୭̥⋆*｡ be my ny when hollywood hates me ୭̥⋆*｡ you’re only as hot as your last hit baby
|| lee || 37 || she/they || older brother fucker || || masterlist || wip list || rules || my ocs || ao3 ||
content warning: multifandom, 18+ content, nsfw, dark content, villain fucking, older brother fucking/simping, monster fucking, villain apologist, not spoiler free, you have been warned
denji opens the door, grinning widely, wearing nice-ish clothes he probably borrowed from aki before forcing him out of the place.
“hey baby! come in! foods ready.” he stepped aside, letting you in. his eyes trailed down to your ass as you walked in when he shut the door behind you (he can’t help himself).
the apartment was small, the kitchen a mess from his efforts at cooking. the quaint space was bathed in warm candlelight as soft jazz music played from aki’s cd player.
“come sit.” denji placed his hand on your lower back, leading you over to the living room. he sat you down with your back against the couch, legs sprawled out underneath the coffee table.
he went to the kitchen to quickly retrieve two plates and two glasses, balancing them unsteadily in his arms.
denji sat down on the floor beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. the plates had some sort of mysterious (clearly home cooked) sludge on them, and the glasses were filled with some cheap sake he had bought for the occasion.
“looks good, huh? prepared all this myself.” he said proudly, beaming with those sharp teeth.
it, of course, did not look good, but the sheer effort he had put into all of this made your heart swell.
you turned your head to face him, eyes soft and full of love. “hey, i love you so much. do i tell you that enough?”
he let out a satisfied sigh, pressing a brief kiss to your cheek. “i love you too. now eat. i want you to have the first bite.”
you smiled as he handed you your bowl of sludge. you grimaced internally before taking a bite.
surprisingly, it wasn’t that bad.
“mmm.” you hummed, nodding, because you would do anything to see that proud smile on his face.
||a/n: omg I’ve been inactive for weeks im sorry!! im trying to start writing again promise
Everything else aside, can we acknowledge how adorable it is that Adam and Abel have matching outfits? Especially since Adam made the effort to match Abel's marching band aesthetic, with epaulets and everything, and wearing the hat over his mask like a dork. There's no question, these two are father and son.
ughhh I need your modern au sukuna thoughts please!! i don't know why i am thinking about him today.
modern sukuna huh ….. 🚬 it’s been a while. actually, i just found this when going through my image folder so i’ll leave it here
LOL. i do really like the thought of househusband sukuna i think it’s such a fun contrast to him living only for himself in canon. though the idea i had in mind when writing that one fic (would not recommend reading it but i was really happy with it at the time…..) was sukuna in a line of work that centers around food. chef is the obvious choice. food critic is good too. with sukuna in particular i like to view his modern au version as a reincarnation, so the thought of eating and the urge to eat still being fundamentally woven into his soul, OR that karma breaking and resulting in a fixation with cooking <- is really tasty imo. i think i told mickey once that i could see him as vince from deadplate if you happen to be familiar with that… chef that can’t taste his own cooking. maybe minus the cannibalism. or maybe not. the most sukuna thing about vince is actually probably that he doesn’t serve the food he makes from humans at his restaurant it’s just like . for the artistic endeavor? lol. on THAT note (i believe i talked to cora about this a while back) i imagine him being either very artistic with the food he creates, or simply making homely meals and disliking the culture of food as art. like the chef from the menu. something like that. this turned out very chef centered lol but i dooooo think that’s what his modern au self would be up to!!!!!!!!
as a fun alternative i like the thought of him growing up in a remote village and doing a lot of farming to help the townsfolk. he comes off as rude but he’s not that bad. again, this is only in the context of sukuna reincarnating after yuji severs the karma that ties them together/the curse that pushed sukuna into self-isolation, since that’s the one i prefer >:3c
Just another average day for the Cleaner’s barrack bunny
MINORS DON'T INTERACT
Kinks: Breast Worship / Paizuri, Somnophilia / Sleepy Sex, Brat Taming / Brat Play, Edging & Orgasm Denial / Ruined Orgasms, D/S Dynamics, Praise Kink, Light Breath Play / Choking, Feeding Kink, Clothed Teasing / Dry Humping, Casual/Free-Use Vibes, Polyamory / Harem Dynamics, Cum Play / Swallowing, Risk of Getting Caught / Light Exhibitionism, Size/Strength Difference
The morning light in Gris’s room stays soft and hazy when Follo knocks lightly on the door. He is already dressed—cleaner jacket half-zipped, hair a little messy from rushing down the hall—but the second Gris cracks the door with that sleepy, half-lidded smile, Follo relaxes.
“Morning,” Gris rumbles, voice thick with sleep. He steps aside, letting the younger man in.
“Tomme wants your take on these before Semiu sees them. Wants you to confirm the last mission or something.” Follo hands over the clipboard.
While Gris scans the pages with a wide yawn, the older supporter stands there shirtless, sleep pants slung dangerously low on his hips, blond hair tousled and sticking up at the back. The room smells warm—like clean skin, faint soap, and the comforting trace of last night.
Follo rocks on his heels, eyes drifting… until they land on the bed.
You lie curled up on your side under Gris’s sheets, back to the room, breathing slow and deep. Your hair is a sleepy mess across the pillow.
Gris notices the sudden quiet and glances over his shoulder. A low chuckle slips out when he catches Follo staring.
“She had a rough one last night,” he explains quietly, setting the clipboard down. “Couldn’t settle. My bed’s bigger and warmer than hers. It helps chase the bad dreams off.”
Follo’s lips push into an immediate pout, arms crossing tight.
Gris laughs again, softer, and rubs the back of his neck. “C’mon, man. She’d happily sleep in yours too. Mine is just... closer.”
