spherite? A noble Spherite, no less—the same pompous assholes who treat the Abyss like a dumping ground—actually caring enough about something to pump it full of anima?
Yeah, that’s impressive, he’ll give you that. What wasn’t though was the name you gave the lil thing: Bubu.
Tsk. Wack as hell. Vital instruments deserve names with some bite. Something like—Umbreaker.
Still, credit where it’s due—you’re picking things up faster than expected.
However, that doesn’t spare him from your nonstop bitching, though. The complaints come daily: the strange smells your hair absorbs, the absence of your sacred skincare routines, not being able to take a 30 minute shower, and how everything down here always tastes just a little off.
But the most absurd? The cherry blossoms.
You complain the most about not being able to frolic in your lush, petal-covered garden full of rows of cherry blossoms. Enjin’s never even seen a damn tree like that, let alone the acres of grass and flowers you describe like some bedtime fairytale. You haughtily anoint yourself as a floral herbalist, an expert when it comes to your pretty little flowers.
It’s shit like that on top of everything else that irks Enjin when it comes to you.
And yet?
Enjin thinks the most irritating thing about you is the fact that he can’t seem to stay away from you.
Sure, you’re annoying as fuck—but in spite of his own objections, Enjin keeps finding ways to keep your time occupied. He makes up excuses to train you longer and drags you along on missions that are solely meant for him.
Moreover, since you can never keep that pretty little mouth shut, anyone you meet clocks you as a Spherite within seconds—which means you need Enjin’s constant protection, whether you like it or not.
Enjin ends up spending less time drinking or chasing women, finding a far more amusing pastime instead—the way your face twists in indignation every time the Ground doesn’t live up to your so-called “noble standards.”
He gets a kick out of it, really. Agitating you on purpose, just to watch you squirm.
“Goddamnit, Enjin! Watch it!”
You’d shriek every time your short skirt went flying from a sudden gust of wind he’d whip up with Umbreaker. Enjin saves that lil trick for No Man’s Land when the others’ backs are turned.
“That’s Enjin-sensei to you, Princess.”
“Choke—slowly, Trashy Poppins.”
You’d lunge for his mask like you actually meant to rip it off, but at 6 '3, Enjin’s tall enough that you never have a chance at reaching it. It’s all worth it too—Enjin’s already got every pastel scrap of lace you own burned into memory, each one tucked away like a reward for getting under your skin.
It’s a little sadistic, sure—the way he taunts you nonstop, delighting in soiling that polished image of yours to grind you into the dirt of the ground right along with him.
There’s a fire in your eyes every time Enjin dubs you as “Your Royal Trash Princess”—or just “TP” if he’s feeling lazy. You never fail to rise to his bait, eager to prove yourself—and prove him wrong.
Enjin feels he’s owed a bit of amusement for all his troubles.
Doesn’t mean anything.
Yet the more Enjin pushes, the harder it is to ignore that your bratty spark isn’t just an attitude problem. It’s energy. Real, raw passion. The kind that could actually cultivate anima. He sees it best when you’re snapping at him, flushed and defiant, too stubborn to back down.
It’s trouble to be sure, but fuck if Enjin doesn’t love coaxing it out of you.
All it took this time to get you going was him doubting your so-called knowledge of plants and remedies— “what kinda ‘floral herbalist’ hasn’t toked one?”
So now here you are, in the HQ lounge, about to smoke your first joint as a ‘pre-game’ to the happy hour Corvus organized for all the Cleaners.
You and Enjin sit shoulder to shoulder on a worn, black quilted-leather sofa that’s seen better days. The cushions creak as you nervously smooth your skirt and settle in, unhooking your jinki—Bubu—from your belt to set her gently on the table.
Enjin rolls a few joints with unhurried precision—like he’s got all the time in the world, and watching you squirm is part of the ritual.
“Bet ya didn’t have anything like this in your lil’ garden, eh TP?” Enjin quips, breaking the silence.
Nose already upturned, your face scrunches as Enjin tosses an extra bud from his stash into your open palms. You hated the nickname ‘TP’ most of all, too easily mistaken for ‘toilet paper’ and Enjin knows that.
You shoot Enjin a dirty look before letting your focus drift back to the brittle sprig in your hands—the first real plant you’ve touched since becoming a Ground-dweller.
You think you actually recognize it.
Back on the Sphere, your family was among the wealthiest, and your garden was massive. You took pride in your green thumb—like Delmon, whose garden you’ve been meaning to ask about. You want to help, if only to see what kind of plants can survive in conditions this toxic. But Enjin never gives you the space—always hovering, always cutting in before you can finish a full conversation.
You brush off those thoughts but your frown stays as your fingers trace the bud’s dry veins. Even for a dehydrated sample, it feels wrong—brittle in a way that hints of sickness.
“Hmm. We had something like this—I think. But it’s just another weed.” You say shrugging.
“Heh,” Enjin smirks at your cluelessness, “Would you believe me if I told you ‘weed’ is exactly what we call it, Princess?”
You roll your eyes at the inordinately simple name. It probably has a proper scientific designation—but expecting Enjin to know it? Please.
“We always uprooted them—weeds are unsightly in gardens, you know. A weed, let alone one sick as this, would definitely be pruned right away so as to not syphon nutrients from the other plant life.”
“HAH?!”
Mid-seal on his joint, Enjin stops cold, staring at you like you just dared to commit some sort of sacrilege before exhaling a theatrical sigh, shaking his head in pure betrayal.
He can’t believe Spherities are probably pissing away the dankest shit ever cultivated. The thought was maddening.
When Enjin’s eyes do meet yours again, there's no amusement as he takes a rather chastising tone with you.
“Princess, for your own good, never repeat that in front of anyone down here…I mean it.”
You huff, but Enjin doesn’t blink—just starts sealing the joint again, eyes never leaving you as his tongue drags slowly across the edge of the paper.
You squirm, and that’s all the reward he needs.
“See somethin’ you like?” Enjin drawls, holding the finished joint out toward you like it’s a gift—and not a trap with your name written all over it.
Turning on teacher mode, Enjin decides to school you.
“I know we mostly have ‘reggie’ down here, but still, it’s worth its weight in gold for its purposes. Not just for fun ya know—chronic pain, nausea, anxiety—gives a bit of relief from the ailments of Abyss-living you Spherites have so graciously bestowed on us.”
From his pocket, Enjin produces a lighter, shoulders curling as he bows into the flame to set it alight.
Your eyes flick over the sinewy stretch of Enjin arms, the way his jacket strains across his shoulders—reminding you just how solid Enjin really is beneath all that shapeless fabric. Built like a weapon, hiding in plain sight.
You watch as his ringed fingers lift the joint to his lips. Drawing in a slow, steady breath, Enjin sinks back into the sofa like gravity’s got a tighter hold on him than usual. Smoke pools in his chest before slipping out in a long, deliberate exhale.
His gaze follows it, distant—like he’s chewing on thoughts far heavier than anything you said… but somehow still set off by it.
“That’s the problem with you Spherites….you don’t see things the way they are—you see things the way you are.”
Enjin chuffs at his own words, closing his eyes to let his high settle. Not even completely stoned yet and he’s already spouting off pseudo philosophical one-liners.
“Everything else is collateral, amirite?”
Ouch.
Toeing at the floor, you sulk in silence. Wounded from the verbal licks Enjin just dealt you. Mulling over his words in silence though, you know it isn’t that simple. Horticulture can be complicated even in the most ideal conditions. Just because a plant is viable doesn’t mean it belongs in every garden—some plants are just incompatible.
However…
You sit silently, your teeth worrying your bottom lip as you study the brittle bud in your palm.
…that doesn’t make it worthless.
Instead of exploring any potential use, you tossed the so-called "weed" out—just like everything else the Sphere deemed useless. Not even considering how valuable it could be. You can see why Enjin wouldn't want you repeating that mistake. Enough people already looked at you with disdain as it is.
Sure there’s a lot of things you miss about it, mostly superficial things that had to do with vanity, but overall life up there was super sterile and dull. You’d never say it out loud but you are glad you fell, it was hard on the ground but it was liberating.
Sighing, you quietly concede. You hate anytime Enjin actually has a point though. It’s the worst thing imaginable—for your pride and for his already unbearable ego.
Cracking an eye open, Enjin curses under his breath. Switching tactics, he decides to replace the long look on his Trash Princess’s face. Annoyance would do just fine. Besides, there was no need for you to pout over it, you actually had a shot at redemption here… heh, the kind that might just work out in his favor, too.
“Y’knowwwww, we’re always learnin’ better ways to grow things down here, faster too...”
Enjin moves so quietly, you don’t realize how close he is until you turn—and he’s right in your face, barely a breath away. Swiping his ringed thumb across your cheek, Enjin’s touch is surprisingly tender. However his expression is entirely obnoxious, full of amusement from how fast your pouty little face flusters.
“...could be a nice little hobby that would do alotta good…and if anyone could figure out how to grow this shit properly down here—”
Enjin plucks at the heat of your warm cheeks, pinching just enough to tease and drag the moment into something more lighthearted.
“—I do believe it could be you—Trash Princess.”
Your eyes catch something deeper than just teasing in his golden gaze—but before you can dwell on it, instinct kicks in. You jerk back, swatting his hand away, shoving whatever that was out of your mind.
Enjin just laughs, unbothered, as you glare at him.
“And why can’t you get Delmon to do it?” you counter, arms folding across your chest. By now, you’ve learned Enjin usually has an angle for everything.
Right on the mark, for a beat, Enjin actually pauses. He hadn’t expected you to bring up the obvious—Delmon, the gentle giant practically martyred to the idea of saving what’s left of the Abyss. But Enjin’s roguish grin slips back into place, spreading wider as he leans in, unapologetically invading your space.
“Why? Well...’cause I asked you, Princess. The ol’lug has enough on his plate as it is. You can handle it alone, can’t ya?”
Truthfully, even knowing your interest in Delmon never strays beyond roots and soil, it still irks every time Enjin catches sight of you with him. You look every bit the noble—graceful, composed, eyes soft and curious as you gaze up at Delmon, eager to learn. It grates on Enjin more than he’d admit, knowing he’s never once gotten that look, despite monopolizing most of your time.
“Ya know—unless, your skillset just ain’t up t’par?” Enjin finishes with a shrug.
Wholly unconvinced, you see this for the bait it is from a mile away. Nevertheless, you can’t deny that you are eager to get even the tiniest bit of normalcy back in your life from your old hobbies. Planting something, anything, would be nice—even if it ends up being contraband for Enjin. Although you still aren’t quite sure why you can’t consult Delmon.
“Ugh! Fine!”
You fall back onto the sofa and Enjin follows, his arm settling behind you, practically draped around your shoulders. You don’t even flinch. He takes another slow hit, smoke curling toward the ceiling, but this time there’s a wicked glint in his eye as he watches you. Deciding he’s babysat the joint long enough, he leans in with a lazy smirk and holds it out to you.
“Enjin—your eyes!” You blurt out, disregarding his invitation. “Is that just from smoking!? I can’t go to happy hour looking like some kinda zombie!”
Enjin sputters mid-laugh, coughing as wisps of smoke leak from the corners of his smart ass grin.
“Eh, well duh. Why else would they get so red when I smoke?”
Enjin coughs out a few more chuckles. You roll your eyes.
“I don’t know, Trashy Poppins…I didn't make the connection since the air quality down here is 80% pollution! You could have anything.”
While Enjin is amused by your sass, the joint continues to burn down. Each second unsmoked is wasting precious bud. Leaning in, his voice drops to a low purr—the kind that makes your stomach flip.
Heh, time to pull out the big guns.
“Aht-aht-aht, c’mon now, Princess, you know the golden rule…”
You sigh, thinking you need that happy hour drink more than ever right now.
“You’re not serious.”
But you know he is, and of course you remember the silly motto Enjin makes an unspoken rule for his team. Although he mostly just uses it to get you to do something you’ll usually regret later. You sigh, knowing you’ll never make it to happy hour until you appease the big man-child in front of you.
Enjin’s golden eyes shine with even more mischief than before and together like some damn mantra, you both repeat:
“...it’s not peer pressure—it’s just your turn.”
Resigned, you click your tongue, swiping at the joint in his hands. But Enjin is much faster as he pulls back with infuriating speed. You glower at him, snark locked and loaded.
“Nah, actually I’ll help you out since it’s your first time, Princess.”
Innuendo coils around his words, heat radiating off him as you tense under his gaze. You don’t want to argue with him though, the sooner you smoked, the sooner you both could be at happy hour.
“Open.”
Enjin’s fingers graze the corner of your mouth as he holds the joint to your peach-glossed lips, eyes darkening when you part them obediently for him.
“Now breathe it in, nice and slow…deeper. Yeah, that’s it—hold it. Don’t let go until I say—good girl.”
You want to scoff at him, but you can’t—not with tears stinging your eyes and smoke burning its way down your lungs. By the time Enjin gives you the nod to exhale, you’re already choking, coughing it all back up in ragged plumes.
Yeah, this was nowhere in hell as easy as Enjin made it look.
The buzz rises in your head almost instantly, an airy haze creeping into your consciousness.
“See? Not a terrible cherry pop, eh?”
The glare you throw at Enjin is more of a squint. Still recovering from the fire tearing down your throat, your coughs earn you a few heavy-handed smacks on the back from Enjin. If it’s out of comfort or mockery, you can't tell.
Everything in the room is spinning and becoming more distant, like a daydream.
“Easy there, breathe—it’ll hit easier when ya figure out how to grow it right, Princess. The dank shit won’t burn this hard.”
You want to bite back that even if you do figure out how to grow the damn ‘weed’ plant, you’d never touch it again. But the sudden heaviness seeping into your limbs drags you down, tilting your head on the axis of equilibrium.
“I think, no—I know, I need to lay down.”
Not waiting for permission, you flop down onto the worn cushions beneath you, curling up awkwardly with your head leaning against the armrest and your legs dangling off the seat at an angle.
Enjin doesn’t miss a beat though—he scoops your legs into his lap, tugging off your boots so you can be comfortable.
Leaning back, perfectly at ease, Enjin holds the joint in one hand while the other rests on your stocking-covered shin, giving it a casual, reassuring pat. The way your arm drapes over your face tells him everything—yeah, you’ve got the spins.
“Keh, you’ll make it, Princess. Just let it all ride out.”
You’d make it alright, but not to happy hour anytime soon. Enjin supposes he might’ve let you take a bigger hit than you were ready for.
Whoops.
Silence stretches in the aftermath but it’s not uncomfortable. Enjin takes a few more lazy tokes, one golden eye cracked open just enough to watch you, taking stock of your state.
It’s in moments like this—rare ones, when you’re quiet—that he remembers just how fucking smoking hot you are.
Especially in that Cleaner uniform. Man, God bless August.
The eccentric tailor took special care in designing it thanks to a sudden burst of inspiration—August even convinced Enjin to allow him to keep some of the trim from your Spherite clothes that he repurposes. The outcome of your uniform is shinier, more fitted and much sluttier than standard issue.
You took to it immediately, without much fuss and actually complimenting August. That was August’s gift though—whipping up pieces to suit even the finickiest of tastes—and Enjin had to admit, the man did his big one.
But the real surprise wasn’t the craftsmanship. It was you—his oh-so-prim little Trash Princess—strutting around in something so damn naughty. Dressed up like a treat that Enjin can’t help but eat up with his eyes.
And whaddya know? Enjin has the munchies bad right now.
Left to his own devices, Enjin takes his time devouring the sight in front of him. His gaze lingers down the length of your legs sprawled across his lap, to the soft, exposed flesh of your thighs—spilling over the edge of your stockings just enough to make his jaw clench.
Fuck, they look so soft. He can't help but wonder how they'd feel locked around his head as his eyes climb to the next indulgence—your crop top. Rucked up to your ribs, the thin white cotton hugs just beneath your tits. Shit, the way your cute little nips poke through the fabric makes his mouth twitch with the urge to say ‘hi’ right back—with his tongue.
Is it hotter in here, or—?
Leering at you for too long is a surefire way for Enjin to pop a boner. Enjin knows he’s not alone in that either. That uniform of yours turns heads in every city you pass through. Consequently, Enjin has split more skulls because of idiots trying to hit on you or cop a feel than he ever has for anyone trying to snatch a Spherite.
Not that he’s jealous or nothing.
Nah. Just doing his job. Watching out for you. Plenty of unscrupulous assholes out there willing to pounce on a clueless little thing like you.
However, right now, Enjin’s just as unscrupulous—‘watching out’ only for a flash of your panties as each restless wiggle sinks you deeper into the lumpy cushions, bunching your skirt higher and teasing him with a glimpse of skimpy lace.
Man, just a little more and he’d know exactly which pair you picked today.
Sobering up a bit more, you sigh at your inability to get comfortable when you could feel the very springs in the sofa. Stretching, you straighten your leg suddenly and—
“Yo! Watch the feets, girl!”
Though there’s amusement in his voice as he jolts upright, tatted hands grabbing your ankle before you’re able to land another blow.
“Ah, sorry—” You mutter sheepishly, reeling back your foot. “I didn’t mean to kick Umbreaker.”
For what it’s worth, the apology comes quickly—you’ve learned better than to mess with a man’s jinki, especially Enjin’s. You've nearly tripped more times than you can count over that bulky extension of himself that he always keeps within reach.
You know it’s serious too when he doesn’t even bother with the stupid nicknames he usually calls you. Nevertheless, you’re left puzzled when Enjin’s laughter comes out loud and sharp.
“...that wasn’t Umbreaker, Princess.”
Huh? What does he mean that isn’t—
You freeze.
Carefully peeking out from under your arm, your reddened eyes squint down the length of your body and onto his. When the realization does set in of what exactly you kicked, it smacks you harder than any hit of ganja ever could.
“O…oh…—OH MY GAWD!”
Immediately springing upright, your vertigo swirls with how fast you’re scrambling to your knees as you gawk.
Time passes for what seems like a solid minute or two and neither of you speak.
You’re staring at the crotch of Enjin’s baggy pants and Enjin is staring at you.
“Heh.”
The devious look on Enjin’s face right now could shame the devil himself. Yet you’re still in utter disbelief.
There’s no way that’s his dick!
Still, your brain won’t stop running the numbers—high girl math with clumsy calculations drawn from the fleeting brush of your toes against the long, thick mass hidden beneath the fabric of his baggy pants. Enjin’s words ring in your mind like a gong—‘that wasn’t Umbreaker…’
“You’re burnin’ a hole through my dick, Princess—”
Enjin’s voice unfurls seductively, like the smoke curling from his lips.
“—keep starin’ like that and I’m gonna think you wanna see it.”
Your eyes meet his dead-on.
“I do.”
“Yeah, I’m sure yo—wait, come again?!”
Enjin’s grip goes slack, the joint slipping from his fingers. He was halfway to some sassy quip, ready to taunt your denial—but your delivery is so honest, with no teasing or angle to play off, he doesn’t know what to do with it.
The embers hiss against his thigh before he even registers he dropped it.
“Tch.” Cursing under his breath, he flicks it aside—it’s all roach anyway—and tries to pull himself back together.
You’re fucking with him. Yeah. That’s it.
Smug again, Enjin leans into the bit you started.
“Ha ha…right. I know my stuck up lil’ Trash Princess isn’t asking to give me a dick inspection…”
Enjin adjusts his pants in a casual sweep that doesn’t fool either of you. He’s not brushing off the remaining flakes of ash—he’s palming his restless cock that jumped at the idea of you actually wanting to see it.
But both you and Enjin would quickly discover, despite your snobby Spherite upbringing, you lose any type of filter and sense of couth while high—blurting out your thoughts unabashedly.
“I said I wanted to see it, Trashy Poppins. Or m’not gonna believe you’re actually that big.”
You fold your arms, huffing stubbornly.
There was no way an unbearably annoying man like Enjin was slanging actual horse cock!
He had to be the one fucking with you here.
Well, wait, no—a cocky, stupidly sexy man having a big dick actually tracks, now that you think about it.
But still—you need to verify. For science, if nothing else.
Yeah. Science.
Enjin blinks, taking stock of you—kneeling close, your tits straining like they’re about to burst free, and your skirt rides so high on your thighs this time, he swears one more millimeter and he’d see your panties for real.
“C’mon now…”
Your sickly sweet coos needle at Enjin’s spine.
“...as if you aren’t always upskirting me just to see my panties.”
Shit. You knew it was intentional?
“At least you can show me your undies for a change. If you’re really that big, then I’ll be able to tell.”
The spark alight in your eyes is a challenge to Enjin, who loves pushing your limits. Now he needs to know how far you’ll go. Even if he’s completely unprepared for this turn of events, he’s sure as fuck not gonna be the one backing down first.
“S’that right, Princess? Well, I haven’t even seen yours today so—”
Enjin doesn’t even get the chance to finish before you’re lifting your skirt and spreading your knees wider. You stare up at the ceiling, the popcorn squares suddenly appearing super interesting to you. Enjin’s eyes however immediately zero-in on the pink lace stretched tight across your pussy.
Christ.
With a much closer view, Enjin picks up all the little details he usually misses—like how the hem digs into your soft curves or how the material is thin enough to see the split of your chubby lil pussy lips pressed underneath.
Goddamn, are you intentionally buying them a size too small?
Or is your pussy print just that fat?
Enjin gulps, mouth dry.
His attention caught like a hook to your cunt, everything else is unimportant—including the irony of how he was just teasing you for the very same thing—it’s all utterly lost on him. His priorities shifting rapidly the longer he ogles you.
After a minute, giving him quite frankly more of his fill than he deserves, you let your skirt drop back into place. The alluring spell of your fatma breaks when your knees snap shut and Enjin is yanked back to a world that doesn’t exist between the apex of your doughy thighs.
All of his lecherous starring is worth it though—if only to be able to throw his own saying back at him for once.
“Now, how’s it go again? It’s not peer pressu—”
“—Yeah, yeah, I got it, Princess—My turn.”
Enjin relents, cutting you off with a twisted grin as he shakes his head.
“Ya don’t gotta break my arm to see my dick, babe. Just makin’ sure you’re sure. Don’t need you runnin’ off telling Semiu I flashed ya.”
Semiu is already on Enjin’s ass for teasing you as much as he does. Something about him being ‘too grown’ not to ‘nut up’ and ‘come to terms with his reality’, but Enjin was never listening for long, zoning out as soon as a new lecture was underway.
However, if your prissy ass really wants to see his dick that bad, of course he’d oblige. Hell, Enjin would get another kick outta watching your horror when you realize for real just how much he’s packing. It had been a minute since he'd seen that look on a woman.
For being as hot and charming as he is, Enjin didn’t get nearly as much play as he should’ve. He isn’t a virgin by any means, but too many women take one glance at his size and back off expeditiously.
Life on the ground meant hustling to survive for most. Nobody could afford to be laid up for days just because Enjin’s wrecking ball of a cock tore through their walls, rendering them unable to walk—let alone go to work.
Yet with a clink, that all changes as the leather strap of his belt and gear slides free. Enjin lifts his hips enough to shove his pants down past his thighs and there it is—short red boxer briefs with a black waistband, the fabric stretched thin over the obscenely long, thick outline of his dick resting along his thigh.
Simply put, your jaw drops. There’s a static-like silence buzzing in your mind as you process the monstrous mass of phallic muscle before you.
You’ve never seen a dick that huge in your entire life.
Clocking your shock, Enjin’s chest puffs like he’s just been crowned a king in the room.
“Relax, Princess…” he drawls, smugness saturating every word.
“I ain’t even all the way hard yet.”
Bullshit!
Your eyes pingpong between his face and his cock before landing on the obvious conclusion—no overthinking this time.
“What are you waiting for then? Get hard.”
Enjin actually chokes for real this time, still not used to how blunt his demure lil’ Trash Princess gets when she’s high. He manages to laugh regardless once he finds his breath as he sure as hell doesn’t hate this new side of you.
“Hah?! It doesn’t work like that ya know…”
Enjin lies right through his fucking teeth.
Just hearing that vulgar command from your prissy lil’ lips has his blood surging south, his cock swelling at rapid speed. Already on go, his dickprint thickens, straining against the fabric until threads stretch thin to form almost obscenely over him like second skin.
Yet unlike his past hookups you don’t flinch at the sight of him getting even bigger.
There’s more than enough incredulousness on your face for sure, but Enjin half expected you to backpedal for the sake of your pussy’s self-preservation and book it out the door. Instead, the look you’re giving his dick is more akin to awe than fear.
Truly, though—you are in awe.
Men weren’t like this on the Sphere. Well, your husband certainly wasn’t.
Older than you by over a decade, your husband’s stamina was so poor he never lasted long. His size, his endurance, and his dismissive comments about your sexual appetite being perversely unbecoming for a lady of your station had you wondering if something was wrong with you this entire time—if you expected too much from sex.
