❀ 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
TAGS. mature content. MDNI. unprotected intercourse. dirtytalk. nicknames. oral(male) in tamsy's. nasty stuff(per usual) full nelson(corvus). breeding. size k!nk. fingering(tamsy). edging. standing(enjin). semin public in enjins. everyone's pussydrunk except for Tamsy, lol. throat fuggin. Fingering. hair pullin. doggy(Jabber). Follo's a mess. riding(follo).
A/N; My babies asked me, so yk I had to DELIVERRRRR this flithy monster raaaaaa!^^ Enjoyyyyy <333 my ko-fi <3
꩜ Corvus — 27 DAYS ᝰ.ᐟ
"Ohhh, sugar,"
He should be ashamed.
He was so close to proving himself to be the strong, composed leader he's supposed to be, but you're just—
"You're just my needy baby."
Yeeep, just that.
And Twenty-seven days.
That's how long Corvus held the line in this ridiculous No Nut November pact, his iron will tested every. single. goddamn. second.
You've been plotting his downfall from day one, with those seducting touches when passing by his office to 'drop something off', or the way you'd bend over just a little too long when 'accidentally' dropping something, your plump ass outlined perfectly in coincidentally tight jeans.
And he tried his best to get his shit together, gritting his teeth, adjusting himself not-so-discreetly in his office chair, burying the sinful ache deep, telling himself it 'built character', and 'made him stronger'.
So tonight, after nearly a full damn month of restraint, that facade of his shattered like glass falling to the ground. And what made him finally give in, you ask?
Your tears did it.
Those big, pleading eyes locked on his as you straddled his lap on the bed, grinding down with needy ruts, your soaked panties rubbing against the thick, twitching girth resting heavy right under your dripping cunt.
"P-please, Corvus," you'd whispered with those honeyed lips of yours, getting his hungry hues right on yours once your voice cracked, lips trembling in a cute pout, "Need you inside me, been way too long. J-just fuck the challenge— fuck me."
He should be ashamed, yeah. But he just can't stand seeing his sweet girl all pouty.
So, here you are.
Now, you're pressed flush against his muscled chest, your face hanging low and mouth agape, the sharp scent of his cologne forcing it's way into your nostrils.
He holds you steady, one arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close while his free hand's burried between your spread thighs, collecting your gushing juices on his meaty fingers.
"M' sorry, baby," he cooes, staring at your weeping pussy in awe, his hand on your waist now traveling up to softly pat the top of your head, musing at your wobbling lips, "Been neglecting my darlin' for wayyy too long. Gonna make it up to ya'."
Two thick fingers dare to slide inside your gasping hole in one smooth push, a wet squelch! echoing in pair with your relieved mewl. You're dripping like crazy, letting his fingers slide in and out with ridiculous ease, padd stroking that sweet spot inside you that have you bucking your hips right against his hefty cock.
And you're dripping, walls hugging those vicious fingers of his as he's curling them up, stroking your gushing spot over and over again, cooing at your mewls and wiggling squirms.
You writhe and arch, burying your face into his skin, neck straining as far back as it could go, hips bucking up to chase the delicious friction. His thumb finds your puffy clit, firmly circling while his fingers continuously pump in and out.
Your juices coat his hand and trickle down to his wrist with every harsh slam his palm lands against your cunt, all while his other hand strokes your hair soothingly, plastering kisses to your cheek and temple.
"That's it, baby. Let it all out," he says, fingers ramming in harder, even adding a third to strech you out better, prepearing you for what else he's having in store for you.
"Ya' begged so pretty, couldn't leave my girl achin' like that."
Even if it means he lost this little challenge and will have to endure some playful teasing from you later, it's—
"Soooo worth it, darlin'."
His cock throbs right under your gushing cunt, hanging heavy and swollen just beneath you, massive and veins bulging, the tip leaking pre in fat beads that smear against your inner thigh.
Those twenty-seven days of denial have left his tip an angry-red, now so close to your snug walls, jumping in joy each time your pussy drools onto him.
Your orgasm builds quick from the pent-up frustration of the month, thighs beginning to wobble, earning an amused chuckle from him.
"Gonna make you cum on my fingers first," he grunts, stroking your head again, fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your face up, eyes digging into yours, "Then I'll give my princess what she really wants."
Soon, the tight knot in your belly snaps and your pussy gushes all over his hand, and squirting your juices onto his excited girth juming below you.
He works you through it, thumb flicking your clit like he's trying to grind it down until your cheeks dampen with fresh tears.
"T-thank you! Thank you, Corvus!—"
"Mhmm, Hold that thought for later, baby."
And with that, he hoists you up by your trembling thighs, arms hooking under your knees, quickly folding you in half. Your back arches as he locks you into a mean full nelson, your arms pinned behind your head, his throbbing cock already nudging your entrance.
RAM!
His wicked hips are sudden, slamming all of his chubby inches right into you, his heavy loaded balls managing to fly and hit your clit with a harsh smack!
"Hnghhh! Fuck! You're sooo deep!"
With one crazed grunt he starts pounding, burning stretch shooting not only to your legs but also your pussy as he splits you open, his fat tip knock knock knocking at your g-spot. And he damn near cums right into you as he steals a glance to your stuffed pussy, cock hitting deep enough to bruise your cervix.
"T-take it, sugar," he grunts, eyes wide and crazed, his unsteady breath hot against your nape, "Allll of it. Been waitin' to fill this pretty pussy up for so long."
Bounce bounce bouncing you on his dick over and over again, your tits jiggle wildly with each ram, the wet and sticky sounds of skin on skin filling the humid air.
When the sound of your soft sniffles reach him over your messy and lewd whines, his gaze snaps to your face, rhythm faltering as he gawks in awe, taking you in.
"Fuckkkk, look at my pretty princess."
You're a beautiful mess with drool shining on your chin, soft sniffles spilling out, your hot tears streaking down your cheeks, and a tiny hiccup escapes when he presses a tender but nontheless teasing kiss to your temple.
"I know, I knowww— you can let go f' me, baby. C'mon."
Right on cue, your pussy clamps down like a vice, another orgasm ripping through you, your walls hugging his thick cock thight in needy pulses.
And he doesn't stop those brutal thrusts of his, continuously slamming into you, each deep dive dragging a filthy, wet squelch from your overstuffed cunt as his girth stretches you wiiiide.
Fwap! Fwap! Fwap!
The lewd rhythm echoes off the walls, your creamy cum gushing out around his pounding inches, trickling down to soak your ass crack and glaze his taut abdomen and heavy, swinging balls, his ragged groans vibrating against your neck where his mouth latches on.
He's no better off than you, sweat beading on his brows and trickling down his temple, self control completely falling apart, cursing under his breath, regretting every second of that stupid No Nut November bullshit that left him this feral.
"Fuck, pretty, gonna fill this greedy cunt up," he growls, frantic twitches of his fat cock buried deep, hooking your legs higher behind your head, "Breed this pretty pussy— yeahhh, gonna give it ta' ya'."
With one final, squelching thrust, his balls tighten against your ass, and with a breathy moan, he buries himself to your womb one last time before his cock pulses white buckets of cum inside you.
"Mhmmm," he muses, balls tightening one last time to squeeze out the last bits of cum right into you, holding you firm against his beefy chest, nipping your jaw as he resumes the light buck of his hips,
"No wastin' a single drop, darlin'."
꩜ Follo — 3 DAYS ᝰ.ᐟ
He tried. He really did.
Pushing through the first two days with clenched teeth and restraint, even though he calls your pussy a second home. And not being inside said second home, not feeling the warm, gripping heaven he became so addicted to made him feel like he's in exile.
And on day three, he couldn't take it anymore.
The painful pressure in his poor cock built to an unbearably miserable peak, cock straining against his boxers at the slightest thought of you.
The sound of the shower running in the bathroom has been pure torture, imagining the droplets of water rolling down your naked curves, tracing paths down he ached to follow with his own fingers cock instead, already sitting at the edge of the couch in only his boxers.
So much for self-control.
By the time the water finally shuts off, his hands are trembling where they grip the back of the couch, leg bouncing restlessly, and eyes fixed on the bathroom door.
And when it creaks open, steam spilling out around you, your skin glowing, the scent of your delicious body lotion already rushing up his nostrils, he already accepts his loss before he even has a chance to receive it.
Fuck holding out. He needs to touch you right now, lose himself in the only spot that truly feels right.
The moment your gaze meets his, he already feels a spurt of pre shooting out of his angry, red crown, dirtying his already damp boxers.
"Hmm? What'cha thinkin' about, Follo?"
You close the distance with swaying hips, droplets still clinging to your skin, his pulse quickening with every soft pad of your bare feet on the floor until he sinks back into the couch, legs spreading instinctively for you.
"You don't wanna know, baby."
A soft giggle escapes you at the sight of that ridiculously massive bulge straining against his pants, climbing right into his lap, your greedy pussy pressing right against his cock through the thin fabric. And you gasp in amusement as it twitches almost comically at your touch, your curious eyes shooting up to meet his when you hear his lewd whine.
"I think I already do."
A pathetic whimper escapes him at the heat of you seeping through the fabric, his hands flying to your waist in a silent plea.
"P-please move f' me," he mutters breathlessly, and your needy whimper seems to be music to his ears when the hood of your puffy clit hooks right over his twitching tip.
Rocking your hips slightly, your slick folds slide over him, and you can basically feel how it makes his head spin.
He just needs to feel you. Nothing more. There's no way he can lose the challenge with just a little touching, right?
Oh, if only he knew.
Fingers quickly fumbling with the hem of his boxers, he's lazily yanking them down with frantic urgency, shoving it right under his heavy balls, cock springing free, thick beads of pre drooling down his fat head, veins clearly standing out.
You shift just enough to let his weeping tip almost plant a kiss to your clit, only a hair's breath away from the thing he's longing for the most at the moment.
"T-thank the heavens," he hisses when your nails dig into his shoulders, drip drip dripping your honeyed slick riiiight on his pulsing girth.
He grips your hips hard, guiding you down desperatly with frustrating huffs, watching with hooded eyes as your moist folds part around his girth, your hot heat already causing another set of pre to leak from his tip.
"O-oh."
His head falls back against the couch, head spinning in dizzying circles as you start to grind down onto him, pushing his painfully hard cock right to his toned stomach, up up up, until your clit gives his drooling cock a heavy kiss.
"Fuh-fuck, yes!"
The raw whine tears from his throat, and you can only coo at how utterly pussydrunk he already is, all of his build up self control shattering under the slick pool of your pussy.
And he'd be embarrassed if not for the delicious feeling of your silken folds rutting against his cock so needily, each slick and hot slide of your greedy pussy along his pulsating cock bitter-sweet, his hips bucking upwards in a desperate attempt to slip past your gasping hole he can feel teasing the head of his cock.
You circle your hips so cruely slow, maddening grind focusing right on his swollen, sensitive tip. You're smearing his leaking pre over your clit, eyes locked on his frustratingly knitted brows and cute pouts.
"Quit teasin', baby, p-pleaseee,"
The plea disolves into a broken whine, his hands digging into your curves and his knuckles damn near turn white at his effort of not just to yank you right down onto his aching cock.
There's a teasing smile on your lips when you lean close to his face and he has to fight tears when your fingers play with his raven hair, clicking your tongue teasingly.
"But Follo, it's only been three days," you purr, voice dripping with false sympathy as you rock your hips harder, his tip now hooking into your hole before slipping right past and onto your clit again, much to his displeasure, "You're sooo needy."
Eyes glazed and clouded in lust fixate on the sight of your cunt, drooling your slick all over him, and he feels like he might explode if he has to wait a moment longer to finally sink into his favourite desire, quick to ignore your last tease.
"Yeah, three days too much," he mutters, words rushed and almost incoherent babble, head hanging low, "Never again, I swear. Never goin' that long without my pretty girl ever again. Please, just— please."
Right after those pleasing, glassed eyes oggle up at yours, you grip his hefty girth and guide the swollen tip to your spurting hole, easing down to swallow him inch by torturous inch.
"F-fuckin' finally."
Your walls clench and part around his thick length, gripping every ridge and vein as you smoothly slide down. Another loud whine shamelessly flies past his lips, hips frantically jerking up while your pussy stretches wiiiide to take him whole, until your ass wetly slaps against his soaked thighs.
"Need ya' ta' move, pretty. P-please— h-hahh!"
Words cut off and cock pulsing excitingly at your wrenching walls, his fat tip swells even more, prying you open deep inside and leaking his sticky pre to smear your cervix.
"L-like thaaaat?"
And when you finally lift your hips and drop them with a mean slam, pulling up until only his meaty head stays lodged in you before crashing back down, letting his cock knock 'hello' at your cervix.
And yes, he might've gone a little crazy. But he wouldn't want to change a single thing.
Leftover shower water beads on your skin, turning your tits shiny as they jiggle with each hard slam, his hands shooting up to grab your heaving breasts in a greedy squeeze, thumbs scraping over your stiff nipples before latching onto them, suckling as if he could pull milk out of them.
Well, at the end of this, he might aswell.
"Yer' sooo— nghhh!— damn addictive, angel."
And right when you feel another spurt of pre flooding your stuffed pussy, and his lewd whines vibrating against your stiff buds, you hug his cock tight, already greedily anticipating his heavy load of cum shooting into—
"O-ohhh, think m'— mhmm, gonna cum, angel."
So what if he barely lasted three days in the challenge?
If this sweet pussy of yours is the consolation he gets for losing, he'd fail again in a heartbeat.
꩜ Enjin — 10 DAYS ᝰ.ᐟ
"O-oh fuck!"