“Enjin’s room is closer,” Follo mutters, pout deepening.
Gris folds his own arms and leans back against the dresser, one eyebrow raised. “Yeah? And who the hell wants to share a bed with him when he sleeps like that?”
Follo’s pout vanishes. “…True.”
You shift under the sheets then let out a small, sleepy sound, hips wiggling once before you settle again. Follo’s golden eyes snap right back to you, that childish want blooming across his face all over again.
Gris sighs, running fingers through his messy hair. “Look. I’m gonna grab a shower. Keep her company while I’m gone?”
Follo perks up instantly, nodding so fast his hat nearly falls off. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
“Just don’t wake her,” Gris warns with a gentle smile, clapping Follo on the shoulder before disappearing into the attached bathroom. The door clicks shut.
The second the lock turns, Follo moves.
He kicks off his boots by the door, sets his hat on the nightstand, shrugs out of his jacket, and slips under the covers in one fluid motion. Slim arms slide around your waist from behind, pulling your bare back flush to his chest. You make a soft, grumpy sound in your sleep and shift, but the second his warmth settles around you, your body melts back into him like it was waiting for exactly this.
That always short-circuits something in his brain.
His palm spreads wide over your bare tummy, fingers tracing slow, reverent circles like he’s memorizing every soft inch. They drift lower, thumb dipping into the dip of your bellybutton, skimming the warm skin where your waistband should be…
Nothing. Just smooth, naked heat.
Follo’s breath catches hard.
You’re completely bare under the sheets.
Heat slams straight to his groin. His cock, already half-hard from the simple press of your body, surges thick and aching in seconds, swelling heavy against the cleft of your ass. His other hand slides up, cupping the heavy underside of one breast, thumb brushing the soft curve like he still can’t believe his luck.
For a long minute he just lies there, face buried in the back of your neck, breathing you in. Gris had specifically told him not to wake you—something about letting you rest after the long night—but your tits are right there, warm and heavy and perfect, nipples already tightening against his palm from the cool air.
He tries. He really does.
His hips give one tiny, helpless rock, cock sliding hot along the cleft of your ass. A low, shaky exhale ghosts over your skin as he mouths softly at the nape of your neck, already leaking steadily into his underwear.
“I want to fuck her…” he whispers hoarsely against the nape of your neck, voice cracking with need. “Fuck… I want to fuck her so bad…”
You shift in your sleep, rolling lazily onto your back and pushing him aside with a soft, sleepy wiggle as you settle deeper into the sheets. The motion makes your heavy tits bounce and jiggle enticingly right in front of his face.
Follo’s golden eyes snap wide, pupils blowing dark.
The last thread of restraint snaps.
A broken, needy groan rips out of him as he lunges forward and latches onto one puffy nipple like a man starved. His hot, wet mouth seals tight around the sensitive bud, sucking hard with long, greedy pulls that hollow his cheeks while one hand squeezes the other breast possessively, thumb flicking over the stiff peak. His other hand fumbles frantically between your bodies, shoving his pants down just enough to free his throbbing, leaking cock. Hips grinding forward on instinct, dragging his cock against your thigh.
You blink awake slowly, eyes fluttering open at the wet, insistent tugging on your nipple. A soft, sleepy sound slips out of you before you can stop it.
“F-Follo…?” you mumble, voice hoarse and thick.
He pulls off with a wet pop, golden eyes flicking up to yours—dark, glassy, and completely gone. His lips are shiny, cheeks flushed, but there’s no panic, only pure, single-minded need.
“Bunny,” he breathes, voice low and rough, already dragging his tongue over your nipple again. “Couldn’t help it… they looked too good.”
His hand squeezes your breast again, lifting it higher so he can bury his face between them, nuzzling deep with a shaky groan. You feel the hot, heavy drag of his cock against your stomach as he shifts, already rock-hard and leaking steadily.
You let your head drop back against the pillow, still half-asleep but too warm and boneless to be properly annoyed. “It’s fine, Follo.”
His whole face lights up with relief. “Can I keep going?” he breathes, voice already rough. “Please… I need them…”
You wave him off lazily, eyes already sliding shut again. “Sure.”
That’s all the permission he needs.
Follo surges forward, straddling your ribs in one smooth motion. He gathers your heavy tits in both hands, squeezing them tight around his throbbing cock, and starts thrusting—slow at first, savoring the way your soft flesh molds perfectly around him. The fat head bumps against your lips with every forward roll of his hips.
When Gris finally steps out of the bathroom—now fully dressed, hair damp and slightly slicked back—he opens the door to a very different scene.
Follo is straddling your sternum, knees bracketing your ribs, cock sliding hot and heavy between your soft, heavy breasts. He’s got them squeezed tight together, thumbs and forefingers pinching your hardened nipples and tugging upward so the plush mounds mold perfectly around his shaft. You’re awake now—barely—eyes still heavy-lidded and groggy, but your lips part happily around the flushed head of his cock every time it bumps up against them. Your tongue swirls lazily over the leaking slit, little contented hums vibrating up his length while your hands rest loosely on his thighs.
Gris pauses in the doorway, one eyebrow slowly climbing.
Follo freezes mid-thrust, hips stuttering to a halt. His face flushes dark red all the way to the tips of his ears. For a second he looks caught, like he knows exactly how greedy he looks right now—still buried between your tits, cock twitching against your tongue—but he doesn’t pull away.
You just blink up at Gris sleepily, tongue still curled lazily around Follo’s cockhead like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Gris sighs—long, fond, and only a little exasperated. “I said don’t wake her.”
“Shit…” Follo mutters, voice rough and embarrassed. He glances away, cheeks burning, but his hands stay right where they are, still squeezing your breasts around his length. “Couldn’t help it… they looked too inviting.”