But when your eyes drift back to Enjin—catching the thick vein running along his length, visible even through the fabric—you know better now.
It was never you.
The realization brings a surge of boldness. Your gaze trails the pulse of his cock down to the wet patch blooming at the tip—so much pre spilling it seeps through the fabric.
Enjin inhales sharply through his nose. He knows he’s proven his size, but your silence and the way you’re eyeing his cock like some kind of museum exhibit is starting to get to him.
Enjin doesn’t want to back down as he impatiently waits for your final verdict of approval. But if you keep staring at him like that, with those big pretty eyes of yours, he’s going to come in his pants, untouched, like some fucking cuck.
“Well, Princess? Big enough for ya?”
You don’t even hear Enjin, too lost in your own thoughts. Your body, buzzed and reckless, has a mind of its own though. Reaching out, your hand leaves your lap to trace the thick ridges of his cock, mapping its shape through his briefs.
“Oh, shiiii—” Enjin hisses.
His lip catches between his teeth as all thoughts vanish the moment your delicate little fingers start stroking him.
“Argh—fuck. Can’t jus’ go grabbing a man’s dick like that ya know.”
Yet Enjin does nothing to stop you as your touch grows bolder. Your palm flattens around his girth—too thick for even your whole hand to wrap around, even through his boxers.
How would someone even get something that monstrous inside them!?
Encircling his leaky cockhead, you giggle as your index finger slowly tap-tap-taps the mess he’s made there, amused at how many of the small, sticky suds you can gather on your finger through the material.
Enjin’s own laugh is strangled. This can’t be real.
You’re unfazed by Enjin’s provocations – too mesmerized by the obscenely large cock in front of you that has you squirming uncomfortably as your own panties turn swampy with heat.
“May I?”
Meeting Enjin’s gaze, your polite innocence is accented by a wide-eyed pout that’s far too sweet for the filthy implications of your request. Like you’re nicely asking permission to play with your favorite toy—except you don’t even wait for him to give it,fingers impatiently snapping the edges of his waistband like some cockhungry slut.
“Uh…” Enjin blanks while his dick is practically screaming at him to respond—even a damned head nod would suffice. Yet his brain blue-screens as it registers that look—the normally innocent, curiosity filled look that he's been craving since he found you in No Man's Land—now twisted into something debased and filthy. And best of all?
Meant just for him.
Enjin’s so fucking hard right now it’s painful—and hell, if you’re planning to do something about that, he’s not about to stop you.
“Keh. Do you, boo.”
Enjin manspreads, giving you full access. You eagerly pull down his shorts just enough to release his cock, and it springs free, thick and heavy.
Good God, he’s a big boy!
Although you knew that, seeing the monster in all of its unleashed glory was an entirely different experience. Enjin’s dick bobs back to curve towards his abs, a shiny pubic piercing shining at his base under its shadow.
Panting, your previously dormant inner size queen activates. You have to swallow down the bucket of saliva collecting on your tongue before you choke—you can’t help but salivate at the thought of what a huge cock like this tastes like… what it feels like.
You’re pretty sure it could break you in two, and surprisingly, the thought excites you.
Lowering yourself on all fours, the first tentative lick you give Enjin’s length has his toes curling as he grips the sofa, ripping a chunk clean off the decaying material.
You moan out a depraved 'ahhh' once you reach the top, a little smile playing on your lips as you tongue down the hole at his tip. Greedily, you lap up all the little dribbles of pre beading at the tip and flowing out.
“W-Woaaah—ugh. FUCK!”
Enjin’s hand flies into your hair as he clears his throat. Sure, your mouthwatering stares made a blowie likely, but diving in this shamelessly? It’s enough to make him feel like he’s losing his damn mind.
You grip his base—an insurance policy to keep him from cumming—while your other hand cups his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze. His thigh jolts beneath you and you simper at how sensitive he is despite his massive size.
“T-There’s no way in hell they taught your prissy ass how to be this much of a slut up there.”
Pouting, you release his balls to cradle his cockhead against your puffed up cheek, uncaring of the amount of pre seeping across your jaw.
“D-Do…do you hate it? My hus—um, ex said it was a turn off. H-he'd say I have 'the depravity of a slums streetwalker.”
Staring up at Enjin, your eyes are clouded with lust, yet edged with worry—like he’d threatened to rip something precious away. But it’s only his cock you’re coddling tighter against your cheek, your lips parting just enough to chase the beads of pre that drip close to your mouth.
If you weren’t gripping Enjin’s base so hard he definitely would have blown a load all over your face. Fuck, if the thought isn’t tempting to him though – he doesn’t think you’d even mind in this state.
Goddamn, you’re so much sluttier than Enjin could have ever imagined.
And he’d imagined it plenty.
Especially on nights Enjin stumbled back to HQ drunk and alone, having closed down the bar with Corvus and Gris. Left to sate his own booze-fueled boner, he’d shamelessly rut into his pillow. Yet, no matter where his perversions strayed, every faceless fantasy in the dark insisted on transmuting into you.
You seriously think he couldn’t match your freak?
Oh, sweetheart, you have no fucking idea.
“Hate it?”
Enjin holds back the growl building at the back of his throat. There’s a torrent of thoughts swirling with his high all at once—all coming to settle right back into his dick.
“Never. Show me who you really are, Princess—n’ I’ll give it right back to ya tenfold—that’s a promise.”
If you weren’t already trembling with arousal—finally free to let your freak flag fly—you might’ve shied away. Enjin’s easy acceptance of you stirs something deeper, something messy that you usually ignore before it can settle. Now, with his scent thick on your face and tongue, you’re not thinking at all—aching with the urge to all but inhale his cock.
You merely nod, flashing Enjin a coy smile before stretching your plush lips to wrap around him. Slowly, you swallow down his girth, mouth hot with suction so deliciously moist Enjin’s hips jerk up. You gag, but his firm grip on your roots keeps your head in place, forcing his length to breach your throat.
“That’s it, baby…open up f-f’er me—g-good fucking girl, Princess…”
Tears prick at your eyes as his cock pounds back of your throat. The stretch is brutal—but some desperate part of you craves more of his filthy praise. What you can’t take with your mouth, your hands make up for—stroking every thick inch your lips can’t swallow.
“Shiiiit, girl! You’re a pro at this.”
If you ask Enjin later, he’d probably call you a throat goat, however most of your “experience” came from the smutty paperbacks high-society wives hid in corsets and swapped under tea tables—not actual practice. You don’t really know what you are doing. You’re just following the book's explicit instructions.
Still, Enjin doesn’t seem to mind being your test dummy.
On the contrary, Enjin is more than happy to let you do your thing and he does just that. Although, the longer your head bobs along his cock, the more your skirt rides up—until it finally flips over your hips, giving him a perfect view of the cheeky lace framing your ass.
Enjin groans, gripping your ass with bruising force before sliding his fingers down to palm your pussy over your panties—fuck, you’re already dripping for him.
“Hah—uppity cunt gets this sloppy just from a lil’ dick sucking, eh?”
Enjin laughs, yet the gravel rattling in his voice betrays him. No one has ever fearlessly tried to deepthroat him and actually fucking enjoyed it.
Unable to respond with your mouth, too busy still trying to do the impossible and fit more inside your throat, your hips respond instead—wiggling desperately against his fingers, begging for more of his touch.
Enjin doesn’t hesitate. Slipping a tatted finger into your panties, he drags it through your folds, marveling at how wet and scorching you are. Pushing into your core, your walls clamp down, fluttering around his digit.
Oh fuck, even his fingers are big!
A second ringed finger follows – the rough, callous fingers of a man who's seen too many fights scrape so good against all your gooey spots. Lewd squelches echo from your pussy as your throat tightens around him in tandem. The sounds, the squeeze, the heat—all of it is driving him crazy.
Shit he’s gonna cum for real this time.
To his credit, Enjin tries to warn you—tries to pull you off before it’s too late.
He doesn’t wanna risk pissing you off and having you refuse to ever do this again. Enjin still wants to fool around more;, he wants to fuck you. It’s that thought—your pretty pussy lips splitting open to swallow him instead—that has him busting his hot seed down your throat in thick, hot pulses.
“HAHH—FUHH!”
Releasing your hair, Enjin half expects you to pull away, furious he hadn’t warned you. Instead, your nails dig into his thigh, steadying yourself. You moan around him, the vibrations rippling through his sensitive cock while you work him for every last drop, his hips jerking beneath you.
Only when you’re certain you’ve drained him do you pull back, swollen lips coming off his cock with a wet pop.
“Allll go-neee S-Sheee? HAhhhhh~♡”
Tits jiggling as you heave for air, you present your tongue to Enjin as proof you’ve swallowed all of him. Every. Filthy. Drop.
You can’t help but agree—your throat’s wrecked and your pussy’s aching to be used just as thoroughly. Enjin’s fingers aren’t inside you any more, although they are still on your pussy, running through your folds absentmindedly.
“Ngh—n-eed m-more,” you slur.
All your decorum was lost to the wind the moment you asked to see his dick—you don’t even care that it’s Enjin of all people that you just gave head to. Suddenly, the obnoxious pain in your ass seems like your only deliverance. Right now, you're more frustrated that you've spent so much time bickering with him when you could have been fucking him.
You much prefer his moans to anything else coming out of his mouth.
You need him to get hard again—immediately!
Enjin, mind mushy with release, takes another joint out to light. As much as he wants to return the favor after that kind of sloppy top, the man needs a minute. His high has his whole body tingling from the post release sensitivity.
But you can’t wait any longer. It’s been god knows how long since you’ve had a proper orgasm and those were only from your own small, fumbling fingers. Throat achy and raw, you quiver at the masochistic thought of how his cock is going to absolutely obliterate your pussy.
You slide your panties down before flinging off your jacket and top. Taking a seat on Enjin's lap, you're now clad in just your bra, your skirt that's bunched up at your hips, and thigh highs. Grabbing his cock, you give his soggy, half-hard girth a few encouraging pumps.
Your pussy is already slobbering, a viscous string of syrupy slick drips down from your slit to land on his cockhead, connecting you to him as you line him up.
Feeling your fingers around his length, Enjin's eyes fly open, balancing the joint between his lips as he quickly shrugs off his own jacket, checking the pockets.
“Woah, woah. Slow your roll there sweetheart—you’re skipping a few steps.”
You aren’t listening though, not giving a fuck what Enjin is talking about as you cry out, grinding your clit against his fat tip, before running it back through your folds.
Enjin grits his teeth, coughing out smoke as he holds the joint in one hand and your hips in the other. You’re being a brat again, not listening to a single word he’s saying.
“Gotta find my rubbers…also gotta stretch you out better, Princess—you’re gonna split in two if I don’t.”
You whimper, petulant and needy. You press his cockhead against your entrance, swiveling your hips like you’re going to recklessly sink down on him at any second.
“Huh? Rubbers?” You shake your head in confusion, pouting. “m’Ennnnjiiiiin…I can’t wait that long—puh-leaseee don’t make me wait s’long, Enjiiiiin. I can take it, promiseee!”
The way you sweetly coo his name is shattering any sense of self-control Enjin has left. The urge to submit you to the ultimate corruption surges hot through his veins, but Enjin knows how big he is and while he did want to break you, he didn’t want to hurt you in the process. You are absolutely nuts to want to ride him with so little prep—now, on top of everything else, you apparently wanted him to fuck you raw.
Wait—did you just ask what rubbers were? Did you not have condoms on the Sphere?
But any lingering concerns dissipate the second you start fighting to get his tip inside you.
“Too s-slow!” You groan.
Fear is the last thing on your mind—evident in the way you impale yourself on him, defiant even against the impossible stretch. Your pussy is tight around the swollen head of his cock, strangling it as your nails dig into his shoulders. You grind in slow, desperate circles. Tears roll down your cheeks as you bite them to keep from crying out, your body fighting against every inch.
Enjin watches with a dark glint in his eyes – you trying so hard for him makes him want to flip you over and fuck you into the cushions. But he’d let you have it at your own pace…for now.
Releasing your hip, Enjin spits into his palm, rubbing his slick fingers over your clit in slow steady circles.
“Such a hard-headed girl—c’mere…”
Enjin takes a long drag from the joint, balancing it between his fingers as he grabs the back of your neck. His lips crash into yours before you can think.
You gasp and Enjin takes the opportunity to exhale the smoke deep into your lungs, taking the harshest of the hit himself. You're left with only the smooth, earthy flavor warming your chest before it melts through your limbs.
But it’s the way he kisses you after that really knocks the ground out from under you. His tongue pushes past your lips, tangling with yours—hungry, messy, like he wants to steal the little air you have left until you’re only breathing him in.
Your arms wrap around his neck, hands buried in his soft buzzed undercut, anchoring yourself. You moan into his mouth and he swallows it greedily, teeth nipping your lower lip before diving right back in. All the while, his thumb keeps grinding into your clit, faster now, like he’s keeping rhythm with the pulse that’s beating under your skin.
Why does it feel this good? How is he doing this to your body? S’not fair!
Not realizing you could feel this good from a kiss, you're unraveling in real time. Your mind goes blank with every pulse, every word, every inch. You’re not even fully seated yet, but you can already feel the blunt head of his cock grinding against your cervix, the pressure building with each centimeter you drop. You never imagined you could feel this full—like he might actually breach your womb.
The thought alone has you trembling, unstable, your aching thighs giving out, causing you to slide down a bit too fast. The thick veins along his length rake across your g-spot and your body snaps. A sharp, helpless spasm rocks you as your breath catches and a small, unexpected orgasm rolls through you.
Enjin pulls back just enough to let you breathe, though your body doesn’t stop shivering, lost in a blur of pleasure and pain.
“Eh... did you just cum, Princess?”
The question is rhetorical, full of smug amusement, as he can feel the increasing wetness leaking down his cock, making it all the easier for you to slide down.
Teasing your earlobe, Enjin’s tongue dips in to flick at the shell of it, making you clench.
“HA! Good fucking girl! A lil’ more and I bet she’ll be a real squirter f’er me.”
Enjin beams, proud of his Trash Princess. No woman had ever taken him this deep—not even close. Enjin hadn’t expected you to be any different. And yet…when Enjin looks down, he releases a groan deep from his gut.
The sight alone almost has Enjin nutting in you -- your drooling cunt spread so wide around his girth, sitting almost at his base. A thought flashes briefly – it's kinda like he’s a virgin again. Parts of his dick had never experienced this kind of molten heat so maybe, in a sense, he is? Enjin didn’t fucking care if he was though, as he ain’t about to be with the way your pretty pussy is giving way like it’s made for him.
“Run that back.”
Enjin takes the final drag, pinching the smoldering end of the joint between his fingers before flicking it aside. He leans in again, slower this time. There’s no rush in how his mouth seals over yours. The second shotgun is less about the smoke and more about the feel of you—your lips parting for him, your breath syncing to his, and the small whimper you make as he sucks slowly on your tongue.
The haze spreads between you both, thick and warm. Simultaneously, his knuckles tease your clit, a soft schlick sound filling the space between you from you getting wetter by the second. By the strength of some unknown force, you finally bottom out, immediately collapsing into his neck.
You both moan. Enjin feels you quivering from the inside out and you feel him everywhere—shifting your guts into your ribs.
“I…I did it.”
Your smile blooms soft against his inked skin, lips grazing the spot where you can feel his own pulse hammering wildly.
Enjin’s in no state to congratulate you on your impressive feat. Completely sheathed in you raw, coring out your gummy walls into the shape of his dick—something in his brain chemistry fizzles. Like a bit of pussy juice, acting as a catalyst, slipped into his dick and traveled straight to his prefrontal cortex to corrode all of his previous thoughts about you. The result is clear.
Enjin doesn’t give a fuck if you are a snobby, annoying, needy lil’ brat who never let him get away with shit and bitches at him constantly—the furtherest thing from his type.
Because honestly?
Motherfuck a bullshit-ass type. Your slutty ass pussy is fuckin’ perfect.
For the first time, Enjin realizes he might be in love with you.
How could he even look at another woman after this?
One thing if for certain—Enjin is going to make damn sure you never have the desire to even look at another man.
Both his hands trail up your hips, groping and squeezing the plump curves of your ass before settling at your waist. His blunt black nails dig into your skin to pull you back from his neck.
Enjin whistles, admiring the stagnant stream of spittle lingering on your chin. Look at you—cockdrunk just from sitting on him.
Enjin doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look more beautiful.
“Enjiiiiiin,” you whimper, not being able to hold yourself up.
But your cries for him only inflame the predatory smirk on his lips, your honeyed cunt hugging his cock so beautifully.
“Makes sense you fell from heaven, huh Princess?”
Whether you're ready or not, Enjin forcibly winds you on his cock in slow circles. Your clit brushes up against the well placed pubic ring like a reward for being the first to experience it.
“—cause this pussy’s a fuckin’ angel.”
Your eyes are already lodged in your skull so you can’t even roll them at his cheesy line. But if your pussy is an angel, then Enjin's dick is most definitely a demon—his sinful cock tearing through your insides and condemning you straight to hell.
Moaning loudly, your body moves on autopilot—chasing more friction from the rhythm Enjin set. Good thing everyone was at happy hour or you would for sure be attracting some major attention now.
Although, to be honest you probably wouldn’t notice anyway. You don’t even notice when your bra falls away, your tits spilling out just so Enjin could watch them jiggle in his face. You only register its disappearance once his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, his tongue finally saying it’s ‘hello’.
“Shiiiiit!”
Your hips stutter, then stall when Enjin tugs at your sensitive bud with his teeth.
“Hey…I know my Trash Princess ain’t tappin’ out just yet.”
SMACK!
Enjin brings a heavy palm down on your ass and your pussy clenches tighter around him. Enjin relishes the way your plush curves mold to his hands, each smack adding to the wet, messy sounds between you. You’ve already leaked enough on his lap to stain the sofa beneath you.
“Nah, ya just got on the ride, baby. Giddy-up.”
SMACK!
“NNNGH!” You weakly glare daggers at him.
Any softness on Enjin’s face has since been replaced by something far more mischievous. If you thought he was obnoxious before—you’re about to learn he’s a full-blown menace inside of pussy.
Wobbling, you gather together what little resolve you have left to roll your hips forward.
“HAAH! S’too biiiiiig,” you whine but your body can’t stop.
The juices saturated between you grant enough momentum to finally get a good, smooth bounce going.
“Fuck—that’s it, ride it like it’s yours, baby.” Enjin encourages you.
The way you cream harder every time he calls you 'baby' doesn't go unnoticed.
“Oh? You like me talking sweet to the pussy, baby girl?—Or do you just like being my filthy lil’ trash slut, hm Princess?”
Gritting your teeth, you grab on to Enjin’s shirt like reins, pulling him closer to you.
“Y-You’re…gonna—ahshiiiit—hafta f-fuck m’better than thisss…if you want m-me to be your ‘baby girl’—Trash Daddy.”
Unfortunately, your sass falls flat—you can barely keep your head from lulling to the side. But Enjin’s thoroughly entertained nonetheless—he’ll take ‘Trash Daddy’ over ‘Trashy Poppins’ any day.
“Bet.”
Electricity runs through Enjin. He’s all charged up—now it’s his turn to unleash.
Your brow furrows from the noise Enjin makes—you’re not sure if he just laughed or snarled. But it's the only warning you get.
Sliding down the sofa a bit, adjusting himself for stability, Enjin spreads his legs, planting his feet firmly on the floor as he bullies his cock up into you like he's breaking in his own personal fleshlight.
All you can do is go slack, falling forward on his chest. His grip bruising your hips, not allowing you to run from the way his blunt cockhead plows into your womb like a battering ram.
The couch beneath you groans, its frame creaking under the strain. The wood and leather protest like the entire thing might fall apart at any moment.
“Enjinnnnn, m’slowwww dowwwnnn!”
Your cries only fuel his frenzy and Enjin knows from the way you’re gushing on him you can take it.
Fuck—this sweet lil’ pussy is just so good for him. Imagine if he never met you.
If you never—
Enjin cuts the thought off cold.
Moving before you can blink—your world flips. One second he’s pummeling up into you, the next you’re on your back.
Enjin peels away his shirt, muscles flexing as he looms over you. His hands curl around your ankles to keep them pinned overhead. A single bead of sweat catches your bleary eyes as it slides down his bare chest, gliding over firm muscle. The bold ink patterns seem to come alive on his skin. He looks so fucking sexy right now and you can’t help but to shamelessly ogle him.
Yet, there’s something much too serious and somber about Enjin’s current demeanor. You’ve been staring at him far too long to go unnoticed. The highly expressive, sassy powerhouse is rarely this silent. He should be teasing you right now, asking some smartass shit like if you’re ‘enjoying the view’.
“Enjin?”
Your sweet voice hits his ears and instantly you have his attention again. Enjin flashes you a pearly white smile.
“Heh, enjoy the break, Princess? You wont get another.”
Ignoring the question in your eyes, Enjin folds you into a mating press, thrusting to the hilt all in one motion. The sound of flesh lewdly slapping against flesh fills the room, as do your cries.
But there’s still something else burning in his eyes. Enjin knows it’s unfair not to be honest with you, but taking out his unspoken feelings on your pretty pussy is the only way he can express himself at the moment.
Suddenly, there’s a loud creak followed by a decisive snap and two of the sofa’s legs give out. If your sweat and cum weren't like glue on the old leather you’d surely slide off head first. You yell out in alarm, but Enjin doesn’t give a fuck about the damn sofa.
His mood is still soured by the thought that wouldn’t be shaken away until he confronted it—
If you never fell.
But you did. He found you—and now that Enjin has you under him like this, he needs to fuck the point he’s concluded into you:
If Rudo ever finds a way to the Sphere, Enjin will personally travel there and see to your ex-husband himself.
Hell, he might even rail you in front of him a few times—show him what a real man could do. Maybe even a real…husband?
If the sounds of sloshing fluids and skin slapping skin weren't ringing so loudly in your ears that it drowned out everything else, you would have thought Enjin had lost his mind with the way he was cackling above you. He sounds completely deranged, laughing at the idea of him finally wanting to settle down all while continuing to pound you deeper into the broken sofa.
But despite being high off weed and your pussy, Enjin’s mind has never been more clear—he wants to lock you down.
“Hah… P-Princess, can ya feel me in your tummy? Right…” Enjin’s golden eyes lock on the ever-so-slightly distended bulge from the monstrous intrusion in your guts.
“....right, here.”
Throwing your legs over his shoulders, his large hands splay across your sweat sheened belly. You’re squirming under the heat of Enjin sandwiching your guts between his palm and his cock. Its all far too much—you’re too full, unable to really focus on what Enjin’s saying.
“Ahh, E-Enj—m’ c-cum, g-gonna mmm…” you hiccup, swallowing your tears.
Your nails rake down his arm to ground yourself but your body is thrumming too hard, adrift in the rush rolling through every one of your wired nerves. Your tits bounce obscenely every time your velvety walls devour his cock back down to the base. Enjin’s pubic piercing bucking against your clit has you clutching onto his dick like you were about to break it off.
You feel so fucking good. Enjin desperately needs to feel you creaming on his cock, and you would be soon if your kitten nails raking down his arms– adding more red to his already inked skin– were any indication.
“That’s it, Princess, hah—fuck, baby, I got you. Squirt for your Trash Daddy.”
As if on command, the knot inside you coils to its breaking point, prickling every nerve, releasing a warm rush of fluids. Your body tingling in ecstasy, you quickly tumble over your peak, eyes blinded by speckles of brightness as you cum.
Yet Enjin hasn't slowed, his continuous pounding forcing more of your cum and squirt to gush out of you—the melody of his now drenched balls colliding with your wet ass only growing loude
“Fuck, that’s it. Pussy cryin’ like she wants my cum, Princess…”
You’re barely conscious from all the pleasure, eyes rolling back into your head.
“She’s jealous that slutty throat of yours got all my cum, now it’s her turn to swallow, isn’t that right?”
It’s a rather roundabout way for Enjin to ask if he can nut inside you, but then again, he wasn’t really asking. The thought of breeding you makes him feral.
“Ahh—f’nnghhhh!”
Non-verbal and fucked dumb, you’d probably agree to anything right now. You’re an utter mess–pussy stretched beyond anything you thought possible, face sticky with slobber rolling down to pool in the folds of your neck.
“O’course it is…gonna dump all these trash babies into my princess’ sweet lil’ cunt.”
Although you are super turned on by the thought of Enjin breeding you, there's no way you have any idea how serious Enjin is about putting a baby in you. How could you? You don’t even realize the love confession his cock is professing to you.
“FUHHHH—take it!”