Enjin damn near sees the Sphere crack open and a choir of angels clawing for his soul the second he slams his aching cock balls-deep into your gooey pussy.
Your walls clamp around him like glue, sucking him in with those greedy wrenches that pulse like a heartbeat, wringing every inch of him for his life, because if you're being honest, you've been starving these past ten days just as bad as he had.
Sweat drips from his temple and light brow, mixing with the grime of the trash beasts he'd just turned to dust outside of HQ, muscles still twitching from the fight, worn out but still fired up to lift your leg to hook around his slutty waist, your other leg wobbling on tiptoes.
You barely dragged him into the restroom right after he stumbled inside for a quick break— ten minutes, tops, before he'd eventually have to go back outside for a mission.
And it seems that he'd make sure to make every goddamn second count, pounding into you to shoot out the load he's been building for ten days— over a full week, mind you— into your greedy cunt.
Hell.
That's what that ten-day torture of no touching and blue-balling felt.
So just imagine the hunger washing over him and blood directly shooting to his trembling cock once he spotted you tip-toeing into the restroom after he just stumbled inside.
You bet your sweet ass he stalked those swaying hips of yours, trailing right after you, chest heaving from his heavy breathing, either from his previous fight or his painfully hard cock, he can't tell.
"J-juuuust like that, baby. Milking me so good, got one heavy load for ya'."
His free hand grips your hip hard enough to make you hiss, pinning you flush against the cranky door, hinges rattling in sync with his lewdly wet pounds.
Tongue swiping at your lips, he's quick to slide past sloppily, growling against your mouth once your silky walls lock his cock tight. His hard grip on your hip and leg grows more intense as he fights the urge to already empty his hot cum into you after what? Four thrusts?
He can't even remember anything but the feeling of your addicting pussy anymore.
Saliva slicks your jaw as he nips at your lips, hips snapping forward with forceful rams, rutting his tip harshly against your womb, balls smack smack smacking against your sweat-slick ass.
"Needed this sweet pussy wrapped around me again— shiiit! Can't work— can't think straight no more without it."
"You need to rest, Enjin, j-just came back from— hnghh!"
Hushing you with his mouth, high-pitched moans spill out of you anyway as his cock fucks you dumb, the veined length scraping along your slick walls with every menacing dive.
Thumb, thumb thumb.
Your head knocks against the rattling door, and if you were in any sane state of mind, you'd probably wonder how the damn thing is still standing.
"F-fuck resting. Fuck this damn challenge. Been dreamin' of this pussy clenchin' 'round me while fightin'—," he cuts himself of with a breathy moan as he resorts to grinding right into your sweet spot now, " Distractin' me and makin' me sloppy out there. Need ta' give this greedy pussy what she's been missin'."
"Ouuhhh! We gotta stay quiet, Enjin!"
The words tumble out as half a plea and half a warning, but you already know it's useless. He doesn't even look at you. His crazed eyes are blown wide as a crazed grin twitches up his lips, oggling at the buldge appearing on your tummy with each deep thrust of his.
The smirk on his face says he's hearing you, sure, but he's not listening, cock driving deeper, the head bruising your cervix with every mind-numbing thrust that sends your head knocking against the creaking door again.
"Hushhhh, pretty", he warns, bright eyes oggling at your spasming cunt, puffy lips stretched taut around him, your juices dripping down your thighs, "She's talkin' now."
Leaning in closer, his breath's hot against your lips before he places a wet smooch to them. And you can feel that same smirk against your lips as he carelessly moans and groans as if you two were the only people in the world, "And I'm listenin' reallll close."
Oh, he's so gone.
"Mhmmm, yeahhh, missed ya' too, baby," he growls, confession directed strictly to your spurting cunt. And your brows furrow in confusion, but that melts away with another harsh ram against your womb, his fat tip rubbing against your gushing spot, forcing a choked moan from your lips as you bite down hard trying to muffle it.
Then his crazed eyes snap up, one hand leaving your hip to snatch your chin, removing your lip from your teeths grip.
"Nonono— don'tcha hide those pretty moans from me, baby."
"B-but someone might!—"
"Nuh uhhh," he tsks, placing another wet kiss to your lips before frantically searching for your gaze all while hammering his cock into your stuffed cunt, "Focus on this dick s-splittin' yer' pretty pussy open, yeahhhh?"
"Oh-ohkay! Shit, so d-deep, Enjin! Fuckin' me sooo good!"
Now you've done it.
Enjin's out of his damn mind now, brain buzzing everytime your squelching pussy robs another set of pre from him. He can feel it, feel his heavy load bubble up, threatening to shoot his all into you.
Thwack, thwack thwack!
Three more lewdly wet squelches, and he's—
"F-fuckkkk! Fuckfuckfuck!"
His blonde trail of hair tickles your clit lightly as he bottoms out, his cock swelling impossibly thicker as ropes of hot cum spew from his drooling head, flooding your gummy walls.
Shuddering violently, he's grinding deep, push push pushing to pump it all into your womb, but you just look up at him, eyes glazed and a weak but smug grin, and he exactly knows what you're thinking.
"Y-you serious?"
Yeah, actually. He can't be serious, can he? Cumming already?
God, he's feeling like some premature teen.
"Ahhh, f-fuckin' hell."
He'll never hear the end of it from you after this.
Wiping that look right off your face with one feral snarl, he's hammering harder, his spent cock still twitching as he shoves his seed to the very far back of your spasming pussy, cum gushing out around his girth, trickling down your thigh in sticky clumbs, the nasty mess only further egging him on.
Nah, he just can't let this slide.
Not when his balls are still heavy, and definitely not when your greedy pussy still didn't cum around him.
He's hooking both arms under your thighs now, hoisting you off the floor with ease, your legs snaking around his waist and wobbling at his sides as your back slammed against the door with a deafening bam!, your arms locking around his neck.
And yeah, it's fucking loud, loud enough to wake the dead. And even though you're pretty sure no one's around except for Semiu, she's bound to check in on the noise sooner or later.
But not you, neither him give a fuck right now.
You're too far gone, floating airborne while a brutal orgasm claws its way up your spine, your ankles lock vise-tight behind his back as he bounces you up and down, your body like jelly, fucking into your sopping pussy and stretching your gushing walls wide.
Your mouth falls slack, drool drippling down your chin and your sweaty forehead glued to his, your ragged breaths are crashing together in frantic huffs.
He stares at you with so much awe, hooded eyes gawking, feral fire buring in them as your pussy clamps down in a mean grip, squeaking around his pounding length while your moans fall silent, gushing slick all over him in a messy squirt.
"Nghhh! M' cuh-cumming!"
"Yeahhh, give it ta' me, baby," he whines, so utterly pussydrunk, voice cracking into desperate pleas, "Not done cummin' yet, huh? Keep on squirtin' over yer' dick reallll good, yeah? It's all yers', pretty."
Voice turning raw as your moans scratch your throat, your head's lolling back, digging into the door, your hands tangling into his golden locs, desperatly tugging at them as you ride out your orgasm, cutely rutting into his harsh thrusts.
His mouth latched onto your breast through your shirt, sucking hard in frantic search of your cute nipples, soaking the fabric in his drool like a madman, teeth nipping at your nipple.
"One more," he pants, golden eyes gobbling you whole if they could, "Got another one for ya, gonna breed this pussy till yer' leakin' for days."
Well, he's a man of his word.
꩜ Jabber — 5 HOURS ᝰ.ᐟ
It's what you expected, to be honest.
You sweet Jabber's just like that, greedy for every damn thing he craves, especially when it comes to you.
It's common sense, really.
You dangle something he wants right in front of him all day— well, only five hours, to be exact— teasing him with every gorgeous god-given-gift you got on you, and of course he hangs on like a vice.
And you best believe he'll snatch it right back, No nut november deal made or not.
Rules be damned.
And damned be you for bending over in those tiny shorts that hug your round cheeks so devilishly perfect, arching that slutty back of yours just enough to flash him a peek of your panties.
What were you even thinking suggesting a challenge like this to a sex addict like him?
He's just not built for denial. He's a raider, certified rule- and back-breaker, and now, he's done pretending.
"Breakin' the rules 's just my thing, ya know that, ma'."
"You're just a fuckin' addict— nghhh!"
"Oh? So ya' don't need this, sweets?," rough palm cracks against your cheek with a rough slap, stinging your skin in a deliciously hot red.
With his other hand, he slaps his heavy, meaty cockhead against your glistening folds, the wet smack! echoing obscenely, his amused chuckle ringing in your ear while those lilac eyes fixate on your gasping cunt, watching it spread each time he teases his tip against it.
"Don't want me to fuck ya' stupid, stretch this sloppy lil' hole out js' how ya' like it?"
You damn near hate the fact that he's right about every single filthy word slipping past his lips.
You're nodding frantically now, head wobbling like jelly, needy mewl muffled against the sheets as you grow more impatient with every slight nudge of his tip against your weeping pussy, because you really need him to fuck you right now, clit pulsating just thinking about it.
"That's what I fuckin' thought. Actin' like yer' greedy cunt ain't beggin' to be stuffed full of this dick," he muses with a mocking click of his tongue, circling your sobbing entrance with his leaking tip again, smearing your juices along his veiny girth before shoving past your puffy folds.
Nailing the bullseye on the first thrust, his cock slides straight into your tummy, teasing your swollen g-spot with maddening precision, your back arching off the bed like the bed's on fire, a sharp cry tearing from your throat.
And his eyes flutter shut once you're instantly trying to pull him in deeper with that vicious grip of yours, wring wring wringing his cock into the depths of your gummy walls.
He doesn't give you a second to breathe, just bottoms out with a breathy moan, his heavy balls slapping wetly against your swollen clit, sending an electric spark right up your spine.
"Aaaaand? Feelin' aight'?"
Pounding away, his hips snap forward with crazy force, each vicious plunge driving his cock deeper into your gooey walls, bed frame groaning and creaking under his mean thrusts, your tits bouncing wildly, nipples scraping against the sheets with every jolt.
"M-mhmm! Real good!"
You're a moaning mess now, the sounds tearing their way out, the wet and filthy squelch squelch squelches of your creamy slick gushing out to coat his cock and trickle down your wobbly thighs.
He's gone feral, hips switching between ramming and grinding, chasing the feeling of your gushy walls trembling around him, balls drawing up tight with every deep ram against your cervix.
"I bet it do, baby."
Grunting and huffing, one slender hand fists your hair in a tight yank that snaps your head back, bending your spine right into the matress, ass high on display for him to give it a quick smack!
"Thaaaat's it, ma'. Reallllll deep arch."
His other hand clamps down on your hip, fingers digging into your soft skin to haul you back onto his punishing thrusts, loud smacks of his balls against your puffy clit leaving you dizzy, choking on your own spit.
Hand snaking from around your waist to your pulsating clit, he's rubbing it in firm circles that make your pussy clamp down harder around his hefty girth.
You buck back wildly against him, grinding your ass into his pelvis to meet every thrust, whole body wobbling as that tight coil winds tighter and tighter in your gut, threatening to snap in two.
"Baby's gonna cum, huh? Holon', I'll help."
With a sudden but fluid thrust he shoves you forward with one exact ram to your g-spot, flattening your chest to the mattress, your legs splaying wide beneath him, ass still hiked up invitingly as he drapes his full weight over your back, pinning you down firmly against the bed now.
"O-oh! S' too much, toooo much!"
The new angle lets him grind even deeper, his thick cock dragging torturously along your walls, battering that gummy spot inside you until white bursts behind your eyelids and your vision blurs with tears.
"Yeah, takin' every fuckin' inch, good girlllll."
He's huffing and puffing against the back of your neck, a slim trail of drool drip drip dripping down onto your back as his eyes roll to the back of his head, completely lost in your warm, gummy cunt.
Slender arms lock around you, one snaking under your pelvis to yank your ass up higher, while the other fists your hair, yanking your head back to keep you arched for him, pounding your dripping cunt toward that building orgasm brewing deep in your belly.
"Fuckin' wicked, tryna' steal this feisty pussy from me," he's growling through brutal thrusts, and you feel his heavy tip poking your tummy, bullying against your cervix— once, twice—
"Cuh-cumming!"
You plunge straight into your orgasm, your pussy gasping and drooling of cum around him, squeezing him even deeper into you. Your voice cracks under his weight, whining from the harsh grip in your hair as your quivering pussy's locking him in tight.
You whimper and writhe, ass jiggling with every savage slap of his hips, your nails scraping the sheets as aftershocks continue to rip through you.
"Told ya, ma'. Can't keep a good man down—," his grip tightens in your hair, pulling until your back arches painfully, forcing you to take every devilish inch of him, veins pulsing against your sensitive folds,
"—or his dick, anyway."
꩜ Tamsy — COMPLETED ᝰ.ᐟ
It's been a rough month.
Well, for you, at least.
Tamsy, on the other hand, seemed to have the time of his life watching you squirm. He took a little too much pleasure in seeing you frustrated and begging for even a sliver of his attention.
And he held his ground the whole month, never once slipping into any of your pathetic little traps. Sure, there were moments he got a boner here and there, maybe even contemplated on edging himself a bit by playing with your cute pussy. Actually, more than he'd ever admit, but patience has always been his thing.
Because he knew the end of the month would come soon enough. And when it did, he'd finally get his bratty girl in check again.
Now, with the clock ticking down to the first of December, his skillfull hands are burried between your legs, fingers parting your slick folds and rubbing your clit in slow circles while your mouth works overtime on his girthy cock.
"Congratu-fucking-lations, doll."
Your nails dig into the matress as your head bobs comically, cheeks hollowed as you whine around him every time he pinches your clit and twists it cruelly.
