˖ ࣪૮₍ 𝓟 𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 ˖ ࣪ა 𓂃 ⭒ defected!suguru x f. reader x satoru ::
⤿ ꒰ suguru fucks you after you've been with satoru, but gets an unsuspecting call :: smut :: jealous sex :: ac. @/tekla135 ꒱
“Suguuu.”
“Don't 'sugu' me,” he sneers, hand yanking on your jaw to curve your back into that sinful arch. The perfect leverage for his pounding thrusts that reverberated the swell of your ass. “You heard me. Answer it.”
His thrusts falter. An agonising drag against your nerve bundles. Just enough, but not quite there. A cruel limbo that shook your hand in the pillow and had you scrambling for the phone on its last ring.
You swipe a wet finger, bite your damp lip and grind your soaking heat back into Suguru's humping.
“Hey.” Satoru's voice smoothed. The twinge of tiredness melts when he hears your quiet greeting. He bites a chuckle.
“Tired? Did I wear you out?”
His tease bleeds with concern. You hear the rustling of paper and can only assume he's cooped up in his office again.
“You working?” You breathe, ignoring his question.
“Just some lesson planning,” he paused. “You okay? You're out of breath.”
Okay? You were the farthest thing from okay. Suguru made sure of it with those nasty, wet clicks from his feral humps. Violets glare at the phone screen like they could pierce through and stab the man who so easily holds your heart. Even though you left. Even though you're with him now. Him. Suguru. Not Satoru.
“Y-Yeah—” you crack as your shoulder flares from the sting of sharp teeth. His intensifying rhythm pricks tears at your eyes. You won't last long.
“Yeah, I'm— I'm good- just— Sugu!”
Your whine breaks, pitched and needy as his thrusts turn into punishing pounds smooching your cervix and creaming your poor, quivering cunt. Slap! Your ass burns under his touch. Your clit follows with his hot pinch and rub that sends your eyes back.
From over the line papers crinkle loudly. You bite down on your lip. Half in embarrassment, mostly in excitement. The buzz of limitless tickles your nerves even across a call.
“Sorry, Satoru,” Suguru's voice is infuriatingly smooth for a man whose fucking you out on his cock and driving you into the messy sheets like a drooling, dumb slut. “Princess was a little, hm, dissatisfied this morning. Needed to tend to her. You get it, right?”
“Oh.” Satoru drawls, deadpanned. “Dissatisfied. Yeah, no man, I get it.”
Suguru grins. His cock twitches in that tight spot that leaves you whimpering and clawing at the sheets. His pride pours into his pace that blinds your eyes and pitches your cries at his cruel crescendo of wet slaps and bruising hips.
And then just like that. Like a pebble tossed at a glass house. It shatters all at once.
“How's my cum feeling? Pretty girl kept begging for it.”
You gasp in breathlessness, in shock, your eyes dart to the phone and you can already see that smug smirk on his handsome face.
You clench. And Suguru feels it. Damnit.
“Fuck you,” is all he manages to grunt, shoving your teary face into the pillows as his rage spills into his pounds. Jagged, ragged, haphazard, as if he could fuck out the evidence that Satoru had been there too. Stretching you out. Making you cum—
“Not gonna make her squirt like that, you know,” Satoru smiles.
“Shut up!” Suguru barks.
“What? Thought you were trying to satisfy her?"
“You're such a fucking— fuck, bastard,”
Suguru's hips slam forward, humping on your soft ass as if it could comfort him in any way as you squeezed an orgasm out through sobs. You desperately squirm back on him, babbling his name, and it reminds him—
“She chose me,” he rasps. He wants it to cut, wants it to burn, but it trembles.
A chair creaks. Satoru's leaning.
“Did she?”
He grinned.
“That's why she's always running back for this dick huh? She surree must love it there.”
Despite the angry rams of Suguru's cockhead knocking the air out of you. . . You smile into the pillow. Giggle even.
Because at the end of the day? They're yours. Both of them. And they're obsessed with you.
Enjin loves to smoke a blunt and watch you ride his cock - you just do such a good job with it.
Your hips in circles, his reddened tip leaking against your cervix.
He will inhale that blunt and moan out that smoke when you slam down his length, fully, murmuring - "F-fuck... that's it, princess, look at ya."
"Nghh..." He'll hand it to you and grab your hips, lifting you up, using you, your soppy mess of a cunt echoing off the walls in his room.
You inhale that blunt he's holding between his thumb and forefinger, sucking it deep into your lungs, letting it fill your throat as he fills your hole so thick. You can hardly take him at first, easing down inch by inch, feeling the silver balls of his piercings against your inner walls.
"Can't m-move," you whine out, thighs trembling when he takes the blunt back. He chuckles a bit. Acting calm, like he's not about to bust in your tight, gummy walls. "Enjin..."
"What is it, hmm? Need help?" He loves to taunt you, plump lips wrapping the blunt, leaning back to watch your pretty cunt suck him in. "Look at ya, makin' it disappear like that? Fuck you're doing s'good..."
You cling to his bare shoulders, that praise making you weak. You feel his thick biceps tense, putting the smoke in his mouth now. You eagerly press your mouth against his, swallowing that smoke again, saliva and that cunt just dripping, passing the wave of white heat between your throats, making you both dizzy.
Enjin loves to praise you, loves to see how good you work his cock with every whisper, how your tits bounce right in his face. Your fingers slip over his undercut, feeling soft blonde strands and tugging at the roots, his hands grip you and dimple in the plush of your thighs.
"Thatta girl," he huskily whispers that praise, eyes flickering gold.