Gris just shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small smile. “I’ll grab breakfast for all of us. You two… finish up. Quietly.” He steps back out and closes the door with a soft click.
The second the latch catches, Follo lets out a shaky breath of relief. His hips snap forward again, picking up right where he left off—deeper, a little rougher now that they’re alone. He grips your breasts tighter, thumbs flicking and rolling your nipples in sharp little tugs that make your back arch and a low, throaty moan spill around his cockhead.
“Bunny…” he groans, voice thick with need. “Your breasts feel so good. I lose my mind every time.”
You throw your head back against the pillow, eyes fluttering half-shut, tongue working eagerly over every inch that pushes past your lips. The wet, rhythmic slap of his cock sliding between your soft tits fills the quiet room, mixed with your sleepy, happy little sounds and Follo’s broken panting.
He doesn’t last long—too worked up from grinding against your ass earlier. With a choked groan he shoves the swollen head fully into your mouth, squeezing your breasts tight around the base of his shaft as he cums.
Thick, heavy ropes flood straight onto your tongue—load after load. You swallow greedily around him, letting every spurt coat your mouth while your nipples throb sweetly between his fingers.
When he finally finishes, cock twitching with the last weak spurts, Follo slumps forward, breathing hard. He carefully pulls free from your lips, a thin string of spit and cum connecting you for a second before it breaks.
He’s still flushed, a little sheepish, but the hunger in his eyes hasn’t faded. “Sorry… for waking you,” he murmurs, still a little flushed as he reaches for the water. “Your breasts just looked too good… I couldn’t stop myself.”
You take the water with a sleepy smile, sipping slowly while cum still clings to the corner of your mouth. “S’okay, Follo,” you murmur, voice husky from sleep and cock. You lick your lips clean and wave him off gently. “Hope you have a good rest of your day.”
He stares at you for a long second—eyes dark, cheeks still pink—then leans down to press a grateful kiss to your forehead, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.
“…Thank you, Bunny.”
You just hum, already curling back into the warm sheets as he scrambles to get dressed and slip out before Gris returns with breakfast.
Midmorning finds you in the kitchen, knees on the cool tile as you dig through the bottom cupboard for your favorite cup. The coffee machine gurgles happily above you while the hem of your short Cleaner’s uniform skirt rides all the way up your back, leaving your ass completely on display. The thin panties you wear hug your hips tight, the soft fabric stretched snug over your cheeks and barely covering your folds.
You finally spot the cup tucked in the back, fingers closing around it with a little triumphant hum. You start shuffling backward on your knees, straightening up—only to turn your head and bump straight into a thick, heavy bulge already straining against soft gray sweats.
Enjin’s cock is half-hard and warm, the fat head nudging right against your cheek the instant you face him. The heat of it radiates through the soft fabric, pressing insistently against your skin.
“Morning, trouble,” he drawls, voice still rough and husky from sleep. One tattooed hand settles gently on the back of your head, not pushing, just holding you there while he rocks his hips in a lazy little circle. The clothed length drags slow and heavy across your lips, you can feel the thick ridge of the head catching slightly on your bottom lip with every pass.
It's his scheduled day off, so of course he is only just dragging himself out of bed past ten, wandering around HQ in nothing but those low-slung sleep sweats and a baggy shirt like he owns the whole damn place. His hair is still messy, eyes half-lidded, and that familiar lazy smirk curls at the corners of his mouth.
Was this guy an idiot? First strutting around HQ in those low-slung gray sweats with his thick half-hard cock blatantly outlined for anyone who bothered to look, and now he’s pressing the heavy, heated length right against your face like the very real chance of someone walking in didn’t even fucking register.
You made an irritated little noise of warning in the back of your throat—a muffled, grumpy huff that vibrated straight against the clothed shaft. The last thing you needed was Semiu storming in and tearing you both a new one about “discretion” again, especially with kids and the rest of the team wandering around.
But he doesn’t let you pull away. Instead he presses forward just enough that the thick ridge slips between your parted lips through the fabric, letting you feel the heavy weight of him on your tongue. He ruts a few slow, casual times—shallow little thrusts that make the soft material slide wetly against your tongue and the roof of your mouth. A low, amused chuckle vibrates through his chest as he watches your eyes flutter.
You make a soft, muffled sound around the clothed head, tongue pressing up instinctively against the warm fabric. The faint salty taste of his pre is already soaking through, and your cunt gives a helpless little flutter between your thighs as heat blooms low in your belly.
Enjin’s fingers tighten just a fraction in your hair, thumb brushing the shell of your ear. He rocks forward again, slower this time, letting the full length of his half-hard cock drag heavily across your tongue from base to tip before pulling back with a wet little sound.
“Shit, my bad,” he says with a lazy grin, dimples flashing deep. He does not sound sorry at all. “Thought you were reaching for something else down there.”
He finally steps back, but not before giving one last teasing nudge of his hips so the damp spot on his sweats brushes your lips again. You stay kneeling there for a second, lips tingling, the heavy weight of him lingering on your tongue, cheeks warm, a soft, breathy little whimper slipping out before you can stop it.
Enjin turns toward the coffee machine like nothing happened, but you catch the way his cock is now fully hard and tenting the front of his sweats obscenely. He pours himself a mug, takes a slow sip, then glances back at you over his shoulder with that shit-eating smirk.
He leans back against the counter, one hand casually adjusting the thick bulge in his pants, eyes dark and amused as he waits for you to come out of your hazy little cloud. The wet patch of your tongue on his sweats is impossible to miss, dark and obvious where your mouth had been.
You manage to pull yourself up off your knees, legs a little shaky from the way your thighs had clenched so hard while you were down there, having your face humped through those stupid gray sweats. You pour your own coffee anyway, the mug rattling faintly against the counter as you steady yourself, trying to act like your pussy isn’t still throbbing and slick from the casual way he’d used your mouth like it was nothing more than his personal morning stress toy.