"Lasted the whooole month without creaming yourself. Didn't think my needy girl could make it," His eyes scan your bent back, oggling at your ass that wiggles against his mean hand in the air, "Atta girl."
The praise rushes right to your cunt and you're drooling out another set of juices, soaking his fingers whole, and you mewl around his cock as he's circling your entrance with a single digit, dipping just the tip inside before pulling away.
You pull off to flick your tongue out to lap at the veiny underside before gifting his tip kitten licks to savor the salty tang, mindlessly grinning as his free hand shoots to tangle into your hair, cursing under his breath.
"Wan' your cock inside, Tamsy. P-pleaseee, been so good all month, no?"
You try to reason with him, giving him those puppy eyes even as you lick every drooling spurt of pre from his slit, shaky hands wrenching at his base to get more out.
And he thinks about it for a second, tip twitching into your awaiting mouth again, hand pushing your head down until your nose brushes his faint trail of pubes.
Nah, this is way more entertaining to him.
"Not yetttt, princess. Been— f-fuckkk— teasing me for weeks, so fair's fair."
He groans, gorgeous long hair of his falling over his shoulders as his head falls back, hips jerking as you gag around him, tip trapped in your throat. Your hands grip his thighs, nails digging in harshly as you bob vigorously, slurping messily around his girth as spit dribbles down your chin.
"Nouh fauir!"
And he laughs at your weak attempt of speaking, gazing adoringly at your stuffed cheeks while his fingers sink in, quick to rub at your gushing spot inside.
"What's that?," he taunts, continously tickling your g-spot with his slender fingers, thumb twisting down to give your puffy clit teasing circles, "Can't understand you, silly."
You whine around his cock in embarrasment, the vibration making him hiss, but he keeps on rubbing your clit firmly, and scraping your walls with his digits, then stopping right when your thighs begin to twitch excitingly.
He thrust shallowly into your mouth, fucking your face with controlled snaps of his hips, your throat bulging around him as tears pricle your eyes from the stretch.
Fingers relentlessly toying with your pussy, he's pulling his fingers out entirely to pinch your clit again, then spreading your lips to expose you to the chilling air.
"M' sorry, doll. You'll have ta' take it a littleeee longer."
Obviously, a lie.
Oh, he could do this all year if it means he gets you this cockdrunk and slutty every time.
And you're cockdrunk right now, alright.
Eyes glazed over, thick ropes of saliva drip from your chin and soak your tits, you force his meaty cock into your throat with a gurgling choke before shooting up, his tip poking the inside of your cheek as you give him a side glance with your ass wiggling against his fingers.
"Looooube it, Tamshy. Shoooo tasty."
Grabing a fistful of your hair, he's yanking your head still, shoving the swollen head of his cock right against the back of your throat until you feel it bulge your neck.
"Quit talkin' with yer' mouth full. Do I gotta ram some manners back into that greedy little skull?"
Your response is a pathetically needy whimper that buzzes straight through his jumping length, making him answer with a vicious thrust upward, slamming his cock right into the vise-like grip of your esophagus.
"Mhmphhhf!"
You gag hard, tears streaming down your cheeks as his digits rub your spasming spot inside raw, body jerking as drool and tears stream down your face, his iron grip on your head keeping you pinned, nose smashed against his faint trail of pubes.
Spit bubbles at the corners of your lips, spraying his thighs as he uses your face like some fleshlight all while pluding his fingers deep into your already spasming hole, your orgasm threatening to tear you apart any second now.
"That's it," he growls with his hips beginning to thrust up into your protesting throat slowly but deeply, tip twitching each time you gag around him, "No talkin', js' take it. This what you been dreamin' about all month, huh? My cock ruinin' that pretty throat?"
You nod frantically, or try to, but his hand won't let you move more than an inch, so it's just a pathetic bob that milks his cock further. And he dares to laugh, grinding his hips in a circle, stirring his cock inside your ravaged throat, while you spray his fingers in your juices, thighs threatening to give up on you as they jiggle like jelly.
He pulls back just enough to let you gasp a ragged breath, air whistling through your raw throat, your vision blurring from the lack of oxygen, and the sudden orgasm that he rips out of you with his slender fingers plasters your cheek against his thigh as you whine and mewl, body falling slack on his lap.
You think that's your chance to breathe, but you already catch his weeping cock pulse in your peripheral vision while your lungs burn and your shaky fingers claw up his toned abs, reaching toward his chest to—
SMACK!
Fuck.
"Chop chop, angel. Get your squirtin' in check, " he drawls, palm rubbing the welt blooming on your ass cheek, while his other pats your head like you're a moody puppy.
"Now sit that pretty pussy on my lap and let me pound you riiight into the next month."
❝ 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.
enjin x afab!reader, fluff, enjin’s so in love, angst if you squint
“hey enjin?”
you’re in the infirmary, enjin sits next to you, opening a package of snacks for you. “that’s me.” he glances at the messily done band-aids on your arms—poor follo’s best attempt in the moment—and silently curses in his mind. why couldn’t eishia get here a little bit sooner? he stares at the bag of snacks again, his attempts at tearing it open failing miserably.
“do you think…do you think anyone would ever wanna marry me?”
with that, he looks up at you again, but this time without the intent of looking away. “where’d that come from?” he gazes at your eyes; one single look at he can tell that you’re being serious. you two are never serious around each other, always joking around even when fighting a trash beast.
“well, i was just wondering.” you laugh. enjin knows it’s not a real laugh; a distraction so he doesn’t worry. he knows you too well to fall for it. “i don’t think i’m old; we’re the same age and i’m still in my twenties, but lately i keep on thinking the same thing over and over again every time we finish a mission. retiring and just…living quietly. maybe exterminate a trash beast every month in a while and maybe help semiu with the new cleaners if i feel like it. and—“
“and let me guess, that thought includes getting married?” enjin finishes for you. you nod. enjin huffs, hand underneath his chin. he’s looking at you, but his mind wanders off somewhere else. you’re in a white dress, holding a bouquet of flowers with a grin painting your lips. you’re walking to him—
“you’re zoning out.” enjin blinks, shaking his head. he tucks the daydream to the back of his head to save for a later time. “and you still haven’t answered my question.” you pointed out.
he hums. “well, it’s not like anyone wouldn’t wanna marry you. it’s just…” you’re looking at him with anticipation. “i know someone who really loves you, but i don’t know if you would want to marry him.” the glimmer in your eyes almost makes him want to propose to you on the stop, but he just barely stopped his knee from hitting the floor.
“don’t put words in my mouth. who?” enjin stares at you for a little longer before giving you a thumbs up and a stupid smile.
“nah, not telling you.”
you slap his arm. affectionately, of course. “enjin, i swear.” you didn’t know if you were happy that someone was willing or angry that enjin was being a little bitch. either option didn’t sound too appealing at the moment.
“what if i told you it was me who wanted to marry you?” he asked, a teasing smirk pulling at his lips. not like he was lying.
itsajokeitsajokeitsajoke—
your mind continued to repeat those words, and yet your face still burned bright scarlet. “uh—“
in that moment, thankfully, the door burst open, and in ran eishia. “i’m so sorry it took so long for me to get here! the mission took longer than expected and guita got injured pretty bad—!” she pauses when she realizes the close proximity the two of you were in. “am i ruining something…?”
“nope, don’t worry about it, eishia. you just do your healing on this dumbass and it’s all good.” enjin waves. “i’m not joking, by the way.” he says to you in a singsong voice. it doesn’t help your reddening face. he blew you a kiss as he walks out the door. “bye eishiaaaa!”
❀ 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
A man at the bar disrespected you and—before you could even react—someone had already kicked him straight through a wall.
You were frozen, trying to process what had just happened, when the blond man turned to you… and the scary aura instantly melted away. He asked if you were alright in the softest voice imaginable.
Then, once you shyly nodded, he immediately launched into full dramatic-gentleman mode.
You were charmed instantly…
That’s how you ended up not only falling in love with him, but also sailing the seas with the Straw Hats.
In the beginning, intimacy with Sanji was done “the right way” (his words): he was the perfect gentleman— attentive, giving, making sure you came multiple times before he even considered himself.
You weren’t complaining. It was incredible.
But you also started worrying that he was always pouring everything out and never receiving.
So one day you decided to flip the dynamic. You wanted him to feel just as loved and spoiled as he always made you feel.
Sanji folded instantly.
He was so excited to finally be on the receiving end, to let himself be pampered and taken care of.
It didn’t always start sexual.
Sometimes, after a rough day, he’d just barge into your quarters without a word, flop his head onto your lap like an exhausted puppy, and turn into the clingiest, whiniest baby.
It took him a while to warm up to being vulnerable during sex.
But once he got a taste? He was ruined for going back.
He melts in your arms. He craves you taking full control every now and then.
A little reassurance, some sweet talking, and suddenly he’s in deep sub-space— flushed, dazed, staring up at you through those long lashes, whimpering and begging.
“Chérie, please… I’ll be good… please, please, please… mhm, I can’t—I can’t take it anymore, please touch me…”
Since he asked so nicely, and he’s been such a good boy, he gets everything he wants and more.
Ace
Ace looks intimidating as hell from the outside.
When you first saw him on the ship—grumpy, constantly trying to fight Pops, with that insane Devil Fruit and ridiculous strength—you thought he was just stubborn and terrifying.
Then he slowly let his guard down around the crew… and turned out to be the complete opposite.
Once he was comfortable, he became goofy, chaotic and incredibly whiny.
He talked nonstop, word-vomiting at whoever got caught in his orbit.
And eventually that orbit included you.
Just when you thought he couldn’t get any more of a big baby, he fell in love and proved you very wrong.
He needs to cuddle you every single night (and gets moody if he misses it).
He shows up randomly during your tasks just to steal a kiss.
One time Marco almost lost his mind because Ace kept trying to sneak into your room when you were sick.
Marco had banned him to prevent spreading the illness, so Ace spent three straight days moping around the Moby Dick, whining to anyone who would listen (mostly torturing Marco).
He even slept outside your door. Marco let out the most tired-old-man sigh when he saw the idiot lying there in a very uncomfortable position the next morning.
Sex is no different.
Ace wants to fuse your bodies together— literally.
He’ll whine that you’re “not close enough” five times before you finally smack him.
Even when he’s buried inside you, it’s still not enough.
He wants your souls to merge.
He’ll start strong, enthusiastic, in control…
Then you suck his cock and he completely crumbles.
A lot of things make him fold instantly: you wearing his hat while riding him, marking up his neck, tugging his hair just right…
The man could get hard just hearing you breathe.
And he’s loud.
Everyone on the ship knows exactly when you’re fucking because Ace cannot shut up.
He moans, whimpers, curses, talks the filthiest pirate dirty talk.
Sometimes you have to sit on his face just to muffle him.
It works every time— Ace is in heaven, pulling you down with both hands so your full weight is on him.
Problem is, he pays zero attention to oxygen.
He’s already passed out twice from it… and he’ll probably do it again before he learns.
Afterward he’ll sleep face-down, buried in your chest like a human weighted blanket.
In winter? Perfect.
In summer? You suffer.
He still wants to do everything even when the heat is unbearable— not to him, but to you...
Thatch
Thatch isn’t as intimidating as the other commanders.
He’s probably the friendliest to newcomers, always cracking bad jokes and making people feel at home.
With you, he was no different— welcoming, warm and secretly slipping you extra treats.
You never imagined this man could be anything other than a giant teddy bear.
Until the day the Whitebeard Pirates faced a serious threat and you got caught in the crossfire.
Compared to those monsters with their deadly skills and powerful Devil Fruits, you were helpless.
You thought it was over— until suddenly ten enemies were on the ground bleeding in seconds.
“Are you alright?”
You looked up and saw Thatch, swords still drawn, expression deadly serious.
You’d never realized how terrifyingly good he actually was with a blade.
In your head, his only weapon was a spatula.
After that day you grew closer, and eventually feelings bloomed.
Thatch wasn’t whiny at first.
But once you accidentally unlocked that side of him… oh boy.
This man is dramatic as hell.
A slightly unenthusiastic nod while tasting his new recipe? He’ll act like you just told him his cooking is trash (half the time he’s just teasing, but sometimes he’s 100% serious).
Like the time you forgot to kiss him goodnight.
He was insufferable the entire next day until you “repaid the kissing debt”
He’s usually a service dom, but sometimes he gets in a mood.
You started noticing the signs: sudden clinginess, quieter voice, that sad-puppy energy.
One day everything felt off and he looked like a wilted vegetable.
You asked what was wrong. He said “nothing.”
Then mid-thrust he suddenly buried his face in your chest, stopped moving entirely, and let out the longest, most defeated sigh.
“Thatch, darling… what’s wrong?”
You were used to his theatrics, but nothing prepared you for what came next: “I just… I want to be your little princess tonight.”
You almost laughed at the wording and the way he said it.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t want to think or do anything… Today was so stressful, I just want…”
“You want me to take the lead?”
It was the first time you’d seen him look so openly pathetic— and it was unfairly attractive.
When he slips into that whiny, needy subspace he becomes incredibly clingy and vocal.
Soft little pleas of “Please baby, touch me more” and “I’ve been good, right?” Big strong arms wrapped around you like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he lets go.
It’s rare, but when Thatch lets himself go like that, he’s the sweetest, neediest version of himself.
He doesn’t ask for it often—he likes being in control—but when he does, or when you offer to switch things up, he gets this cute, giddy little spark in his eyes.
Honestly? The man deserves princess treatment more than anyone.
Shanks
Shanks is a bitch.