In these moments with you he's loving, leisurely pumping into you - not the man who is out for blood every day, the one with so much responsibility. No, with you he just enjoys you, at least in the moments alone, buried inside.
"Working me. You can do it, hmm?"
"Mmn, n-no, can't," he laughs softly, breath tickling your skin. "Use me, please."
Enjin can't keep that act up when you fucking look at him like that, eyes fucked out with hearts in them, your lips quivering. "Use you?"
You nod eagerly, he sucks in a breath, feeling you tighten even goddamn more. He knows he should have stretched her out better but you were so cock thirsty you put it in way too fast.
"Use you, like a little slut. Huh? That what you want, a cleaner to use you till he cums?" You gasp out, but you're just leaking more, whining out. His huge hands snake over your waist, shoving you down fully and bottoming out. "Admit it, pretty little sphereite, they couldn't fuck you good enough up there,"
Your answer is to cling to him, breasts right in his face, nipples he'd personally pierced himself one drunken night together. He groans, barbell on his tongue ring clicking yours, black nails digging into your hips, moan from the back of his throat.
"N-no one fucked good up there," your little confession makes him leak pre. "Couldn't cum till y-you..."
"Shit," Enjin exhales, breath against a puffy nipple coated in his spit, glossy. "No one made you cum? But you're so easy, princess."
Enjin slams his cock to the hilt, your juices leaking down his heavy balls, splattering down and dripping between his muscled, tattooed thighs onto the old, worn couch.
"So easy f'me, hah," he lifts you again, like you're nothing. "I'll use you then, like the needy little slut you are."
His words are insane, up top it was nothing like this, raw and feral, but you're just nodding, rolling your hips so his pierced tip drags on your cervix.
"Then use me."
Fuck you're perfect.
Enjin slams your ass down hard, bruising your waist with those long fingers pressing into the curve of your ass, slamming you down over and over. But - ever a man who enjoys to have a woman cum - he makes sure to slip your hand between your bodies.
"Play with that clit," he moans out, golden eyes damn near black. "Lemme fuckin' feel her milk me."
You flush at the lewd, obscene action, even after fucking Enjin several times you haven't played with yourself.
"Little circles," sometimes he's sweet, guiding your fingers, leaned back with his feet on the worn carpet, shoving his cock up so deep you scream out. "There you fuckin' go, look at ya,"
You're drowning in his praise while your cunt drools down, gushing as your fingers and his press your clit, sending you over the edge. He's soon to follow - you don't realize how badly he's wanted to bust his hot sticky load inside you rather than use protection. Its filthy, his cum pouring and flooding, slipping down in messy strings whole your muscles clamp down so much his cock is milked for everything.
"Enjin!" You whine out, he kisses you quiet, moaning and pushing you over the edge again, overstimulation hitting.
"Slutty cunt wanted all my cum, hah..." his words are filthy, just letting your aftershocks drain his balls for every drop.
It's like this since he found you, him brushing your hair back and studying you after, eyes saying things his lips couldn't yet. Flipping you over, lapping his own cum right out of your hole, drinking up the filthy little mess and making you squirt again, not letting a drop of his cum go to waste.
Smoking you out more after, until you forget the world around you both, falling asleep high off him on that couch, earning him smiling and tucking you in. He has another mission tonight and it's too dangerous, he hopes you won't kick his ass when he lets you sleep through it.
You look too fucked out and cute to wake up.
tagging my enjin girls - @honeybunnnnie @blkkizzat @cupidstrace
Ex!Suguru Geto x Reader x Satoru Gojo / Satoru Gojo x Suguru Geto
SUMMARY: You’re Tokyo’s untouchable number-one model, walking the line between lethal charm and heartbreaking past, haunted by Suguru Geto the ex who left scars you still taste and tangled in the messy allure of his boyfriend, Satoru Gojo. Over three grueling, intimate, and scandalous days of photoshoots, you manipulate the tension between them, playfully flirting, whispering secrets, and commanding attention with every step, every glance, and every kiss. Suguru struggles to maintain professionalism while his control crumbles, and Satoru, initially smug and untouchable, finds himself unraveling under your gaze, flushed and speechless.
WARNINGS/TAGS: MDNI/ Love triangle / ex-boyfriend dynamic/ Jealousy Manipulation / emotional power play/Flirtation / sexual tension (implied, not explicit)Suggestive content / swearing /Adult themes / workplace-themed photoshoot intimacy/ Cheating on both sides/
Tokyo loves you the way it loves disasters: loudly, obsessively, and with zero mercy.
You are the city’s scandal-darling, the girl who can stop traffic with a single step and ruin reputations without ever opening her mouth. Paparazzi call your walk lethal—hips rolling like a threat, chin lifted like you’re daring the world to say something. Stylists whisper that no one wears rage as beautifully as you do. Fans say you look untouchable.
They’re wrong.
Your heart never recovered from Suguru Geto.
Two years ago, you and Suguru didn’t break up—you detonated. Screaming so loud the neighbors called security. A wine glass shattered against the wall, red splashing like blood. Accusations hurled like knives: fame, ego, loyalty, who was using whom, who was shrinking to let the other shine. He told you you’d changed. You told him he was afraid of your light. He walked out, slamming the door so hard the frame cracked, leaving you alone in a ruined apartment with mascara streaked down your face and his name still burning on your tongue.
You survived the aftermath the only way you knew how: drugs that numbed, parties that blurred, strangers whose names you never bothered to learn. You learned exactly how many hours it took for heartbreak to fade if you stayed high enough. Every night ended with you alone, scrolling through tabloid photos of Suguru like reopening a wound just to prove it still hurt.
And it always did.
Because Suguru didn’t just move on.
He upgraded.