The two of you end up leaning against the counter together, hips brushing, sipping in that comfortable, charged silence that always seems to settle between you after he’s got you like this. Enjin keeps stealing glances at your flushed face, at the way your lips still look a little shiny and swollen from sucking on the fabric stretched over his morning wood. His yellow eyes linger every time you absentmindedly chew on your bottom lip, slow and thoughtful, like you’re still tasting him—still savoring the heavy, salty musk of his cock that’s left your mouth feeling full and slightly used even though you never even got him bare.
He shifts closer, that lazy, troublemaker smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as one tattooed hand reaches out like he’s about to fist your hair and drag you right back down where you belong. “Fuck, trouble… you look like you’re still thinking about it,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, already half-hard again just from watching you swallow around nothing. “C’mere and—”
Rudo’s voice suddenly crackles over the comms, sharp and impatient, calling him away for something that can’t wait.
Enjin groans, head tipping back against the cabinet with a thud, the sound pure frustration. His hand drops, but not before he gives your ass a firm, possessive squeeze, thumb brushing dangerously close to the damp spot between your thighs. “Saved by the fucking bell,” he mutters, dimples flashing even as he adjusts the very obvious bulge in his sweats.
He leans in quick, stealing one last filthy kiss that leaves you tasting smoke and coffee. “Don’t think this is over, princess. I’ll collect the rest later.”
Then ruffles your hair like you are the sweetest thing in the world, and strolls out, still half-hard in those gray sweats like he does not have a care in the world.
You stay leaning against the counter for a moment longer, coffee warm in your hands, the taste of him still faint on your tongue, and a familiar, needy little throb between your legs.
By the time lunch rolls around, you sit enjoying a quiet meal by yourself in the corner of the mess hall when Tamsy appears without a sound and slides into the seat right beside you. His tray is perfectly arranged with elegant, healthy little portions—colorful vegetables, perfectly grilled protein, and delicate sauces that look far too refined for HQ’s usual slop.
He clicks his tongue softly the moment he sees the sad scraps you have managed to scrape together on your plate.
“Here, darling,” he murmurs, already spearing a perfect bite onto his fork and lifting it to your lips. “Have some of mine.”
“I’m fine, Tamsy,” you reply, raising a hand in polite refusal.
He tilts his head, long lashes lowering just enough to cast shadows over those golden eyes. His voice stays sweet, almost melodic, but there is no mistaking the shift underneath it.
“I wasn’t asking, Bunny.”
Your throat tightens. Heat instantly pools low in your belly.
“…Sorry, sir,” you whisper, cheeks already warming as you obediently part your lips.
Tamsy’s angelic smile blooms, soft and radiant. “Good girl,” he hums, voice like warm honey, sliding the fork between your lips.
You chew slowly under the weight of his gaze. Those golden eyes track every movement—your lips closing around the fork, the way your jaw works, the small swallow that follows. The attention is so focused it sends a chill racing up your spine, your thighs pressing together instinctively.
He does not stop. Another bite follows, then another, each one delivered with that same gentle precision while he watches you like you are the only thing worth looking at in the entire room. Every time you swallow, he praises you with a soft “good girl” or a quiet hum of approval, his free hand resting heavy and warm on your thigh—a possessive weight, not stroking, just reminding you exactly who is in control right now.
The dining hall noise fades into the background. All you can focus on is the slow, deliberate way he feeds you, the way his thumb occasionally brushes the corner of your mouth to wipe away a stray bit of sauce, and the growing ache between your legs. Your panties are already damp, clinging uncomfortably as you try not to squirm in your seat.
By the time his plate is completely cleared, your own scraps sit forgotten. Tamsy sets the fork down, wipes your lips one last time with his thumb in a slow, intimate swipe, and stands with that same angelic smile.
“Thank you for letting me take care of you, Bunny,” he says softly, voice carrying that sweet edge only you seem to hear. “I’ll see you later.”
He excuses himself from the table like nothing has happened, leaving you sitting there flushed, thighs clenched tight, and undeniably wet.
You stay for a moment longer, trying to steady your breathing. When Follo eventually wanders over and asks if you are okay—noting the obvious blush on your cheeks—you just smile and promise you are fine.
And definitely not sitting there drooling in your panties from Tamsy’s casual, effortless display of dominance.
You spend the afternoon napping in the lounge with Bro, Dear, and Guita. Well… Guita mostly sits as quietly as she can on the rug, legs tucked under her, eyes glued to the flickering cartoons on the old TV while the rest of you doze.
Bro’s massive frame takes up nearly the entire couch, one thick arm dangling off the side, his feet planted awkwardly on the floor because his legs are too long for the cushions. Dear is fast asleep on his broad chest, tiny body rising and falling with every slow breath Bro takes. Bro’s big hand stays tucked securely under the boy’s butt, holding him steady so he will not roll off in his sleep.
You sit on the floor right beside them, back leaning against the side of the couch, your head resting comfortably on Bro’s warm shoulder. It's not the most comfortable position—your neck will probably complain later—but you don't care. You’re just happy to steal this quiet little moment of Bro’s presence in the middle of his endless babysitting schedule. His familiar scent of clean sweat, faint soap, and that comforting warmth that always makes you feel safe wraps around you like a blanket.
Every so often Bro’s free hand drifts up, big fingers gently carding through your hair in slow, absentminded strokes, like he does not even realize he is doing it. You hum softly in response, eyes half-lidded, letting the low murmur of cartoons and the steady rise and fall of his chest lull you deeper into that warm, sleepy haze.