A whiny, annoying, red-haired, shameless bitch who knows exactly how to get under your skin.
He’s a brat. A menace.
And you love that filthy, unwashed, unshaven cunt way too much.
The way you met? He drunkenly kicked some creeps bothering you… then immediately started bothering you himself.
The whole Red-Haired Pirates crew panicked. Benn had to drag him away while Shanks whined “Noooo, I want to go back to the pretty lady!”
Once Benn finally got him under control, Shanks just gave you the saddest little wave. “Bye, pretty lady :(”
And somehow… you were charmed (?)
The next day he showed up sober, bowed dramatically, and apologized like a gentleman.
You curse the day you let this chaotic pirate hurricane into your life.
And you curse the day you joined his crew because of love.
The only woman on board— if it wasn’t for Benn you’d have gone insane within a week.
Loving Shanks means dealing with his two modes: harmlessly goofy and affectionate… or absolute rat.
One second he’s all “Not here, kitten whiskers. Daddy will discuss it later” (and getting smacked for it), the next he’s a puddle of whines, clingy and needy.
It gets worse when he’s drunk.
He’ll keep you glued to his lap, kissing you shamelessly in front of everyone.
And fuck, he’s an incredible kisser.
You end up letting his hands slip into your panties right there in public and you genuinely stop caring who sees.
“Can’t have you the way I want you here,” he mumbles between messy kisses.
You can feel how hard he is against your thigh.
If you don’t stop him now, he’ll fuck you on the table for the whole bar to watch.
So you convince him to go back to the ship.
He’s reluctant— he’s lazy, warm, comfy and doesn’t want to move.
But the second you leave without him? He’s stumbling after you like a lost dog.
The walk back always takes forever.
He stops in every dark corner to keep kissing you, rutting against you, whimpering and breathing shakily once the ache becomes unbearable.
Never in a thousand years would you have imagined the Emperor of the Sea could be like this.
And yet… here you are.
Pleasantly surprised doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Bonus: I didn’t feel like writing it, but Luffy and Roger also fall under the “Big, strong, and… whiny?” category.
Shanks’s eyes reflect someone who has lived life and will share nothing. His expression is sometimes blank, his lips thin, and his red eyes clouded as if he is in deep thought. What about? He wouldn’t ever say. His crew grabs his attention, and suddenly his thin line turns into a grin; his eyes are a little more full of emotion than before, but somehow his simper doesn’t quite reach them. He’ll grab a cup of rum, hold it high, and chug it as if his last day is tomorrow.
He looks at you then. His eyes twinkle with mischief and sincerity.
Shanks has a habit of finding you in a crowded room, no matter who he’s talking to. It could be a serious discussion with Benn–captain voice, ruthlessness, and all–and he’d search for you. Wonder what you’d do in certain situations, wonder what you’re possibly thinking. Being an Emperor’s lover has to be jarring, especially his. (His crew respects you for even dealing with him. Lucky makes that known, with him boasting about his captain’s lover’s spine and how strong it must be.)
You do find his gaze most of the time. It’s hard not to, he realizes. He does have a habit of staring at someone as if he’s poking them, whether gently or sharply. Your eyes have a sparkle to mirror his own, and he wonders who he must’ve pleased to have gained someone who matches his energy.
He calls you over, and you wave your hand to gesture that you’re alright. He ignores it. He wants to feel your body close to his own, and he always gets what he wants half the time.
(Manga spoilers ahead.)
Shamrock is a yearner. This is a fact he’s well aware of, but is disgusted by. He does not want to yearn; he wants to earn. He’s a Knight of God; he should be able to pluck whatever flower he wants right out of the garden. He’s fought hard enough, gained his father’s respect, and gained his fellow knights’ respect. There should be nothing in this world that he could not grasp. In fact, he already grasped it. However, his eyes shed so much emotion whenever they land on you. They yearn for you and only you. You are his–his lover, his future spouse, his everything. If he needed to chop his arm off for you, he’d do it. (It would grow back within minutes anyway.)
You are a mere arm’s length away, and his eyes cannot help but follow you. Your figure, your outfit, your eyes, your face. He still studies you as if he’s just met you recently. Sometimes he wonders if you recognize his glances. If you can feel it. You will sometimes turn around and match his gaze quizzically.
“Is there something on my face?”
“No, beloved. I’m just looking at you.”
“You always look at me.”
“Forgive me for admiring what is mine.”
You roll your eyes as if he’s said this before. Which he has.
Length: 3k +
One-shot
My apologies for the delayed NY fic
Shanks had survived many horrors in his life.
Dying islands swallowed by the sea. Turf wars fought over scraps of pride and scorched water. Garp’s approach to parenting, which could generously be described as feral, hands-on, and involving surprise punches meant to “build character.”
None of it prepared him for this.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the slow psychological warfare of you, the love of his life, being aggressively horny for Benn Beckman.
It started the way all catastrophes do. Rum, confidence, and zero foresight.
The dockside tavern was warm and loud, all salt air and spilled alcohol, the wood floors sticky beneath bare feet. Lantern light swayed with the tide, and outside the open doors, the Red Force bobbed gently at anchor, her rigging creaking in a lazy, familiar rhythm. Shanks had just come back from handling something mildly life-threatening, the kind of thing that usually earned him peace, a drink, and your attention.
You perched on a barrel nearby, legs swinging idly, barefoot and sun-warm. Mango juice glistened on your fingers as you licked them clean, unbothered by the world. Shanks set two mugs down between you and tried very hard to look relaxed, like a man whose life was exactly how he wanted it.
For one beautiful moment, it was.
Then you said, far too casually, “So. When do I get to meet the tall one?”
Shanks froze mid-drink.
Not a polite pause. Not a thoughtful silence. A full system crash. If a Windows shutdown noise had played, it would have felt appropriate. He choked violently, rum spraying across the table and narrowly missing your knee.
“…The tall one?” he croaked, coughing.
You blinked at the mess, then back at him, completely unfazed. “You know,” you said cheerfully. “Gun. Smokes like he files taxes early. Looks like he knows how to fix both a spine and a bad life choice.”
Shanks stared at you, eyes wide, soul briefly leaving his body.
“…You mean Benn?”
“Benn,” you repeated softly, reverent, like you were naming a holy site. “Yes.”
You smiled at him.
Shanks stared back as if you had just asked to borrow his liver, his ship, and his dignity all at once.
“No,” he said immediately.
You tilted your head. “No?”
“He’s busy.”
You leaned to the side and glanced past him, out toward the docks. “He’s literally standing on deck. Looking weathered.”
“He’s meditating.”
“You are pirates. You don’t meditate.”
Shanks panicked. “…He’s whoring.”
You narrowed your eyes.
You did not believe that one, despite it being the most plausible answer he had offered so far. Shanks laughed too quickly, rubbed the back of his neck, and launched into a rambling explanation about Benn being antisocial, chronically busy, or emotionally recovering from a tragic paper cut sustained while cleaning a gun.
You snorted, wiped your hands on your pants, and decided, very generously, to let it go.
Once.
After that, it became a game.
A deeply stupid, ship-wide, emotionally irresponsible game.
Shanks had faced emperors who could split the sea, sea kings with teeth the size of ships, divine punishment from forces best left unnamed, and the results of Garp’s parenting, which were a category of natural disaster all his own. None of it compared to you leaning against a railing, smiling sweetly, and saying, “Come on. Just one introduction. Let me climb the Beckman.”
Every time the Red Force docked, you transformed into a tragic figure of longing. You would squint dramatically into the distance, hand shading your eyes, posture perfect, like a sailor’s wife awaiting news that would definitely ruin her afternoon.
“Is that him?” you would murmur. A pause. “No. Just the wind teasing me with the outline of Mr. Tall, Gun-Wielding, and Emotionally Stable.”
You spoke these thoughts aloud, casually, like curses cast directly at Shanks’ soul.
“He looks like he knows pressure points.”
“Why does he smoke like that? Who authorized that?”
“I’m not in love, Shanks. I just wrote his name on my thigh in sea salt once.”
Shanks would fake-laugh. Loudly. Unconvincingly. He walked into doors. Missed steps. Cancelled shore leave under the guise of “bad tides” and “ominous vibes.” Crew members began volunteering to escort him places for his own safety.
You escalated.
When they visited, you threw yourself in full force by taking up sunbathing on deck, sprawled comfortably with sunglasses on, one knee bent, absolutely radiating menace. You claimed you were enjoying the weather. Everyone knew you were waiting for Benn Beckman to emerge like a cryptid, cigarette first, expression unreadable, aura devastating.
He never did.
Sometimes, though, you swore you heard him. A low chuckle carried on the wind. The unmistakable metallic click of a lighter snapping shut.
Shanks laughed it off the first time. Then the fifth. Then the fiftieth.
Eventually, he stopped laughing.
He stopped docking, too.
Instead, you received letters. Vague letters. Lying letters.
“Haha. Beckman fell overboard again. Tragic. Very busy.”
You stared at the paper, unconvinced, while the crew pretended very hard not to make eye contact.
Once, during an after-party, with lanterns low and music loud and Shanks already three drinks past his good sense, you nearly cornered him.
“Why won’t you introduce us?”
Shanks spluttered, choked on his drink, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “He’s busy.”
You gestured upward. “He’s on the roof.”
“He lives there now.”
“He just waved at me.”
“That was a ghost hand,” Shanks said desperately. “You’re haunted. I’m so sorry.”
It was infuriating. You had hunted criminals for less. You had survived worse heartbreaks. This was personal.
And you did not even know why.
Because Shanks, sweet idiot disaster Shanks, was in love with you. Not casually. Not fleetingly. He was in love like it was a lifelong curse. Every time you sighed, “I just know Benn gives elite back rubs,” something inside him quietly withered.
Every offhand, “Why is he built like that?” shaved years off his life expectancy.
He was not jealous in the normal way. He was jealous in the sense that he had fought emperors with less emotional damage than watching you thirst after his best friend.
So it became a war of attrition.
You wore outfits that Benn would surely appreciate, with lots of boob. You asked perfectly reasonable questions like, “What’s his sign?” and “On a scale of one to ten, how stressed is he?” and “What’s his favorite breakfast condiment?”
Shanks changed the subject. Invented sea emergencies. Got drunk and accidentally confessed his feelings, staring too long and speaking too softly, then woke up the next morning pretending it had absolutely never happened.
Meanwhile, you escalated again.
You admired Benn’s marksmanship. “I bet he could shoot my trauma away.”
You admired his personality. “He’s got the emotional range of a noir film. Love that.”
You admired his… assets. “I don’t want a house or kids or a retirement plan. I just want to climb that man like a cursed jungle gym and maybe ruin my life.”
Shanks developed a visible twitch in his eye. The crew noticed. Someone started a betting pool. Once, Shanks muttered “Beckman” in his sleep and nearly punched a seagull clean off the railing.
Benn Beckman, somewhere else on the ship, heard all of this.
And found it extremely funny.
“Oh,” he said mildly, after overhearing you declare that you would absolutely survive climbing him like a ‘cursed jungle gym’. “She’s into me?”
He took a slow drag from his cigarette, eyes half-lidded, expression serene.
“Wow. How could anyone have guessed,” he added. “Besides everyone on this ship.”
He did not intervene. He did not clarify. He did not rescue Shanks from his own slow emotional demise. He observed with the kind of detached amusement usually reserved for watching someone try to outrun a tidal wave using only optimism.
Because Shanks was not just blocking your shot at a rugged pirate romance. He was stalling, delaying the inevitable. Hiding behind a growing wall of excuses, rerouted schedules, and increasingly implausible logistics because…because—Because he was in love with you.
Tragically. Hopelessly. Comedically.
Beckman first realized just how bad it was when Shanks pulled him aside mid-meeting, eyes darting like a man planning a prison escape, and said with complete seriousness, “Hey. If she asks about you again, say you’re married.”
Benn blinked once. “To whom?”
“I don’t know,” Shanks snapped. “Lie. Say it’s a sea witch. Or a really possessive gun.”
Benn looked him up and down. Slowly. “You’re sweating, Captain.”
“It’s hot on this deck.”
“We’re below deck.”
“Shut up.”
That was when Benn stopped pretending not to notice.
Instead, he began showing up. Not close enough to actually meet you, never enough for Shanks to panic openly... Just enough to be seen.
He polished his gun in full view, movements unhurried, hands steady, sleeves rolled just high enough to be irritating. He leaned against railings where you could absolutely see him from across the deck, smoke curling lazily around his face. He wore tighter shirts. Not dramatically tighter. Just enough to raise questions.
He glanced at you once. Low. Lazy. The kind of look that lingered a fraction longer than necessary, like he was assessing a situation he already understood perfectly.
You noticed.
Shanks witnessed you noticing and didn’t handle it well.
He suddenly developed urgent tasks that required standing directly between you and Benn at all times. He reassigned crew members. He invented drills. He tripped over coils of rope that had not moved in years.
Meanwhile, Benn did nothing overt. He did not flirt. He did not approach. He did not say a word to you.
He simply existed. Menacingly, casually, with intent.
And every time you sighed and said something like, “Wow. I respect a man who looks like he could survive on coffee and regret,” Benn had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
Because the funniest part of all of this was not your thirsty ass. It was Shanks.
Shanks’ absolute inability to stay cool.
This was a man who had fought emperors and laughed about it afterward. A man who had stared down monsters, gods, and impossible odds with a grin sharp enough to scare fate itself. A man who was now losing a silent, humiliating war against his own first mate’s forearms.
Benn Beckman took another slow drag of his cigarette, watching Shanks reposition himself between you yet again, like a human shield made entirely of panic and denial. The sleeves were rolled up today. Deliberately, with forearms flexed.