The world decided his new boyfriend was perfection incarnate.
Satoru Gojo—Tokyo’s number one model. White hair like a provocation. Cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. Eyes so pale they look unreal, like the camera loves him more than it loves anyone else. He’s beautiful in a way that feels unfair, effortless, inevitable.
Together, they’re unbearable.
Soft-focus selfies between shows. Backstage kisses caught “accidentally.” Suguru smiling in photos the way he never smiled with you—open, unguarded, like he finally found peace. Captions about being “each other’s safest place.” Every post hits a million likes, and every time it does, you hit another line and tell yourself you don’t care.
You stalk their Instagrams anyway. Religiously. Memorizing the way Suguru tilts toward Satoru like gravity finally won.
Then Tokyo decides to be cruel.
The announcement drops on a Monday morning: The Top 10 Fashion Showcase—the most brutal event of the year. No sponsorship mercy, no soft edits, no protection. Just the ten most coveted models in the city, ripped apart and ranked in public.
You don’t even attend the ratings party. You don’t need to.
You land number two without trying.
Fashion blogs lose their minds. The industry’s untouchable dark star. A living controversy. A walk that could end careers. But every article carries the same poison sting:
Number one is Satoru Gojo. Again.
And number three—because the universe has a vicious sense of humor—is Suguru Geto.
The rule everyone knows but no one escapes: the top three share the closing photo spread. Three days. No escape. Locked studios, forced intimacy, cameras hunting for cracks. Whoever survives it becomes fashion royalty.
That means you, your ex, and the man who replaced you.
The first call sheet meeting is where Satoru decides to make himself known.
He leans in too close, eyes glittering with amusement, voice silk-smooth as he compliments your walk—then ruins it with a casual, “You’re almost on my level.” He talks about how healing Suguru’s life has been since leaving “chaos” behind. Smiles while he says it. Enjoys the way your jaw tightens.
He knows exactly what he has.
And he knows the world loves him for it.
But when you step onto that runway, something shifts.
Under blinding lights and hungry cameras, surrounded by models desperate to matter, you walk like the stage was built for you alone. Every step is a declaration: you are not replaceable. Not second best. Not the girl they buried two years ago.
The cameras catch it—the moment Suguru’s composure fractures, his gaze following you before he can stop himself.
They catch Satoru’s smile sharpening, just slightly, as he realizes the story might not belong to him anymore.
By the time the three of you are pulled into the same frame for the first test shot—Suguru in the middle, Satoru draped over his shoulder, you at his other side like a ghost that refused to stay dead—the city stops asking who is number one.
Now they’re asking whether this shoot will crown a legend…
Or destroy all three of you on live television.
The studio smells like expensive perfume, hairspray, and old money.
You arrive early on purpose.
Not because you’re eager because you refuse to be caught reacting.
Your dressing room is stark white, a single mirror framed in lights too bright to hide behind. You shrug out of your coat, studying your reflection. Calm face. Dead eyes. Perfect.
A knock breaks the silence.
Not polite. Not hesitant.
Cocky.
The door opens without waiting for permission.
“Wow,” Satoru Gojo says, leaning against the frame like he owns the place. “They really did give you the villain lighting.”
You don’t look at him right away. You pick up your lipstick, twist it slowly.
“Takes one to recognize one,” you reply. “Didn’t know they let accessories wander the halls.”
He laughs—light, unbothered, beautiful. Of course he does. You hate him for that.
“Accessory?” he repeats. “That’s cute. Suguru usually calls me his good luck charm.”
That gets your attention.
You meet his gaze in the mirror, eyes flat. “Funny. He used to say I was his downfall.”
Satoru steps closer, close enough that you can see the unnatural clarity of his eyes. He smells like clean skin and arrogance.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “He told me.”
Your lipstick pauses mid-air.
“Oh?” you murmur. “And what else did he tell you?”
Satoru tilts his head, smiling like a man who knows he’s won something. “That loving you felt like standing in the middle of a storm. That everything was always loud. Intense. Messy.”
You cap the lipstick with a sharp click and turn fully toward him.
“And yet,” you say, sweet as poison, “here you are. Dating the man who thrives on chaos.”
His smile flickers. Just barely.
Before he can answer, a second voice cuts in—lower, familiar, dangerous.
“Satoru.”
Suguru Geto stands in the doorway.
Black hair tied back neatly. Expression carefully neutral. The kind of calm that used to make you feel safe—until you learned it was a mask.
His eyes meet yours.
The air tightens.
“…You look well,” he says, after a beat.
You laugh quietly. “That’s what people say when they don’t know what else to say.”
Satoru glances between you, interest sparking. “Wow. Is this what unresolved tension looks like? Because I feel like I should charge admission.”
“Satoru,” Suguru warns again.
“What?” he shrugs. “I’m just observing.”
You step closer, heels clicking like punctuation marks. “You always talk this much,” you say, eyeing him, “or is that just when you’re nervous?”
He grins. “Nervous? About you?”
“Yes.”
He leans in, voice dropping. “Please. You’re the past.”
You smile—slow, sharp.
“Careful,” you whisper. “Past things have a habit of coming back. Especially when they’re buried alive.”
Suguru exhales through his nose. “Enough. We’re here to work.”
You turn to him then, really look at him.
“Is that what you call this now?” you ask. “Work?”
His jaw tightens. “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?” you tilt your head. “Pretend we didn’t burn?”
Satoru claps his hands once. “Okay! Before this turns into a tragic indie film—”
You cut him off without looking at him.
“Quiet, bottom boy.”
The room freezes.
Satoru blinks. “Excuse me?”