Enjin pumps thick ropes of his cum into your tummy as his body thrashes on top of yours. The primal intensity has you vibrating as another orgasm rips through your overstimulated and overworked pussy. Filled the brim, his spunk overflows, sploshing out of your pussy as he rocks his hips, urging his seed deeper to plant right in your womb.
In the afterglow, the two of you lie off-kilter in a tangled heap on the broken sofa. There’s blood rushing to your head— not the worst place for it, you think, all things considered. Enjin’s weight is heavy, his chest heaving into yours, warm and sticky as he wraps you in his arms.
Just as you feel you both might drift off like this, Enjin stirs. Flinching, you whimper as Enjin wills himself up, his cock sliding out of your pussy with a squelchy suctioning noise. Your knees part for him with zero resistance as he inspects his handiwork, peeling apart your battered pussy lips to reveal your dug out slit.
“Whewww,” Enjin whistles at the sight of the thick creampie glistening in your core. “All this cum your cute pussy pulled outta me—you’d think she was my jinki.”
Sober, you likely would have slapped him for referring to your pussy as his vital instrument. But ecstasy clouds your logic, so high off endorphins and other substances, you only giggle. It is kinda funny you suppose.
“Yeah—squirtin’ on command like that. Definitely an attack type.”
Spread open, the thick plug of spunk froths out of you. But Enjin simply tuts, pushing it right back in, not wanting to waste a single drop.
“Yeah, how about that, ’mma duel wielder! Yup, definitely gotta name ‘er now—what you thinkin’ I should call her, princess?”
Enjin sees the way your pretty cunny is twitching, and in his pussy drunk mind, it's an approval. The spasms that still quake through you are like tremors of Morse Code—your slutty pussy agreeing with him, begging for more. Flipping you over on your belly, Enjin is more than happy to fulfill any request of his new vital instrument.
“Got it! Cumbringer! The Umbreaker and The Cumbringer. Nice ring to ‘em, dont’cha think?”
Cumbringer!?
Later, you would definitely regret being so thoroughly fucked out of your mind you didn’t put a stop to this. Enjin is most definitely going to be insufferably proud of himself for the next 3-6 business weeks. He’d lord this over you and tease you with not-so-subtle hints around the rest of the cleaners.
Yet, as Enjin is swabbing his huge cock through your folds, you feel the ache of loss in your core, wanting to be filled again and you can’t seem to find the fucks to care—you just needed more of his dick, like…now.
Pleased with your compliance, Enjin thumbs the dips at the small of your back, perching your ass up so your back arches real nice.
“Trash Daddy’s gonna take real good care of Cumbringer from now on, too. Make ‘er live up to the name.”
When Enjin pushes into you again, the new angle has him bullying against your g-spot with even more intensity than before. Seeing the way you jolt, he holds back from going as deep this time to directly abuse the spot. Slick runs down your legs and despite how slippery the ruined leather cushions are beneath you, Enjin still holds you firm as his cock sloshes through your ruined pussy.
“Say, how much anima you think is in my nut, Princess?”
You don’t respond but Enjin, proving to have the stamina of a beast, feels like he should give you at least two more doses just to be sure.
⛓
Fading in and out of a euphoric stupor, you’re unsure how much time passes. Absolutely cockdrunk, at some point, you’d simply just surrendered. Your pussy clearly has zero complaints about being a jinki for Enjin’s cock and you are too dumb once you get a lil dick to stop him.
Somehow, you’ve ended up folded over the wide coffee table. It’s unstable beneath you, but Enjin doesn’t seem to care what he breaks when he’s fucking you. He only moved from the sofa when the back of it finally broke.
Straining, you think you hear voices but everything feels so far away and fuzzy. The room gets darker and you realize Enjin’s thrown his coat over you. Still sheathed deep inside you, Enjin’s cock plants lazy kisses to your womb as he speaks rather casually to someone.
Hmm, did he get a call? Is that Semiu?
Semiu is likely calling, wondering why you both haven’t shown up to happy hour yet—shit. There’s no way you’re making it in this condition; your limbs are toast. You can’t even move the weight of Enjin's bulky jacket off of you, the heavy material trapping you in the humidity of your own breath and sweat. But in a way, the warmth is comforting. Your cheek resting against the wood, you allow the tent of muggy heat and his cock moving languidly inside you to lull you into complacency— in your delirium, everything feels like a nice dream.
Yet Enjin is fully alert, a shit eating grin on his face as he stares down Semiu and Gris who had just walked in on Enjin shamelessly beating your doonies down. Enjin only spared your modesty by covering you up, but he has no qualms with either Gris or Semiu seeing him in all his glory and doesn’t even bother pulling out of you.
A fact that is painfully clear as he pats the pockets of his jacket draped over you for his cigs—he might as well smoke if he’s giving you a break.
“I win,” Semiu turns to Gris, hand out expectantly.
Semiu’s cool expression never changes but there is amusement in her eyes as Gris fishes into his pockets and places a stack of bills into her hand.
“Tsk, damn…” Gris shakes his head, although he’s not shocked.
The two of you are down so horrendously bad for each other that this should have happened long ago as far as everyone else was concerned. The tension has been at an unbearable level for those around you, the way the two of you picked at each other non-stop like a kid’s first crush.
Alas, you’re an airhead and Enjin is so stubborn he’s delusional. So the older Cleaner members couldn’t help, but place bets on when and where you and Enjin would finally slip between the sheets. Its a shame that you weren't in one of your beds right now--in between actual sheets--instead of the lounge becoming collateral damage.
“You know, after all the game you talked about winning your money back at poker tonight, Bro said you were a no-show because you knew you were gonna lose…” Gris eyes the boneless, quivering lump that is you under Enjin’s jacket.
Enjin really did a number on you. Your nonsensical babbles pouting for Enjin to ‘make sure to tell Semiu to bring you back some fries from the bar’ obviously means you have no idea that they are actually in the room.
“But it looks like you have your ‘ace in the hole' for an entirely different game.”
Enjin chortles. His hips stutter forward a bit too hard and you squeak in protest, he just hushes you.
“Awe, so you came back all this way to check-up on us? How sweet,” Enjin says sarcastically, taking a drag from his cigarette.
“Hardly. Rudo accidentally chugged an entire beer he thought was soda—then proceeded to throw it all up over Zanka,” Semiu says flatly.
Enjin attempts to hold back his laughter as Semiu continues with a sigh. She explains thatGris helped carry Rudo back, promptly putting his little blacked out ass to bed. Zanka locked himself in the bathroom immediately upon returning.
“Although they're sure to be occupied for the rest of the night, since the kids are back in the building you need to wrap this shit up Enjin—she looks like she could use the break anyway.”
Semiu casts a sympathetic look your way. She did warn you about Enjin though, so he was your mess to deal with now.
“Sure thing,” Enjin says, patting your form underneath his coat, “I’ve trained my new jinki well enough for tonight.”
Semiu takes one look at the absolutely diabolical grin on Enjin’s face and decides she's already had enough of his shit for the night.
She sighs again. “Just hurry it up, alright?”
Enjin gives Semiu a cheeky salute. Yet the second her back is turned, Enjin mimes a dramatic chef’s kiss to the air for Gris. Enjin’s eyes roll back like he’s just had the best meal of his life.
Gris snorts, shooting him a wink and a thumbs-up for a ‘job well done’ like a proud teammate before heading out of the room as well.
“One more thing.”
Semiu pauses in the doorway, hands resting on the double doors, surveying the crime scene-like state of the lounge. The sofa is toast, the coffee table’s on life support, and there's a growing puddle under you, spilling over to slowly drip off its edge onto the floor.
“If you’re just going to recklessly rawdog her, at least get her on the pill. Alice can sort that out tomorrow—right after you replace every piece of furniture you’ve both annihilated.”
Enjin simply shrugs, taking another drag of his cigarette.
“I suppose…we can stop by Alice’s too.”
Semiu just rolls her eyes, only to wrinkle her nose as a wave of stale air wafts by.
“And for the love of god—crack a window. Smells like fresh ass in here.”
Once the doors finally click shut, Enjin rips his jacket off of you and smiles. You’re still blissed out in lalaland while your pussy, Cumbringer, is clenching around him like she has one more go left in her.
Grabbing your arm, he pulls you up. Still sheathed inside you, he sits back on his knees, bringing you with him, your back pressed against his chest.
“Mmmm—*yawns* Was that Semiu on the call, Enj?”
Call? Oh, heh.
“Ha, yeah baby girl, just Semiu on the line,” Enjin lies too easily.
It’s for your own benefit though–no need to ruin your bliss with anything silly like embarrassment or shame from being walked-in on. Hell, unless Semiu says something, Enjin might be able to get away with not ever telling you.
“She said they ran outta fries though. I’ll get ya some later, yeah? Jus’ need Cumbringer to clock in one more time, Princess...”
Enjin rocks his hips with yours in a slow wave and your pout melts, no longer caring about the fries. Your head tips back onto his shoulder as he wraps his arms around you.
“Ah, mmmm, b-but—ngnh! She mentioned something about hotdogs and getting pills tomorrow? Is that a mission?”
Enjin hums to keep from laughing as he turns your face towards him. He smirks devilishly against your lips.
Distracting you with sweet chaste kisses, Enjin rubs gentle circles over your womb. You’re gonna be so fucking hot waddling around HQ in your slutty ass uniform, tits leaking and belly full with his brats.
The only pill he’d get from Alice would be a fertility pill.
“Nothing my slutty baby girl or my Cumbringer gotta worry about, Princess. Leave everything t’me.”
𝐚𝐧: ahh tysm for reading, especially if you are new to my writing. enjin brain rot is lethal. i needed to get this outta my system! jjk girlies forgive me for straying from my wip list and kinktober lol. definitely down to write more of him. i have a p2 and another enjin story (an AU) idea. but i have to focus on my jjk kinktober now! ♡
also, in case anyone is wondering—yes, reader's jinki is a labubu and yes, enjin just guilt tripped reader into growing him his own personal stash djhscjhdfj.
banner: mash up of official manga + rororogi mogera 'last mall' doujin panels.
I have a big ass crush in Enjin and I gatta get it out so here are some headcanons I have of him as a bf, but I am actually right:
SFW
Do not let his looks fool you and give him that 2021 gojo treatment, he is a LOSER for women. Everybody that knows him genuinely would question how he got you.
I think he’s had a few girlfriends when he was in his early 20s, but had to call it off either due to just not ready to commit due to his own insecurities orrrrr long distance. He hates that. He also been broken up with before and it fucked his ego up a little.
He still and will always try to flirt with you even after becoming official, tries to use his ‘sexy’ voice, but his normal voice is already attractive so him trynna force it just makes you laugh….but close enough he’ll laugh you out your drawls if he needs to.
Speaking of being official this mf never actually asks you to be your bf, after 5+ dates, hang outs, always coming to your place, letting you in his personal work and life when somebody asks about you two he has a shit eating grin talking ahout some, “Yeah, y/n, my girl.”….
Now if you really are mad that he didnt ask he will in the most cheesest romantic way with some big bright sign, so…be prepared.
I think quality time and words of affirmation are two of the main ways he sows his love. He’s subconsciously clingy, so as long as you’re in the room with him he loves it, and he just never shuts the fuck up. He enjoys praising you, and reminding you of your talents, beauty, and brains.
He puts his hand on your face a lot. Just because he knows his big ass hand can cover your face. Enjin also does it when you guys are arguing over something petty and he wants you to be quiet.
He does duck lips a lot when he wants a smooch, it’s ugly in the best way and embarrassing because he’ll do it in front of people.
He puts his arm over your shoulder/chest alot from behind and lean on you, his mouth is always right by your ear….he knows what hes doing.
I can see him having past flings (which are rare) with short women, but i think he main type to be with is a woman that he leans more towards is 5’8’’ and up. He loves tall women.
I think Enjin can be cheesy romantic. Stealing flowers from people yards to give you, kissing your hand when he guides you to your seat, with a fake ass french accent.
An ass man. Goes without saying but…yeah
Fake humps your ass when you bend over, but will get flustered if you actually throw it back on him.
No like seriously he loves your butt so much he has plenty of photos of your pretty face…and that ass.
Sit on his lap. Just sit, if you don’t he’ll literally start whining. He does not CARE IF YOU ARE HEAVY JUST SIT.
I think Enjin has a bad time being too serious when it comes to showing how much he loves you, so when he does say i love you to you for the first time he says it ‘jokingly’…or as if you should say it first…he’s weird.
I think when Enjin said he isn’t into needy women he meant hyper dependent on him, basically instead of treating him like he’s your man you treat him as if he is supposed to be your father while providing nothing in return. I do think he’d love to spoil you, but that also goes along with him knowing “yes, I will do this for you, but i know you can do it yourself.” That goes physically, emotionally, financially , and mentally.
He says “That’s my girl” a lot when he’s proud of you….it’s sickening.
Whatever culture you come from he wants to know about it, the food, the clothes, hair, language whatever.
Whether you smoke or not he wants you to light his cigarette as much as you can, you did it once mindlessly while speaking to him and he was looking for a lighter and it just felt intimate. He loved it so much he insist you keep a lighter on you at all times.
HE LOVES DATES. Whether it’s fancy (which is rare…) , cheap, or just at home he loves the concept of taking you out and doing something with you. Even a simple trip to the store can be a date for him…he’s odd.
Enjin gives that yeah he can be a very protective and providing boyfriend the mf still acts like a child. He’s like one of those boyfriends that everytime you turn he’s doing something he shouldn’t….stressed you out.
NSFW
Y’know how I said he loves for you to sit on his lap? Yeah that also applies to his face. SIT. Deeoowwwnnn.
He’s a loser, not a virgin. He’s fucked long before you met him. I feel like it was when he was younger, very, quick. very uncoordinated, and not very memorable.
Not ganna lie…I see him as a grunted and groaner, not a moaner, HOWEVER. He has a sweet spot on his ear so sensitive that’ll bring out the smallest little whimper and it’s so cute…he loves hates it.
Speaking of the noises he makes he doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up. He sometimes even asks questions while you’re on top, popping ur titty out his mouth to ask you if he can fuck up into you, and please answer because he’ll keep groaning “Please? Can i? can i? can i? Please let me.”
It has it’s perks though, because if he’s behind you his hand will hold up your jaw just so he can talk about how badly he’s been wanting to fuck you since that morning, he damn near has photographic memory of what you wore and how it made him feel when you bent over the counter before he left.
Praises you RIGHT in your ear, you have to hear him.
He wasn’t very experienced with pussy eating, a lot of the women he slept with mostly sucked him off and he just fucked them, but with you he gets a kick out of eating it from behind. Mostly because he loves slapping your ass.
But when you are on your back he loves to squeeze your hands and look up at you, when you finally catch his eyes, he dives his mouth deeper so you can watch him suck and bob his head on your clit. Very messy guy. Spit, suck, spit, suck.
Sometimes he even pulls out to eat you some more.
Yes he smokes while you are fucking his dick, gives him the best high he swears by it.
I think his favorite position is on the side, he gets a little bit of everything he loves , your face reactions, kissing, ass slapping, clit rubbing, titty grabbing. He really loves to cuddle you after too, even though it doesn’t last long because he always finishes inside….well sometimes.
He does practice safe sex but if he’s just too lazy, too tired, or too horny he asks if he can finish inside. Enjin don’t want kids but he keeps pushing his luck with you by doing that.
Enjin seems like a big fan of kissing. Whether casual or makeout session he loves it so much.
His kisses when he’s in the mood are sloppy and NASTY. I’m the best way, he loves sucking your lips, tongue, gripping that ass, all of that.
Warnings: BDSM scene please take that seriously if that is not something you are into, see you next time. Slapping, spitting, restraints, TRAMPLING, heels, impact play of multiple forms, puppy play, degradation, name calling, biting, finger sucking, panty sucking, blindfolds, discussions of loss, grief, blood, poor self image. Not safe nor sane but Consensual!
Kishibe craves your cruelty. He needs you to be mean, to hurt him, to treat him the way he knows he deserves. Because what else could a man like him ever deserve?
Kishibe needed you. He needed you when he woke up this morning. When he looked at himself in the shower and saw his bruises had faded to nothing. He paged you as soon as he got into work. The direct one way line, the pager number that was only for you. Kishibe needed you. And he needed you to be mean. Really fucking mean. That’s why he came to you again and again. He trusted you, well—enough, at least with his body, his most expendable resource. It barely belonged to him anymore. It may as well have been as much property of Public Safety as the knives in his holsters, or the uniform he wore. He came to you when he needed to remind himself that the sensations still belonged to him. That he hadn’t become ash, urn entombed government property just yet. Week after week he walked to your place, although office was likely a more correct term for it. He didn’t know where you lived, he didn’t even know your real name. But he knew the walk there, the flickering neon sign above your building, the deep purple lacquered door. He entered the space, the heavy smell of incense and perfume filled his nose, softened his muscles, wiped his mind clear.
“Welcome back, old dog.” Your voice filled the space, despite its softness.
It brought chills to his neck, he had to duck under the door frame and hadn’t quite brought his head back up to look at you. He felt the crack on his cheek from the back of your hand before he caught a glimpse of your face.
“Can’t believe you would show your face back here again.” You spat at him, wet saliva hitting the buzzing reddened skin of his cheek.
He nodded, already feeling his breathing getting slower, harder, wetter. He could feel himself slipping away already.
“Take your shoes and coat off, where the fuck do you think you are? Tracking mud and shit and blood onto my floor.” You hissed again, taking a seat in the upholstered wingback armchair you favored.
Kishibe removed his jacket and hung it near the door, in the hook you kept open for him. He made sure to keep his eyes on the floor as he moved.
“Shoes, too.” he heard the crackle of a freshly lit cigarette and felt his back tense with remembrance, he hurried off his shoes, setting them neatly by your door.
“Stay down.” You instructed, your voice holding smoke.
Kishibe froze in his crouched position, keeping his eyes locked on the pairs of shoes by the door. Your heels clicked toward him, devastatingly needle thin stilettos, black as oil, red bottoms pristine. These heels had never seen a sidewalk or city street, they were solely relegated to inside the walls of your office. The clicks stopped next to him, he could see the immaculate shine of the pointed toe, overhead lantern light warping in their reflection, making oblong amber blooms.
“Hand.”
He hesitated.
“Kishibe put your goddamn hand on the floor.” Your voice was stern, unwavering, and positively filled with hate, “I won't ask again.”
The use of his name made him crumble, he put his left hand on the cool wood floor, spreading his fingers wide. You pressed the front sole of your shoe onto the back of his hand, not yet using the heel. Rolling his knuckles into the floor, feeling each bone in his hand individually, feeling the ligaments shift between bones and skin, the pressure of your foot growing harder. Kishibe clenched his jaw and tried not to let his eyes close, knowing what would come if they fluttered shut. But your pressure, rolling ligaments across the metacarpal muscles, made him hiss, and his eyes squeeze tight. It was precisely then that you drove the point of your heel into the groove of the back of his hand, between his middle and ring fingers. His eyes shot open, looking at the point driving into his skin, threatening to break the skin, break through the fine sinews of muscle, the fragile bones of his hand. He hissed as you stepped harder, his hand strained under your foot, fingers flexing off the floor, begging for mercy. But still you pressed harder, letting your weight drive the spike further into the gaps between his bones, waiting for him to yelp. But he did not, he knew better. He groaned and hissed and writhed, but took it. He gasped when you pulled off, the indention already abbrased and blooming red underneath his fine skin.
You drug your heel down his long middle finger, feeling every groove and valley of the winkles of the skin that encased his fingers. Kishibe turned his face up to you, eyes trailing up your smooth, long legs, he just barely saw the hem of your skirt when he was slapped again, his face recoiling back down to the floor.
“Don’t fucking look at me.” You pressed your heel into the back of his hand once again, right in the center, sharp and precise.
This did make him grunt, not quite a yelp yet, but the surprise and the combined fury of your hand and foot at once making his mouth water and his vision go white. The harder you pressed, the more he was brought onto the floor, his knees slid out from under him, his chest and stomach meeting the floor along with his forehead. He pressed into the wood, as though it would take him and suck him into itself, alleviating the deliciously hot pain searing into his hand. It only made you press further, watching him writhe beneath you. You let up slightly, listening to him draw in a shaky breath. You moved your foot off of him, studying his body now prone on your floor. You caught him then, pressing his hips hard into the floor, trying to find some kind of friction, some kind of press to relieve the erection you knew had been awakened just from his walk over, and grew harder with every step you took. Your silence and lack of movement tipped him off right away, his hips stalled, and he squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating what would come next. But instead of moving right away, you let him sit in anticipation, taking a long, thoughtful drag of your cigarette, watching him fight to keep still. But the ache, the discomfort, was too much, you saw his hips shift again. Full, hard cock begging to be freed from between hard body and harder wood. You crouched next to him.
“You wanna fuck the floor?” You blew smoke out into his face, filling the gap between his neck and floor, he stayed still as he could, eyes fixed on the floor, following your instruction not to look directly at you.
He shook his head.
“Out loud, pleeeeease,” You hissed out the last word, “I can’t hear you when you mumble like that.”
“No.”
“No, what?” You leaned close to his ear, the black piercings mirroring your own face, stretched out and distorted, back to you.
“No, I don’t want to fuck the floor.” He spoke through gritted teeth, both palms on the floor sweating, making it harder to keep a steady grip.
“Hmmm.” You thought for a moment, taking another drag.
You leaned in to him, using your cigarette free hand to guide his chin to face you, “I don’t believe you. And since you want it so bad that you can’t even help yourself, I think I’ll let you. Just this once.”
Kishibe cringed at the humiliating thought, “…please don't make me..”
“Fuck the floor Kishibe. Now.” You stood up.
Kishibe groaned at not being able to see you anymore, he should have looked harder, but he was too distracted, he didn’t appreciate what he had when he had it. He never did. That’s why he was so unhappy in the first place, he could never appreciate a good thing in the moment, only wishing for it to come back after it had been stolen from him.
“Now.” You commanded again, clicking your heel hard on the ground, “while I'm still feeling nice.”
Kishibe steadied his grip on the floor, pushing down the rising feelings inside of him, and pressed his hips into the floor of your entryway. It was a sweet shame, digging his covered cock into the hardwood again and again. Grinding himself against it, wishing it was your pussy instead. Praying that if he did well enough you might let him inside. So he fucked himself into your floor, listening to that nasty voice in his head that reminded him how badly he wanted this. How sick he was for needing this. How far gone he really must be if he craved this treatment over and over again.
You watched him pump his hips into the floor, groaning when his cock would snag or press too hard.
He really could be so sensitive.
“You like that?” You mocked him with a little laugh, inhaling your cigarette’s offerings once more.
“Yes.” He couldn’t help the moan that colored his words.
You only smiled because you knew he couldn’t see you, furrowed brow and tight shut eyes, “say thank you.”
“Thank you.” He nodded, pushing his hips harder, breathless and desperate.
You circled around to his head, listening to the sweet sounds of exertion and humiliation filling your space. He began to fuck faster, his hips moving in a semi circle slide that let him drag the length of his cock along the floor, rather than have it mashed into the hard surface over and over. You slid the point of your toe against where his forehead met the floor, and he lifted his face to you. Eyes big, mouth open and wet and panting.
“Open your mouth,” You pressed into his bottom lip, moving your shoe into his mouth.
He was quick to slide his tongue across the patent leather of the front of your shoe. His dark eyes rolled back, you watched him lick your shoe, his fat tongue flopping out but careful not to touch your skin, staying against the sole and the toe of the heel. You hummed, you had trained him so well. Or you thought you had, until his hips stalled. He let himself become distracted. Too busy tasting your shoe, inching too close to the skin of your foot for your liking.
That wouldn’t do.
You pulled your foot back quickly, letting the heel drag on the floor loudly, letting him know that you caught him.
“No, please, I'm sorry. I’m sorry.” He sputtered out, trying to resume his grinding to show you how good he could be.
You step hard on his hip, killing his momentum, keeping him from moving further.
“Uh-uh.” You pressed harder, letting your full weight press on his lower back, “I gave you an order. And you couldn’t even do that.”
He winced as you stepped up and onto his back, letting your heels drive into his pressure points.
“What kind of soldier can’t take orders? Huh?” you shifted your weight, letting your right foot press harder.
“Agh!”, he cried out, no longer holding his voice behind clenched teeth.
“What kind of dog,” You squatted down over him, moving your center of gravity closer to your feet, to his aching, pin struck back, “doesn't obey its master, huh?”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’ll be good.” Kishibe’s hands were balled fists by his head, the muscles in his back were straining against your weight, making you shift and sway.
He’s begging now, a pathetic, stomach churning sound. You stand, making him wince and whimper again as you step off and back onto the floor. He pants under you for a moment, trying to savor the sweet relief of relentless pressure giving way to trembling, buzzing skin now.