You couldn’t help but gape at the arms.
“Shanks,” you said pleasantly, leaning around him. “Please. Just a five-minute introduction. I want to know what a real man smells like.”
The glass slipped right out of his hand.
Not thrown. Not knocked. Just dropped.
It shattered on the deck in a sharp, final crash that echoed like his self-esteem hitting rock bottom.
“NO,” Shanks barked, far louder than necessary. “Absolutely not. I forbid it.”
You blinked at him.
“…You forbid it?”
The deck went dead silent.
A gull stopped screaming mid-call. Someone coughed. From behind a barrel, Yasoop peeked out slowly, eyes shining like a raccoon who had just sensed top-tier drama.
“You don’t get to forbid it,” you said, frowning. “You’re not my captain.”
“I’m literally your captain,” Shanks snapped. “You joined the crew yesterday!”
“You don’t act like it,” you shot back. “You act like a gatekeeper of hot men. Let me flirt. Let me breathe in his secondhand smoke.”
Benn exhaled through his nose, barely containing himself.
Shanks went red. Then purple. Then that strange, alarming shade of internal emotional collapse that only happens when the woman you love is thirsting after your first mate while you are standing right there, slowly dying like a romantic side character in a Shakespearean tragedy.
“I can’t,” he said, voice breaking despite his best efforts.
You laughed, startled. “Why? He bite?”
“No,” Shanks said quickly. Then quieter, more honestly, “I just—”
He stopped. Swallowed.
“I don’t want you to like him.”
The words landed wrong. Heavy.
You stared at him.
“What?”
“I don’t want you to like him,” Shanks said again, slower this time, like he was dragging each word out from somewhere deep in his ribs where he had been hiding them for years. His shoulders were tense, jaw tight, eyes fixed on you like he was bracing for cannon fire. “I want you to like me.”
The air went tight. Sharp. Like the deck had tilted just enough to throw everything off balance.
“I’m in love with you,” he blurted, eyes wide, voice rough, the confession tumbling out before he could stop it.
You stared.
“I have been in love with you,” he added quickly, because apparently, once he started, he was not stopping. “For years. You keep saying things like ‘Back shots by Beckman’ and I—” He clutched his chest with feeling. “I suffer.”
You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.
From the crow’s nest above came the sound of polite, slow clapping.
Then the unmistakable flick of a lighter.
“Well,” Benn Beckman drawled, voice bone-dry and richly amused, “took you long enough.”
Both of you snapped your heads up.
There he was, leaning casually against the railing of the nest, arms crossed, cigarette lit, smug as a man who had just watched two idiots trip over their own emotions and faceplant into the truth.
“I’m flattered, by the way,” Benn continued. “Really. Great taste. Excellent instincts.” He glanced down at Shanks. “But I think the Captain here just declared war on your love life.”
You squinted up at him. “So you’re saying—”
“I’m saying,” Benn interrupted smoothly, “I absolutely would have let you climb me like a palm tree, sweetheart. But someone cut the rope.”
You pouted, immediate and sincere. “He doesn’t even smoke. How am I supposed to develop daddy issues?”
Benn snorted, smoke curling as he exhaled. “Don’t worry. I’ll teach him.”
“Hey,” Shanks protested weakly, still red, still visibly vibrating with nerves. “That’s not helping.”
Then he straightened, swallowed, and looked back at you. Really looked at you. The joking, the panic, the deflection fell away, leaving something quieter and far more dangerous.
“Okay,” he said, trying again, softer this time. “But hear me out.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“What if,” he said carefully, “instead of Benn Beckman, you dated me. A tragic, noble captain who has been shielding your heart from a dangerous, rugged man for years.”
You stared at him.
He winced. “That sounded better in my head.”
Then, more quietly, almost like he was afraid the deck itself might overhear, he added, “I’d treat you better than he would.”
The silence that followed was different. Not sharp. Not awkward.
Heavy.
Something shifted, subtle but undeniable, like a piece finally clicking into place.
And just like that, the game changed.
Because now you were the one thinking.
What if you had been aiming at the wrong target this whole time? What if the real prize was not the tall, stoic first mate with the forearms and the cigarettes and the noir film soul? What if it was the red-haired idiot in front of you, heart bare in his hands, who had been blocking your path not out of cruelty or control, but because he had been standing in your corner all along?
You were still turning that thought over when a voice cut in, completely unburdened by the emotional gravity of the moment.
“Touching,” said Benn Beckman, utterly unfazed. “Truly.”
You groaned softly.
“But,” he continued, flicking ash lazily over the railing, “if you ever get bored with his emotional repression, sweetheart, I’ve got free time Tuesdays and a massage license I’m not legally allowed to use anymore.”
“BECKMAN,” Shanks shrieked, pitching forward as if he might actually hurl himself into the crow’s nest.
“Relax,” Benn said easily, holding up a hand. “I wouldn’t actually poach your girl.”
He glanced at you, slow and deliberate, a corner of his mouth curling.
“Not unless she asked real nicely.”
That was it.
Shanks made a strangled noise somewhere between a battle cry and a death rattle, spun on his heel, and stormed off down the deck in a blaze of wounded pride and flailing limbs. He made it three steps before his boot caught a mop bucket.
The fall was not graceful. The bucket went one way. Shanks went the other. Dignity was not recovered. He did not emerge from his cabin for three days. The crew adapted. Meals were left outside his door. Someone slid a bottle of rum in at one point. Benn walked past once, paused, and loudly remarked that the captain was “handling rejection with admirable maturity.”
On the third day, you finally knocked.
“Shanks,” you called. “If you come out, I’ll kiss you.”
There was a long pause.
Then the door cracked open an inch.
“…With tongue?” came his cautious voice.
You smiled, resting your forehead against the door. “Don’t push it.”
The door swung open immediately.
You did eventually get your introduction to Benn Beckman, albeit as a friend.
It was awkward in the way all heavily supervised meetings are awkward. A little stiff. A little sweet. Mostly unbearable because Shanks stood directly behind you the entire time, arms crossed, posture rigid, radiating the exact energy of an overprotective father meeting a prom date who had questionable intentions and excellent bone structure.
You and Beckman shook hands.
There was heat. Potential. Danger. A very real awareness of what might have been in another life.
Shanks made a strangled noise.
“NO,” he said sharply. “BAD. DOWN.”
You blinked. Slowly. “…Are you talking to me?”
“I’m talking to both of you,” Shanks snapped, glaring at Beckman, like he might pounce at the first flirtation.
Beckman raised his hands in surrender, amused. “Relax, Captain. Just being polite.”
“You’re never just being polite.”
Later, you sat beside Shanks at the railing, legs dangling over the edge, the sea stretching wide and endless beneath the moon. The ship creaked softly around you, familiar and comforting, the crew’s voices distant and low.
“You could’ve just told me,” you said quietly.
Shanks stared out at the water, jaw tight. “I didn’t want to lose you.”
You nudged his shoulder. “You really think I’d choose Benn over you?”
He hesitated, just a fraction.
“…I mean,” he said carefully, “you did call him ‘gun daddy.’”
“In private!”
He snorted despite himself, and that was all the opening you needed.
You kissed him. Eventually. Properly. Slow and warm and certain, the kind of kiss that settled something that had been restless for far too long. And though you never did climb Benn Beckman like a tree, you did convince him to officiate your eventual pirate wedding.
He stood there with a cigarette tucked between his fingers, smirk firmly in place, and said, “I give it a year before she regrets not picking me.”
Multi character x Fem Reader, story, fluff, reversed Isekai, hurt/comfort, crack. Summary: A reversed Isekai where OP characters are thrown into your life as cats, and you discover the mystery of it all while dealing with your own ‘earthly’ troubles.
Word count: 4069k |Master-List|
1 (here) (2…3…4..5 in progress)
A/N: Okay, so after a few days of planning and writing, A New World is FINALLY here!! There will be plot, and I have so many fun ideas with how I want to continue this story! Please give me Critisicm and tips if you want! There is no limit to this story, and I plan to go a long way with this. Each chapter will consist at-least 2-3k or more!
The air is warm to the touch, and the breeze that washes over the Thousand Sunny’s sails is fresh. For once, it’s a calm peaceful day as the Straw Hats lounge casually across the deck, tending to their duties and sun tans.
Nami reclines on a yellow striped lawn-chair, wearing a pair of heart shaped shades, and a cool orange drink in hand. Her expression is relaxed, as her eyes are longingly closed. “I never want this to end…” she mumbles, letting out a dramatic sigh.
“Agreed..” Robin chuckles, flipping through one of her books. The archeologist wears a soft airy purple shirt, and black bikini bottoms with comfortable wooden sandals.
“Adventures are fun, but it’s nice to relax once in a while, no?”
“I couldn’t agree more, Robin!” Brook inputs, walking up from behind Nami. “Living life is all about balance,” he says, peeking at the girl’s swimsuits.
“My—you both look lovely!” with red hearts in his eyes, the skeleton clutches his chest.
Nami rolls her eyes, turning on her side to face the sun. “Yes, we know.”
Robin smiles, shaking her head. Looking over her shoulder, she spots Luffy chasing Usopp and Chopper around the deck with water guns.
“YOU’RE GOING DOWN!!” Luffy shouts, making Usopp scream. “Run for it!” Hopping over some ropes, Usopp slides on his heels across the grass, using the mast for defense.
“Hurry Chopper, hide behind something!”
“I’m trying!!” The doctor squeals, ducking for cover under some crates. “He’s gonna get meeee!”
Zoro’s brows twitch, as he’s resting on the very mast Usopp hides behind. “If you spray me, I’m throwing you overboard.” he deadpans, making Luffy stop in his tracks.
Letting out a laugh, he grins. “Is that a challenge?” Loading his water gun, Zoro glares.
“Don’t you—“ with a click of plastic, a waterfall of bullets is launched towards the swordsman.
“Water-gun… attack!!” Zoro blinks, and he’s drenched in milliseconds. A gruff growl escapes his throat, and slowly, almost painful, he wipes his face with his palm. “…Really?”
Audibly, Usopp swallows, paling.
“Shishi! You look like a wet dog!” “LUFFY!!”
“Uh oh—“
_________________________________________
BANG!
Sanji startles, almost dropping his skillet and cigarette. “What the hell was that?!” Whipping around, he looks to Franky who reluctantly shrugs at the dining table.
He tinkers with a metal shiny object, looking up through his glasses. “Who knows, I mean—I did give them water guns…” as if realizing, the cyborg pauses. “Ok, maybe that wasn’t the best idea.”
“You, think?”
BOOM!!
Now, the two both flinch, looking to the ceiling.
“Ok, that definitely WASN’T a water gun!”
Franky bursts up from his seat, and Sanji’s already flying out of the room. Hurrying up the Sunny’s stairs, the cook flings open the kitchen door, quickly stepping outside. “Nami-swan! Robin my love, are you both alright?!”
Looking across the deck, everything seems fine— except the crew’s shocked expressions, and a blue glow emitting from the sky?! “What the hell is that?!”
As if on cue, the wind grows sharp and gray clouds creep in, while the Sunny is pulled forwards.
“Uh, Nami?!” Usopp yelps, “What do we do?!”
Nami’s already up from her seat, eyes wide. “I don’t know! Let’s just get the hell away from it!”
“Already on it!” Brook pipes, quickly heading towards the stern. “Chopper, Luffy—manage the sails!” Nami calls, holding her sun-hat tight.
Quickly, Usopp yanks his binoculars from his chest, taking action. He feels Sunny lurch to the side, and his heart pangs. “Guys, it’s starting to suck us in!” He yells, holding onto the rail.
Looking through his binoculars, the sea is clear as glass and there isn’t a soul in sight. “What is this thing?! I don’t see anyone else around!”
Zoro unsheathes his sword in a second, as he scouts the right side of the ship. “We’re on our own! What’s the plan guys?!”
“Franky can you coupe’de burst, us out of this?!” Robin asks, “It won’t be strong enough, but it’ll give us some time!”
“Yeah—good idea! I can try!”
The blue light shines brighter, and as Luffy’s holding the sails with all his might—he pauses. Looking back to the blue light, It’s almost like… haki? But… different?
He blinks hard, shaking his head.
His vision grows blurry, and out of urgency he looks to his crew. It feels like Sabaody all over again…
It’s the same fear, the change—and dark truth he can’t always protect his crew. No matter how hard he tries.
His grip loosens, but he fights the urge to succumb to the aching dread. Watching Franky hustle inside, there’s still hope. There is always hope. Climbing down, Luffy hops beside Zoro who stares at the light with an annoyed expression.
“I’ve never fought a blue orb before,” he mutters, looking over to Luffy. “Have you?”
“Shishi, nope!” He smiles, readying his fists. “But I have a feeling I’m about to!” Luffy takes a deep breath, steadying himself.
“Franky’s got a few more seconds before I punch this thing!”
“Luffy don’t, we have no idea what it is!” Over the wind, Robin’s voice carries with faint panic. She’s never seen anything like it, not in any papers—not in any poneglyphs—and nothing in the books of any type of devil fruit.
Regardless, It feels ancient, and so very old and powerful. “It’s gonna get us!” Usopp pales.
“Franky’s not gonna make it!” Nami holds her breath, bracing against the rail by Chopper.
“I don’t wanna dieee!” He cries, his deep brown eyes full of tears. “You’re not going to! Everybody hold on!”
“GUM GUM—“ Before Luffy can take another step, or pull his fist further back, a heavy presence crashes upon his form.
BANG!