You finally give him your full attention, eyes dragging over him deliberately. “All that face. All that hype. And still clinging to another man’s shoulder like a security blanket.”
Suguru snaps, “Don’t talk to him like that.”
You raise a brow. “Like what? Honestly?”
Satoru laughs again—but it’s sharper this time. “Wow. So that’s what this is. You’re bitter.”
“No,” you correct calmly. “I’m bored.”
A stylist bursts in moments later, blissfully unaware of the emotional wreckage. “Okay! First test shots in ten. Suguru, center position. Satoru—over his shoulder. And you—” she gestures at you, “frame left.”
You step into position without complaint.
Suguru stands between you and Satoru, like a man caught between two lives. Satoru drapes himself easily against him, hand resting at Suguru’s collarbone. Familiar. Intimate. Intentional.
The camera clicks.
“Closer,” the photographer calls. “I want tension.”
You lean in just enough that Suguru can hear you.
“Does he know,” you murmur, “you still flinch when I get this close?”
Suguru’s breath stutters.
Satoru notices.
“Oh?” he says lightly. “Is that so?”
Suguru forces a smile for the camera. “Ignore her.”
You smile too—slow and devastating.
“Oh, I plan to,” you say. “For three days.”
The shutter keeps firing.
And for the first time, Satoru Gojo doesn’t look like the man in control.
Dinner is served like an afterthought.
Long folding tables draped in black cloth, catered food arranged with fake elegance—roasted meats, pastas, bread baskets, wine bottles uncorked without ceremony. Laughter drifts across the room from the models who still have something to prove.
You don’t sit with them.
You take your tray salad, barely dressed, black coffee so bitter it burns and claim a chair at the far end of the studio. Away from noise. Away from eyes. Away from him.
A cigarette waits between your fingers, unlit for now.
Three tables down, Satoru is in his element.
“Another plate,” he says brightly, already smiling at the caterer. “Suguru, try this—no, this one. You’ll like it.”
Suguru exhales. “Satoru, I’m fine.”
“You say that every time and then steal my food.”
“That’s because you order enough for six people.”
Satoru laughs, leaning into him anyway, chin on Suguru’s shoulder. “You love it.”
You don’t look at them while you eat.
You chew slowly, deliberately, eyes unfocused, pretending the room doesn’t tilt slightly with every heartbeat. The headache has been building since the shoot ended—dull, insistent, right behind your eyes.
You light your cigarette.
The first drag steadies you.
You grab your phone and hit ring.
Shoko.
You smirk faintly and stand, tray abandoned, cigarette between your fingers as you push through the studio doors into the cold night air.
Shoko answers on the first ring.
“Please tell me you’re calling to say you’ve committed arson.”
You laugh softly, smoke curling from your lips. “Not yet. Give it time.”
“God,” she sighs. “I heard. Top three dinner. You alive?”
“Barely,” you mutter, leaning against the brick wall. “They’re worse together.”
She snorts. “Let me guess. Gojo’s insufferable.”
“Insufferable doesn’t cover it,” you say, rubbing your temple. “He smiles like he’s already won. Keeps poking at me. Keeps poking at him.”
“Geto?”
You hum. “He’s cracking. I can see it.”
Shoko pauses. “That’s dangerous.”
You drag from your cigarette. “So is boredom.”
You tell her everything—the dressing room, the barbs, the way Suguru’s breath hitched during the shoot. By the time you finish, the cigarette is ash and your headache is pulsing.
“Listen,” Shoko says quietly. “Don’t burn the place down just because you can.”
You smile into the dark. “You know me better than that.”
“Do I?”
You flick the cigarette away and head back inside.
That’s when you hear them.
Raised voices. Sharp. Fractured.
You stop just short of the open door, pressing yourself against the wall, hidden by stacked equipment cases.
Satoru’s voice breaks first.
“Don’t lie to me, Suguru.”
“I’m not lying,” Suguru snaps. “I’m telling you you’re imagining things.”
“Then why do you look at her like that?” Satoru demands. “Why does she still get under your skin?”
A pause. Too long.
“…She doesn’t,” Suguru says, but it’s thinner now.
Satoru laughs, brittle. “You hesitated.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means everything,” Satoru says, voice shaking. “You still love her.”
Silence.
You can almost see it—the way Suguru rubs the bridge of his nose when he’s overwhelmed.
“Satoru,” he says carefully, “this is not about—”
“It is!” Satoru’s voice cracks. “I see the way you look at her. Like she’s a wound you never let heal.”
“That’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair,” Satoru snaps, “is being second place in your heart while pretending I’m number one.”
There’s a soft, humiliating sound.
Crying.
Your lips curve.
“Say it,” Satoru whispers. “Tell me you don’t still want her.”
Suguru doesn’t answer fast enough.
That’s the mistake.
Satoru lets out a broken laugh. “Unbelievable. I give you everything and she still—she still owns you.”
“Satoru—”
“No,” he chokes. “I can’t do this right now.”
Footsteps. Fast. Unsteady.
You flatten yourself against the wall as Satoru storms out, eyes red, jaw clenched, not seeing you as he passes. He disappears down the hall.
You wait.
Count ten breaths.
Then you step inside.
Suguru is still there, hands braced on the table, head bowed. He looks exhausted. Stripped raw.
Perfect.
“You okay?” you ask softly.
He stiffens. “You shouldn’t have heard that.”
“But I did,” you say, moving closer. “And I hate seeing you like this.”
He scoffs weakly. “You don’t get to care.”
You step into his space anyway, voice dropping, honey-smooth. A fake pout playing at your lips. “I know you better than anyone. You always shut down when you’re overwhelmed.”
He swallows.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” you whisper near his ear. “You never did.”