You watch him for a moment, enjoying the sight of a killer of his stature whimpering at your feet, “Stand up, old dog.”
He’s quick to his feet, his inhuman recovery assisting him even now. For the first time since his arrival tonight his full height is on display for you. He really does tower over you, all 195 cm or so giving him a clean head and shoulders above you. But still he cowards before you, keeping his dark eyes turned down, along with his face. There is no killer’s confidence to be seen here, there is only a man. A very damaged man who needs you. He needs your help. He needs to be put in his place by someone, that’s why he comes to you. You hold all the power here, he needs that.
He needs to have someone treat him like every bit of the disgusting dog he is and always has been. He has given everything to killing devils; his body, his youth, his life, innumerable years, all his friendships began and ended within the parameters of devil hunting. There is nothing more to him than that. And that is nothing to hold dear. It's only pain, it's only hurt, it's only blood on his hands and dead friends and loneliness. And rot, then endless, unending rot of his soul and his self.
You studied him as he stood before you, deep, humid breaths leaving his wet, defiled mouth. Your cigarette was far past its end, far past the point of hissing on the filter, fully extinguished. You flicked it at him, it fell at his feet, and you moved back to your chair, crossing your legs in front of him.
“Take your shirt off.” You cocked your head at him, resting it on your fist.
Kishibe undoes his tie, dropping it beside his feet. He begins buttoning his shirt, pain shaking fingers scrambling, rushing down the column of buttons.
“Take a breath.” You ordered.
He does, deep, trying to keep his head on straight.
“Now go.”
He resumes his unbuttoning, hands sturdier, moving one button at a time. He reveals his chest to you slowly, scarred and flushed. You were familiar with the map of his body, the visible muscles that age did not seem to yet touch. The carved abs, the v of his hips, the decades cultivated pectorals. You enjoyed his hard, weathered body. He really was beautiful; the soft, dark hair under his navel leading into his pants, the one nipple ring a memory from another time, the scars on his sides from swipes that just barely reached, and the ones that made it much deeper. You enjoyed inspecting him, and the way he shifted under your gaze. For a man as beautiful as him to be this cautious being admired was curious to you. His shirt joined his tie beside his feet.
“Turn.” you drew out another cigarette and lit it.
He turned for you, letting you look him up and down. Facing away from you, he felt the heat rise in his face. Even in the dim light of your office, and with a body like his, he still felt uncomfortable being studied so closely. You approached him from behind, he heard you click against the floor, and felt you inch toward him. He could feel the heat of your body, the energy radiating off you, the sultry sweet smell of your skin, the sickly stuffy smoke cloud that followed.
“You think you deserve to still be here?” he felt your breath on his neck and shivered.
“Answer me.” You barked at him.
“No.” he answered, turning his face to try and see you.
“Then what the fuck are you still doing standing?” You hit the back of his knee making him kneel, knees thunking to the harder wood in a horrible sound.
The pain shoots up to his hips, but he swallows the agonized groan. The momentum makes his head fall back, finally able to see you fully. You were so beautiful, so vicious, looking at him with so much disgust, so much sickening pity and disgust. He felt his cock twitch at your distain. His mouth fell open, only desire pulling his jaw downward. You grabbed it, holding it hard in your hand.
“You want a kiss?” You cocked your head once more.
He nodded, lips starting to quiver.
You slapped him hard once again, not letting him recoil, catching his cheeks again.
“You think I want to kiss you?” You leaned in to him, keeping his eyes locked on yours, he could see the rotating firelight behind them.
Kishibe’s brows furrowed, he didn’t have an answer. You pressed your body against him, moving a hand down his bare chest, enjoying the peaks and valleys of his chest and stomach. You reach the waistline of his pants, not touching the prominent bulge in the front, but gripping him by the belt. You let him rest his head against your breasts, allowing him to indulge for just a moment. You leaned down to his ear, letting your tongue slide across the shell. He moaned at the feeling, wanting to grip you tighter, wanting to pull you closer, wanting to move you onto your back and take you right there on the floor, to have you entirely at his mercy. His body begs for you. But his mouth stays quiet.
“You think I want your old cock anywhere near me?” You hissed right in his ear between nasty, wet licks.
Kishibe whimpered, his face scrunching in shame and pleasure at once, “..no.”
“That’s right.” You spit on his cheek, “I don’t need your dirty fucking cock. You’re so used up and desperate for it, you’ll come all the way here just to pay someone to touch your nasty shriveled dick.”
Kishibe watches as you move around him to the front, keeling to face him. He feels your saliva drip down his cheek, his jaw, his neck.
“You were made to be used. But you’re not even good for that anymore, are you, huh?”
Kishibe nodded, shying away from your look. He didn’t see when you reeled back and slapped him once again.
“Fucking, answer me.”
“No!” Kishibe stayed turned to the side where your slap had directed his face.
“That’s right, Kishibe. Nobody wants you. These girls you go after, you think they want an old man like you?”
“No.” Kishibe shakes his head, you were giving him exactly what he needed, what he knew.
You grabbed the back of his neck, tilting it back, “No. That’s right. You’re only good enough to take my spit.”
Pulling his head back, his mouth falls open, tongue falling out, reaching for you. You gathered spit in your mouth and shot it right onto his tongue. He draws it into his mouth, savoring the smoke latent flavor, letting the tobacco sting on his tongue. It burned at the taste, his cheek burned from the slap, his hand still stung, echoed in his throbbing back, his knees were growing pained. Every inch of him hummed and simmered with your abuse, your pain. His cock was weeping, precum seeping into the fabric of his pants. His mind felt fuzzy, the whole evening making him feel lost, the room around him dissolving. Every hit reminded him where he was, what he was, and exactly where he deserved to be.
You sucked in more smoke watching him shiver at your taste, his body starting to sway. You brought the cigarette to his lips, making him take a reluctant drag, the smoke covering your taste he had worked so hard for. He whined, his eyes downturned as they met yours, showing you how sad he was to lose it, but he accepted, taking a large puff, mourning the spit he swallowed and the taste that left him.
“Kishibe.” You pulled him from his dizzy, pleasure and pain filled mind, “Kishibe.”
“Mhm.” He made eye contact with you, trying to ignore the ringing in his ears.
“More?” You put a firm hand on his shoulder, keeping him steady.
Kishibe caught his breath, despite its shaking. He looked at you, your neutral face, not gentle but not chiding either. He looked at the shape of your lips, the lipstick atop it, the way your eyes studied him. He nodded.
“Yes?” You raised your eyebrows.
“Yes.” Kishibe nodded.
“Okay.” You nodded, releasing his shoulder, letting him hold himself up again, “Then get on your back.”
Kishibe feels his body electrify, this was what he had been waiting for. He slides his legs forward, laying his back against the floor. He felt something round and metal clunk against the back of his head. He forgot. He slid his body down, eyes tracking you as you moved to the chest of drawers along the opposite side of the room. He watched your body. Its smooth and confident movements, nothing unnecessary and so enticing, hypnotizing him. When you pulled forth the thick leather bands, buckles on either loop he put his hands up, on either side of the floor secured metal ring that sat above him. You turned back to him, grinning wickedly.
“Eager today. You must have done something very bad.” You straddled his lap, just above his hips, above his groaning, aching dick. Sitting prettily on his lower stomach, your skirt hiking up further on your thighs, showing him the soft, plushy flesh of your hips and thighs, not enough to see the cleft of your pussy, the sacred meeting place of your long, torturous legs. But he could feel her warmth, the damp heat that transferred onto his skin.
Kishibe nodded, not shy about how badly he wanted you. He loved you. Closest he had come to loving anything, probably. And he knew you liked it when he showed you how much he wanted you. How good he could be, only for you.
You leaned over his body, not caring about how lucky he was to have your breasts so near to his face. On other occasions you would have made him close his eyes, or blindfolded him, to limit his indulgence, but hell, you could throw your dog a bone now and again. Tits in his face, you looped his wrists into their leather straps, tightening them until you saw the skin pinch and heard him hiss. Bone aside, a tight leash makes for less accidents. The o-ring slotted perfectly into the shackle on your floor, sturdy and unmoving, it was attached to the foundation, even a man as superhumanly strong as Kishibe couldn’t pry up the floor. You had learned this was the only form of restraint that would work on him. After the first session where he ripped two different hooks from your ceiling, you had it installed, all under his billing, obviously. And he looked better on the floor, anyway.
“Pull.” You finished your binding.
He pulled his arms hard, veins emerging from his arms, biceps rounding and straining. Not even a creek. Perfect. Kishibe couldn’t even contain his delight, a sick smile cracking across his face, his scar creating a second, sidelong smile. You let your hands slide down his arms, feeling the skin, the muscle, the joints, the bones, the soft hair of his forearms, the coarser collections under his armpits, feeling your way down to his chest. His breath hitched, his hips jolted upward, but your body above them, pushed him back down.
“So sensitive.” You rolled your eyes at the way his long lashes fluttered as you touched him, at how his nipples perked up as your hands grew close, at the gooseflesh your fingers left in their wake, “So desperate for someone to touch you.”
He nods along with your mocking.
You lean closer forward, letting your hair fall against his face, your chest press against his, letting your body weight press him further and further against the floor, still not letting your hips slip down to meet his.
“You just want someone to touch you, you don’t even care if they're using you.” You let your lips fall towards his, inching closer.
Kishibe’s eyes scan over every inch of your face, praying that this is the time that you won't pull away, “No, I don’t.”
“No.” You shook your head, mirroring him, “you don’t care.”
“No.” he repeats.
You let your lips just barely brush his as you speak, “You’re pathetic.” and pull away just as his chin inches upward to try and close the gap.
He cruses in frustration, an angry, heated cry that makes his voice break. You watch, face unmoving as his arms try to pull at the restraint, almost out of his control, tugging hard, making the skin of his wrists pinch and pull as he does. Your face is stone, unfettered and unfazed by his upset, he so desperately wants to reach for you, to touch you, to kiss you, to be kissed by you, so much time has passed in anticipation he feels dizzy again. He’s been denied too many times. He feels delirious. He feels drunk. He feels high. He feels sick. He needs relief.
“Fuck!” He tried the restraints again, knowing they are immovable, “Yes, fuck, yes, I’m pathetic, I’m sick, I need you to use me. Use me, please, please, fucking use me, please.”
Another hard crack on his scarred cheek shuts his babbling, pleading mouth. You grip his face hard in your fingers.
“You wanna be used?” You bark at him.
Kishibe stays silent, delirium has spread to his brain, no longer to think about anything except your fingers pinching his face. His eyes roll back at the harsh touch, his hips buck up once more, rocking your forward this time. You may have really broken him this time.
“Huh?” You snap again, jerking his face closer to yours, his upper back coming off the floor, arms bending unnaturally behind his head.
“Yes!” Kishibe’s voice may have found him, but his mind, his ego were long gone, “Yes, fuck, please use me. I’m pathetic and disgusting please. Fuck me, baby please. Fuck me, mommy, please.”
Oooooooh, yes. The magic word.
So beautiful in your ears, you nearly cum right then and there, right onto his stomach. Sick fuck would probably love that too. He may even cry in joy, or in envy. His sputtering, breaking voice, begging you, pleading with you to use him. Use him solely for your pleasure, and he can lap at whatever remains. Begging for his mommy to help him. Oh, how perfect.
“Shut the fuck up!” You shout at him, letting his head fall hard back onto the floor, the crack it makes against the wood is no concern of either of you.
You move off his lap, and his begging starts again, even more pathetic somehow. As though he had some untapped miserable pleading reserves locked away that even he didn’t know he could access.
“Please! Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry mommy, I’ll be good. I won't argue anymore, I’m sorry, Please touch me, Please. I’m a dirty dog that doesn't deserve your touch, I know. Please, Please. Pl-” The least please falls from him unfinished as he feels a single tear starting to sting the outside of his eye.
You watch his heaving chest, tension taut stomach buckle at the revelation that he had begun to cry. Crying did not happen easily for Kishibe. It usually took a lot longer than this, and a lot meaner treatment, sometimes hours worth of degradation. Poor bastard must have really had a hell of a day.
Writhing against his restrained arms, he whimpers in defeat, resigning himself to the idea that this very well may be one of those sessions. The sessions where you bring him to an agonizing edge without any release. You round his body to his legs, finding his belt and undoing it. He pants as the tight leather is removed from his hips, even the only mental relief, is still enough to make him moan. You weren’t shy with your nails on his hips, letting them dig angry red lines into his skin as you removed his belt and undo his pants just enough to reveal his wet, buldged underwear.
“Such a fucking mess.” You hiss at him, shaking your head disapprovingly, hoping it will cover the way your mouth waters already, “fucking filithy.”
You don't even get his pants all the way off before you stand over him again. Letting his cock flop out from the zipper of his pants, not caring if the metal teeth bite at his hard, desperate shaft. This would be the quick, desperate, only for your pleasure fuck that he needed. You reach under your skirt and pull your panties off, sliding them down your legs, the black lace bunching as you did so. Kishibe can't stop watching, mouth drooling, getting whiplash from being stripped and now trying his hardest to see even a glimpse of your perfect pussy.
“Yes, use me.--agh fuck-- Use me. Use me. Ple--” You shove your panties into his mouth shutting him up.
“I’m so fucking tired of hearing you talk.” You straddle his stomach again, letting the wetness from your pussy only be felt by the hair on his lower stomach.
He keens back, the sudden drop of your body on him and your hand pushing lace further into his mouth sending him reeling. He can taste your wetness, the way it's collected in the fabric, sunk in and saturated into the dripping lace and cotton. His tongue works over every inch, trying to suck out every last drop of your pussy slick that he can.
Grinding against his body, you let your clit drag along his happy trail, you can feel the heat of his cock against your ass, making sure to remind you that it is ready and waiting for you. Begging, more like. The sweet sting of his hair against you, prickling at your most sensitive organ, the organ of your body used solely for pleasure, its only purpose to feed you, make you feel good. Just like the man under you. Serving no purpose other than to make you cum. You cock your head down at him, watching him struggle to keep his eyes from closing, hard arms struggle against their binds, gasping breaths leave his mouth through flimsy, wet fabric as you inch closer and closer to his quivering pelvis. Without warning, without prep, without fear, you mount him, letting his desperate, already leaking cock inside of you. You feel him slide through your muscles, slip into the tight rings that you know are so covetous.
You don’t penetratively fuck all of your clientele, but Kishibe, oh Kishibe, you can’t deny him anything. He’s too raw, too honest, too damaged. You know it cliche, to want to fix a man who is broken beyond all reason to repair. But you can’t help yourself. Feeling him fill you completely, and then some, his long, thick, angry cock pushing into the deepest, most untapped parts of your body. Short of killing you with his own hands, you two could never be closer. You wondered how the devils and men he killed felt in that final moment. If they could ever comprehend the reality that laid before you now. The man who destroyed their lives writhing beneath a woman like you, begging for comfort, begging for pleasure, begging to be useful.
You sank your hips down completely to meet his, your ass clapping down onto his still clothed legs. Both of you couldn’t help but keen back. The perfect meeting of two. Wet and whole and succulent and slippery and snug and dangerous. The breath in the room was recycled, hot and humid and laced with smoke and spit. You would need a respirator to take a clean breath in a room like this. One rife with sex and thick with yearning as this. When your hips pull away and meet again you both reel back in its decadence, feeling the weight of your previous dance pull you further together. Despite your best efforts to remain detached, you can’t help but paw at his chest, digging not your nails but your fingertips in, feeling his skin, his muscles, his bone, his heart underneath, as though you could pull it outward to feast upon if you wanted. You wonder if he would let you devour him. Only until you remember that he would. He would let you in a moment, in a second, were you to ask him.
You raise your hips again, feeling him exit you to the edge of the head of his cock, before sliding back down, your hands at his chest giving you the leverage to rise and fall completely. WIth this new found leverage you can set a perfect, nasty pace. Driving yourself up and down on him again and again, a brutal, lip gnawing, back arching pace. You are using him, just as he begged so prettily for. Using him for your own pleasure, using him to reach the high you deserved. Putting so much work into his own release, which you recognize was the reason he came back to you, you still deserved your own victory for your efforts.
“Agh--yes, fuck, baby, uhhh” Kishibe couldn’t stop his messy mouth, begging you for kindness, begging you for softness only to be met with your fingers shoving your panties further into his mouth, muffling his pleas.
“Shut up shutupshutup.” You hissed through clenched teeth, moving your hips faster and faster, pushing your fingers in further to his mouth, relishing the feeling of the lace between his tongue and your fingers.
Kishibe’s eyes rolled back, the whites showing themselves to you before they closed completely, resigning himself to the hardwood with a sturdy clunk of his skull. Drooly mouth and flushing chest, helpless beneath you with his arm stuck behind him. His hips can only thrust upward, hoping to meet your messy, sloppy thrusts back down upon him. Rarely does he match your rhythm, his thrusts erratic and unsynced to your own. A reminder that as good as it feels to be joined together, you are not some kind of divine set of missing pieces. You are not destined, nor ordained together, you are simply joined together in circumstance, that any divinity or godliness would abhor. You are doing nothing for the believers of fate or soul mates. Neither one of you would ever be anyone’s soulmate, nor would you find your missing piece in the arms of another. You were both missing things too large, too hearty to be completed simply by the union with another. It wasn’t that simple. Life wasn’t that simple. Nothing was. But you both knew that.
And riding him now, you didn’t know a thing. Except the sweet sting of him stretching you open, the harsh push of his cock head at your g spot, the hissing, nasty roughness of your clit against the tuft of pubic hair at the base of his pelvis. You could only watch the show he was putting on for you, writhing body, sweating face, struggling arms and hands clasping around nothing, wishing they could pull your hips against his, pull you closer, have you tighter, feeling you everywhere. You pulled your top off, letting your pressed, heightened, pushed up tits fall free in his face. Letting them flop openly up and down as you rode him. He let out a disgruntled, restricted noise of yearning. The crack of his throat letting you know just how badly he wanted to feel the bouncy fat of your tits in his palms, against his face, along his tongue.
“You wanna feel, Old dog? Huh” You teased him, feeling yourself up, cupping your tits, pinching your nipples in front of him.
Muffled by your panties in his mouth, grinding his teeth hard enough to rip the flimsy fabric you could barely make out the “mhm” but you could see the feverish, delirious nod.
“Yeah, baby?” You pressed forward, letting your freed chest hang in front of him, putting one hand behind his head.
He spit your panties to the side, tongue reaching for your sweat, soft skin.
You slotted two fingers into his mouth instead, which he was quick to curl his tongue around.
“You’re so fucking dirty.” You reminded him, stealing back your spit soaked fingers and using them to circle your hungry, aching clit.
“I--I I’m gonna..” Kishibe couldn’t take the sight of you, bare before him, touching yourself on top of his cock.
You slapped him hard once more, spit and slick soaked fingers leaving his cheek sticky, “Not yet, don’t you dare cum.” You moved your hips harder, faster, nastier, dirtier.
Of course your hard treatment spills him over completely, filling you, painting your walls white. Spurt after spurt of hot, thick, pent up cum into you. You can feel him twitching inside of you, and even if you couldn’t you can see the way the veins in his neck make themselves known, emerging one after the other in his strain. The way his mouth falls open, into a full capital O, against his wishes, against his better judgement, against his knowledge of what will come after. He simply can't help himself. You’re too tight, too wet, too hot around him. He needs to fill you, he needs to spill himself free. The hour of torment leading up to this moment, the slaps, the floor, the abuse, the disgust, the way you had worked him up so much before even laying your hands on him. He needed you before he even got to the door. He needed you before he even knew you. He needed you before he even knew what he was missing.
“Oh, kishibe…”You shook your head, slowing your hips only slightly, just enough to let him catch his breath.
“I’m sorry, i’m sorry ---agh, i--”Kishibe’s head rocked back, still against the floor, barely able to find new ground to traverse behind him.
But only to just catch his breath, because you sped up once again, not caring for his overstimulation as he panted and pleaded. His chest grew red, the drool from before dried and migrated to his tear ducts, starting to well at your devious, devastating hips. You weren’t done yet, you dropped down on him again and again, circling your clit with a renewed fervor, desperate to join him. Kishibe couldn’t form words anymore, barely able to keep his eyes open, the sight of you too much when combined with the feeling of your trembling walls closing around his cock. The white circle of creamy, hot cum on his cock that peeked back at him every time you rose your hips before slotting them back down. He thought he might die. And of all the devils that had threatened his life thus far, you didn’t scare him in the slightest. He knew death at your touch would be right, maybe just even.
“You think you can cum in me without my say so? Huh?” You smacked one of his thighs hard, making his drooping eyes snap open.
Before he could speak again you pulled off him, sliding your cum leaking, oozing push across his bare chest.
“Huh?” You shouted again.
He shook his head, not willing to risk the words that would only anger you further.
“That’s right. And sense you made the mess. You’ll clean it up.”
That was the last thing he heard before you straddled his face, plopping right down onto his mouth. The positioning wasn’t graceful by any means, your knees were pressing his arms further against the floor hard, painfully so. But his tongue went to work anyway, burrowing itself into your hole, pulling out the globs of sticky spent that he had left there so carelessly. So selfishly. He couldn’t breathe, nose and mouth both covered completely by your pleasure swollen lips. He didn’t deserve to still draw breath.
Your hands pulled at his hair, the natural silver and the bleached strands cording through your fingers, exposing the darkened roots. The dark underneath him. You tugged harder, wanting to guide his hungry tongue up to your clit. But the bastard was too focused on your previous instruction, sucking his load out of you like he could render you completely untouched once more if he just worked hard enough. Realizing your tugging was useless, you rocked your hips against him, feeling the hard bridge of his nose grind against your clit, all while he licked at every inch of your vulva, from cleft of pussy lip down to the tight rim of your asshole. Finally, finally, you were feeling the build to the climax you had worked so hard for. You gasped up into the humid air, your back curving, pushing against his tongue harder. You can just barely hear him groaning underneath you, between hungry slurps.
The moans grow faster, louder, higher, you can’t stop the way your hips ride his face, you can only tug for support at his hair, and hold yourself upright as you finally tip over into your orgasm.
He feels it too, the quivering of your pussy against his tongue, the way your hips can’t move anymore, your thighs shaking against his arms. Even with his ears covered, he can hear the sweet break of your moans, the delicious honey dipped sounds of you in ecstasy. He feels his chest warm with pride, his body relax, his sensitive, over used, abused cock even twitches with interest.
Kishibe still slides his tongue gently under you, cleaning your release in real time. Every swipe of his hot tongue makes your body twitch. The glimmering euphoria falling blissfully away. Letting the dimly lit room around come back into your purview. You cast a look down to the man below you, and see his droopy, exhausted eyes. You stand slowly, Kishibe takes his first full breath in dangerously long, letting his lungs fill completely. Already mourning the loss of your weight above him. He licks his lips clean, letting his eyes close, righting his mind, and letting himself lay in his own bliss for a moment. It’s over, he knows that, so like the last, perfectly constructed bite of any meal, he savours fully.
You stepped away from him, studying his breaths, watching as his lungs and stomach expanded completely without hindrance. He was fine. The bruises would heal in a few days, there would be no lasting damage. He really wanted it harder and harder each time, you were starting to worry it would take a toll on him eventually. You don’t want to truncate his already stolen life. No matter how badly he may want you to. You pull on a robe, soft satin that cools your fevered skin, letting out a sigh at the feeling of your muscles relaxing and growing sore from your exertions. You turn back to Kishibe on the floor, he has not moved, still in his closed-eye bliss, savoring the end of your session. You kneel next to him, sliding your kinds, kindly this time, up his arms and undoing his binds. He moans a bit at your touch, he really is so sensitive. Your fingers are soft over the indentions in his wrists, massaging the angry, reddened skin. He opens his eyes now, starting to sit up and you help him, offering support that is more energetic than it is physical, moving on hand down his back, feeling where your heels had pressed in hard, still not bounced back to smoothness completely. He breathes heavily, the move to sitting making his head spin slightly.
You hold his neck, not pressing hard to guide him, but holding firm to support him were he to topple forward or back.
“Kishibe.” You pose softly.
He hums in response, moving to tuck his flaccid cock back into his pants.
“You’re okay? Does it hurt too much anywhere?”
Kishibe lets out a sigh before looking at you. His wall hasn’t completely gone up yet, his black eyes have not yet become still and unmoving, they are instead unending and fluid, as though they could draw you in further and further, in perpetuity into the universe.
“No, baby. I’m okay.” He gives a small smile, or at least one edge of his mouth does.
“Okay.” You nod, giving a soft smile back, and stand to retrieve the water glasses.
“Got anything stronger?” He raises his eyebrows a bit, but accepts.
“I’ll fill your flask, but drink that first.” You sip your own, happy to see his personality is unbruised.