The light suddenly grows blinding, and the sounds of warping metal ache throughout the sea—coming down as a shrill noise upon the Thousand Sunny. Luffy’s vision turns to static, and strange horns and beeps flutter in and out his ears.
A flash of strange looking vehicles and colorful lights blind his vision. Imagines of reds, yellows, and greens all transpire into an empty black.
His body feels light, then numb, until the deck no longer touches his feet…
Finally, everything feels… furry?
_________________________________________
In a small quiet cafe in Oregon state, you quietly work as a barista and assisting cashier, when needed. It’s a family owned business, and you couldn’t be more than happy with how they treat you, and that’s not being sarcastic.
It’s rustic, and green atmosphere is welcoming in every way, and it’s a place you’ve never really thought of as work… besides coming into work in the morning—and dealing with rude customers, it got on your nerves, but that was besides the point.
Walking around the counter, you head into the cafe’s storage to grab your bag and coat.
“___! Are you heading out?”
“Yep! I’ll see you Monday, Maddie!” you call, unzipping your bag, you take your black headphones out and put them around your neck. “Are you sure you’ll be fine? It’s Friday, tmr?”
“Oh—I’m sure, baby!” Maddie says, wiping down a table. The woman is in her mid forties, a friend of the owner who likes to help out around here. Her hair is a black, and her eyes are hazel with grown out brown roots.
She was heavy set, and had the sweetest personality, like a cool aunt. Maddie always covered for you when you were sick n’ unwell, she truly was a blessing.
“If you say so,” You murmur, shrugging your bag over your shoulder. Rubbing your eyes, you let out a sigh; you still have to take the bus to get out of town. “Goodnight, ___!” Maddie smiles, waving as she watches you slip past the glass cabin door.
You tiredly smile, waving back as it shuts with a soft jingle. It was around 8pm, as the sun had already begin to set, while the sky sunk in deep oranges, and pinks. However, enjoying the view you notice gray clouds rolling in from the distance.
Well, that’s weird… you thought. The weather forecast said it wouldn’t rain for a while, you had just checked your phone a few hours ago..
It was supposed to be in the ninety’s—I mean, not that you minded. You didn’t care for the heat, and a warm drizzle was always nice once in a while.
Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you simultaneously turn on your headphone’s. While walks towards the library’s bus-stop, your shoes hit softly against the concrete, and before you can turn your music on—a sudden sharp, meow caught your attention.
You pause, blinking as if hearing things, then look around on the side-walk. Where the hell had that just come from? Peeking down the quiet alleys nearby, you hold your keys tight, just in case it was someone messing with you…
Honestly, you never know what could happen in Oregon, as it was always a hectic place. But it sure had it’s charm. Quietly walking towards the next alley, you slowly peek your head around a an old building’s corner. The walls are cracked, and they’re covered with moss and rust—so you avoid touching it.
Stepping past, you hear another different meow echo.
Would the stray cat distribution finally happen to you? Pleasepleasepleaseplease—
Staying quiet, you listen for the sound, again. Your landlord didn’t care for pets, but if you kept his property well tended to, and sucked up to him—like always, you were sure he wouldn’t mind.
Holding your keys tight, you turn your phones flashlight. Just how many cats were in here? Slowly stepping into the chaotic atmosphere, you look past the random boxes… to see an orange cat with brown eyes?
The cat let out a weird squeak, seeing your form, and quickly scurried into an opened box. The ginger shuts the box’s flaps quick, yet strangely enough a light emits from the it’s cardboard cracks. What the hell…?
“Hello?” You murmur, “Pspsps, kitty kitty…”
_________________________________________
“I told you not to go out there, Nami!” A pink, small fuzzy little cat pales, “now they’re gonna eat us!” “Wait, do people eat cats here??” A blue, much bigger cat blurts.
“How the hell, am I supposed to know?! None of us are from here, Franky!” Nami snips.
“I wonder if the meat tastes different here…” A calico—but mainly brown cat mutters, stars practically forming in his dark doe eyes. “Not the time, Luffy!—“
“I’m not gonna hurt you..” your soft voice echoes from above, and your footsteps sound like a giant’s. “Ugh, we’re so dead!”
“Hey, maybe they can help us!” Luffy says, “I bet she’s nice!” “We don’t know that!” Chopper and Nami, snap.
“I doubt she can even understand us—.” “Here kitty… kitty..”
Audibly groaning, Nami leans into her white paws, “I was just sunbathing, and now I’m a stupid cat, in a stupid crumpled box, in a stupid scary alley with a—“
Suddenly, the doors Nami had taken so much care to close—open, revealing your kneeling curious form. The wind knocks from Nami chest, yet Luffy only seems curious, casually locking eyes with you. Franky raises a gray bushy brow, standing somewhat in front of Chopper.
“Wow,” you blurted. “That’s a lot of cats.” No shit…
From your pov, you’d randomly stumbled upon 4 oddly colored cats, but to them, a very tall woman kneeled over them.
“Uh, hi,” you mutter, keeping your voice low. Looking around, there was a plastic toy candle placed in the middle of them…. Ok… odd.
“Meow!” The calico steps forward, suddenly nuzzling into your knee. You tense, then hesitantly extend your hand to pet him. “Well, you sure are sweet…”
“LUFFY!!”
“What the hell are you doing?!” “Ok, so not cool, bro!”
“Hey she smells like food, so she’s gotta be nice!” “That’s not how that works!!”
You smile as the other cats meow, carefully picking the calico up by the armpits. “Who dumped you on the street?” Tilting your head, the cat tilts his back.
“Meowwww..”
“Uh, sure.” you mutter, “What else are you supposed to say?” letting out a quiet laugh, you set the cat down, gesturing your pointer finger to the pink one.
“Who gave you a hairdo, hm?” It was the smallest cat, and the curliest. The thing practically looked like a fluffy pink hairball, which was the cutest, really. But, who would abandon four cats on the street like this?
Letting out a breath, you pick up your phone and check the time. It was 8:25, the bus would pick you up at 9 at the library. So, you had some time to waste, but what could you do, then? You couldn’t just leave them. “What do I do with you four…”
“Take us with you!” Luffy pipes. “You smell like bread!” In other words, something you could only understand as; “Meow! Meow!” “Are you crazy! We don’t even know her!”
“Huh?! she’s the only person who stopped by! I don’t want to sleep in a box, and I’m hungry!”
“I don’t mind going home with a pretty lady,” Franky interjects, rubbing his face. “Plus, I’m SUPER hungry too!”
“Nami, pleaseeee!” Luffy begs, unaware of Chopper being picked up behind him.
“AHH!! Put me down!” Chopper screams, struggling in your hands. As he squirms, you can’t help but laugh and lift the pink fuzz ball over your head, “You’re so cute!”
“I AM NOT!! Put me down, now!” “MEOWWW!!”
Nami sighs, lowering her head with a groan. “What other choice do we have?…”
“Hey, maybe we can make her understand, you know? Maybe she knows something about this!” Franky says, walking past Nami to sit by your form.
“You’re a big cat, someone must’ve fed you a lot.” You mutter, “Or, you’re just lazy,” reaching a hand to pet Franky’s head, he’s still as stone. You can’t see it, but his brow twitches. “Pfft—Shishi! She called you fat!”
Nami couldn’t help but snort, looking away to muffle her laugh. “Okay, maybe she’s growing on me…”
_________________________________________
In short, you scooped the cats in a box to take them home. You just couldn’t help yourself, as not only were they cute, but they seemed relatively behaved, and something had just tugged your heart to take them.
Now, you are waiting quietly at the bus-stop’s cover, dozing off. The clear plastic is cold against your cheek, yet the warmth of the night makes you drowsy.
Beside you, the box of cats you’d nabbed is rather quiet. Your hand casually rests inside, gently brushing the calico’s cheek. Luffy of course nuzzles into the affection, sleeping without a care in the world. Chopper was resting atop Luffy, yet he couldn’t help but notice your slumped form.
“She looks tired…” the little doctor mutters, resting his head against the box’s wall. “Probably was workin’ or smth,” Franky yawns, stretching his arms over his head.
“Maybe…” Chopper agrees. “Meat… Sanji’s food.” Luffy mumbles in his sleep, letting out a soft snore.
“Of course, he’s sleep-talking about food.” Nami grumbles. “I still can’t believe this.”
“This? You mean the part where we were turned into cats, and thrown into another world, this kind of this?” Franky asks, rolling onto his side.
“No, never…” Nami deadpans, rolling her eyes. “That’s crazy talk.”
Chopper lets out a breathy laugh, looking to his paws. “I just hope everyone else is okay, we were lucky enough to wake up in an alley, and have her find us,” he murmurs, but his voice trails off.
“You okay, bud?” Franky asks, looking up. “…Yeah. I think so, I just, what if the others weren’t as lucky as us?—“
“They’re okay, Chopper.” Nami interrupts, already knowing what he’s thinking. “I know they are. You don’t need to worry,” she continues, “We’ll find everyone, and we’ll find a way home.”
“How?” He askes quietly, sniffling.
“I don’t know. But, we’ll be alright.” “Aye, lil bro! Don’t worry,” Franky adds, “I’m sure this lady’ll help us out.”
Chopper slowly nods, resting his head back on Luffy’s fuzzy arm. “Okay…”
“Being a cat’s kinda comfy though,” he mumbles, looking at his pink paws. Franky agrees with a hum—a meow in your ears, but a content sound regardless. “Never felt better, bein’ so lazy.”
“Of course, you’d say that.” Nami blurts. “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing…”
As if on cue, Luffy let’s out a loud snore, muttering something under his breath. Chopper squeaks when he moves, groaning ad Luffy shifts and lays atop him.
“…Meat.” he drools, dangerously close to the little doctor. “Ew!” He let out a soft disgusted ‘yuck,’ squirming. “Nami, Franky—help me!”
Eventually, the shrill wheels of the city bus came and you awoke to a chatter of meows. Shifting your arm, Luffy’s head slips from your hand, and gently hits against the box with a gentle thud. Groggily, he wakes. “Oh—sorry,” you voice, patting his head.
“Meow..”
“Shoot, I’m gonna have to cover you guys, I don’t think I can take you on the bus,” Quickly pulling off your thick gray hoodie, you tuck it over the box and grab your bag, throwing it over your shoulder.
Grabbing the box’s handle, you look up as the bus’s lights dim. Then, the vehicle hisses with a soft exhale—assuring it’s arrival.
Standing you, you step up the dusty stairs and the doors close behind you with a click. You’re greeted with an earthy, metal smell, combined with weed and cigarettes. Oh how you loved, the city bus. Well, it was at least cheap and took you home… you couldn’t really complain about that.
Looking up at the aisle’s blue lights, you sigh and make your way to an exit row. Resting your head against the cold window, the metal frame bites into your cheek, yet you don’t mind. You were used to it by now.
If anything, you’d grown comfortable with it, as it meant you could finally go home and rest.
Rubbing your eyes, you sneak a peek inside the box, to see the cats looking at you with curious expressions, and you can’t help but smile. Reaching inside, you brush the orange cat’s head, rubbing gently behind her ear.
She leans away, but you don’t take it personal. If anything, you’d probably have done the same. You knew what it was like to not be a people person.
“It’s alright, me too.” letting out a yawn, you close your eyes, and listen to the hum of the bumpy road… drifting off.
You feel one the cats shift, resting against your hand yet again.
_________________________________________
Stepping off the white and metallic bus, you are greeted with a gentle warm breeze. Your hair ruffles in the wind, and the dusty gravel crunches beneath your feet.
You live in a secluded neighbor-hood, located near the coastal regions of Oregon. The beaches were beautiful here, yet you lived further back in the forest away from others.
You preferred a quiet setting, even if you loved the city at times. Walking forward, you make your way home passing houses and trailer parks on your way. The houses here are old, and rustic, some currently being renovated for rentals while others have been abandoned and left behind.
About a half-a mile down, the neighborhood finally ends into a forest infested path-way. Stones litter the ground, mixed with large pine cones and prickly pine-needles. You cringe at the thought of touching one, holding the box tighter to your chest.
Speaking of, how were the cats doing?
Looking down, the four of them had already peeked their heads out—enjoying the scenery as much as you are. “Pretty, am I right?”
A combination of low and high pitched meows sound, as if agreeing with you, and you can’t help but smile. “You guys are so noisy, I’m surprised I didn’t get kicked off the bus.” Letting out a light laugh, you hear the orange cat meow in response. “Yeah, me too.”
It’s quiet for a moment, and you close your eyes to focus on the peaceful atmosphere. Letting out a sigh, you lightly kick a rock.
“It’s quiet out here, but it’s home. Even if my landlord’s an ass.” You mutter, walking down the hidden path. “All I have to do is keep his property clean, and suck up to the guy n’ my rent is cheap.”
The orange cat nods as if understanding, yet it goes unnoticed. “It’s expensive to live, and it gets tiring, but you only can do it once.”
The cats look at you with an unreadable expression, yet you keep talking as a sudden weight lifts off from your chest… yet you don’t know why. “Even if it’s hard, I want to make the most out of it.” you admit, looking up to the mossy trees. The stars from the sky peak through, and the moon begins to shine.
“I want to see the world. I’m sick of being stuck in one place.” Stretching your neck to the side, you finally look down to lock eyes with the calico. He seems oddly serious, yet you don’t think hard on it. You let out a groan, dropping your shoulders. “I must seem crazy talking to a bunch of cats…”
“You do.” Nami says, yet you only register it as a meow. “Don’t agree with me,” you blurt, as if feeling what the cat is saying.
“Anyways…” you grumble, shifting the box in your hands. “Hopefully you guys are outdoor cats, because I have a nice yard with a safe fence.” Walking a bit further, you finally spot a dark wood gate and pale red roses.