His breath hitches.
“You deserve someone who understands you,” you continue. “Someone who doesn’t demand pieces of you you can’t give.”
He turns his head slightly. “Why are you doing this?”
You smile. “Because I still know exactly what you need to hear.”
For a moment—just one—he leans in.
And that’s when you step back.
You straighten. Your face closes off completely.
“Goodnight, Suguru.”
You walk away, leaving him in the silence you just carved open.
Later, deeper in the studio, you find Satoru.
He’s sitting on a crate near the loading bay, face in his hands, shoulders shaking.
You don’t pretend to be kind.
“Tough night, bottom boy?” you ask lightly.
He looks up, eyes furious and wet. “Get away from me.”
You crouch in front of him anyway. “You know,” you say thoughtfully, “he used to cry like that with me too.”
“Shut up.”
“I was his first love,” you continue, voice gentle and lethal. “The one who made him who he is. You’re just… convenient.”
His hands clench. “He chose me.”
“For now,” you shrug. “You’re a pretty face, Satoru. Cameras adore you. But I’m the better model.”
“You’re sick.”
You stand. “And you’re replaceable.”
You lean down one last time. “No matter how perfect you look on his arm, you’ll never be me.”
You leave him there.
Crying. Doubting. Cracking.
And as you walk back into the lights of the studio, you feel lighter than you have in years.
Three days left.
And Tokyo has no idea how ugly this story is about to get.
The next day the studio feels smaller than usual. Tension hangs like fog. Satoru and Suguru arrive almost at the same time, eyes snapping to one another. You glance up from your outfit, a soft pastel Valentine’s ensemble your stylist swore would make you “suddenly irresistible and deadly at the same time”. It’s ridiculously cute, and you love it.
Satoru folds his arms. “Okay, we’re not doing the silent treatment this time. It’s distracting.”
Suguru’s jaw tightens, but he nods. “Agreed. Let’s get it over with.”
You’re watching from your dressing chair, arms crossed, a small smirk tugging at your lips. Finally, a fight to watch. But your enjoyment dips when they’re both suddenly cooperative, chatting casually as if nothing exploded the night before.
“You’re actually solving it?” you mutter under your breath, rolling your eyes.
Satoru catches it. “Excuse me?” he asks, tilting his head with mock innocence.
“Nothing,” you reply smoothly, letting your smirk linger just enough to annoy him.
Suguru doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head at your theatrics. Perfect. I’m annoyed, but I’ll play along.
The theme for today’s shoot is Valentine’s Day, and the production team has gone all out. You twirl in your frilly skirt, biting back a giggle. “They’re really selling me as innocent cupid, aren’t they?”
The producer claps. “Exactly! You’re adorable, but deadly—like the perfect Valentine.”
You glance over at Suguru and Satoru, both dressed sharply, leaning into their respective roles. Professional. Damn it.
The first pose: you laying down, Suguru under you, Satoru on top.
A shiver runs up your spine, body heat rising faster than it should. Your facade threatens to slip.
Suguru is calm, collected—too close, too gorgeous, cheekbones cutting into your vision. You haven’t seen him like this since the breakup, and it’s unfairly distracting.
Satoru rests against you in perfect form, body solid, eyes trained on the camera. There’s something unnervingly precise about his professionalism—and something in his gaze that leaves you questioning… does he really only want men?
You shake your head. Stop thinking that. Stop thinking about him. Focus.
The first pose ends. You get up, reset. Heart thumping, slightly dizzy.
Second pose: producer wants you sitting on Satoru’s lap, head tilted toward Suguru.
You gulp lightly, but keep it subtle. Suguru’s siren eyes lock on yours, drinking in every inch of your movement. Your fingers clench slightly, hiding it in your skirt folds.
“Perfect, perfect,” the producer says, snapping shots. “Now, kiss him. Full-on Valentine’s kiss. More passion!”
You hesitate a heartbeat—then lean in.
Satoru’s lips are soft, sweet, and shockingly… pleasant. Your body betrays you as warmth spreads through your chest. This isn’t wrong, you tell yourself. It’s art. It’s work.
Suguru watches quietly, expression unreadable. But his eyes… they pierce you like knives. Jealous? Conflicted? Something sharp curls in his chest, and you feel it.
The kiss ends. You lick your lips casually, meeting Suguru’s gaze head-on. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away.
“Good,” the producer claps. “Now, both of them kissing your cheeks. Cupid in love with chaos!”
The next few shots are electric. Suguru presses a kiss to your right cheek, Satoru on your left. You play the middle, blushing just enough to make it believable, pretending innocence. The camera eats it up.
Next pose: Eiffel Tower pose, you sandwiched between them. Suguru slightly behind, Satoru leaning forward, they connect hands. The director is ecstatic. “This is it! The tension, the playfulness, the power—you’re selling every second of it!”
You grin, feeling the thrill of control. They both care. They both react. Perfect.
“Honestly,” the director says, wrapping an arm around you, “one second you’re innocent, the next, you look like you could take their souls. This is spectacular!”
The day ends with ice cream—a small miracle. Models stick to strict diets, so this feels indulgent. You get the same flavor as Suguru, a rich chocolate, while Satoru gets something saccharine, like bubblegum.
“Is that for kids?” you ask, smirking.
“Maybe I am a kid,” Satoru shrugs, smiling softly.
You and Suguru exchange a quiet glance as you lick your ice cream. A subtle connection—just yours. No words.
For once, Satoru doesn’t comment. He’s watching you, noticing how you move, the way your laugh curves. And somewhere deep, he thinks: Does she make him happy like that? Does she even notice me?