At one point Dear shifts in his sleep with a tiny grumble. Bro instantly adjusts his grip, murmuring a low, soothing “Easy, kiddo…” against the boy’s hair without ever waking up fully. The deep rumble of his voice vibrates through his shoulder and straight into your cheek. You smile against his shirt, nuzzling a little closer. One of your hands finds its way to rest on his stomach, grounding yourself as your fingers loosely curl into the fabric of his shirt.
Guita glances over once, tilting her head at the three of you piled together like sleepy puppies. She doesn’t say anything, just gives a big, toothy smile before turning back to her cartoons, bobbing her head to the beat of the theme song.
When Guita finally grows tired of sitting still, Bro gets whisked away to do something “less boring” with her and a half-asleep Dear. The big man gives you a gentle squeeze on the shoulder and an apologetic smile before he scoops both kids up and disappears down the hall, leaving you alone in the suddenly quiet lounge.
You wander out to the foyer to fill the empty space, ending up in front of Semiu’s desk with a stack of paperwork. You lean against the edge, flipping through reports, trying to cut the pile down even a little before the evening rush hits.
The main doors hiss open in the early evening. Enjin and Gris stride in still dressed in their full Cleaner gear—Enjin’s day off was clearly cancelled for a last-minute mission that needed extra hands. Both of them look dusty and a little worn, but the second Enjin spots you his whole face lights up with that troublemaker grin.
He doesn’t even slow down. He comes up behind you, one tattooed hand sliding under your chin to tilt your head back gently. Without a word he leans down and claims your mouth in a slow, deep welcome-home kiss—the kind that tastes like smoke, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of the Ground. Semiu rolls her eyes so hard it is audible.
You pull back just enough to turn toward Gris. He gives you a softer, chaste kiss—warm and steady, his large hand cupping the side of your face for a brief second like you are something precious.
“How’d it go?” Semiu asks, already rifling through papers to find the right report sheet for Enjin to start filling out.
“Easy as pie,” Enjin smirks, still standing close enough that his chest brushes your back. He holds up a folded piece of paper between two fingers. “I even got the girl’s number.”
You look up at him, one eyebrow raised. "Seriously?"
Semiu slips her hand under her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose, letting out a long, tired breath.
“I’m right here", you state, shaking your head.
Enjin just laughs, low and unbothered. “Oh come on. It’s not that bad. Besides, she was cute.”
Semiu lets out a deep, suffering sigh. “Wasn’t bringing Bunny here supposed to stop you from harassing the victims of trash beasts?”
Gris reaches over without a word and plucks the folded paper right out of Enjin’s fingers, giving the fellow blond a long, disapproving look.
Enjin lolls his head to the side with a dramatic whine. “You guys are so uncool. I’m just being friendly!”
That was his excuse for bringing home another girl's number, just being "friendly"? You fold your arms under your chest, pushing your tits up nicely against the low neckline, and give Enjin a sweet, innocent little smile. If he wanted to play dirty, so would you.
“Since you wanna keep chasing numbers, I doubt you want to collect the rest of this morning’s activities.”
Enjin's eyes flick down to you like he's registering what you said, before tilting downwards. Crowding into your space until the other two become nothing but shadows in his peripherals. “Oh yeah? Says who?”
“Says me,” you retort, matter-of-fact.
Enjin’s grin vanishes for half a second—taken back by your retort—before that troublemaker smirk slams back into place, twice as wicked. “Oh? Says you?” he drawled, voice low and rough with promise.
You double down, meeting him head-on. You tilt your head innocently, that sweet smile still playing on your lips. “Yeah, says me. Cuck.”
He just chuckles, low and dark, that smirk deepening until it’s almost feral. Oh, you really fucked up this time.
He grabs your face with one big hand, fingers pressing into your cheeks so your lips pout out obscenely. “Watch how you speak to me, trouble.”
You smile the best you can around his grip, furrowing your brow in pure defiance. “Make me.”
The room stills for a second and you swear you can hear your own heart beat from in the quietness.
Without another word he scoopes you up and tosses you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing, one big hand landing a hard spank to your ass as he started carrying you toward the hallway. You squeal giddily, kicking your legs against his chest, half-laughing, half-protesting.
Gris gives Semiu a quick apologetic nod before chasing after the two of you.
Semiu just sighs again, rubbing her temple. “Lord, give me strength…”
Enjin doesn’t even bother heading for the bedrooms.
He kicks open the first empty supply room he sees, the door banging loudly against the wall as he carries you inside. Gris follows right behind, locking the door with a soft, final click that makes your stomach flip with anticipation.
The second the lock turns, Enjin sets you down on the cluttered work bench. With one broad sweep of his arm, he sends clipboards, spare gloves, and empty coffee mugs clattering to the floor. He doesn't care about the mess, he just needs space for you.
You land on your back with a little squeak, elbows bracing behind you so you can look up at him. Your short skirt has already ridden all the way up your thighs, thin panties on full display, and the way Enjin’s yellow eyes drop straight between your legs makes fresh heat pool low in your belly.
“So, trouble,” he drawls, planting both tattooed hands on the bench, either side of your hips, caging you in completely. His face hovers inches above yours, that signature troublemaker smirk curling slow and dangerous. “Gonna apologise?”
You take in his face for a second, feeling your heart skip a beat at his handsome features before remembering your course of action. You tilt your chin up defiantly, riding that bratty high, your lips curving into a sweet, challenging little smile.
“You gonna apologise to me for flirting with other girls?”
Enjin’s smirk deepens. He leans in closer, forehead pressing against yours, warm breath fanning over your lips. The familiar scent of smoke, sweat, and pure Enjin wraps around you like a drug.
“I dunno…” he murmurs, voice low and breathy. “Maybe if you take back calling me a cuck… I’ll apologise with my tongue till you forget why you even decided to brat.”