He sips, watching you as you dig in his coat pocket and find the silver flask he always carries. You look so much softer when you aren’t working on him. You cheeks fuller, your figure plusher, like he could rest on any part of your body and sleep sounder than he had in decades. He wondered what your bed felt like, if it smelled like your perfume, or if it had a scent completely unknown to him, its own atmosphere untouched by clientele, completely your own.
“So, long day today?” You asked, filling his flask with the bottle of whiskey you kept on hand for sessions, but was exclusively reserved for your current company.
Kishibes soothed his thumb over each wrist, sipping the water down again, and hummed in affirmation again.
“Lotta devils, not a lot of hunters, same old story.” He shrugged.
You nodded, you would never know all of the complexities of his work, but you knew enough to count yourself lucky for that. You didn’t want to know the horrors of the place you called home, as long as you knew he was out there watching your block, you considered yourself safe enough. You screwed on the top of the flask, tipping it once to make sure it was sealed. And you poured two glasses over ice, the flask would be for his trip home. You brought it to him, alongside a warm, wet towel. He accepted the drink gratefully, swallowing the last drops of his water before indulging.
“Want me to, or you want to?” You offered him the rag.
“You.” Kishibe put his hand around yours and pressed the rag to his chest, your hand in between.
Your hands together cleaned any lingering bits of filth from his chest, his stomach, his hips, his face. You worked carefully over his cheeks, it’s long scar getting reverent attention. Kishibe let you wash his face yourself, but watched you closely. Feeling his breath return, the aches setting in to his muscles, his joints, his jaw had started to ache, his back would need some time to heal. You ran the damp cloth of his bottom lip, seeing where he had bitten it raw, giving a tender dab of warm water.
“I’m sure the whiskey will keep it clean, huh?” You hoped he would laugh.
He didn’t but he smiled. Kishibe was more focused on how your eyes had changed. Full and big and soft and wet, the sharp analytical gaze that you kept during your session had faded completely. You really were so beautiful. He touched your wrist softly, stilling your hand on his cheek. Your lips part briefly, two sets of eyes meeting. THe collar of your robe has slipped from your shoulder, his chest was still bare. Your hand with the rag falls off his face, landing between your bodies. Kishibe’s other hand cups your soft cheek, running his thumb on the plump skin under your eye.
“May I?” He asks, a secret.
You nod just barely, not wanting to break the line of gaze between you. He leans in, letting his hand round your face to the back of your neck and pull you to meet him. Kishibe kisses you, soft at first. Just lips touching, then pressing enough to feel the teeth held behind. Your hands find his shoulders, pulling yourself closer to him, he moves you to the side, one hand holding your back, the other keeping your head in place for him to kiss you again, this time daring to open his mouth, wet tongue sliding against yours, waiting for your say so to progress. You give it, opening your mouth and letting him inside. Your tongues move together, old lovers desperate to meet one another once more. He holds you close against his body, you keep your hands on his shoulders, his neck, wanting to keep him here with you as long as you can. He moves you back to your original seated position, letting his lips break from yours with a soft peck.
You feel butterflies looking at him afterward, even now his kisses still surprise you. How tender he can be, how passionate he is. Kishibe really is unpredictable, you can never quite place what he is thinking. But when he kisses you, you at least know how he feels about you. He kisses you like he loves you, and for that one moment he may. You may love him right back.
“Kishibe, do you want to st---?” You hadn’t thought about the words before you spoke them.
“Same appointment next week?” He interrupts you, his wall has gone back up, you lost him.
You knew better than to ask for more. You were a professional, and you wouldn't lose out on one of your best customers just because of the occasional incredible kiss. This was enough. Having him here, giving him the release and the security he needed, only for an hour or two at a time was enough.
“Of course. Next week, same rate. Page me if you need anything specific.” You nodded.
Kishibe kissed the side of your head, “Sure. Thank you.”
He stood, finding his shirt on the floor and began to dress himself. You sipped your own drink, watching him.
Wow can you believe it, I wrote ANOTHER fic about a big bad killer begin a little freak who wants to be slapped around and dominated. I wont rest until ever brutal anime old man is made into a sniveling, weak bitch. I hope y'all liked this nasty little treat! Back on my kishsibe bullshit. Enjoy, Love Y'all, keep it freaky.
--Doodle
Creatures of nightmares that crawl from nothing to land he's dealt with for so long, he himself bounded to those, unthinkable abilities he wields; he never questioned reality. But there's an impenetrable sense of high he's in as he fixes in your softness, it doesn't feel real. It's peaceful, he thinks that is what dreaming is.
— Kishibe finds his demise not to be of devils, fiends, and wars—not even of death
On routine, that's how Kishibe's life was, all the same everyday. Even in the unusual situations with his job, all the same as well; natural. He's not sick of it, no. He's just....bored. Sure, he gets laid most of the time, but that, too, was routine. Funny thing to say for an old man like him, who has nothing going on in his life, on purpose, chooses to be.
Though just to say the least, he's quite getting sick of the boredom. But he doesn't do anything about it, there was nothing to come across his mind. So instead, his fate did it for him.
Delivering him something new, and that something was someone—moving into the building where he lives, in the top floor he's in, no less. In a building where it looks so lonely because it was a bit far away from the city and only a few buildings were surrounded by the place. It's literally lonely, one could say, because there are only three tenants in it and he's already included among them--and said three tenants don't know each other, let alone have crossed paths before. He preferred it that way.
For probably enough time that one could bear until they went mad, it was like that.
Until it was broken off by you.
And what's new is that you're there standing in the elevator with enough bags that one could carry sitting on the floor.
You know each other. He knows you. Only a few years younger late when you got in the division from him. Never worked with you but still knew of each other. One of the reasons is because you're known in the division, respected rather. A few of the primes, same like him. But that is until you switched to working in the office rather out in the field, still you were esteemed. That was all he knew. He never paid much attention to trivial things anyway; not unless it was something he should be concerned about.
"Kishibe?" You voiced, eyebrows furrowed.
"L/N." He replied, voice ever nonchalant.
As you stepped out of the elevator, he took a few of your bags from the floor as you did and you didn't say anything to it. No such thing as shyness or awkwardness between two grown people like you, let alone that you know of each other.
"So you're the one living here?" You asked, both of you walking in the long hallway.
"And you're moving."
"Guess we weren't both told then."
"That's the rule anyway."
Confidentiality was the top rule of the apartment, no introductions, not even background checks or anything. Closed off and expensive. That piques his interest, just a little though.
Though what you both find odd—even a little amusing is how you didn't even get to see each other when the two of you figure that of the day you checked out the place. And only now. What coincidence, you supposed.
Of you seeing how he was the only one living on the floor, you spoke your thoughts. "...And I suppose you being the only one here on this floor is ruined by me." You chuckled a little.
"Doesn't seem so bad." He answered just as easily and simply. Any other time back then, he wouldn't have liked this, it would have made his eyes sharp and lips fell even lower....but today, he's not gonna complain.
You nod, a small curve of your lips turning up. "...That's good to know," you say and not a second later, you arrived at your door. "....Well, thank you."
Kishibe laid the bags inside on the floor just as you opened the door, "Hmm," he just voiced before going his way.
This didn't deter you or anything, seeming to know that he's always been that.....rather reserved, you could say....anyone will, actually.
And as you went on to fix your things up, you thought of the man. That you were surprised to see him, much more that he lives here. You weren't bothered by it...just surprised—rather curious to what comes next.
This was him after all, the prime of the primes. The so reserved man, so as you now find new (the place he lives at could say a lot already) but suppose that's normal for his age, close to your age rather and especially in the kind of work you both have, let alone his.
"Shouldn't this be interesting?" You say to yourself just as you folded the last bag to its place. Something new is what you came here for anyway,
As night has come, you made dinner not only for yourself but as well.....well, Kishibe. You'll be living closely for such a time and it's always right to give something for your neighbour. Though at the back of your mind, you can't help but think, does he even cook? eat for himself properly? It encouraged you more to give him something. Be it as a nature of a mother, and who was once a wife, you believe.
So late of the night when the time has come that the devil hunters usually go home from work, specifically in his rank—a few minutes after that said time, you went out from your apartment to head over his. Walking down the hallway, holding the small and still heated ceramic pot. As you reached the door, you knocked, successfully.
Seconds later, the door opened to show the man, looking a bit tired more than usual, just out from his coat but still in his attire, white shirt messily opened and hair ragged.
A view that your has your dryspell suddenly almost waking violently.
Tampering that invasive thought as immediately it hit you—"I'm sorry if I disturbed but I made you something as a gift of me moving in, I suppose." You spoke, putting up the pot slightly and he eyes it down.
He only said nothing but took the casserole from your hands and just hummed, walking back in, leaving the door open for you to just stand there, contemplating to leave as you figured the man was much more....him than he was.
Then you heard him speak, his usual voice that was gruffly. "Beer?" Coming from the kitchen.
You almost chuckled in surprise, thinking for a second he'd just leave without saying anything and now he offers you beer. Daring to take that as an invitation, you went in and closed the door. "I'm fine, thank you." You answer as you follow where he was. You see him took out a glass pitcher from the fridge and was holding a glass in his other hand, pouring the water in it as he put it on the table just beside the bottled and unopened beer.
Kishibe was a bit surprised, if he admits so. He actually thought you would have gone along just like everyone does, just as he does normally. But here you are now, just at his door earlier, offering him a gift you made for him. So yes, he was surprised.
Opening the glass bottled beer, he took a light sip from it before opening the casserole that stood out on the table...well it was empty anyway. It was pasta, something he haven't had in a while, and something he'd devour in a while as he was damn hungry and haven't had dinner yet.
.....He was liking this new thing already.
The savoury scent immediately flourishes in the air, putting off the smell of masculine musk and alcohol of the place. Kishibe didn't mind, though he just went to the wide terrace that lets the wind come in strongly, you follow shortly and he leans on the railings, a cigarette already in his mouth.
You placed yourself a bit far across from where he was leaning your waist back on the railings, the sound of night faint in the background. "How long have you been living here?" You asked.
The man let out the smoke before answering, still looking ahead, "Don't exactly count it,"
You nod, looking at him for a second as you lightly chuckled, uttering a small, "Of course."
Kishibe then gave you a side glance, looking at the view again. "Why'd you choose this?"
"I wanted to be away from the city but not so far that it'll be inconvenient for me and my children, and there this place was."
It made his eyebrows furrow a bit but he wasn't looking at you, though you saw that. "They're separated from me as I'm divorced from my ex-husband....let him gain custody of them." You spoke but just stopped there, not wanting to say too much.
He looks at you this time, not tearing it away. "Is that why you switched to the office?"
Trivial things....trivial things he doesn't get involved with, nor even asked questions about.....but maybe this one won't change a thing and normal he thought it was to be curious at the very moment.
"Yes," That's what you only answer, he doesn't ask more and just looked away from you. Only smoke lingers in the air, no sense of any discomfort but you're both just there.
Until you spoke again, "I'll be off now, good night." You bid as you crossed your arms over your robes and stood up straight before walking. You only hear him hum as you did.
It was the beginning of a new thing to become a routine.....one that he wouldn't be sick of.
As it was the same for you. Just after finally settling down, your new abode made, you began to get more comfortable in the place. That meant with your neighbour. Well, maybe not so much but just enough to give him what you cook when you have time to make such meals at night. Just enough to let yourself in his place as every time you brought him something. Always in the terrace, the man will always smoke and drink his beer or just from his flask, and you'd just be there, not talking of anything but work, at least after a few nights then you both began speaking of said work, all the ordeals you go through...but still words were only kept short and few and just only that.
.
.
Stacked papers in your hands piled up on your arms as you're in the elevator, just walking out of it when it reaches your floor. Just as you're halfway in the hallway, Kishibe walks out of his place and he stops when he sees you, looks at his watch then back to you, not even fazed with the countless papers you have.
This makes you chuckle, slowing down. "Yes, my office was quite busy this afternoon because of the new recruits and what happened in the city." You spoke, Kishibe barely tuts his head, knowing how paperworks after hunting, its casualties and much more that comes with it—can be a bitch.
Figuring that with how late it is and the fact the man has been getting his dinner from what you've been giving him lately—you asked simply. "Are you getting dinner?"
That and maybe getting laid, he's had a damn day after that shit happened in the city. But maybe not tonight after all.
Kishibe took some of the papers and folders from you and began to walk towards your door. "What are you making?"
Your lips curved slightly, "Harako Meshi, been a while since I've had it and my friend gave me sake, so I figured."
Kishibe doesn't think there's been a second for him to think that he hasn't liked it every time you bothered him ever since you showed up. Yeah, he can't see that he'll be getting sick of this thing soon.
There he smokes on your balcony just as he laid the papers and folders on the table in the living room. And you're already in the kitchen just after you changed into a more comfortable clothes....a clear view of you as you work.
Your space was much more different from his ( Untouched and just left how it was. Dull. ) you damn turned the place upside down, one wouldn't think this one room was inside a soulless building. It reeks of home.
Home. He's unfamiliar with that since he was young and until now, let alone of the very word.
Kishibe sought to think how someone like you could still be in this kind of life. And he thought he's thinking enough, so he turned to the view and took a long drag.
You weren't oblivious to his stare, it doesn't bother you. Clear was how you hear his unspoken thoughts, it doesn't bother you as well.
As you continue to work in the kitchen, you thought....how long it must have been for him since he's been in a home.....to feed well. A part of you smiles in daring to hope to give him a taste of it...no matter how...cruel it was if one were to see it in the other way. Give the satiated man he knows he doesn't...wouldn't...couldn't have.
Your conscience lies in just doing something nice for him.
You begin to prepare the table and Kishibe walks in, unhesitantly bringing some of the things you made on the table and the sake, of course. Now there you both are sitting across from each other and started to eat.
"I've heard that you'll be training the two recruits." You spoke.
Kishibe nods as he continues to eat—he really was damn glad he didn't go out. "Two fiends, nothing I can't handle."
"I'm sure." You spoke mindlessly....then you speak again. "She's planning something, isn't she?"
"She's always planning something."
That much was unfortunately and thankfully known. "Teach the boy well."
"I'll give him hell."
"You better."
You two didn't even miss a beat. Kishibe's lips almost quirked as he drank. It was...quite...good to know that there lies an agreement between the dangerous notion. Nothing but truth in your voice as you speak every time....expectedly rare in the life of you both live.
"You stayed even if the cause of your separation is because of it." He spoke, no tone of anything but just his own voice.
Again, you were quite surprised as he said that, clearly not expecting him to take any interest, let alone even a bit of curiosity from him. But you didn't show it, nor were you offended by what he asked.
"Because this way, I can still protect them without risking my life so much like before and not worry them anymore."
Of course.
"You and Quanxi were a loss to both the divisions." He'll give you that much.
And you were proud for that one. "We're all lucky that they let me switch without anything in return and that you remained to shoulder all the shit."
He couldn't agree more.
Now you both are done eating, with you fixing up the table and Kishibe on your balcony once again smoking—before you join him, nothing but the distant sounds of the city.
"Hayakawa?" You asked.
"Close."
"Have you warned Himeno?"
"He's set straight to it. Screws all lose."
You took a sharp breath from your nose as you looked up at the sky. "Kind boy," you spoke mindlessly.
Kishibe just hums as he let out his smoke. Silence came in and it was welcomed..a few more while, his cigarette ran dry....and there he bids. "Good night," and you just stood there still ahead to the view and him not sparing a glance as he spoke.
Normal night, you supposed.
.
.
Work was work. Walking in the corridors in the division, headed to your office...Kishibe was there walking in your opposite direction. As you both continue to walk, no glances were made but kept straight. A few times in that and left in the back of your minds.
And now he walks in the elevator of the apartment just as you did earlier seconds ago.
"You making something?" he asks as the elevator closes. It seems he likes your cooking more than you thought.
You hum, nodding. "Vegetable curry."
Kishibe raises his brow, "At night?"
You chuckle a little, "It seems so."
He just hums.
As you now cook in your kitchen, the door is left opened for the man who is still yet to come.
The mixture of the night in your home was the aroma of the dish, cigarette and alcohol. It was welcomed nonetheless.
.
.
For some fucking reason...Kishibe hasn't had sex for a while...well...ever since you moved in, that is. And he's a simple man but dumb...he knows the reason why; you. Some reason, huh.
Blind. The notion coming as unexpected...maybe...but is it really unexpected...really?
After all, what is to be expected when two grown people share the same floor together, what is to be expected when each night they share dinner together...what is to be expected when those two persons have some needs and those needs untouched?
Yeah, you. You've been...having thoughts about the man, you weren't bothered by it...if anything, again, you deemed it normal...and you aren't denying it as well. The man is fucking appealing. You know you can't blame yourself for it and you don't. But of course, that doesn't mean you'd act upon it. You are in need, needy, sure...maybe even aching but you have your....yes—your pride.
Oh, you're well aware that there lingers something in the air, it's palpable but still subtle...however hidden, it's there and you feel it. You both do.
But what does Kishibe do? Nothing. Went with his day and night like his mind hasn't thought of running his cock through a certain fucking someone. He's not exactly sure of what's keeping him from doing the exact thing.
But what's not keeping himself from doing is letting his hand go down on him, his free hand loosening his tie as he sits back on his couch lazily. Hardened length straining so tight against his boxers and black slacks.
"Hmghm..." He groans. That sinful sound...that rumbles through his chest so good even with his lips just closed. Kishibe took his already lit cigarette from the ashtray on his table, taking a long drag as he continues to palm himself. His fingers firmly pressing on his clothed cock.
He let out the smoke from his mouth. Pent up heat in him almost leaving along with the smoke, staring to nothing at the ceiling, his eyes clearly seeing your tempting figure. Engraved you were in his mind, he can thank himself for always letting his eyes linger on you, taking you all in when he stands on your balcony as you cook in your kitchen. Not turning his gaze away anymore ever since his...needs gotten the best of him and satisfied his eyes.
With one hand, he unhooked his belt and took seconds to free his aching cock, standing proud and leaking already. Kishibe closed his eyes, his head still laid back on the couch, exhaling deeply once his fingers wrapped on his base...allowing whatever was enabling him to feel it as your own fingers, it slides down so slowly, the closed palm confining his cock so warm and good, what he has been depriving of.
Your hands....your hands that moves fluidly when you handle your cooking, his mind flashing him visions that your hands are on his cock whenever he's there in your balcony.
Kishibe takes another long drag as he continues to suffocate his cock, still so slow, up and down, a strained groan this time as he slowly let out the smoke, eyes still closed. Feeling your hand go a bit fast now. Sweat and pre coating his length and your plush skin, it makes his chest start to rise and fall now. Droplets of sweat gathering on his skin and it drips down from his neck to his chest and down to his abdomen.
A rhythm being found. Still not that fast but enough...so enough to build fire in him as you circle your closed palm on him up and down, all while you run your thumb on his tip every time.
.....The fuck you do to him...penting him up just by watching you cook there...a humanly ritual...a domestic act...one he was barely familiar of and he's getting all hot about it. The cigarette he takes is blameless for it, but what he's familiar of humanly ritual...is need.
And what he needs is release.
Kishibe's throat strains as he hums an animalistic growl as the ministrations on his cock continues. The pace still the same but filling in his peak slowly, and he likes it that way. Just as how the alcohol he drinks burn slowly in him. He savours it each and every time, just like right now, Kishibe feels you take your sweet time fisting him hard and steady. His tip continuously leaking, leaking more each time the pads of your fingers would go over his tip and press on it.
He held his cigarette with two fingers as that same hand reached out to get his glass on the table. Taking a drink of his whiskey as your hand never stops on him. Fucking hell...that flaring smoke of his cigarette, the alcohol, the burning waves from his straining cock, it engulfs him, enough...more than enough to send any being into euphoria. Deep and long groans rumbles from him as he feels it all, his throat and all the way down, burns. Clenching him.
However he was drowning in fire already, however enough it was...he wants more...he wants more than your hand. So what he does is grab the crown of your head and make you take his cock into your mouth, fingers gripping your hair to guide you in. Lips sliding against his thick and long length, tongue flat above him, the walls of your mouth and the end of your throat. "Fuck." Kishibe growls, the glass got put down on the table too hard that it might have cracked, his cigarette almost falling from his fingers.
Gurgled sounds vibrates through him and he hears it, he hears you. His grip on your hair strong as ever so as to keep the pace going, fast and hard, he assaults your mouth, his drips spilling to your tongue, down to your throat. His peak long gone from burning tantalizingly slow and turned to wildfire, overflowing, his hips now twitching, rising to make the pressure he gets in your mouth stay. Kishibe feels your breath going away as he doesn't let you breathe but just continues to hold your hair so tight, still making you take him. He can't lose his end...so whatever what was left in him is now gone as he moves his hips to fuck your mouth better. Slowly he does while he makes yours only faster and harder if it's still possible.
"Mhmgr fuck..." His growling sounds never stops as it continues, his hips slapping to you, abusing your mouth with his cock again and again. It didn't take much longer for him to see his release; all of him strongly clenched as his cock stilled in you, reaching the end of your throat, he feels it go down while his cum flows in you. The cigarette on his fingers now being crushed in his hand as he closed his fist so tight, the burning pain on his skin was nothing as he stays in his high, cock flinching in you while his lower body continues to slowly move against you to feel it all.
"Mgrhm…” It's what echoed in his walls continuously, his chest slowly comes down from its rising and falling, shirt soaked with sweat, hair falling with droplets of it as well.
"Kishibe."
He hears you call out to him from your kitchen. Dead eyes, he looks to you. "I think you wasted your cigarette." You nod to his cigarette on his hand...and as he now noticed, realized—it was crushed by his strongly closed fist, burning his skin once more. Kishibe opened his hand, showing his long before scarred flesh now freshly tainted...bits of its remains falling...because he was thinking of having your hand on his cock and fucking your mouth last night when he was only doing it by himself.
His thoughts long left to ashes the moment he stood in your balcony once again this night.
He needs to end this. He will have you soon.
Anticipation fills you. You know one way or another something will happen, you don't know when but you know it's hanging on by a thread...it has your heart racing...and your cunt beating.
The air of the night was fucking thick as you eat together.
And it's getting thicker with each passing second as the morning comes. It had to be fucking Saturday, where it's both your day off. But thankfully...as fucked up as it's sounds, you'd be luckily distracted as your two children will come over in the afternoon. And hopefully, he won't be in his place or anything to not cross paths with him today. The last thing you want right now is to see him at the moment...some part of you knows that if you do—it would be not too different from your thoughts.
But even that, of course...us creatures are nothing to the will of time; just another words to say it ended how one would normally expect. Bumping into each other...well, not exactly that, maybe worse than it. With him walking into your place with your two children walking in front of him.
The moment you heard a heavy footsteps along with a light and rapid ones, your eyebrows furrowed as you took a few steps aside to see who it was and you almost dropped the tray of freshly baked cookies from your hands as your eyes met his.
It took you not even a second to figure out the reason what's happening right now; you let your children just play around and inevitably went out of your place to go and play around on the floor. Either they knocked on his door or ran into him—either way, you knew your children likes to be friendly...and that says a lot, given how only a few children would approach a man like Kishibe.
You should have known better.
Though what could you have done to avoid it from happening, anyways. Finding your composure inside of you. "Tell me they just ran into you and didn't knock on your door." You spoke, laughing lightly as you went back to work.
"They knocked," Kishibe answers simply, as always.
"Yes, of course." You nod as a little laugh escapes you once more. Setting the cookies on the cooling rack. The sounds of your children in the background as Kishibe now stood in your kitchen, leaning the back of his waist on the counter, his eyes on you.
You were glowing...he hasn't noticed that before. He's sure he hasn't heard you laugh that much as well, probably normally because of your children...something is gotta be wrong with him...no, that's just his...desires that's making him notice.
You could strangle yourself right now, maybe even do something worse, because what the fuck is his problem staring at you while you're trying your best to not even so much show an ounce of waver in your composure and you know he knows what he's doing. What the fuck is he even gonna do here?
...Yeah, your mind was all over the place and that has rarely happened before, almost never. Yet you can't find the urge...the guts to ask him why he's staying right now this time.
Instead, you fucking ask him if he wants coffee, he just nods as he took one of your cookies.
Maybe...he stayed for your cookies
You almost bash your head on the counter as the thought occurred.
The kettle made its noise and you made your coffees. "You gonna have them over for dinner?" He asked.
"Hmm, yes," you answer. But you hesitate to ask if he'll join.
"What are you making?" he asks once more. Your lips quirked as your mouth is now close to your cup. Well, you didn't have to worry about that after all.
"Pasta. It's their favourite." You spoke. And Kishibe remembers the night you gave him that dish. He still has the taste at the end of his tongue when he lets you in his door, he cannot wait to taste it again.