Suguru rises from his chair, wallet in hand. “I’ll cover the check,” he says casually, eyes flicking toward you like he’s calculating something.
You glance at Satoru. Your lips curve faintly. “Give me a second?”
He nods, hesitation flickering in his eyes.
You follow him a few steps away from the table. The hum of the studio fades behind you.
“I… I wanted to apologize,” you begin softly, voice careful, measured. “For what I said before. When I got jealous… I came off harsher than I meant to.”
Satoru’s brows lift, a small incredulous smile tugging at his lips. “Oh?”
“Yes,” you say, stepping closer. “I’ve always… admired your work. Your skill, your precision. You’re incredible at what you do. I never meant to be such a… bitch about it.”
He studies you, eyes flicking between your face and your hands. “You… you mean that?”
You nod, tilting your head slightly with false innocence. “I do.”
Slowly, you reach for his hands, letting your own wrap around his. The warmth of your touch lingers, deliberate, intimate. You meet his gaze fully.
“You’re brilliant,” you whisper, “and I’ve always noticed. I just… I got caught up in myself before.”
Satoru’s face flushes. His hands shake lightly in yours. His heartbeat spikes so suddenly he can feel it in his throat. God, he thinks. She’s perfect. Up close, she’s… impossible.
“You… you’re hard to miss,” he admits, voice soft, almost trembling. “Maybe… maybe that’s why I—”
You tilt your head, a small smile teasing your lips. “Maybe that’s why you hate me,” you finish for him, your tone light, melodic. “Because I… have both you and Suguru wrapped around my finger.”
His hands tremble slightly more. He swallows hard, trying not to betray the way your words are unraveling him.
Before anything else can happen, the sound of footsteps signals Suguru’s return. You let go of Satoru’s hands as naturally as you can, turning back to him with a small, innocent smile.
Suguru narrows his eyes suspiciously but doesn’t say anything, just takes Satoru’s hands in his own with a quiet, measured grip. You follow them out as they lead the way toward the car.
The producer drives in silence, leaving the three of you wrapped in your own thoughts. You break the quiet first.
“Chocolate and bubblegum?” you tease lightly, nodding toward the ice cream flavors earlier.
Suguru only nods. Satoru gives a small shrug. That’s it. Simple, controlled, nothing to read. Perfect.
Back at the studio, everyone disperses. Satoru heads straight to his room. You walk to yours—but you don’t notice Suguru trailing behind, silent, calculating.
When you close the door, he quietly shuts his own behind him, tilting his head as he studies you.
“What did you tell him?” he asks, voice low, sharp. “What did you do to him?”
You tilt your head innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Suguru’s eyes narrow. “Don’t lie to me.”
You shrug lightly, feigning cluelessness. “I’m just tired, Suguru. You’re imagining things.”
He steps closer, tension radiating off him. “I know you. I can see right through your act.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply softly, tone calm, innocent—but the edge in your words is razor-sharp.
“Stop it!” he snaps suddenly, voice rising. “Stop acting like this! You’ve always had to manipulate everything, haven’t you?”
You laugh lightly, taking a step closer, tilting your head as if nothing is wrong. “Suguru, I’m just… me.”
“Me? You’re impossible!” he shouts. “You ruin everything with everyone! You—”
“Shh,” you whisper, moving close enough that your lips brush the shell of his ear. “You should get back with me. Leave Satoru. Come back to me.”
He freezes, hands clenching at his sides.
“Why,” you continue softly, “why did you leave me when we were… perfect? Just break up with your boyfriend.”
Before he can answer, you wrap your arms around him. The world contracts, the tension, the frustration, the years of longing, pouring into the desperate grip.
His hands find their way around you. Lips meet roughly, urgently. Every missed kiss, every argument, every moment of distance collapses into one raw, desperate connection.
It’s everything you’ve missed—the heat, the taste, the push and pull of a love that never fully died.
And for the first time in a long time, he responds fully. His control cracks, his body tightens, hands threading through your hair.
The world narrows to just the two of you, voices strangled, hearts racing, breaths mingling.
When you finally pull back, forehead against his, both of you gasping, the tension hangs differently—charged, unresolved, but alive.
Suguru studies you, eyes dark, calculating, a storm behind them.
And you just smile. Small. Innocent. But deadly.
You wake slowly, body heavy, sore in the way that makes memory rush back all at once.
Warmth beside you.
Suguru.
He’s asleep on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes like he’s trying to block out the world even in his dreams. His breathing is uneven, troubled. You wonder—briefly—what he’s dreaming about. You. Satoru. Regret.
You don’t get long to decide.
Suguru jolts awake suddenly, like he’s been shocked.
“—shit,” he mutters, sitting up too fast.
He looks around the room, the sheets, you—then his expression collapses inward. Panic. Guilt. Reality crashing down.
He grabs his phone.
“What time is it—?” His eyes widen. “Fuck.”
He’s out of bed instantly, pulling on his clothes with frantic movements, fingers shaking as he buttons his shirt wrong the first time.
“Suguru,” you say quietly.
He freezes for half a second, back to you.
“…I messed up,” he says hoarsely. “I really messed up.”
You don’t answer. You don’t need to.
“Did I really—” He cuts himself off, curses under his breath. “Satoru didn’t deserve that.”
He doesn’t look at you again.
The door shuts behind him with a soft but final click.
You lie there, staring at the ceiling, heartbeat steady. You don’t feel regret—only the echo of control slipping back into place.
Then—
BANG.
Your door rattles.
“UP!” your producer shouts from the hall. “GET UP, GET READY—WE’RE LATE!”
You sit bolt upright. Shit.
The next hour blurs.