A shiver races down your spine. You're already getting wetter, thighs pressing together instinctively as his gaze burns into you.
Gris rounds the table with slow, deliberate steps, his tall frame casting a shadow over you just as you open your mouth for another bratty retort.
Before a single word can escape, his large, calloused hand wraps firmly around your throat—not squeezing hard, but tight enough to make your breath hitch and your mouth snap shut instantly.
“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmurs low against your ear, voice steady and warm, but carrying that quiet warning edge. “Enjin's not playing right now. Don’t dig your hole any deeper unless you are ready to handle exactly what comes with it.”
Your eyes widen, pulse jumping wildly under his palm. Your thighs press together harder as you chew on your bottom lip.
You open your mouth anyway—stubborn little brat that you are—probably to say something even worse.
But Enjin is already moving.
His tattooed hand slides up your soft thigh, fingers hooking roughly into the soaked crotch of your thin panties and yanking them aside with zero patience. Cool air kisses your dripping folds for half a second before he drops to his knees between your spread legs like he belongs there.
“Too late for warnings, Gris,” Enjin chuckles, dark and low, that infuriatingly smug grin still plastered on his face as his hot breath ghosts over your aching cunt. “She picked the game. Now she is gonna fucking play it.”
He doesn’t give you another second to talk.
His mouth is on you instantly—hot, wet, and starving. That wicked tongue drags a slow, filthy stripe up your soaked folds before flicking sharp and mean right over your swollen clit.
Your whole body jolts hard, elbows nearly buckling as a broken, needy moan tears from your throat. Enjin groans against your pussy like he has been dying for the taste, the deep vibration shooting straight through your core and making your thighs tremble violently.
“Fuck… already this wet for me, trouble?” he mumbles, lips shiny and slick with you. “Bratty little pussy doesn't even pretend she doesn't want it.”
You try to press your lips into a thin line, biting down to trap the moans slipping out anyway. “I-I thought you said I would only get eaten out- if I apologised…”
Enjin’s yellow eyes flick up at you from between your chubby thighs, gleaming with pure mischief. “Did I?” He sucks your clit hard into his mouth, letting it pop free with a wet sound. “Guess I changed my mind.”
Then he seals his lips around the swollen nub again and starts flicking his tongue fast and relentless, sucking and licking like he is trying to ruin you in the next thirty seconds.
You try to scream—a high, desperate sound—but Gris is faster.
He tips your head back, fingers sliding from your throat into your hair, gripping the roots tight as he claims your mouth in a deep, possessive kiss. His tongue slides against yours, swallowing every frantic moan while your thighs shake violently against the sides of Enjin’s head.
Enjin pulls back just enough to watch your poor cunt twitch and throb for him, a thick string of spit and slick still connecting his bottom lip to your folds. His eyes darken.
"Such a sloppy little hole," he growls softly.
Two thick, tattooed fingers run slowly through your puffy folds, spreading you open obscenely before he sinks them deep inside you in one smooth, filthy push.
Your back arches hard off the workbench, a muffled cry vibrating straight into Gris’s mouth as Enjin curls his fingers and starts pumping them slow and deep, thumb brushing teasing circles over your clit while his tongue joins back in—licking, sucking, devouring you like he will never get enough.
He can feel it—the way your greedy walls flutter and milk his fingers, sucking and clenching harder with every flick of his tongue. You are hurtling toward the edge so fast it makes his cock throb painfully against his pants.
He looks up from between your soft thighs, yellow eyes locking onto yours while you pant desperately against Gris’s mouth. Your gaze meets his—glassy, pleading, lips shiny and swollen. Enjin doesn’t look away for a second. He keeps that intense eye contact as he presses his tongue flat and hard against your swollen clit, flicking fast and mean while his fingers stroke that perfect spot over and over.
Your walls squeeze tighter around his digits, thighs trembling violently.
Then—right as your orgasm starts to crest—he pulls back.
He yanks his fingers free and lifts his mouth away at the exact same second, leaving you clenching and pulsing around nothing.
The ruined orgasm hits you like a slap.
You cry out sharply against Gris’s tongue, the sound breaking into a desperate, anguished whimper as your peak gets ripped away. Your whole body jerks hard on the workbench, hips twitching uselessly, cunt fluttering and dripping with need.
You tear your mouth away from Gris’s with a wet gasp, chest heaving, eyes wide and teary as you stare down at Enjin in disbelief.
“Wh-why did you do that?!” you whine, voice cracking. “I was gonna cum!”
Enjin shrugs, slow and lazy, lips still shiny with your slick as he rises to his feet. That shit-eating smirk is back in full force, dimples carving deep.
“You haven’t apologised yet, trouble.”
You open your mouth to rebuttal but Gris slips two fingers between your lips, calloused pads rubbing hard against the wet muscle. The action makes you whimper, hips bucking needily. Gris just chuckles low at your actions.
Enjin chuckles to himself as he watches you suckle on Gris’s fingers as he reaches down and frees his cock in one smooth motion—thick, flushed dark, and already leaking at the tip. It springs up heavy and hard. He wraps a tattooed hand around the base and gives himself a slow, lazy stroke, eyes never leaving your ruined, desperate face.
Gris’s fingers fall from your mouth, hand wrapping loosely around your throat again. His thumb brushing your racing pulse as he leans down to murmur against your ear, voice low and warm but edged with amusement.
“Better start saying sorry, sweetheart… or he's just going keep edging that needy little cunt until you are crying for it.”
Enjin steps closer, rubbing the fat, leaking head of his cock slowly up and down your soaked folds, teasing your swollen clit with every pass.
“So… you gonna apologise now, Bunny?” he drawls, voice rough with lust. “Or do I need to ruin a few more of those pretty orgasms first?”