Which he does as the night falls, with your children across from both of you as your besides each other this time. The laughter of you and your children...it's nice. Pasta and among other things he can barely remember the names of, nonetheless he eats so well. Lots of it tastes unfamiliar and yet it's so welcoming...he wants more of it.
Kishibe's mind is stirring, the smoke is fogging his mind, so as he believes....or something must be in your food—he's really losing it.
And through his silence with only little of his words, through his eyes with your subtle glances besides him; you see through him. It almost worries you...you really gave him a taste of it. Where it goes from here next, you don't know but possibilities, of course, runs in your mind...more possibilities.
And it fueled even more when you caught a glimpse of his eyes when you got embraced and kissed by your ex-husband as he arrived to pick up your children...and Kishibe met your gaze as your former lover did.
The mere act alone...nothing needed to be said more.
The night hangs quiet when your children goes with their father, with Kishibe still there with you. If it was possible, the beating of your heart could echo loudly in your place as you fix up the table, with him following you to do the same, it's the first time he helped you with it. It's enough to say what it could possibly mean.
The glasses in your hand clang against one another as your said hand trembles a little to lay it down in the sink, while he walks close to you to put the plates in it as well. You're both so close to each other. He towers over you. Kishibe only stands there as you did, his eyes looming above and behind you, his breathing turning deep that it was now heard in the deafening silence.
He can have you right there and then. Be relieved of his insanity.
Yet instead he speaks, "How long has it been since you sparred?"
Your mouth has already exhaled a light laugh before you could stop yourself. "It has...been quite some time."
In his mind, what he's to do could compensate for what he doesn't yet—"Why? You gonna run my memory?"
Before you know it, you're trapped by the counter and him, the edge of a knife on your throat, your hand on his wrist firmly—your eyes dead on him in sheer stun, laced with thin provocation. Seeing his gaze doesn't change at all; it was more maddening. "You doubted me." You at last utter in a calculating disbelief, your fingers tightening around his grip.
Kishibe lives by your nerves resonating through him, they're loud and strong because of him. It feeds him. "I wondered." He spoke, still having the blade directly on you.
You don't feel anything from him but now that the proximity grants you to fully look him in the eyes, you can finally see he's burning.
The evidence is more worrying than the weapon dying for your throat.
"That's wounding." You breathe.
"Everything is."
You only scoff at his reply, before your other free hand swiftly went to get another knife of his from one of his pocket and aimed it for the side of his head—only for him to stop it by his hand that once trapped you, his hold just effortlessly firm, barely a strength to keep you from driving the blade in his brain.
Even when you never worked together, your reputation has never doubted you and that he can see now right in front of him.
"Proof enough?" You ask.
Not enough of you.
He only huffed a short hum. Just like that, he retracts the knife against you and that you held against him. "Good night."
Not now. Not yet. The burning in him, he wants to feel it more before anything.
The exchange has you falling to your knees as your hands weakly hold on the sink. A warning for what's to come more.
What deprivation can do to a being.
Yes, indeed what it can do to a being; it has Kishibe filling his glass with whiskey, trying to wash away whatever he's thinking, whatever he's feeling. But no matter how many downs he takes, it doesn't go away, it won't, it can't. Especially not when the sight of you and your ex-husband...lovingly held each other, even when it was short, it was undeniable there was.....love between you both still. He doesn't know the bits of your remaining relationship with your ex-husband, but he sees well enough that there isn't something between you both....and yet, when he saw that sight, it bothered him, something went off.
Another man clinging to you like that, it comes crashing down. It's getting ridiculous. He's gonna turn into ashes if he continues to let this burn.
Icarus' wings could only bear so much of the sun after all.
.
.
The day is going too fucking slow and it's driving you crazy. You're at work and you haven't even had a glimpse of him in the apartment nor at work. Just what is happening to you, acting like a damn puppy who can't seem to keep it in. It has you tired as you come home. Heels heavy as you walk through the corridors, eyes lingering to his door as you pass by.
You were left nowhere but to wait. So wait you did. Your door left open—you begin to prep for dinner after taking a long time under the water, composure building up again all while. But of course, your mind was still somewhere else, your insides never stopping of its fluttering as you mindlessly go.
By doing that, it was only a mere expectation of yours for it to now actually happen.
Though a complete lack on your part, really, that even with years of being a hunter and still having whatever you've learned and throughout all the years even when you switched from being one—you missed that someone has walked in your place.
Now you find yourself suddenly dropping the knife you were washing, the water left running as you felt a strong presence loom behind you. You stood there unmoving, breath caught in your throat the moment you felt it. Felt him.
The seconds turned slow but your heart was the opposite being filled with...thrill. "Kishibe." A breathless murmur echoes faintly but he hears it greatly and there comes his rope snapping. Your voice that's been plaguing him, it finally mutes everything.
Kishibe laid his hand on your right arm and the other around your waist as he pulled you tightly close against him, immediately meshing his fingers on your belly. Your breath being taken away from you again. He won't say he can't believe what's happening because he expected the boundness when he grew close to you.
His hand on your arm has been rising up, rough palm on your skin, his grasp heavy; feeling the softness of the fat on your arm to your shoulder, kneading you there with his mouth heated on the side of your forehead. "Been too long." In a low breath he says as he continues to tightly caress on your shoulder, before going down to slip under your dress then slipping his fingers in your bra, his thumb and index finger now playing with your nipple, the rest of his palm fondling your breast.
Creatures of nightmares that crawl from nothing to land he's dealt with for so long, he himself bounded to those, unthinkable abilities he wields; he never questioned reality. But there's an impenetrable sense of high he's in as he fixes in your softness, it doesn't feel real. It's peaceful, he thinks that is what dreaming is.
"I think it's just about time." You merely replied, finding your hand relying firmly on his nape, as the other reaches for the faucet to stop the running water while he goes on. Your waked mind still there before you let yourself go in a haze later.
Kishibe ghosts his face down on the side of yours, his nose breathing you in so much before he opens his eyes and looks at your lips—then to your gaze.
He feels foolish again but he feels it more so the more he thinks about it, so he just simply kisses you now.
It has been too long.
It's humorous; a simple kiss making you want to fall on your knees.
The remnants of cigarette and whiskey you're now familiar with, you can taste with mouths being held together, and he begins with mildly sucking you. His hand that was groping on your belly trails up to your neck, pushing his mouth to yours even more as he drags it open—only to suck your lips once again out of hunger that he spills freely, swallowing roughly each kiss he takes after the other, soaking his dry mouth with you—only then he uses his tongue against yours, tangling on one another, roaming it inside you, swimming his tongue in whatever saliva that gathers in your mouth. Dragging you in.
A simple kiss.
So much for it when you pull away before you could no longer breathe—your chest heaves, lips parted with air heavily leaving in and out of you. He's no different; gaze darkened as blown, you could almost hear the growl that threatens to echo from him, his grip creasing on your neck to your nape and he turns you around to face him. He pushes you just slightly to put the back of your waist against the edge of the sink, leaning his body down so he's levelled to you.
The hand of yours on his neck slides to lay it on the side of his face, it's the first time you're looking at each other this long, for more than five seconds directly, let alone this close, gazes straight through your souls. Kishibe always looks at the person he talks to straight at them without falter, and you've seen that having him done it to you only a few times, before you both always turn your eyes away as the days kept going. Now you see all of him as he allows himself.
A voracious kiss.
When has a man been so…..desperate?
When have you ever been so wanting? Shameless; rapid, messy, strong, wet.
Drowning in need you seek. Your sex has long gone weeping in your panties. Kishibe’s throbbing cock only soothed by the tightness of his clothes below, even as he was starting to drip of his own arousal, he just left it before he took you up to lay your back on the counter after suffocating your lungs in that kiss, simply pushing off the things that's there and shattered on the floor but never parting his mouth away from you, from your face, your neck, to your chest and belly while his hands took off your undergarments below as he goes down more.
It's incomprehensible. Your fate that brought you upon him, that has led to a path of the Kishibe barely on his knees to finally have a taste of your pussy. The feeling of his mouth and tongue latched on your cunt the first second was already the last thread of your hold on your existence. That hold became your fingers wading through his hair, thighs already trembling in his tight grasp, sounds of pleasure etched to your erratic breathing.
Kishibe is not at all rough when he began—subdued; each kiss he gives, each suck he takes is heavy. He doesn't want to rush. He has suffered to simply hurry and not feel every thrum he could get. His wide and long tongue flat on your whole mound, drinking your slick with each drag he licks, his stubble grazing against the hair and flesh of your cunt.
There's no words from you both, it doesn't exist. Only flesh and unruly power that conjured from your desires. Only the sounds of a hungry man one with his devils as he feeds.
It begins to rise more, the fire your body collects, his ceaseless hunger. Your grip on his hair deepening. The grind of your hips for your cunt to ride his face. The unstoppable tremble of your limbs as you move against him, thighs barely clutching to his head despite his hurtful grip to keep your sex tact to him. The repeating shock and clenching of your pussy with each spit he threw. His mouth nor breath not once waver until he gave your end, only for him to take it out of you again and again. All numb, nerves just wildly spiking everywhere within you—pussy left raw and still weeping, throat dry and eyes in tears.
However his boundless hunger, his mouth is at least given a little bit of your pussy for now for it to be enough and move next. So Kishibe then stood up, your tearful eyes following. It remains unreal to you. His lips so red, half of his face soaked. He swipes his thumb on his cheek, jaw and to his chin, catching what drips from his mouth of the myriad of your cum and swallowed it like the rest. Before that same hand ran over his dishevelled wet hair, and simply took off his tie in one go. Eyes kept on one another the whole moment.
You no longer own your breath….the sounds you've been making…the fog clears more, blinking the tears away, the coldness of the metal in spite of all the heat, your dress clinging on your skin, drenched with sweat; there's a little of shame that seeps back in you.
But you don't turn away from his gaze. Kishibe holds it. You follow him. It took you that long to make a decision. Desirably, you accept it.
Amusing as it is for Kishibe seeing you unfold, he doesn't know how much longer he could stand to not just fuck you senseless. The sound of his belt snapping as he took it off from his pants wakes you up. “Done being in your head?”
Coherent words exist again. You tirelessly breathe out a little laugh, “Barely.” You keep cursing in your head and they're louder now as he frees himself.
He couldn't help the tut on the edge of his lips when he saw the fleeting look of stun from you once he now held his cock. “Just about time, huh?” he plainly taunts as he spits on his palm before he strokes himself.
It has been so long. And he's damn big.
“Fuck you.” You scoffed.
Kishibe swears there was laughter that swirled inside him but didn't reach his mouth. Only the strain in your breath as his left hand gave your still drooling cunt attention again, your body involuntarily tensing before easing again while he slid two of his thick fingers in and barely loosened you up for just mere seconds.
The bits of pain remains treads you on edge, expecting it to double soon. His blood prevails to course so explosively.
You both expected it, nonetheless still by the skin of teeth when Kishibe grazed his cock in. Your walls a soaked and snug furnace, barely halfway—”Fucking,” he trailed off in a mutter, the fingers of his left hand digging on your thigh, the other lightly choking your throat. Each trudge he makes fill the fullness of your cunt takes. It's plain insanity.
“Just about time, huh?” You get back, barely.
Kishibe's laugh is at last freed. It really is madness. It was just an air of laugh, teeth shown; it was priceless. One that you beheld before he just plunges in with no more room left for hesitation. “You fucking—” you growled after he slammed into you, your sudden glare sharply closing as your body took in that shocking goodness against the pain.
“This is nothing yet.”
It is.
It was.
But once again when he began, it's slow and kept. The sting that drags melts more to tight fondling sensations from every thrust he pushes deep in your pussy. You didn't think you would have had a cock fuck you to be this staggering, render you brainless—or more so believe it that's it now happening after having……fantasized of it. Kishibe's cock feeds your pussy so well. You keep him in too well. Soon then again, his abilities are not held back and it's just quite pitiful how you're holding back to not just already break and cum for the nth time. It doesn't matter to him, not really—he wants nothing more than to wring you empty for him.
That's just what he does. He let it go by unsaid as he kept fucking you, making you break no sooner. Your mind barely comprehends he's kissing you as your cum spills and he's still ramming again and again, not making you ride your high, letting his drool make a mess on your mouth again.
You don't stop him however, nor you could in your state. And when he reaches his first end, how is it still possible you break more? Kishibe's left hand holding a death grip on the edge of the counter above your head once he stilled deep inside you, his pulsing cock floods your pussy of his cum. Much of it. He'll be moulding you to a greedy creature in no time, meeting his own ruin. Eyes mirroring too clearly upon one another. You're far gone than you'd have thought you'd be with him, and you don't want to ever go back.
Kishibe has long made that decision before he invaded your home tonight.
The high strongly lingers, still burrowing himself in you before he slowly moves and relives that beating high again. Thick drools of hotness webs in your walls that keeps you full even as he pulls out entirely and seeps out from your folds.
Still raging and barely satiated even after having much of it.
Your kitchen is a mess and reeking of sex. He takes you standing and bent over the counter after, easily holding you up as he railed you like so, drenching your cunt again with his cum. Keeping his prowess in his wield, when he just carried you to your living room after and had you on his lap as he sat on a couch. Your clothes finally ripped off of you and had you bare as you rode him while he watched and felt the glory. Remnants of your sex left on the couch when he took yourselves to your bedroom, taking you again with your face buried in the sheets, back arched for him as he fucked you from behind. And when you both break again, he doesn't stop, instead loomed himself over your back and still delved his cock in and out endlessly while cum flows out messily, your loud moans strained from his hand squeezing your throat and head deep on the bed.
Even as the dawn rises, Kishibe remains. No end in sight.
inspired from that one scene from the film The House That Jack Built (tho reader gets a better outcome, all things considered)
Kishibe x female!reader
Warnings: noncon, smut, fingering, groping, kidnapping, captivity, sexual harassment, mentions of gore, mentions of death
Word Count: 13.9k
The bar that you worked at just so happened to be situated close to the main office of the devil hunters, and as a result, a fair amount of your clientele were those same people who worked in Public Safety, usually the ones that were just getting off work and were in desperate need of a drink after spending a work shift witnessing countless horrors.
Despite your job as a bartender not coming close in terms of what they went through, you saw a lot just from witnessing the state they were in when you served them: the exhaustion that had seeped into their bones after they would sit down and the far-off gazes as they relived whatever fresh hell they'd been through before downing the rest of their drinks before calling you for another. Sometimes there were even entrails that covered them which you needed to clean up; it was only possible to do so once you held a spare rag up to your mouth and nose while keeping the dustpan as far away from you as possible before you deposited the remains in the dumpster at the back, after which you would quickly scurry away, eager to escape the awful smell.
It'd be easy to be annoyed with them for things like that, but you kept yourself in line by reminding yourself that they were the ones killing the devils so people like you could live in relative safety. If the price for that was sometimes needing to clean up something gross, you could live with that.
And certainly the last thing the exhausted hunters needed was someone nagging at them about a mess.
You got used to the changing faces, of those who either left or those who had died in the line of duty. More often than not, they simply stopped coming in with no explanation, which was a good indication that they were dead, as the ones who would quit usually ended up telling you their life story: why they got into devil hunting, what had happened since that point and why they now wanted to leave. You would listen – they didn't really want much engagement from you, just for someone to hear them out. At the end of it, the hunter would usually slam down their glass and declare that they were going to quit before heading out the door and you never saw them again.
Though there were often times when they would softly put down their empty glass and decide that they needed to keep with it despite the hardship. The irony that followed was that sometimes those hunters who decided to keep going didn't come in after that.
Even though you could make a good guess as to what had likely happened, you preferred to tell yourself that they had changed their mind immediately after and decided to quit after all. Even if it was a lie you were telling yourself, it was nicer to imagine a happy outcome for them, a future that they could – and should – have had.
And the faces at the bar continued to change.
Except for one.
Kishibe.
During the entirety of your year and a half of working at the bar, the biggest constant was the man who called himself the strongest devil hunter and who always, always came in for a drink once his shift had finally ended.
He was an odd one, to say the least. In terms of looks, he stood out almost immediately from the other devils hunters in large part due to his blonde hair and the recognizable scar that ran from the corner of his mouth and across his left cheek. And in terms of what he was like as a person, from what you could see, his monotone way of speaking and his quiet demeanor was deemed to be unsettling to most who interacted with him. He was also constantly drinking, as on more than one occasion you saw him take a swig of that flask he always carried around right as he entered the bar and then again when he left. That, combined with how much he drank at what became his designated seat at the bar, left you thinking that the fact that his liver was still functioning at his age was nothing short of a miracle.
Speaking to him had been weird at first. You had assumed that he would be like the other hunters who came in on their own, the ones who were in a bad place and were trying to drown out the turbulent feelings inside of them by way of harsh liquor. Those ones didn't want to talk; they just wanted a drink and for you to leave them alone until they needed a refill. With your experience with other hunters and the general vibe that surrounded Kishibe, it seemed like the safest choice to keep your distance from him.
But despite your attempts at creating that space, Kishibe turned out to be eager for a chat whenever you were around.
Though the topics the two of you could discuss were limited, you slowly found yourself warming up to the veteran hunter the more you spoke with him. While it was hard to tell what Kishibe was feeling in general, the fact that he continued to seek out your company told you that, at the very least, he found you to be tolerable. Tolerable enough to ask you questions that were guaranteed to get him boring answers. You doubted that he cared much about what your day had been like before you arrived for your shift or what the results of your off-day shopping trips were; he must have just wanted to hear something about how the average person's normal day went, one that was free of hunting and killing.
Until he told you to stop or he didn't bother to ask anymore, you were happy to oblige.
At that moment, Kishibe was on his third drink, staring down at the dark liquid within the glass with the same blank expression that was always on his face. Just like the other devil hunters that were currently in the bar, he was finished for the day and was getting a few drinks before he'd head home. Though with Kishibe it definitely wouldn't be just a few, and it wouldn't end with whatever he got at the bar.
It was relatively quiet at the moment with the small bits of chatter throughout the room being contained to the tables where the other patrons sat, so there was no need to raise your voice when you spoke to him.
“Kill a lot of devils today?” you asked.
Kishibe glanced up at you before returning his gaze to the glass.
“No, nothing like that today,” he said.
“Oh? Then were you training new recruits again?”
“Some of that,” he answered plainly, “but today I was mostly dealing with paperwork.”
“Ah.”
While you weren't inclined to say paperwork was the worst thing to deal with considering that the man killed monsters for a living, you could easily see how trudging through documents and filling out papers could be an exceptionally mind numbing experience.
“I guess it's too bad that being the best devil hunter doesn't exempt you from the boring parts of the job,” you said.
He shrugged.
“It's something that inevitably comes with any sort of job,” Kishibe told you, raising the glass to his lips after.
You leaned your elbow on the surface of the bar as you asked “did the training with your students go well at least?”
“No,” he answered bluntly.
“Oh. Why not?”
Kishibe waited to reply as he took another swig of his drink before saying “they're motivated by money, which is the worst reason to join Public Safety. Not only that, but they're hopelessly weak as well, which makes training them even more of a waste of time.”
“But the point of training them is to make them stronger, right?” you asked.
“There's no point because they're not cut out for it.”
“Is that you saying that they're not crazy enough?”
“It is.”
“Ah.”
You'd heard him say that before. About how the only people who can make it as devil hunters are the crazy ones and anyone who was too sane was little more than cannon fodder. His words.
Whether or not what he was saying was correct wasn't something you could really judge, but considering how long he'd been at that job, it was possible that there just might be some truth to what he was saying, though you doubted anyone else at Public Safety would be willing to agree with his statement out loud.
“Well,” you began, “maybe they'll surprise you. Maybe they just need a bit more time.”
“Doubtful. You either are cut out for devil hunting or you aren't. And these ones aren't,” said Kishibe.
He took a cursory glance across the room before he added “they'd be more suitable for a job like this one.”
Then he looked back to you as he asked “you need any new workers?”
You shook your head.
“Unfortunately we're all good on staff, so I don't think we can take any of them,” you answered jokingly.
“I see.”
He brought the glass back up to his lips as he said “then I guess they'll be dead soon enough.”
Kishibe spoke those words in that same monotone voice, while part of you wanted to believe that he was just a fan of dark humor, you knew him well enough by now to know that he meant what he said. Whoever these students were, they must have been massively under-performing for his opinion of them to be so low.
“Have you tried talking to them about that?” you then asked.
“I have. They just see it as motivation to prove me wrong,” he said, “I'm not going to bother if all it does it encourage stupid behavior.”
“And you can't speak to anyone higher up about your concerns?”
“Very few apply to work at Public Safety in general, so they'll accept anyone without question.”
“They're that desperate for hunters?”
Kishibe nodded.
You smiled, taking the opportunity to joke as you said “maybe I should apply then, especially if they don't care much about someone's background. It'd probably pay better than what I get from this place.”
In response to that, Kishibe gave you a long, hard look, his glass held in midair as he stared at you. Though his expression remained neutral, you got the sense that he wasn't amused.
“…. I was joking,” you said, “I know that I'm not up for killing devils.”
Just like that, the slight bit of tension that had fallen on the two of you dissipated. and the air felt light once again.
“That's good,” he told you, bringing the glass to his lips before saying “you're smart in knowing your limits.”
“Unlike your students?”
“Yeah.”
With one last swig, he drained what was in the glass. The veteran devil hunter then set it down closer to you, silently asking you for a refill. You obliged, grabbing the nearby bottle you had opened for him earlier and filling up the glass until it reached the brim.
As you put the bottle back on the shelf and while he lifted the glass to his lips once again, you commented “it is nice that you're trying to look out for them.”
He stopped what he was doing, raising an eyebrow in question.
“Even though what you're saying doesn't seem all that kind, you must really be worried about them if you're that insistent that they need to quit,” you clarified, “I can only imagine how tired you are of seeing those white grave markers multiplying every time you go to that graveyard.”
The expression on his face remained blank after you said that, which, of course, made it hard to read just how he felt about your statement. But when he averted his gaze and took that sip of his newly poured drink, you took it to mean that you were correct.
Kishibe was pretty open, after all. If you were wrong, he would have said so. You felt certain of that.
“But maybe don't give up on them just yet,” you added, “like I said, they might surprise you.”
“….. I'll consider it.”
You smiled at that. That was as big of a win that you could get when it came to Kishibe, who no doubt had an issue of being stubborn due to age.
You really hoped those students would be able to prove him wrong.
There wasn't any more time to dwell on the matter, however, as a few more men walked in at that moment and took their seats at the bar, waiting to be served. The small moment that you had to chat with your most regular customer had come to a close, at least for now. Even if Kishibe spent a lot when he visited the bar, you would get in trouble if you ignored other customers in favor of speaking with him.
Even if this wasn't the greatest job in the world, you didn't want to face the terror of unemployment.
…. Was there such a thing as an unemployment devil? You'd need to ask Kishibe later, if you remembered.
It picked up quite a bit after that, with a more steady stream of patrons filling the seats and orders for drinks flowing in. As such, you were too busy to continue any form of conversation with Kishibe; the most words that were shared between the two of you were your affirmations when he called you over to refill his glass. And the hours would manage to pass in that way.
It was the same way it usually went. Another busy night where your feet would definitely be aching by the time you got back home.
It was near the end of your shift when Kishibe called you over to ask for his bill, settling up before he headed out for the night, presumably to wherever it was he called 'home'. The time he did so was as usual, as was the rather high bill he had racked up during the hours he'd spent chugging down drinks. He barely reacted to the high amount you had printed out for him, his face staying as blank as always as he fished out the amount needed from his wallet.
“Heading home?” you asked him.
“In a bit,” he said, “need to take care of something first.”
“I hope it's not work related; I doubt you'd be in any condition for late night devil murdering.”
“Even if it was, I'd be fine.”
You raised your eyebrows at that, but otherwise said nothing to disagree with him. If he noticed that reaction of yours, he chose not to comment on it as he handed you what he owed.
“You get off soon, don't you?” he then asked.
“Yeah, why?” you asked back absentmindedly as you placed the money in the register.
“Did you walk or drive here?”
“Oh, I usually walk,” you answered, “my place isn't too far away.”
“Will you be alright heading home by yourself at this hour?”
You smiled as you nodded at him, answering “I'll be fine. I've walked that route dozens of times and I've never had any issues. Plus, there's hardly anyone around this time of night.”
Kishibe nodded slowly once you answered, and while he spoke again just to say “that's good, then”, he said it more to himself than to you.
Shutting the register, you looked back to him as you asked “but what about you? Are you walking? I feel like it'd be dangerous if you got behind the wheel of a car right now.”
“I usually walk, too,” he told you, “both the business I need to take care of and my place are close enough.”
“I see. Well, I hope you have a good rest of your night.”