Hands in your hair. Brushes on your skin. Fabric tugged into place. Your team moves fast, efficient, focused. You’re still half asleep.
“It’s the last day,” your stylist says. “Make it count.”
When you finally look in the mirror, you almost laugh.
Office siren.
A blouse that barely pretends to be professional, clinging in all the wrong ways. A grey plaid pencil skirt hugging your hips perfectly. Kitten heels. Glasses perched low on your nose.
You look lethal.
Out on set, Suguru won’t meet your eyes. He refuses to.
He’s dressed immaculately—dark suit, tie crisp, jaw tight. Satoru stands beside him in a button-up with sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, relaxed, unaware, devastatingly handsome.
Today’s shoot is intimate.
Again.
The first pose has Suguru behind you. Your hand grips his tie, dragging him across the mock office floor while Satoru kneels in front of you—your heel lifted on his forehead, blocking him from coming closer.
Satoru chuckles under his breath. “Wow. I feel attacked.”
The director is ecstatic. “YES. THAT’S IT. Power. Control. Women leading men like dogs. It’s her.”
It sounds like you.
Suguru swallows hard, eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder, doing everything he can to stay professional.
Next setup.
Satoru sits in a leather business chair. You straddle his lap, leaning in to whisper something the camera can’t hear. Suguru stands across the desk, hands braced, like he’s making a high-stakes proposal.
“Action!”
You lean in—but something’s off.
“Cut!”
The director storms forward. “No. No, no, no. You’re not selling it.”
It’s the first time you’ve ever been yelled at on set.
Satoru looks at you immediately. “Hey,” he says gently. “No hard feelings. He’s intense. You’re doing fine.”
Suguru doesn’t say anything. He looks distant. Haunted.
Satoru reaches for him, squeezes his hand. “You okay?”
Suguru nods. Lies.
You open your mouth—
“Back to set!” the producer yells.
This time, the pose is worse.
You’re bent over a desk. Suguru stands behind you, phone to his ear, pretending to take a call while writing something across your back with a pen and paper. His tie is loose now. His fingers linger longer than necessary.
His gaze drops. Stays.
You don’t look at him back at him.
You look at Satoru.
He stands across from you holding the files, glasses on, looking every bit the diligent assistant. His expression tightens when he notices Suguru’s hand still there.
“Perfect,” the director murmurs. “Don’t move.”
The shutter clicks endlessly.
And then—finally—
“That’s a wrap!”
Applause breaks out. Relief crashes through you all at once.
It’s over.
You laugh, breathless, adrenaline buzzing through your veins. The shoot—hellish, intimate, chaotic—is finally done.
As you pack your things, a flute of champagne is pressed into your hand.
“Exceptional work,” the producer says, clinking glasses with you.
“It’s what I do.” You take a sip, bubbles sharp and sweet on your tongue.
You did it.
Whatever comes next—fallout, heartbreak, confessions—you’ll face it standing tall.
Because Tokyo is watching.
And you never lose when the lights are on.
You’re almost out.
Bag slung over your shoulder, champagne buzz warm in your veins, heels clicking against concrete as you head toward the exit—when a familiar voice calls your name.
“Hey. Wait.”
You turn.
Satoru stands a few steps behind you, hands shoved into his pockets, posture casual but eyes oddly serious. The lights catch in his white hair, make him look softer than usual. Human.
“I just—” he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted to say thank you.”
You raise a brow. “For?”
“For… everything,” he says. “You were amazing to work with. Really. You brought something out of the set that—I don’t know. It wouldn’t have worked without you.”
You smile, slow and indulgent. “That’s sweet of you.”
He hesitates, then adds, quieter, “And I’m sorry. For before. For the way I talked to you. I was… defensive.”
“Protective,” you correct gently.
His lips curve into a small, rueful smile. “Yeah. That.”
He glances away, then back at you. “You and Suguru… you’re really moved on from each other, huh?”
If only you knew, you think.
You step closer instead, invading his space just enough to make him still.
“People grow,” you say lightly. “Feelings change.”
Your fingers brush his sleeve as you speak. Not accidental. Never accidental.
“You’re fun to tease, you know that?” you add, eyes glinting. “All confidence until someone gets too close.”
He swallows. “I’m not—”
Your gaze drops.
To his lips.
The pause stretches. The air tightens.
Then you lean in and kiss him.
It’s brief. Soft. Calculated.
When you pull back, Satoru is frozen—eyes wide, breath caught somewhere in his chest.
You smile.
“Goodbye, Satoru.”
And you walk away before he can say a single word.
Behind you, his heart slams violently against his ribs.
Did I just—
Did I just cheat on Suguru… with his ex?
The guilt hits hard.
You don’t look back
The next morning, Tokyo explodes.
Your phone won’t stop vibrating.
You wake up, hair a mess, still sore in that lazy, satisfying way, and squint at the screen.
BREAKING: TOKYO’S NEW NUMBER ONE MODEL CROWNED
You sit up.
There it is.
Your face, front and center. Office Siren. Cupid. Power. Control.
RANKINGS UPDATE:
🥇 YOU
🥈 Satoru Gojo
🥉 Suguru Geto
You laugh—loud, unrestrained.
Scrolling.
Comments flood in faster than you can read.
“SHE ATE. NO CRUMBS.”
“Suguru’s ex dethroning Gojo is INSANE.”
“The tension in that shoot??? Unreal.”
“Why choose?? She should date BOTH of them.”
“Tokyo’s villain era just began.”
“She looks like she owns them.”
“Office Siren changed my brain chemistry.”
“Satoru Gojo losing to his boyfriend’s ex?? Oh that’s poetic.”
“She’s playing them like chess pieces, gosh men are EASY!”