Your cunt clenches hard around nothing, another pathetic whimper slipping out as you stare up at him—bratty fire still flickering in your eyes, but your thighs are already trembling with how badly you need to be filled.
“F-fuck you…” you gasp, voice shaky and dripping with frustration.
Enjin lets out a low, amused chuckle, dark and filthy as he strokes his thick cock slowly in his fist.
“That is exactly what I was planning on doing, trouble.”
Without another word he lines himself up and sinks into you in one deep, relentless thrust—stretching your soaked walls wide around his girth until he bottoms out with a low groan that matches your own wrecked moan.
The sudden fullness punches the air out of your lungs.
But he doesn't wait. He starts rutting into you hard and fast, hips snapping with greedy, punishing strokes like he is determined to drag you right back to the edge in seconds. His thumb finds your swollen clit again and rubs tight, mean circles, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the small room.
Your eyes pinch shut, thighs trembling violently around his waist. “Enjin— Enjin, I’m gonna cum—!”
But he rips his cock out at the last possible second.
Your orgasm shatters before it can even crest, leaving you clenching desperately around nothing. A frustrated scream tears from your throat as your cunt throbs and flutters uselessly, slick dripping down your ass.
“Enjin!” you cry, voice cracking with pure anguish. “Why?! Please— please, I was so close!”
He chuckles again, low and smug, wrapping his hand around the base of his glistening cock and giving himself a slow, lazy stroke while he watches you squirm.
“You can beg all you want, trouble… but you're not cumming until you apologise.”
You huff, cheeks burning, and turn pleading eyes toward Gris—hoping for even a little mercy.
Enjin laughs harder, dimples carving deep. “Don’t go running to him now, princess. You bratted at me, so now you deal with me. And me alone.”
Gris gives you a soft, almost apologetic look. “Sorry, little one,” he murmurs, placing a soft kiss to your hair.
You shoot him one last longing, betrayed glance before dragging your gaze back to Enjin. He stands there stroking his thick cock, watching you expectantly. Like he wasn't continously denying you your orgasm. Asshole.
You grumble under your breath, lips pressed into a thin line, then let out a deep, defeated sigh.
“…I’m sorry, Enjin.”
The second the words leave your mouth, Enjin’s expression softens into a genuine, proud smile—no smirk this time, just warm satisfaction.
“That's my good girl,” he praises, voice low and rough with affection.
He steps forward immediately, letting the fat head of his cock drag teasingly through your soaked folds once, twice, before he pushes back inside you in one smooth, claiming thrust.
A broken moan spills from your lips as he fills you again, stretching you perfectly.
“One orgasm for my trouble, coming right up,” he growls.
Gris leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple while his hand wraps loosely back around your throat.
“See, sweetheart? Being good feels so much better…”
“Yes— yes— yes—! I’m good— so good—!” you babble helplessly, voice cracking with every brutal thrust as Enjin fucks you hard and fast toward your orgasm. His thumb presses down on your swollen clit, rubbing tight, relentless circles that make your eyes roll back.
Enjin lets out a low, satisfied chuckle.
Gris captures your mouth in a deep, hungry kiss, swallowing every loud, needy sound before it can leak past the door.
“Yeah, you are,” Enjin murmurs, voice rough and filthy as he chases the tight, wet stroke of your cunt around his cock. “My pretty little trouble. Taking me so fucking well.”
You are already teetering right on the edge again. Your legs snap around his waist, heels digging into his back, locking him deep inside you so he can't pull away.
Enjin’s yellow eyes flick up and lock with Gris’s. Gris understands instantly.
He pulls back from your lips and the two blonds swap roles without a word.
Enjin’s hand leaves your clit and grips your jaw instead, tilting your face up so he can claim your mouth in a greedy, messy kiss—tongue shoving deep. At the same moment, Gris’s large hand slides down from your throat, his calloused fingers finding your throbbing clit and rubbing slow, firm circles exactly the way you need.
That is all it takes.
Your orgasm crashes into you hard.
Your back arches violently off the workbench, a broken, muffled scream vibrating straight into Enjin’s mouth as your cunt clamps down around his cock like a vice. Wave after wave rips through you, thighs shaking uncontrollably while slick gushes hot around his thrusting length.
Enjin groans deep into the kiss as your spasming walls drag him over the edge with you. He slams to the hilt one last time and unloads—thick, hot ropes of cum painting your womb while your cunt keeps milking every pulse.
The two of you stay locked together, trading lazy, messy kisses as the high slowly ebbs. Gris leans in from behind, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the side of your neck while his big hands rest possessively on your hips.
“That's my good girl,” Enjin murmurs against your lips when he finally pulls back just enough to speak. “All you needed was to say sorry, huh? Not so hard when you have got a cock rearranging your insides, is it?”
You can only manage a soft, unintelligible little murmur, brain still completely melted.
Enjin smiles—soft and genuine—and leans down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “But yeah, I'm sorry too, trouble.”
He slowly pulls out, his cock slipping free with a wet sound. A thick trickle of his cum immediately leaks from your puffy, used cunt.
You blink up at him, still hazy, when Gris reaches over and unfolds that crumpled piece of paper. He holds it open so you can see—completely blank.
Enjin rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish little grin. “There wasn’t any number. Mission was boring as hell… I just wanted something fun to happen when we got back.”
You turn to look at Gris, who gives you a small, apologetic shrug.
“I tried to stop him,” Gris says softly, still stroking your hip. “But you know what he is like once he gets an idea in his head. Sorry, sweetheart.”
Your eyes snap back to Enjin, lips pushing out into an annoyed little pout.
“Enjin, you ass!” you whine, trying to kick at him with your jelly-weak leg.