“Same to you.”
With nothing else to be said, Kishibe began to make his way out of the bar, remaining surprisingly steady as he walked to the door. You weren't sure if his tolerance for alcohol was something else, or if he was just really really good at pretending to be sober.
As he walked out, you noted the reactions of the other devil hunters as he passed them by. A majority of the ones who were still present stiffened when he did so, conversations turning quiet until he was out of earshot. Some were clearly nervous with him being so close. And then there were others who looked at him, trying to make eye contact so they could have some small bit of a good interaction in wishing him well for the night by way of a brief farewell.
Kishibe didn't pay attention to any of them, and when the door shut behind him, the visible tension in the nervous hunters lessened instantly, a collective sigh of relief hitting them.
Seeing that sort of reaction was another thing that had felt weird at first.
Despite the fact that he was constantly drinking, none of the other devil hunters regarded Kishibe as being an old drunken fool as you might have expected. Conversations would quiet down once he walked through the doors, anyone who had begun to get a little too rowdy cutting it out the moment they realized he was there. Kishibe wasn't interested in interacting with any of them, however. Once he had sat down, his only focus was on downing the many drinks he would order while he made conversation with you.
Those sorts of reactions were probably due to the respect that the other devil hunters felt for him. But it was respect mixed with something else:
Fear.
As you only ever saw Kishibe within the small space of the bar, you had no idea what he was truly like when he was out hunting devils. While you could make a guess of how strong he was based on his general aura and the way the others regarded him, you were limited to him when he was in that seat chugging down drinks like no tomorrow.
There was only time where you had gotten an inkling as to what he was capable of, and you hadn't even been around to witness it.
A while back and on a rare night where Kishibe was absent, a devil hunter who was relatively new to the job and had only recently started going to the bar with his colleagues made an impulsive decision when he was tipsy and had smacked you on the ass as you were walking by his table. The hit had been so hard and unexpected that you ended up dropping a tray full of drinks, and the glasses you'd been carrying shattered on the floor alongside the spilled liquor.
When you told the guy to get out he scoffed at you, and at that moment there wasn't much you could do other than clean up the mess while one of your coworkers got a refill for the orders that had spilled. By the time all of that was done, the group the guy had been with had left, one of the others paying for their bill while the guy snickered at you. That, along with the way your boss had berated you after for spilling the drinks despite your explanation, had caused that night to be a bad one for you. It was bad enough that it was still affecting you the next day, leaving you somber through your shift.
Kishibe noticed your mood almost immediately, and after some prying on his part, you told him what had happened. After getting the full story, his expression stayed level as it always did, and it made you sad as you thought that he didn't care about what had happened to you.
But then he asked you for a description of the man who had hit you as well as the ones who had accompanied him. That had surprised you, but you still gave him the information he wanted. Kishibe left soon after and much earlier in the night than he usually did.
Truthfully, you hadn't expected much to come from any of it. Maybe at most the bar owner would receive a letter of apology and some small bit of compensation for the spilled drinks as well as the group promising to be on better behavior. And even then, you weren't really interested in any of that. All you had really wanted was for someone to agree that the entire situation was unfair for you. Kishibe hadn't even done that, so your somber mood remained even after your shift ended.
You weren't expecting to see the guy who'd hit you so soon after that.
A few days later, shortly after you had come in, the devil hunter who had so brazenly smacked you entered the bar and gave you a formal apology, promising that he would never bother you again. The entire thing was very short, as he didn't bother making any excuses or tried to blame his actions on the alcohol. He simply apologized, left an envelope full of money as compensation for what you had dropped and then exited the bar.
Despite his apology to you, he couldn't look you in the face, and there was a distinct haunted look in his gaze as he stared at anything other than you, as though he was terrified of making direct eye contact with you.
Neither that man or the group he had been with ever entered the bar again, and when Kishibe came in that same evening, he didn't mention anything. You didn't ask about it, either. Whatever it was that he had done to get that result, you decided that you didn't want to know just in case the answer was something that would keep you up at night. Even if it wasn't something gruesome or morally questionable, it was simply easier to pretend that the incident hadn't happened.
At least those previously rowdy devil hunters were a bit more well-behaved from that point onward.
Late on the next Tuesday night, you found yourself alone as you were the last one clocking out, and therefore the one who needed to do the final clean up and shutting down of the bar. Luckily for you, Tuesdays were always slow and there was never much of a mess to take care of, so despite the late hour you were in good spirits as you exited the building, locking the door at the back while you thought of what you were going to do from here.
Your thoughts went to a new video game you had bought, having only had enough time to play a little bit before you had started your shift that day. While normally you may have felt the current time was too late for something like that, you had tomorrow off, so it didn't feel like a horrible idea to stay up late on your computer. It was very likely that all of your day off would be dedicated to playing the game.
But you were jumping too far ahead. You hadn't even gotten to tomorrow yet, you told yourself. Focus on getting home right now.
You walked along quiet streets as you did just that, at one point zipping your hoodie fully up as the chill of the night air was more uncomfortable than you were expecting. At least you wouldn't need to be out here long, though you still bemoaned the fact that you had forgotten to bring your gloves with you. The only solution you had was stuffing your hands into your pockets in an effort to keep them warm.
As was expected for how late it was, the street you were walking on was virtually abandoned. Any people that you did catch sight of could only be seen on adjacent streets that you passed, all of whom were minding their own business as they hastily made their way to wherever they needed to be. You were in the same camp as they were, and your pace increased as all you wanted in that moment was to get home where you'd be able to relax and unwind.
One walkway you passed by was particularly loud, and you caught sight of a group of businessmen who were chatting with one another. From what you could see, they had been out drinking. Socializing for work, more than likely.
So it wasn't a surprise when you rounded the corner of a turn you needed to make and you saw what at first appeared to be another businessman in the distance, moving about oddly as he walked towards you. With the distance between the two of you and the fact that you had only spared him a brief glance at first, you assumed that he was one with that group, making his way back for one reason or another.
But as the person was walking in your direction, you were compelled to look up at him as he came closer.
It wasn't a businessman at all.
And as the picture before you became clearer as the person continued walking towards you, your pace slowed before you came to a stop as recognition turned to confusion upon realizing just who it was on the path before you.
Your most loyal regular at the bar, Kishibe, was out on the sidewalk by himself. His height, hair and the scar on his face made it easy to identify him. That he was out at night wasn't much of a surprise, but what made you confused was the fact that he was stumbling, barely able to keep himself upright as he went forward. The only explanation for him to move in such a way was that he was drunk.
You were in disbelief. How was that even possible? You'd seen that man consume enough alcohol that it should've been fatal and it had never affected him, yet now he wasn't even able to walk in a straight line – just how fucking much did he have to drink to get that way?
When he nearly fell to the pavement was when you snapped out of your stupor.
Holy fuck
“Kishibe!”
You ran over to where he was leaning against an adjacent wall, lightly placing your hand on his back as a way to help steady him while you asked “are you alright?”
He turned his head to look at you, and after a moment, he shook his head.
“Let me lean on you,” he mumbled.
Taking hold of one of his arms, you did your best to keep him standing as he got his feet firmly beneath him.
“Do you need to go to the hospital? I can call an ambulance,” you said.
“Hospital? No,” he answered, “just get me back to my apartment.”
“I don't know where that is.”
By that point he had his arm over your shoulder, though he was swaying far more than you were comfortable with. Still shaken by how he had nearly fallen moments ago and worried that he could still end up tumbling onto the pavement, you ended up grabbing ahold of his waist in an attempt to keep him steady. Although if he was really going to fall, you had a bad feeling that he would just end up taking you down with him.
You really hoped that wouldn't happen; ending your night by having one or both of you getting a concussion was something you wanted to avoid.
Kishibe had reached a hand into his pocket and had pulled out his cellphone, his fingers seemingly not cooperating when he attempted to put in his passcode. After a few failed attempts at unlocking it, the screen turned brighter as he got in and within a few moments, he had typed in an address and held it in front you.
Your mind blanked before you took the phone from him with an “okay.”
Looking at the screen, you found that the location put in was only fifteen minutes away from where you currently stood. That wasn't too bad, but as you glanced over again to Kishibe and the state he was in, you worried that the short walk would be too much for him right now. If he lost his balance again you didn't think you had the strength to keep him up on your own, and if he passed out there was no way you'd be able to drag him to his apartment. Plus if he hurt himself you'd probably need to call an ambulance, which would be a whole other mess that would likely see you waiting in the hospital for hours.
“Are you sure you want to walk there? With how you're doing right now, I think it might be better if we call a ride for you,” you told him.
“No.”
“But the idea of you walking seems dangerous.”
“You really think anyone will let me into their car with how I am now?” he countered.
Ah. That was true. Kishibe was only still standing up right now because you were supporting him. And not only was he unsteady, but he also reeked of alcohol. Any driver would see him and refuse to let him in out of fear that they'd need to clean his vomit out of their car afterwards.
So the only option was to walk him back?
….. This sucks.
It was late, you'd been on your feet for hours, your fingers were still numb from the cold and you were tired. You'd been looking forward to your plans for when you got back and yet you needed to be the one to deal with this?
Despite saying none of that out loud, Kishibe seemed perceptive to what you were thinking as he said “I know it's inconvenient, but I'd appreciate it if you would help me out.”
“…..”
…. Well now you felt like an asshole.
Kishibe needed help and you were trying to get out of it, and now he was aware that you were trying to get out of it. The fact that he needed to push to get you to help him wasn't good at all. And all of it was just so you could go home and play a video game?
Why were you like this?
With that, you forced a smile onto your face as you said “of course. It's only a short walk, right?”
He nodded.
Readjusting the hold you had on him, you kept the smile on your face as you continued with “plus, maybe the walking will help you feel better.”
“Maybe.”
As the you began to walk him back, heading in the direction that was directly opposite of your apartment, you told yourself that this could always be worse. Kishibe wasn't being loud or aggressive, which you appreciated. While you were stuck with his arm around you and the pace at which you traveled was painfully slow, it would have been a lot worse if he'd insisted that you help him while also being belligerent about it.
At least he was a pretty chill drunk, even if the way he wobbled in your grip still made your stress levels rise every time it felt like he was about to lose his balance.
“If you need to stop to rest a little, we can do that. Just let me know, okay?”
He nodded after you told him that, but with the vacant stare in his eye, you wondered how much he had really heard.
Oh well.
As the two of you went by the path you had passed previously which was full of the businessmen, you found that it was empty now. Either they were getting more drinks somewhere else or they were going home. Though as you took one last glance in that general area, you caught sight of a tiny bit of movement at the base of the building, your eyebrows furrowing until you realized what you were looking at.
“Gross,” you commented.
“Hm?”
“Cockroach.”
Kishibe hummed in response.
“I'm surprised it's still alive in this weather,” you said, “I would've thought the cold would have gotten to it.”
“They're good at finding ways to survive.”
It was good that he was speaking to you. As you were still worried at the thought of him passing out while in the middle of the way home, you figured that continuing to speak would probably be best; whatever you could think of as long as he stayed lucid enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
With the sight of the bug from moments ago, at least there was an easy topic of conversation to have.
“Is there a cockroach devil?” you asked.
He closed his eyes as he nodded slowly.
“We don't have control of it, though,” he then told you.
“Good thing I'm not afraid of cockroaches, then. Wouldn't want to make your enemies stronger,” you said.
You paused as you readjusted the grip you had around his waist before you added “I am pretty scared of spiders, though. Is that an issue?”
“Public Safety has control of the spider devil. If anything, I would encourage you to be more afraid of spiders. That way she'll be stronger,” answered Kishibe.
“Okay,” you answered, laughing a little as you said “though maybe I don't want to be too afraid of them. It'd be a different kind of issue if she became too tough and decided to run off to do her own thing, right?”
He shook his head.
“That's impossible.”
“Why's that?”
“Because if she tried that, I'd hunt her down and take her out,” he said simply.
“You're sure you'd be successful with that?” you asked.
“Of course. I'm the strongest devil hunter there is,” Kishibe told you.
“That might be true,” you said, “but if a devil were to come for you as you are right now, I'm worried you wouldn't be able to do much.”
“I'd handle it.”
“…. You can't even walk on your own.”
“I'd handle it,” he insisted.
Despite his tone, you were skeptical. After all, you were the only one keeping him upright at that moment. Still, it was better to let it go. Just treat it like you're at work, you told yourself. Work that you wouldn't be getting paid for, but work nonetheless. Even though this wasn't the way you wanted your night to end, reminding yourself that you had the day off tomorrow helped in making you feel better about it.
Walking to Kishibe's apartment took about an extra eight minutes due to his slow pace, and there was only so much you could do to get him to move faster while still being polite about it. If only you had the strength to pick him up and carry him, it could've gone so much faster.
At the very least it would have made for a funny scene, at least from an outsider's perspective.
You did your best to stay positive, and you continued to ask him questions as a way to make sure he was still conscious as you escorted him back home. Though after your conversation about the spider devil, Kishibe only answered in grunts or hums, but at least he was still able to answer you. That was a good thing, at least. As long as he was conscious and able to continue walking, that was good.
When you caught sight of Kishibe's apartment building and noted the tall flights of stairs that decorated the sides, you frowned. And when you asked him which floor you needed to get him too, you groaned internally when he answered that his unit was on the fourth floor.
Of course you needed to get him up several flights of stairs.
You didn't want to think about just how long it took the two of you to get up the stairs, nor did you want to think about the times you needed to help him lift up his own feet so he could ascend those stairs with you. By the time you reached the door of his unit, you felt well and truly exhausted from the ordeal, and you wanted nothing more than for him to unlock the door and go inside so you could go back home.
Except Kishibe handed you the key to his door.
Of course it couldn't be that simple.
You couldn't even get him to go in on his own, as when you turned the handle and opened the door to his unit, his weight suddenly bore down on you, pushing you into the darkened apartment with him following after and only managing to regain his footing once he was inside. Even then he stumbled backwards after, his arm hitting the open door and forcing it back shut when he fell against it.
“Are you okay?!”
All you heard in response to your worried question was a grunt that seemed like he was trying to indicate 'yes', which lessened your panic a little, though it'd be nicer to be able to see him. In the pitch dark of the apartment, you reached for a nearby wall as you searched for a light switch. After several moments of blindly pressing your hand all over the surface of the wall, you found it, and you needed to shut your eyes once the overhead light turned on as you needed to adjust to the sudden brightness.
Once you were able to see, what greeted you was what appeared to be a sparsely decorated apartment that only seemed rather ominous as the rest of the lights within the space had also been left off. From what you were able to see in your current position, you caught sight of a darkened living room area, and beyond that, a sliding door that opened up to small balcony. There was a couch in the living room, right? You could just leave him there, couldn't you?
Please let me leave now, you silently begged.
“Could you get me to the bedroom?”
Despite how he mumbled his words, you heard him clearly. Looking back to where you'd left him, you were dismayed to find that he was still drunk out of his mind. He still had his back leaning against the surface of the door, and it seemed that was all that was keeping him upright. With the way he was blocking the way out, it meant you'd need to move him, and more than likely you'd need to escort him further, this time to his bedroom.
Once you saw him at your next shift at the bar, you'd need to ask what exactly he'd done to get himself that fucked up. That, or maybe he could just give you a really nice tip for all of the effort spent getting him home safe.
But you made yourself smile at him as you said “sure. Just hang on for a second, okay? I'm gonna turn on some lights so the two of us aren't stumbling around in the dark. I'll be right back.”
A pair of hazy looking dark eyes glanced in your direction after you spoke, and he nodded in understanding. With that, you placed both his phone and the keys to the apartment on a small table that sat in the small hallway before slipping off your shoes and making your way further into his unit. It took a few tries, more than a few moments of turning on light switches before you hastily turned them off once you saw that you had entered a room that you didn't need, but not long after you found what you were looking for: the bed Kishibe needed to pass out on top of.
The bedroom matched the apartment in that it looked rather plain, almost like Kishibe didn't spend a lot of time here. It made sense; with how much he must have on his plate as a devil hunter he probably didn't have the time to decorate his living space. He just needed some place where he could eat, clean himself and then sleep soundly at the end of each day before he returned to his work.
The queen sized bed did look – and feel – rather nice, you felt compelled to note. He must have spent a lot on that to have a good night's sleep.
With your goal of finding where you needed to take him achieved, you returned to the main hallway to retrieve Kishibe. He was where you left him, once more looking dazed as he stared down at the floor beneath his feet. Your gaze traveled down as well, and when you saw the tied up laces of his shoes, you came to a realization.
“Are you going to be able to untie those?” you asked, pointing down at them.
“Probably not.”
At this point you weren't able to be annoyed; it wasn't entirely unexpected given his current state. Just another thing you needed to take care of for him, but at least it wouldn't be as difficult as helping him stumble his way up the stairs.
Do a few things more to help him and then you can go home.
Kneeling down on the surface of the entryway, you reached for the laces of one of his shoes. He didn't say anything as you undid the knots. When you asked him to lift his foot up once they were loosened, he did as you told him and you pulled the shoe off of him, placing it down and out of the way before repeating the process with the other. Again, he said nothing, but you felt those blank brown eyes staring down at you the entire time.
After getting his shoes off, you gently grabbed him by his shoulder and moved him away from the door. Immediately he was back to leaning on you, this time with his nose in your hair. You could feel his breath on your head, followed by the sound of his voice as he let out a content hum.
This was so fucking awkward. He definitely owed you after this.
“Kishibe,” you began, “just a little more walking and then you can rest, okay?”
He grunted again as you once again led him while his weight bore down on you.
With his face still in your hair, you heard the moment when, in the middle of making your way to the bedroom, he inhaled deeply. The sound of that and the feeling forced you to come to a stop.
And after letting out a short breath, you continued to walk with him.
He's drunk, you told yourself. Extremely shit-faced, over the top blackout drunk. He probably wouldn't remember any of this come tomorrow, and while you weren't enjoying this, it'd be better to keep your relationship with him positive. You didn't need to mention any of the creepy parts; just how much you had done to help him.
He'd better be appreciative.
A feeling relief washed over you when you finally got him into the bedroom, the bed only a few feet away.
Pulling forward, you saw this as the final hurdle. Just get him onto the bed. That was all you needed to do, and then you could go home and collapse onto your own not-as-comfortable mattress that had been all you could afford.
You tried to move him so he would lay down on his back, and then you could gently let him go. You didn't really want to bother trying to get him actually into the bed; that seemed like it would take even more time and would be even more of a hassle. No, just getting him on there was enough.
“Alright, here we go.”
Kishibe was supposed to let go as you maneuvered him in front of you. Once he felt the edge of the mattress against the back of his legs, he should've understood that he was safe to fall backwards and that he needed to let you go.
But the arm he had wrapped around your back stayed in place, and when gravity finally won the battle and began to pull him down, you were brought down with him.
A short cry escaped your lips as you ended up on the bed with him, pressed tightly to his chest with your lower half hanging off the mattress.
Goddammit
“I'm sorry,” you began, “I didn't mean for that to happen.”
“Hm.”
You weren't sure of what to make of the way he hummed when you said that, largely because all you wanted in that moment was to get off of him. Bracing your arm on the mattress, you pushed your weight onto it as you tried to get off of him and escape the awkward situation.
Only the arm he had around you wasn't budging.
When a few moments passed with you desperately trying to leave the bed only to have your efforts thwarted by the surprisingly strong grip he had on you, you looked back to him as you asked “Kishibe, could you let me go? I can't get up.”
“Why do you want to get up?” he asked.
“Um, because I need to go home?” you said, surprised that you even needed to clarify that.
“It's late; you should spend the night here.”
“That's okay. I'm sure your couch is comfortable, but I'd really rather sleep in my own bed,” you told him.
“Who said anything about you sleeping on the couch?”
His question made you blink.
“I…. Where else would I…..”
Your question trailed off as you glanced at the mattress you were currently on top of, and a sick feeling began to form in your stomach. A feeling that grew stronger with every moment that passed with his arm still wrapped around you.
“Kishibe, please let go of me,” you said.
“Why?”
“Because I don't like this and I want to go home.”
Again you tried to pull yourself up, and again, Kishibe kept you pressed to his chest.
“Please,” you said again, “I don't want to spend the night-”
You were cut off when you felt his other hand move. Instead of joining the one wrapped around your back, his free hand went down to cup your ass as he blatantly groped you.
Shock and revulsion shot through you and when you struggled again against the grip he had on you, it was with far more force and desperation.
“Let go of me,” you said, “now!”
Again, he only hummed in response.
But that time he actually did let you go, removing his arms and letting them fall to the mattress.
You pulled off immediately, getting to your feet and taking a few steps back in record time, breathing heavily as the brief burst of adrenaline was still running through you. Kishibe remained splayed out on the bed with his legs still hanging off the side. He was still staring at you, however.
After taking in another deep breath, you spoke.
“Rest up and get sober,” you began, “and then when we see each other next, I'd appreciate it if you could come to the bar with an apology.”
You then turned and walked out the door, deciding to leave it at that. Though you noted to yourself that he may very well not remember what you had said or what had happened. As you had told yourself earlier, he was drunk. But even then you didn't intend to back down on this. Even if he didn't remember, at the very least you deserved some form of the word 'sorry' for how he had held you down and tried to coerce you into sleeping with him. Regardless of if his actions were caused by the alcohol, you needed that after he had ignored you the first few times you had told him to let you go.
As long as you could get that, you'd be happy to go back to how your relationship was before, with him as a customer and with the solid surface of the bar separating the two of you.
Returning to the entryway, you quickly collected your shoes and slipped them back on before you prepared yourself for the walk back home. It was late, but you'd probably be okay as long as you hurried back. You probably didn't have the energy for your game, as you'd thought before, so it'd be straight to bed for you once you returned.
As long as you could get a good night's sleep, that was enough.
With that thought in mind, you stood before the front door as you reached for the handle, turned and then pulled it.
The door didn't budge.
“Huh?”
You tried again, turning it again and pulling, just to have the same thing happen.
Maybe I'm turning the handle wrong, you briefly thought, only for your brows to furrow when your attempts to turn the handle upwards resulted in nothing. That wasn't right. Clearly the way you had been trying was correct.
So why wasn't the door opening?
Taking your gaze away from the handle, you noticed something that you had missed earlier: in place of a bolt or a chain on the upper part of the door, there was instead a lock which required a key to open it. Was that really what was keeping you in here?
… It's okay, you told yourself. You left the keys on the table right behind you. One of those would open it.
Your attempts to quell the bad feeling brewing within you were unsuccessful, as when you turned to reach for the keys that you had placed only minutes earlier, you found that they were gone.
….. Were they still there when you had gone back to get Kishibe after turning on the lights? You couldn't remember.
Speaking of Kishibe, he would be the reason why they were gone, right? Thinking back to when you had been searching for the bedroom, that would have given him more than enough time to take the keys and then lock the door. When else would he have been able to do that?
But why would he do that?
“What exactly am I supposed to apologize for?”
Hearing his voice made you jump, and you turned your gaze towards where Kishibe had emerged from as he strolled out into the hallway at a leisurely pace, ending with him leaning against the wall. His large black coat was gone, leaving him clad in his white shirt, black pants and his tie that he had loosened during the time that you had left him alone. In one hand he held his flask, and he unscrewed it to take a long gulp of whatever was in there before he looked back to you, those same blank eyes staring straight at you as he waited for an answer to his question.
He didn't seem quite so inebriated now. He was walking just fine and his gaze was zeroed in on you.
“…. Kishibe, why is the door locked?” you asked, your eyebrows furrowing as you stood still within the entryway.
“Because I locked it,” he answered plainly.
“Wh-why?”
“Because I don't want you going out.”
The veteran hunter took another swig from his flask before adding “it's dangerous out there, especially at night. You're much safer inside with me.”
“That's….. That's nice, but I'd really rather go home,” you said.
“Why? Is your cheap apartment really that great?”
His comment made you blink in surprise – you'd never mentioned it, so how in the world did he know anything about your apartment?
“I'd feel a lot more comfortable if I could go back there, yeah,” you told him, “so could you please unlock the door? I don't want to be here any longer.”
Kishibe hummed.
“That's too bad. Because I've decided that you'll be staying here from now on,” he declared.
“….. You can't do that.”
“I just did.”
Kishibe stood to his full height, and that was enough to make you back away until you found yourself pressed against the door, holding your hands to your chest as your heart rate increased. What was happening? Why was this happening? He seemed fine now, despite the state he'd been in – had all of that been a ruse just to get you into his apartment?
Why?
“I don't understand.”
Your words came out hushed, barely able to come out around the blockage in your throat.
“You don't? I would've thought understanding it would be pretty simple,” he said.
He stepped forward, closing the distance between you swiftly and with ease as he told you “you're not leaving. I'm keeping you here so you'll be safe.”