“Here’s home…”
With a creak and faint lock, you begin your trek up the stairs into your abode. The walls are a warm yellow, and it’s more of a cozy looking cottage than anything. It’s a two story, with 3 bedrooms and 2 baths. Setting the box down, your close and lock your front door letting the animals roam.
Shrugging off your bag, you groan in relief.
“I just wanna lay down…”
“Woah, this place is awesome!” Luffy pipes, trotting in the kitchen. “Where’s the food at?!”
Chopper and Franky practically zoom into the living room checking out your couch, and TV. The sofa is a soft velvety gray, and soft fuzzy heart shaped pillows decorate it.
“SUPER Couch! I’m passing out on this tonight!” Franky launched himself onto the sofa, laying back. “This is the life…”
“Mmm! It smells like vanilla in here,” Chopper pipes, poking his head around a chair. Spotting the tv and flower colored stained glass, his eyes light up. “Woah! Nami this is so pretty look at this!”
“Franky can we do this in the Sunny?!”
“I don’t see why not,” Nami mutters, looking around. She sits down, watching you walk down the hall into another room. “I didn’t expect such a nice place…”
“And I didn’t expect such nice food! What the hell is this?!” Luffy shouts, startling Nami. Looking around, the calico’s head is stuffed in an orange Cheeto bag—munching on stale chips. “Thfish stuf is ashome! Sanshi’s gotta make shis!”
“What the—LUFFY GET OUT OF THERE!”
“Ooo, I wanna try!” Chopper says, his eyes lighting up with stars. He zooms around the corner already hopping up onto the counter. Spotting the weirdly colored chips, he suddenly hesitates—changing his mind.
“Why do they look like chemicals? Hey—Franky, it looks like they used Usopp’s bolt grease!” “Wshat Geese?” Luffy muffles, paling as he sees Nami’s demonic glare from across the room.
“Luff—“
SLAM!
Everyone startles, looking down the hall. It’s sound’s as if you dropped something, as glass shatters over the floor. Your frustrated cussing confirms it, and Nami sighs.
⟢ summary: love triangles with one piece men
⟢ characters: luffy, sanji, zoro, ace, law, sabo
⟢ content/warnings: comedy, angst(?), fem! reader in sanji/law’s, gn! reader in everyone else’s, characters may be ooc, marineford never happened as far as i’m concerned
⟢ author’s note: one piece, i will always come back to you
⟢ monkey d. luffy & portgas d. ace
Luffy’s been standing on the upper deck of the Thousand Sunny for a good ten minutes, watching the deck below. The scene is pretty usual, for the most part — Usopp, Chopper, and Franky playing some card game, Zoro napping in a corner, and Sanji lavishing attention on Nami and Robin — but Luffy’s not focused on any of that. His eyes are firmly set on two people — you and Ace. He always loves when Ace visits, but this time felt different. Ace is there to see him, sure, but it also seems like there’s another reason he’s there. One that’s standing right in front of him.
Luffy folds his arms over the railing, lacing his hands together and resting his head on top of them as he observes the two of you. Normally, when Luffy talks to you, you’re animated, hands gesturing wildly as you get swept up in the conversation. But he watches you talk with Ace, he doesn’t see any of that. Instead, he notices your soft smile and the way you two are standing far too close. You say something that he can’t hear but it makes Ace laugh quietly, and there’s something tight in Luffy’s chest.
He decides to swing down, landing right in front of the two of you. You both startle and Luffy grins, asking, “Do you guys wanna play a game or something?”
Ace replies, “We were actually in the middle of a conversation, Luffy.”
“Oh! What about?”
“This book we both read recently,” you tell him, shooting Ace a warm smile that Luffy zeroes in on.
He turns back to his brother, laughing but the cheerfulness doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “Stop joking! Ace doesn’t read!”
“I read this book,” Ace snaps back through gritted teeth. Luffy cocks his head; Ace never liked reading, always hurling books back at Garp when their grandfather tried to get him to try one. His brother’s gaze bounces from Luffy to you and back, like he’s trying to convey a message.
Luffy nods in understanding and Ace’s shoulders drop in relief, but the feeling doesn’t last long as Luffy lets out a snicker before slotting himself between the two of you, throwing his arms over you both. You offer a confused smile while Ace just narrows his eyes, glaring at his younger brother. He can’t quite put his finger on Luffy’s behavior. It’s not that he’s acting weird but Ace senses something more, something simmering beneath the surface. Luffy brightly proposes the idea of a game again, though Ace notices that he pointedly angles himself towards you.
With a groan, Ace hooks an arm around Luffy’s neck, dragging his below deck with a call over his shoulder to you of, “We’ll be back in a sec!”
When he releases his brother, Ace asks, “What’re you doing?”
“What do you mean? I want to play a game with you guys! I’m so bored!”
Ace sighs, “Okay, we’ll play a game. But can you let me talk to them, just for a little longer?”
“What? About the book?”
“Yeah.”
Luffy tilts his head again. “Why?”
“Because I read it and so did they and I want to talk to them about it.”
Luffy grows quiet. Ace reading just doesn’t make sense. He scratches his head in confusion, letting the silence stretch out. Then, he asks, “Do you like them?”
Ace raises his eyebrows. “What?”
“Do you like them?” Luffy asks again. “Do you like them? In a more-than-a-friend way?”
Ace hesitates. “I don’t know,” he admits. “But I want to get to know them better in that way.”
Luffy pauses then laughs, “Why didn’t you just say that?” He pats Ace on the shoulder and Ace thinks it’s the end of this, that maybe Luffy could help him. But then, Luffy says, “But, just so you know, Ace. I think I like them too! As more than a friend, and I’m not gonna go down without a fight.”
Ace blinks — once, twice — then he says, “Is that so? Well then, let the best man win.”
He extends his hand to Luffy, who grabs it, pumps it twice, and then bolts out the door towards the deck, shouting, “Too slow, Ace!”
On deck, you bear witness to Luffy practically flying towards you, Ace hot on his heels. Luffy stops just in front of you and he says, “Sorry ‘bout that!”
“Are you guys okay?”
Ace catches up with a huff but he waves you off. “Yeah, just dumb brother stuff.”
Luffy nods enthusiastically, then asks, “Can we play a game now?”
⟢ vinsmoke sanji & trafalgar law
Law doesn’t get what’s appealing about Sanji’s flirting to you. You’ve both witnessed the Straw Hat’s cook fawn over and chase after dozens of women, and yet you’re sitting with Robin and Nami, entertaining Sanji’s advances as he serves the three of you iced tea and small bites. It’s the way you smile up at Sanji, all warm and inviting, that makes Law’s eye twitch.
“My lady,” Sanji coos at you, leaning over your chair, “is everything to your liking? Are the crostini good?”
“Everything’s delicious, Sanji, thank you!” You offer that sun-bright smile again and Sanji clutches his hands over his heart. Law could throw up right now, especially with how his stomach turns at the scene.
He knew he shouldn’t have let Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin convince him to accept Luffy’s invitation for a party on the Thousand Sunny. It had been a coincidence that your crews wound up on the same tropical island for a brief respite, and Law finds himself wishing he’d just kept moving the Polar Tang forward.
Law watches Sanji sit on the floor beside you as you stretch out in the recliner seat. Both Law and Sanji follow the line of your body, and you turn your head to say something to the cook that Law can’t hear but it makes Sanji blush and let out a soft, almost shy laugh.
“Hey, Captain… you might want to ease up on the cup.” Shachi appears beside him but it’s too late. The distinct clink of cracking glass seems to sound off far too loudly but it draws everyone’s attention, including yours and Sanji’s. Law finally glances down at his hand, the glass cup in his hand now pattered with spider-webbing cracks. Law’s ears burn in embarrassment as Chopper hurries over with a small garbage can, holding it out to him. Luffy laughs, “Traffy, are you okay?”
As Law disposes of the broken cup, his eyes meet yours and you tilt your head questioningly, eyebrows knit in a curious concern. Law shakes his head subtly, trying to tell you that he’s fine and you nod back slowly, clearly unconvinced. He tells everyone, “I’m fine,” and they seem to lose interest in the matter quickly, returning to whatever activities they were doing before.
Day turns into night swiftly, and after dinner, Luffy invites the Heart Pirates to spend the night on the Sunny. Law would have preferred to retreat into the comforting steel of the Polar Tang with you and the rest of his crew, but it took one puppy-dog-eyed look from you and Bepo to have him begrudgingly agree.
In a guest room on the ship, Law can’t sleep. He tosses and turns before sitting up. He runs a hand down his face with a groan, sliding out of bed. He decides to go up to the deck to stand in the cool night air, but when he goes to push the door open, he hears voices. There’s one he would recognize anywhere — yours — and one, he soon realizes with a sinking stomach, is Sanji’s. Quietly, carefully, he nudges the door open, leaning against the frame. When he peers out, he can see your figures silhouetted in the moonlight and the burning orange tip of Sanji’s cigarette. Your body faces outward towards the ocean, forearms braced against the railing of the ship, while Sanji leans back against the rail.
You two are close together, and even though Law can’t exactly make out what Sanji’s saying to you, he can tell that it’s not the cook’s usual over-the-top display. There’s something personal to your interaction and Law even feels like he’s intruding on something too private for a third party’s observation. His chest tightens when he hears you laugh, and somehow it hurts even more than when you did earlier. It’s something about the clear intimacy that makes him ache, that drives the knife deeper into his skin.
Law lets the door swing closed, leaning against the wall beside it with his arms crossed. He’s rooted to the floor, heart thudding against his ribcage. He doesn’t know how long he’s remained there, but the door opening beside him makes him startle. Sanji steps through, alone, and he also jumps a little when he sees Law. He asks, “How long have you been here?”
Law doesn’t answer at first, but he says, “I don’t know.”
“Why’re you even up?”
“I could ask the same thing about you.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Me neither.”
There’s a silence and Law’s eyes drift to the door. “Why did you just leave her out there by herself?”
Sanji scowls. “So you were eavesdropping?”
“It’s not eavesdropping because I didn’t hear anything,” Law replies firmly. “Why did you just leave her out there?”
“Because she wanted to stay outside a bit longer, not that it’s any of your business.”
“I’m her captain.”
“So? What does that have to do with this?”
Law’s quiet again. He lets out a long, tired exhale through his nose. Sanji’s hitting too close to home, and Law doesn’t know how to deflect to end the conversation and escape the cook’s scrutinizing gaze. Instead, Law turns on his heel to leave. Before he does, he says, “If you’re not serious, don’t play with her feelings.”
Sanji’s scowl deepens, offended. “I would never play with any woman’s feelings.” Another pause, and he adds, softer, “And she’s special.”
Then, Sanji pins Law with a look that conveys everything left unsaid. “I’m sure you know that better than anyone.”
⟢ roronoa zoro & sabo
Zoro thought it was bad enough with Sanji but, as he watches you and Sabo, he thinks it’s even worse. He doesn’t mind Sabo as a person — he respects him, likes him, even — but the two of you together send an unpleasant feeling surging through him. Sabo’s different than Sanji and somehow, it makes things even harder because Sabo’s attention is seemingly more genuine and personal. It’s not lusty or dramatic, and it’s certainly not scattered between any woman within a five mile range. He focuses on you, finds you in a crowd, and asks for your advice all the time: “Would you mind taking a look at this memo I wrote?” “Is this location the most optimal to cut-off weapons supplies for the Marines?” “Do you think we should attack from the east or the west?”
It’s driving Zoro nuts. Ever since Luffy and Robin volunteered the crew to help with some Revolutionary Army activities, you and Sabo have been attached at the hip. It’s like you two have known each other forever, at least that’s what Nami and Robin keep saying. The more he sees the two of you together, the more he sees what they see and he’s not sure he likes it. Zoro keeps trying to swallow it down, the sour taste in his mouth that blooms when he sees Sabo rest a lingering hand on your shoulder or when you give Sabo that playful, sidelong glance that you would give him as well.
Zoro makes his way to combat training, where experienced members of the Revolutionary Army as well as the crew helped new members with their fighting skills. He’s thankful when he sees the spot next to you, occupied by Sabo lately, open for him to slot into you. You give him a sweet smile but say nothing since Sabo and Koala are giving their speeches about the importance of all kinds of combat experience in the revolutionary effort. They announce the practice of close combat today, and Sabo turns towards you crew and says, “It could be helpful to have someone demonstrate this kind of sparring with me. Any of you want to step up?”
Before Luffy or Sanji or any of the other crew members could pipe up, Zoro moves forward. “I’ll do it.” He pointedly ignores Nami and Robin’s meaningful looks as he strolls to stand in front of Sabo.
Sabo lays out the rules: no weapons, no Devil Fruits, and the demonstration will last no longer than five minutes. Other than that, everything is fair game. Koala blows a whistle and the demonstration begins.
Zoro and Sabo are a whir of green and blue, each punch and kick landing with resounding thuds. Revolutionary Army members and the Straw Hats cheer loudly as they watch on. Zoro doesn’t want to admit that he’s a little taken aback by Sabo’s strength, how he’s able to keep up, but he should have expected it from the Chief of Staff of the Revolutionary Army. It makes him all the more motivated to push himself harder.
Zoro and Sabo clash one more time, fists meeting skin before Koala blows the whistle again, signalling the end of five minutes. There’s a speechless awe from the new recruits while the rest of the Revolutionary Army and the Straw Hats whoop and holler. Zoro breathes deeply and tries to suppress wince at his rapidly bruising ribs. Across from him, he sees Sabo roll his shoulder and grimace. One of the Army medics rushes over to inspect him as trainees and experienced members pair off for the session, while you and Chopper make your way to Zoro.