He laughs, bright and warm, and catches your ankle gently before leaning in to place a quick, affectionate kiss right on the tip of your nose.
“Love ya too, princess,” he teases, dodging your half-hearted swat with that trademark dimpled grin.
After the thorough taming session in the supply room, the boys take their time cleaning you up. Enjin wipes between your thighs with a warm, damp cloth while Gris presses soft kisses to your temple and helps you back into your panties. Once everyone is decent again—swapping Cleaner uniforms for casual tees and sweats—the three of you finally make your way to the mess hall for the dinner rush.
You slide into your usual spot at the long table, Gris settling on your left and Enjin on your right like bookends. Across from you sit Rudo, Riyo, and Zanka, while Tomme and Follo claim the seats at the end.
It is the usual comfortable chaos.
Under the table, both men have a possessive hand on your thigh. Gris’s grip is firm and steady, warm palm resting high enough to feel grounding and protective. Enjin, on the other hand, traces lazy, absentminded little circles into your soft skin with his thumb while he chats with Zanka across the table.
Follo makes light conversation with Gris about today’s mission, Tomme chiming in every few sentences with soft, light-hearted tidbits. Zanka recounts his day on the field, chest puffing out a little when Enjin gives him a lazy grin and genuine praise. Riyo, ever the instigator, keeps tossing teasing jabs at both Zanka and Rudo, which inevitably sparks another loud back-and-forth argument between the two boys right over her head.
You sit in the middle of it all, quietly eating your meal with a soft, contented little smile.
The familiar noise and warmth wrap around you like a blanket. Under the table, Gris gives your thigh a gentle squeeze while Enjin’s thumb continues its slow, teasing strokes. You take another bite, cheeks warm, eyes half-lidded in quiet bliss as the easy chaos of your strange little family plays out around you.
After dinner, you decide to tag along with Zanka to watch him train with Lovely Assistaff.
You haven't seen him all day—he's the type to rise early and start the morning missions before most of the building is even awake. He also makes a point of avoiding you on purpose, since you, just like Rudo, have a very good habit of pissing him off.
You lean against the cool wall of the training ground, arms folded under your chest, and watch him move.
Zanka twirls the staff above his head with sharp precision, the wood whistling through the air before he slams the end into the concrete. The force lifts his whole body up and over the planted staff in one fluid motion, and he lands lightly on his feet right in front of it, knees bent, posture perfect.
He does it again. And again.
Each time he twists the stick like it is nothing more than a natural extension of his own arm, muscles flexing under his tight training shirt as he flows through the practiced routine. The staff spins, strikes, and spins again—fast, controlled, almost graceful in its brutality. Enjin was right: Zanka doesn't need to be a natural talent to show off just how deadly he is with his vital instrument.
That is, until another sharp spin sends something from the wood catching in his thumb. A splinter.
“Shit,” he curses, instantly dropping Lovely Assistaff to grab at his damaged hand.
You push off the wall and move to him quickly, concerned for the stuck up male. “You good?”
“Yeah. I’m alright. Just a splinter.” He glances down at his jinki, still cradling his hurt hand. “Guess the wood needs another polishing.”
“Here. Let me help,” you state, taking his injured hand and bringing it close to inspect it. A small splinter has pierced the top few layers of skin—nothing you can't pull out—but Zanka being Zanka has to make it difficult.
“I don’t need your help,” he claims, trying to yank his hand out of your grasp. “What are you? My mother?”
You roll your eyes, pulling his hand back. “Yes. Now shut up and let me help you.”
Zanka bristles at your bold reply, but he holds still as you carefully pull out the splinter, resigning himself to not fight you anymore on the matter. Once the small piece of wood is removed, you smile up at him, soft and sweet.
“There! All better.”
You then place a small, gentle kiss right on his injured thumb. The simple touch makes his shoulders twitch hard and a faint blush bloom across his sharp cheeks. He pulls his hand away in embarrassment, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
“…Thanks,” he mutters, voice quieter than usual.
You just smile wider and lean in to press a quick kiss to his cheek, lips lingering for half a second longer than necessary. “Goodnight, Zanka.”
He stands there frozen, hand still hovering near his neck, as you turn and make your way toward the dorms. Sleep is calling you after another long, chaotic day of keeping the cleaners happy.
After all, another average day for the Cleaner’s barrack bunny can be so tiring.
Even though I know some day you’re gonna shine on your own
I will be your protector
🌻💥🌟
If you’ve been here long enough you know my story, you know my loss, you know my miracle that came after and you know why this piece is very important to me. Please be nice, please do not include this in any drama or tumblr stupidity, or selfshipping bullshit. Please just enjoy the art and the joy of my pretend son with me and let it be at peace.
Kenzo loves to help in the kitchen, he’s always been that way since he was able to walk and start forming sentences.
He wants to help mama pour stuff in the bowl, wants to put stuff in the “oven” (it’s the microwave), he wants to help stir, and he loves to taste test (which is just him getting to lick a spoon).
He has little matching aprons with his dad that say “Yes Chef!” And “Yes lil Chef!” . His favorite thing to make is cereal. He loves watching daddy work the grill (so do I Kenny) and his dad loves to show off on the grill lol.
Whenever we are all out together and someone inevitably comes over to tell Katsu that he spit out a carbon copy of himself, Katsu gets so prideful like “Yeah, he’s my mini me but don’t say that around his Ma she’s jealous.”
He snickers and whispers it loudly so I can hear and I just roll my eyes and I’m like “I’m not jealous because I’m his favorite parent so :P” which is also true but Katsu legit wouldn’t have it any other way.
In addition to teaching Kenzo how to write very early on, especially his name in both English and Japanese, Katsu teaches him sign language too (because Katsu’s hearing is going away slowly with age).