“Safe? From what?”
“Everything.”
Kishibe was standing directly before you now, looming over you as he continued with “humans, devils and whatever else; you won't need to fear them anymore. Nothing will come for you as long as you have me.”
He reached a hand up in a move that looked as though he intended to cup your cheek as he said “all I ask in return is that you do as I say.”
The rough skin of his hands made contact with your cheek as you said nothing in response.
You needed this to be a joke.
You needed to him to take a few more moments for comedic effect before he revealed that he wasn't being serious, be that in the form of the words “just kidding” or “gotcha” or something that told you that the reality of the situation wasn't what you thought it was. Even though this entire scenario was completely abnormal for Kishibe, a man who always seemed serious, you needed him to tell you that it was just a fucked up prank, that he just wanted to mess with you.
It didn't feel in line with the man you had grown to know, but you needed that to be the case.
Except Kishibe never said such a thing to you, instead keeping his hand on your cheek and softly rubbing against your skin, his calloused touch feeling surprisingly gentle.
His thumb then moved across your bottom lip and that sent a jolt down your spine.
You pushed his hand away as you said “this isn't funny.”
“It's not supposed to be,” he told you.
You shook your head.
“You're being weird and you're playing a prank or something stupid like that, but I don't like this and I want to leave.”
Kishibe only hummed at that, which only left you feeling worse.
“Stop this, please,” you said, desperation tinting your voice as you said “the joke has gone on long enough and I want you to let me out.”
But he still didn't say anything further. All he did was stare down at you with a look on his face that you couldn't read while his presence was quickly becoming overwhelming.
Seconds were ticking by and nothing was happening. Kishibe was still standing over you. He wasn't backing away like you wanted. He wasn't agreeing with your assessment that this entire thing was a joke, like you wanted. And he wasn't producing the key and letting you out of what had become a deeply uncomfortable and unsettling scene with him.
The longer it went on, the harder it became for you to breathe, all the while the sick feeling that surrounded you only grew more intense as you were slowly forced to accept the reality of the situation:
He wasn't joking.
And you were helpless.
How long of a period had passed before he spoke again, you had no idea. Too wrapped up in your thoughts and growing fear, it easily could have been minutes or seconds. But you were snapped out of your thoughts instantly when you heard his low voice once more.
“You didn't answer my question earlier: what am I supposed to apologize for?” he asked again.
“For…… For touching me. Grabbing me like you did in the bedroom,” you hesitantly answered.
“I don't see why I should apologize for that.”
Kishibe tilted his head slightly as he continued with “you belong to me now. Why shouldn't I be able to do whatever I want with you?”
His words settled in your mind, your pulse beating rapidly as your mind raced.
Then you screamed.
As loud and as hard as your vocal chords were capable of, you screamed for help as he continued to loom over you. It wasn't brave or noble, but there was nothing else you could do to fight him off. You were too weak for anything like that.
Screaming was all you could do.
The screams for help that tore out of your throat come out with such ferocity that you managed to be surprised initially. Never in your life could you remember the volume of your own voice reaching such levels, but you'd also never been in a situation like this one. You turned away from him in order to pound at the door as you continue to call for help, hoping that the extra noise will help to get someone's attention – be it of one of his neighbors or a passerby on the street – just as long as it's someone who'll call the police. If you can just get one person to inform the authorities that something's wrong, then you'll get out of this.
Just one person with a phone and an idea of where you were. And maybe, just maybe, a group of well-intentioned people who might be brave enough to burst down the door to get to you. Even if Kishibe was strong, he could only take so many opponents at once, right?
Your throat was aching and the way you slammed your hand against the door was became weaker as the pain that shot through your hand was beginning to become too much, but you kept up with it. You needed help. You needed someone to know what was happening before Kishibe shut you up.
…. Before he shut you up?
It hit you then: through all that time of you desperately making a racket and being as loud as possible, Kishibe hadn't once made any effort to keep you quiet.
He still wasn't.
With tears still rolling down your cheeks and your hand still balled up in a fist on the door, the cries that had so forcefully come from your mouth came to an end as you glanced back at him.
He was taking another swig from that flask. Completely at ease and unbothered at your desperate attempt to seek help. You watched in disbelief as his Adam's apple bobbed as the harsh liquor ran down his throat before he pulled the flask away from his lips, just as leisurely screwing the cap back on before the metal container once again disappeared into his pocket.
Kishibe looked at you.
Then he glanced up at the ceiling.
You followed his gaze, and while you didn't see anything odd with the plain white surface above you two, you noticed that something was amiss:
Someone above you was blasting music loud enough that you could almost make out the lyrics of the song that was playing.
…. It hadn't been that way when you first entered the apartment. Nor had it been the case when you had first tried to leave. You would have heard that, would have noted something like that immediately. Which only meant…..
The realization sank in as you looked up to the ceiling in horror, coming to the conclusion that in the middle of your screaming and banging, the person directly above you had heard, and made the decision to play the loud music in an attempt to drown you out so they didn't need to listen anymore.
They didn't want to help you.
“It doesn't sound like they're going to do anything,” Kishibe said to you, drawing your attention back to him.
“Doesn't seem like anyone else is going to bother, either,” he added, reaching back up with his hand so he could place it on the door by your head as he leaned in closer.
“You're alone in this.”
The cold words he spoke sent a shudder through you, and you shook your head as if denying what he had just told you would somehow change the way things were going.
“Why?” you asked, your voice wavering as you continued “why won't anyone help me?”
“Because nothing bad is happening to them, so they don't care,” he answered plainly, “maybe if they knew you, it might bother them. But bad things happen to complete strangers everyday; just because this time it's a bit closer in proximity doesn't make them care any more or any less.”
His other hand reached up to play with your hair, almost absentmindedly running his fingers through the strands as he continued to speak.
“As long as they're in the clear at the end of the day, that's all that matters to them,” he said.
“That's…. That's not true,” you sniffled, “someone out there wants to help me. They need to.”
Kishibe shrugged.
“Maybe some would,” he said, “but clearly those people aren't in earshot right now.”
The callousness of his words sent your emotions into a frenzy once again. Tears began running down your cheeks again while you sobbed. Only you weren't screaming this time, nor were you banging against the door. What was the point? If no one would help you even after hearing that, then why bother?
All you could do was cry about it like the pathetic weakling you were.
With your forehead pressed against the door, you weren't able to see any of what Kishibe was doing. You knew he was still behind you – it was hard to ignore how closely he was looming over you – but he had yet to do anything to you.
Would he even do anything?
As soon as you thought that, you remembered how he had groped you in the bedroom, how he had held you down against him even when you told him to let you go. In that same moment, you felt one of his hands around your waist and his fingers slipping beneath the layers of your hoodie and shirt so he could caress your skin directly. His other hand found its way to your jaw so he could direct your attention towards him once again.
Of course he'd do something further. Why had you even considered that he might not?
The blank brown eyes you had grown to know met yours, and despite the futility of the situation, you still made yourself put out one last plea. Even if he was odd, he was still human at the end of the day, and therefore, he needed to have some sort of empathy, right?
“I won't go to the police – I won't say anything about this to anyone,” you told him, “so please, reconsider.”
“No.”
His answer to your request was swift; he didn't think twice about it nor was he moved in any way.
Kishibe had made up his mind and there was no changing it.
Just as swiftly as his answer, he then angled your jaw upward so he could claim your lips in a kiss.
The taste on his tongue was harsh, a cocktail of the liquor he'd consumed over the course of the evening. The strongest remnant of alcohol that flooded your senses was most likely whatever he had just gulped down from his flask. The stubble around his lips brushed against your skin and the sensation made you jump, though with the hand he still had on your jaw, you again were unable to escape his grasp. There was nowhere for you to go; he had you pressed firmly between the front door and himself. The only bit of freedom he allowed you were the ways in which you trembled beneath his grasp, how you shook and shivered while his free hand continued to caress the skin beneath your shirt.
The whimpers you made in response to his touch were swallowed up by his mouth as he prolonged what was certainly a show of mockery for an action that was meant to be tender.
Did he really need to torment you in this way?
When he pulled away from the kiss he did so with a clear plan in mind, as his hands immediately went to the zipper of your hoodie and forced it down before pulling the entire piece of clothing off of you, taking your bag with it. Both items were tossed behind him and he quickly placed his hands on you once again, moving them all over as he explored your body through your clothes. Even through your clothing at acted as a sort of barrier, the feeling of his calloused palms stroking up your sides and down your spine were enough to make you jolt in place and force whimpers out of your mouth.
He moved in closer, pressing up directly behind you which allowed you to feel the growing bulge in his pants.
When he shifted his focus in order to grope your breasts through the material of your shirt, you placed your head so it was pressed against the door again, still sobbing. All you wanted in that moment was to become one with the door; merge into it so he couldn't do this to you anymore. You didn't care what happened to you, just as long as this would stop.
Instead of that mercy, Kishibe continued to toy with your chest. Then he began to speak.
“I'm a bit surprised you let it get as far as what happened in the bedroom,” he told you, “you really had no issue going into a man's apartment that you'd never been to before? There was nothing that raised any alarm for you until I had you on top of me?”
You whimpered.
“You're too naive; that's why you won't be leaving. If I don't step in you'll get yourself killed.”
His thumb and pointer finger found your nipple through your clothes, and when he began to focus on that by pinching it between his fingers, a strangled noise emerged from your throat.
Kishibe felt the need to comment on that.
“Do you like being played with from behind? You're more responsive to this than I was expecting,” he said.
“N-no….”
Your shirt remained as it was only for a few more moments before he decided that he wanted to feel your bare skin, resulting in him ripping your shirt down the neckline and pulling your bra down with it. With skin now on skin, it was instantly noticeable when the shrieks that left your mouth as his fingers tweaked your nipples sounded less horrified and more wanton.
“You really do like this,” Kishibe said, a hint of pleasure in his voice.
“No,” you said again.
Instead of acknowledging your denial, his hot breath hit your ear as he said “I was thinking it'd probably take a little bit to get you wet enough so fucking you would be a bit more comfortable, but I probably don't need to wait all that long, do I? If those noises of yours are any indication, I bet I could slide into you right now.”
“No!”
Even with you raising your voice, he still wasn't listening.
His hands crept around your waist again before they found the zipper of your pants. The sound of it zipping open seemed loud within the space of your head, but it didn't compare to the feeling of his thumbs slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear before he shoved your panties down past your thighs, taking your pants with them.
With your most intimate area now exposed, you shuddered as the chill air attacked your flesh. When Kishibe began to palm and knead your ass, you whimpered. Your lower half was then pulled away from the door and he moved his knee between your thighs so he could spread your legs wider. You could feel how heavy his gaze was on your cunt. Heat filled your cheeks while you bit down on your lip, the tears that were still flowing now a bit more angry.
It was humiliating. He had you pressed against the surface of the door, your palms laying flat against it while your ass was sticking out. You didn't want to merge with the door anymore; you wanted to curl up and die.
But even that wasn't an option for you.
A pair of thick fingers found their way to your cunt, caressing your folds in a way that felt experimental before his middle finger slipped between them, the tip shallowly ghosting along your heated entrance which caused you to shudder. The wetness that was beginning to drip out of you easily coated his fingertip, much to his amusement.
“Thought so,” he said.
“No.”
It wasn't true. You weren't enjoying this; just because he forced such a reaction out of you didn't mean that you wanted it. He knew that but he was just insisting on being as horrible as possible. How could you have not realized what he was really like until now?
“Hard to argue when I have the evidence smeared on my fingers, don't you think?” Kishibe asked you. He pushed his digits into your folds for emphasis, and the squelching sounds of him dipping into your wet heat only made you more ashamed. His free hand then returned to your chest while he fingered your cunt.
His fingers were sliding along your walls easier than you would have liked, and the feeling of his blunt nails inside of you as he stretched you out caused several shudders to run through your body, becoming intense enough that you needed to bite down hard on your lip to try and keep down the shameful whining noises that wanted to emerge because of it.
He must have noticed the way you were trying to keep it in as he way he was fingering you suddenly became rougher, with him curling his fingers while searching for the sensitive spots inside of you. He moved in closer as well, breathing huskily into your ear as he spoke to you.
“I wish I'd done this sooner,” Kishibe whispered, “if I had known how eager you would be for me, I wouldn't have wasted so much time before.”
No insults or retorts left your mouth that time; you were too busy trying to be as quiet as possible as all you could focus on was the awful affect he was having on you while his fingers continued to slide in and out. He was being rougher now because he wanted to humiliate you even more – that was the only explanation. To have you moan like you were enjoying this as a way to torment you further. As if the way your wetness was dripping down the inside of your thighs wasn't enough, turning cold once it hit the open air and sending more shudders running through you.
When his other hand came down to toy with your clit, you ended up biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. You hated how it felt good. How the feeling of his fingers rubbing hard circles against that nub had your legs shaking and your insides burning. Kishibe intended for you to cum on his fingers, and you hated that he would more than likely be successful in that goal.
Why aren't you stopping him?
…..It hit you that you hadn't really tried much to get away from him. Aside from the way you ordered him to let go and how you pushed his hand away, there was very little in terms of actual resistance on your part.
But what could you even do? How would a civilian fight off an expert devil hunter?
Even though you couldn't imagine any scenario where you on your own managed to get away from him, maybe the way you had done nothing other than cry through your assault had been enough to reaffirm in his mind that you needed to be kept away from the world. For your safety, he said.
You wondered if he was actually delusional enough to believe that excuse.
That train of thought was derailed completely when you felt Kishibe's fingers brush against a spot within you in tandem with the fingers on your clit, and your vision whited out as he forced out the reaction he'd been looking for.
You came on his fingers.
Your face and ears were burning and you could taste iron from your bleeding lip as you tried your hardest to keep in those awful moans.
Mercifully, he didn't continue fingering you when you came. Instead he seemed to savor the way you were clenching down around him as you heard him let out a breathy sigh into your ear. When you had finished, he stayed like that, his chest pressed against your back and the fingers on your clit giving you one last stroke before he pulled away.
After another moment, he pulled his fingers out of you, his hands finally leaving those sensitive, intimate areas. A new wave of anxiety washed over you as you had a horrible idea of what was going to follow.
You heard his belt being undone. And then his zipper, which was hastily followed by the sound of his pants being shoved down.
And then his hands were back around your waist, pulling you back into the position he had forced you into earlier that you had unconsciously moved from as your body unintentionally moved back to press against the door, still trying to escape him even though you knew there was no point.
He spread open the lips of your pussy, guiding his cock to your entrance after. Your breath hitched when you felt him rub the tip against your folds, gathering up your wetness on the end of his length just as he'd done with his fingers earlier.
He shoved himself in.
And once he was inside of you, he only took a brief moment to savor it, letting out a small sigh of contentment as he finally got to experience the feeling of the walls of your cunt clamping down on his dick.
“Good girl,” Kishibe mumbled.
Your heart was in your throat, however, as despite knowing where things would be heading once he had begun kissing and groping you earlier, the feeling of his dick being sheathed halfway into you just cemented that this was real: he'd locked you in his apartment and claimed you as his own. And if he continued to get his way from this point, then this would be the rest of your life, one spent as a plaything to Kishibe's whims.
Only for a moment was that thought able to run through your head, however, because soon after he began to fuck you in earnest. Despite your successful resistance before, you weren't able to keep quiet once you felt him moving against you, his cock plugging up your hole again and again as his hips thrust hard against your ass. The sobs that were mixed with your moans bounced against the surface of the door, filling up the small, empty space of the entryway.
If only you were loud enough to drown out the noises Kishibe was making.
For a man who was normally so quiet, there was no attempt on his part to keep in his own groans and grunts. Still positioned with his mouth by your ear as he kept you close to him, you heard everything. His own harsh breathing mixed with small curses that left his lips in time with the cock that was slamming into you. Swears that were changed out for praise of you when his fingers returned to your clit to stimulate you further, causing your sensitive walls to quiver around him.
The words “good girl” were said to you many times during that period.
Your back quickly became sticky with sweat, your own body heat combined with that of Kishibe making it get to the point that it was becoming too much. The feeling of cold from when you had been outside was forgotten as it felt like every part of you was burning up while his body was engulfing your own as he used you to chase his pleasure. You wanted him away from you, just a little bit.
With a shaking hand, you pressed it against his chest as best you could with the awkward position, silently trying to communicate that want of yours.
Kishibe grabbed your wrist and forced it back against the doorway, keeping his hand gripped firmly around your arm and refusing to let go even when you tried to wiggle out of it. Eventually you were forced to give up on getting what you wanted.
Just like everything else tonight.
With the brute strength he was displaying as he pounded into your pussy and how sensitive you still were from your previous orgasm, you found yourself cumming much faster the second time. Your pussy walls clenched hard around him once again, but this time Kishibe made the choice to fuck you through it.
That only prolonged your orgasm, and the longer it went on, the more strained your moans became as your throat was thoroughly raw by that point.
Once your pleasure faded, you were left waiting for Kishibe to finish. Something you didn't need to wait long for as soon enough you felt him stiffen within you, and then his swollen cock erupted, long white streams of cum painting your insides as he kept himself pressed close, wanting to be as deep within you as possible. He groaned loudly as he did so, and his hand returned to your breast to knead the soft flesh once more as his own orgasm began to ebb away, his cock still twitching in the aftermath.
The entryway was now filled with the breathless gasps of the both of you and the scent of sweat and sex.
Once his cock had softened, Kishibe released the grip he had on you and pulled his dick out of your pussy, and finally, he stepped away from you.
Immediately you slumped down, exhausted, your front half still pressed against the door while you sat in the entryway, your pants still around your ankles and Kishibe's cum and your own release dripping down your thighs and onto the floor beneath you. You still had tears to shed, apparently, as the sight had you going back to sobbing. Your throat hurt and your nose was stuffy, but all you could think about was how you wished you hadn't made the choice to help Kishibe earlier.
If only you had decided to go with your own selfish instincts, you wouldn't be here right now. By now you probably would've been asleep, safe and sound in your own bed in your own apartment, and the only danger you would be facing would be the possibility of your next door neighbor's children running wild again and slamming doors so hard that the walls would shake.
Being reminded of your day off that you had planned out had you crying harder as you realized you couldn't ever go back to days like that.
God how you wished you could redo your actions from tonight.
You were reminded of Kishibe's presence when you felt his hand run down your back, his knuckles grazing you lightly and with a touch so soft that it felt out of place when you thought of what you had just experienced at his hands.
He wasn't trying to comfort you, was he?
With robotic movements, you turned your head once again so you could see him, see the face of the man who had hurt you so horribly. Unsurprisingly, there was no real emotion to be gleaned from his expression as it was as blank as it always was. Though when you looked at his eyes, you found that there was a hint of something there. Something more intense and obsessive than you had ever witnessed from anyone, much less Kishibe.
“You did good,” he told you.
“Fuck you,” you weakly hissed in response.
“Mm, not right now. Maybe in the morning.”
He moved his hand to your upper arm, squeezing you in what seemed to be an encouraging manner as he said “it's late now. We should get some rest.”
“Can you walk, or should I carry you?” Kishibe then asked.
You didn't respond. Instead you shrugged off his hand and turned your head to face the door, not wanting to look at him any longer.
“Alright then.”
Within a moment, you were scooped up off of the floor and into his arms with surprising ease, and while you were feeling disoriented from the way you were moved about like that, Kishibe had turned and walked away from the door with you held firmly against his chest.
It shouldn't have been too much of a shock that it was this easy for him to pick you up, and yet…..
“You could have just forcibly taken me if you wanted,” you mumbled.
“I could have,” he said.
The way he so readily agreed with you turned your emotions to anger once again.
“So why bother with all that bullshit?” you snapped.
“Because I thought the way you doted on me was nice,” Kishibe said.
“You're a scumbag.”
“Hm.”
Kishibe neither agreed nor disagreed with you, as he stepped into the bedroom with you, taking care to make sure your feet didn't hit the door frame as he carried you in. Once the two of you were fully inside, he stopped and then looked at you.
Having his gaze fully on you once again had that bit of anger die out, as suddenly you felt more vulnerable than you'd ever felt in your life before this point. Your shirt was torn and the majority your legs were still bare as he hadn't bothered to readjust your pants before he'd grabbed you, so you were in his arms with your pants around your ankles.
Not just humiliating, but awkward as well, especially when you moved to cover yourself back up as the way he stared at you had those intense feelings of shame and helplessness running through you once again. Though you knew it wouldn't accomplish much of anything, and especially not when you were at the mercy of Kishibe's whims.
“Did I say you could cover up?”
The sound of his voice made you freeze, and then when you processed his words, you began to shake in his grip. While it seemed that you were out of tears to shed, you were still able to sniffle softly in despair.
That got him to react, and Kishibe leaned in to place a kiss on your forehead before he buried his face into your hair again.
“It'll be hard for now, but it will get better,” he told you.
You only shook harder in his grip.
With a hum against your hair, he spoke again.
“You should be happy. In this world where people's priorities are on themselves and themselves alone, you have someone who's willing to do anything to look out for you.”
And with that, Kishibe used his foot to close the bedroom door firmly behind the both of you.
♥︎ ݁ 𓏲 your boyfriend turns into a #certifiedslut during bulking season
bulking-season him doesn’t just look different—he feels different. it’s in the weight of him when he lays on you, the way his chest seems broader overnight, how his thighs take up more space on the bed. his whole body feels denser, heavier, like he’s carrying an extra layer of warmth that only you get to touch. even his hugs change; he used to wrap his arms around you, now he engulfs you, pulling you into his chest until you can barely breathe, whispering, “missed you,” like it’s a confession.
you notice it first in the mornings. the way he stretches and his back looks huge—muscles thick and carved, delts rounded, veins standing out along his arms because he’s been lifting like a demon. when he grabs your hips, his hands feel bigger, rougher, more demanding. he picks you up without warning now, with this effortless strength that makes your stomach drop. you’ll squeal and yell at him to put you down, and he just laughs, voice still raspy from sleep, “can’t. i like carrying you.”
and oh god—the appetite. not just for food. bulking-season him fucks like he’s starving. like he’s been thinking about you all day, every rep, every set. he comes home already half-hard, chest pumped, smelling like sweat and something primal, and the second he sees you? it’s over. he doesn’t even take his shoes off sometimes—he crowds you into a wall with his newly heavy body, one big hand sliding under your shirt, the other grabbing your ass like he owns it.
he kisses you messy, urgent, teeth grazing your lower lip, and you can feel the extra weight behind every movement. he’s stronger. more grounded. when he presses you into the bed, you feel the difference—the solidness of him, the warmth that rolls off his skin, the way his thighs cage you in and you know there’s no moving him even if you tried.
and he gets feral when he’s inside you. something about the bulk makes him rut harder, deeper, like he can’t get close enough. he holds your hips still with those thick hands and fucks into you with this steady, overwhelming force that makes your vision blur. his groans are deeper, too—lower, almost animal-like—like the sound is coming from somewhere way down in his chest.
he’ll pin your wrists above your head, muscles flexing, veins popping along his forearms, and say shit like: “hold still. let me have you.”
“you can take it — c’mon, pretty girl.”
“fuck, you feel even tighter when i’m bigger.”
and when he gets close? he grabs your thighs and folds you so easily it scares you a little—not rough, just strong. the kind of strength that comes from weeks of training and eating like he’s preparing for hibernation. he buries his face in your neck, fucking into you harder, faster, chasing his release with this raw, hungry determination that makes you feel devoured.
afterwards, he’s still panting, still heavy on top of you, one big hand stroking your thigh like he’s calming himself down. then he grins—tired but still cocky, and murmurs, “round two in ten minutes. just need a snack first.”
and he means it. because bulking-season him isn’t just horny… he’s insatiable. he's stronger. heavier, hungrier—and every part of him feels made to ruin you.
Sonar going to a furry convention to hook up, cause you'd better believe he's doing numbers at furrycon, and finding that now that he's a recognized hero booths are selling fanart and merch of him
He brings back a body pillow of himself to brag about it and Robert has to deal with it sitting in his cubicle for the entire work day trying not to make eye contact with it (he fails, sultry body pillow Sonar is burned into his mind)
One of the best things ive read LMAOO. First thing I read when I woke up too. This is peak. I dont even have words
reader who joins the z-team and is also a bat hybrid like sonar, except you’re a golden-crowned flying fox.
and maybe it’s just how much bigger you are than sonar, but it does something to him. makes him all submissive, eager to please you.
he’s bringing in gifts of fruit to you, even though he doesn’t even like fruit. practicing mating calls when he hasn’t in years, getting embarrassed when it’s squeaky from disuse but feeling all warm inside when you return it. it’s probably your wingspan—almost three times the size of his. maybe your fur color, much brighter than his dull grey.