Chopper huffs, “You went too hard for practice!” He’s already pulling a cold pack from his backpack as he orders Zoro to sit. He tells you to hold it against Zoro’s side so he could pull out more medical equipment.
“I’m fine,” Zoro grumbles but he sits anyway, and you kneel beside him, doing as Chopper instructed. He jumps as the cold material comes in contact with his shirt, seeping into his skin. You mutter a soft apology but keep it there.
“Nice job,” you say with a grin. “It’s always cool seeing you fight.”
Zoro wishes his chest didn’t swell with pride when you said it but he can’t contain the smirk that breaks out. “Yeah? You’re watching me?”
“Ugh, don’t get a big head.”
Zoro just shoots you another cocky grin, which makes you smack him gently upside the head. All it does is make him snicker and you roll your eyes, but Zoro basks in the attention he’d never admit he craved from you these past few weeks.
You stay by his side as Chopper fusses over him, and Zoro can’t help but glance over at the other side of the field, where Sabo was. He catches his gaze. Sabo’s expression is unreadable, complicated, but there’s no doubt there’s a glint of determination flashing in his eyes. Zoro makes sure to return it in kind.
she confesses when she's drunk but doesn't remember it the next morning ᯓ★
how one piece men would react when she confesses while being drunk but forgets about it the next morning
luffy , zoro , sanji , law
fluff
MONKEY D. LUFFY ── .✦
The music was loud. Too loud. The kind that made the deck feel like it was swaying even though the sea was calm.
She was laughing, cheeks warm, arms wrapped tightly around Monkey D. Luffy as they clumsily danced in the middle of the celebration. She was completely drunk.
“This is fun!” she declared, spinning them both before losing balance and pressing herself closer instead. “You’re really fun, y’know that?”
“Hehe! I know!” Luffy said proudly, arms steady around her so she wouldn’t fall.
She tilted her head up, eyes glassy but bright, happiness spilling out of her like it couldn’t be contained. “Luffy,” she said, suddenly very serious. Too serious.
He hummed. “Yeah?”
“I like you,” she whispered. Then, softer. “No… I love you.”
His brain stopped.
Before he could even ask what that meant, her grip loosened. She slumped forward, forehead hitting his chest as she knocked out cold.
“Hey- HEY!” Luffy yelped, panicking for exactly three seconds before helping her up easily. “She fell asleep!”
The crew laughed. Someone teased. Someone else carried on drinking.
But Luffy didn’t laugh.
The next morning, she woke up with a pounding headache and absolutely no memory of the night before.
Meanwhile, Luffy sat on the deck with his arms crossed, cheeks puffed out, staring into the horizon.
“You okay, Luffy?” Usopp asked.
“She said something,” Luffy muttered.
“What kinda something?”
“…A really important something.”
Later, she approached him nervously, bowing a little. “I heard I got really drunk last night. I’m sorry if I said anything weird.”
Luffy snapped his head toward her. “You don’t remember?”
She blinked. “Remember what?”
His pout deepened, lips sticking out so far it was almost impressive. He turned away with a huff. “Nothing’.”
She stared at his back for a second, panic slowly creeping in.
“Nothing?” she repeated. “You don’t pout like that over nothing.”
“I do,” Luffy said immediately.
“No you don’t.”
“Yes I do.”
She squinted. “…You’re doing it right now.”
His shoulders hunched defensively. “I’m just sitting!”
“With your arms crossed and your face doing that thing,” she said, poking his cheek without thinking.
He recoiled like she’d committed a crime. “HEY! Don’t poke me!”
“Then stop acting weird!” she huffed.
Luffy turned just enough to glance at her, cheeks still puffed. “You gotta remember on your own.”
“That’s not fair!”
“It is fair,” he insisted. “You said it. So you gotta remember it.”
She groaned and dropped down beside him, hugging her knees. “I don’t even remember going to sleep.”
“You slept good,” he said quietly.
“…You watched me sleep, didn’t you.”
“Only a little!”
She stared at him and sighed, then softened, bumping her shoulder against his. “Okay. Hypothetically. If I did say something weird… was it bad?”
Luffy shook his head immediately. “Nope.”
“Embarrassing?”
He shrugged. “Kinda.”
Her face burned. “Oh no.”
“But!” he added quickly, leaning closer, voice dropping like it was a secret treasure map. “It made me really happy.”
She blinked. “It did?”
“Yeah,” he said simply. “So I’m not giving it back.”
“Giving what back?”
“My memory of it,” he said, poking her forehead this time. “It’s mine now.”
She stared at him, heart doing something stupid in her chest. “…You’re impossible.”
He beamed. “I know!”
RORONOA ZORO ── .✦
The party was loud behind them. Laughter, music, Usopp yelling about something exaggerated. None of it reached the quiet corner of the deck where she sat beside Roronoa Zoro, legs dangling over the edge, a bottle loosely held in her hand.
Zoro drank in silence, as always. Comfortable. Solid. Like the noise of the world couldn’t touch him if he didn’t want it to.
She leaned back on her palms, swaying slightly. “You’re really easy to sit with,” she said suddenly.
Zoro grunted. “You’re drunk.”
“Yeah,” she agreed cheerfully. Then she sucked in a deep breath, stood up far too fast, and-
“I LIKE ZORO A LOT!!!”
The entire deck went silent.
Sanji dropped a cup. Usopp choked.
Zoro’s eyes widened just a fraction.
She swayed, blinked once, and promptly collapsed.
Zoro caught her without thinking, arms locking around her before she could even hit the floor.
“…Tch,” he muttered, jaw tight.
The next morning was hell.
She woke up cheerful, slightly hungover, and completely unaware that she had just traumatized half the crew.
Zoro, meanwhile, avoided her like she was a cursed sword.
He changed training spots. Left rooms the moment she entered. Took naps in places she didn’t even know existed.
“Why is he acting like that?” she whispered later, genuinely confused.
Nami pinched the bridge of her nose. Robin smiled far too knowingly.
“You screamed your feelings at him,” Nami said flatly.
“…I did what?”
By the time she found Zoro, her face was on fire.
He was leaning against the railing, arms crossed, staring out at the sea like it personally owed him money.
“Zoro,” she said, cornering him before he could escape again.
He stiffened. “…What.”
She took a breath. “I’m sorry for whatever I said. If I made you uncomfortable.”
Silence.
“You could’ve just told me you don’t like me,” she added quietly. “You didn’t have to avoid me.”
He finally looked at her.
And gods, the intensity in his eye made her want to sink into the deck.
“Tch,” he clicked his tongue. “I never said I didn’t like you.”
Her heart skipped. “Then why are you avoiding me?”
“…Because,” he said slowly, “…I remember what you said.”
She froze.
“You don’t,” he continued, voice low. “And every time you smile at me like nothing happened, it pisses me off.”
“Oh,” she said softly. “Guess I’ll have to say it again. This time sober.”
He huffed. “…Idiot.”
But he didn’t move away when she stayed.
VINSMOKE SANJI ── .✦
The kitchen smelled like spices and leftover celebration. Pots were stacked, the stove still warm from Sanji’s late-night cooking when the door slid open a little too hard.
She stumbled in.
“Whoa-!” she mumbled, grabbing the counter for balance. “Why’s the floor moving?”
From the sink, Sanji froze mid-scrub.
“Y–Y/N-swan?!” He hastily rinsed his hands, water splashing everywhere as he rushed toward her. “Careful, careful! The kitchen is a dangerous place at night, especially for an angel such as-”
She giggled and promptly leaned into him, forehead resting against his chest.
“Sanji,” she said, dragging out his name playfully. “You’re always here.”
“Of course I am!” he said, heart already racing. “A cook must protect the heart of the ship- and you, my dear, are-”
She looked up at him suddenly, eyes bright and unfocused, then stood on her toes and pressed a soft, sloppy kiss to his cheek.
“I like you,” she whispered. “A lot.”
Steam practically exploded from his ears.
“K–K–KISS?!” His nose immediately betrayed him. “Y/N-swaaaan-!”
She smiled, completely satisfied, and promptly collapsed forward.
Sanji barely had time to catch her before the blood loss took him too.
They hit the floor together. She landed comfortably on top of him. Sanji passed out with stars in his eyes and a blissful smile on his face.
The next morning, she woke up confused.
Sanji woke up reborn.
Breakfast was heart-shaped. Coffee had foam art. He pulled out her chair, offered compliments every five seconds, wiped invisible dust from her shoulders, and declared her smile brighter than the sun at least twelve times before noon.
“…Did I hit my head?” she muttered to Nami.
“No,” Nami said flatly. “You hit him.”
Sanji appeared instantly at her side. “Y/N-swan, are you hungry? Thirsty? Emotionally fulfilled? I can fix all of it!”
She blinked. “…Why are you being like this?”
“Like what?” he asked, sparkles practically floating around him.
“So,” she said slowly, “…intense.”
He clasped his hands dramatically. “Last night, you bestowed upon me a treasure greater than the All Blue itself.”
She stared. “…I did?”
“Yes!” He leaned closer, voice soft, reverent. “Your confession. Your kiss. Your warmth as you slept upon my chest-”
Her face went scarlet.
“I-WHAT?!”
She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t even remember that!”
He smiled dreamily. “Then I shall simply worship you until you do.”
TRAFALGAR D. WATER LAW ── .✦
There was a knock at his door. Three of them, uneven. Careless. “Doctor,” a voice sang. “Doctooor.”
Law paused mid-page, brow twitching.
Another knock.
“Doctor Doctor,” she called again, muffled by the wood. “There’s something wrong with me.”
He sighed, already knowing exactly what kind of night this was going to be. “You’re drunk,” he said flatly.
The door slid open anyway.
She leaned against the frame, smiling far too brightly, finger pointed at her chest like she’d discovered a grave medical emergency. “My heart’s missing.”
Law looked up slowly. “…It’s beating.”
“Nope,” she said, wagging her finger. “You took it.”
Silence.
“…Get out.”
She gasped dramatically. “See? Cold. Unprofessional. Horrible manners.”
She wandered in anyway, shoes discarded halfway, plopping herself down on his bed like it was her personal couch. Law stood there, arms crossed, watching the disaster unfold with the patience of a man who had seen war.
“You know,” she continued, words spilling easier now, “you’re really unfair.”
“Tch.”
“You’re smart. And calm. And scary,” she said fondly. “But also kind. And you look at everyone like you’re carrying the whole world on your back.”
He didn’t respond.
She smiled at him anyway.
“I like you,” she said softly. “The doctor. The captain. You.”
Her voice dipped, just a little. “I wish you’d look at me the way I look at you.”
Law’s fingers curled at his side.
Before he could say anything, her rambling slowed. She curled up on his bed, cheek pressed into his pillow.
“Heart’s tired,” she murmured. “Doctor’s fault…”
And then she was asleep.
Law stood there for a long moment.
He turned the lamp lower. Pulled a blanket over her without waking her. Then he left a glass of water, hangover medicine, and a neatly folded note on the side table.
The next morning, she woke with a pounding head and the faint scent of antiseptic and soap.
Her eyes landed on the note.
You were drunk.
You said some weird stuff.
Drink the water. Take the medicine.
We’ll talk when you’re sober.
She swallowed.
“…Oh no,” she whispered, heart racing all over again.
Somewhere outside the room, Law smirked.
She sat up slowly, clutching the blanket like it might explain what she’d done.
“Oh my god,” she muttered, dragging a hand down her face. “I told him everything didn't I? I actually told him everything.”
By the time she gathered the courage to leave the cabin, her heart was trying to beat its way out of her ribs.
She found him on deck, coat fluttering lightly in the wind, arms folded as he watched the sea like it was behaving suspiciously.
“Um,” she said.
He didn’t turn. “Head's hurting?”
“…Yes.”
“Toke the meds?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Silence stretched.
She shifted on her feet. “So. About last night.”
He glanced at her now, unreadable. “You remember it?”
She winced. “Bits.”
“You were being stupid,” he said calmly. “Annoyingly so.”
“That’s worse,” she groaned. “I’m really sorry if I crossed a line. I was drunk and rambling and doing wordplay and-”
“‘Doctor Doctor, you stole my heart,’” he recited flatly.
Her soul left her body.
She covered her face instantly. “PLEASE stop. I need to be thrown into the sea.”
A pause.
“…You fell asleep halfway through,” he added.
She peeked through her fingers. “You didn’t kick me out.”
“No.”
“You tucked me in.”
“…Yes.”
Her cheeks burned. “So you’re not mad?”
He exhaled slowly. “If I were mad, you wouldn’t be standing here.”
That… helped. A little.
She swallowed. “I meant what I said,” she admitted quietly. “Even if I said it badly.”
Law studied her for a moment, then clicked his tongue. “You said one thing wrong.”
Her heart dropped. “I did?”
“You said I never look at you the same way.”
He stepped closer, just enough that she had to tilt her head up.
“I do,” he said low. “I just don’t ramble about it.”
Her breath hitched. “…Oh.”
He turned back to the sea, ears faintly red beneath his hat. “Next time, tell me sober.”
She smiled despite herself, warmth spreading through her chest.
“Doctor,” she teased softly. “Something’s wrong with me.”
He sighed. “What now.”
“My heart’s still missing.”
A pause.
“…We’ll discuss treatment later,” he muttered.
She grinned.
author's note
I hope you enjoyed this <333 I will do a shanks , smoker , crocodile and lucci version too!!
A masterlist of extra official stuffs like drama CDs and bonus chapters for reference. I hope you don’t mind if I put links to your blogs/translations here. :)