You throw your head back, laughing harder.
This was always the plan.
Charm Satoru. Disarm him. Take his crown.
Your phone rings.
Shoko.
You answer immediately. “Tell me.”
She doesn’t even say hello. “Satoru just called me. He is in distress.”
You burst into manic laughter. “Oh my god.”
“He kept asking how this happened,” Shoko continues, incredulous. “Like the rankings personally betrayed him.”
“Did he mention me?” you ask sweetly.
“Yes,” she sighs. “A lot.”
You grin at the ceiling. “Poor thing.”
You can already imagine it—Satoru staring at the headlines, realizing he lost to you. Suguru’s past. The woman he underestimated. The one who kissed him and walked away.
You end the call, still smiling.
Tokyo wanted a queen.
And you gave them one.
A/N - I was scrolling through tumblr and was reading a bunch of fanfics. I was tired of seeing Toxic Suguru or Toxic Satoru screwing reader over. Like reader needs to be evil just once so they can feel how it feels. This time you screw-well only Suguru but mess with both of them and their egos.
hiii have u heard of gachiakuta? i think you’d like tamsy or at least be interested in him!!
pretty — tamsy caines
summary. tamsy caines finds that every inconvenient and unwanted interaction with you twists his useless heart tighter around the spindle of your own poisoned affections.
notes. i watched this show because of this ask and then i went ahead and read the whole manga. tried to capture tamsys inner evil twink persona here. it was either this thing i wrote on a whim or he chases you around with a mask and a knife. no idea how to write this punk.
warnings. tamsy being evil™, mentions of vomit, you’re referred to as “pretty,” you wear heels (very important to the plot), otherwise gender neutral reader, tamsy being 23 years old, literally just everything wrong with tamsy, near death experience, this guy sucks straight up, slight manga spoilers though i tried to keep them minimal and vague.
Tamsy Caines is obsessed with you.
Initially he dismisses the feeling. He’s all too familiar with obsession and its many ugly and invigorating forms. He’s obsessed with his hair, he’s obsessed with a certain shiny gold star from team Akuta, he’s obsessed with obtaining as many piercings as possible, he’s obsessed with the way you walk–
He glares at the radio clock on his bedside table. It’s that stupid host prattling on about the weather — and seriously, why can’t the stupid guy just play some real music?
In discovering his new found fascination, he grew resentful. He avoided you altogether for weeks, though not entirely. He had an agenda. If he just straight up didn’t talk to you, you’d notice. You’d call him out. You’d march right up to him and ask what you did wrong.
And then he’d feel bad–
Tamsy physically grimaces.
He dismisses it as simple attraction. You’re pretty, smart, you smile when he walks in the room. You’re tough, you speak your mind, you’re pretty, you’re super smart, you touched his hair once–
Tamsy almost vomits on the floor.
The first instance he knew something was wrong was when he eventually elected you as his future sacrifice of sorts. To toy around and tease that kid again because he was getting bored. He’s always so bored and impatient.
Pretty.
He’d maimed faces. Lots of faces. Pretty ones too. He’d never taken an issue with it.
It was after some party some of the Cleaners threw in the city where you’d stumbled into him back at HQ, half-wasted, with a weird sort of look on your face. You were pretty then, too. Granted, you looked a mess.
He likes messes. They’re always fun to clean up.
His eyes had immediately dragged down to your heels, and your legs, and then up from there to your chest. Inner turmoil aside, you’d mumbled some nonsense he barely picked up on before you attempted to move past him. You didn’t make it far before he watched you gracefully fall in the hallway. You’d be bruised in the morning, but you wouldn’t remember anything.
You leaned against the wall and sighed dramatically.
After a moment of debate, Tamsy exhaled through his nose. “How about you get to bed?”
“Ugh.” You had your head in your hands. “Why don’t you carry me?” Half assed, barely any effort. You weren’t trying to be inappropriate — because he made sure of that before attempting another offering.
“Alright.”
And he did. It was awkward. He didn’t so much carry you as he knelt down on the floor to remove your heels and help you to your feet. You had hooked an arm around his shoulders and gently hobbled all the way to the elevator.
You were mumbling the entire ride up to the fifth floor. Something about the weather, something about your shoes he was holding in his hands — Tamsy had no idea he had such an obsession with shoes until that very moment.
Something about your outfit, something about how you were cold, starving, something about how pretty his hair was–
What.
“Mm.” Your hand had reached upwards to touch at the butterfly clip holding the blond and blue apart. “Pretty.”
About ten minutes later he’d pin your hair back with that same clip in his hair to salvage whatever dignity you had left while you hurled in the bathroom. He’d left momentarily, mostly to drown out the sound of that, but also to go fetch you something to eat.
When he returned with a water bottle and a container of plain crackers, he’d put them aside to scrub at the remains of makeup, spit and snot covering your skin before you eventually passed out face down into your pillow.
Then, he’d picked up your heels and left.
Now, they sit beneath his bed, and when he feels extra sick and pathetic, he stares at them for hours.
Your shoes were the catalyst to something worse.
It was considered for a long time a simple crush. He’d grow out of it eventually. He’s got more important things to worry about. Your shoes, the hairclip you eventually returned, the one time you randomly gifted him a takeout box full of chow mein for no reason other than, “I bought too much. You can have it.”
And through his stomach his obsession grew.
Tamsy picks idly at his pink slippers and shoves the heels back under his bed.
The second time he had solidified this was indeed a problem was on a mission Boss man considered tougher than most. Akuta and Eager were enforced, as well as five Supporters, one of which was you. Delmon was loud and proud as usual, and it was particularly humid that day. Tamsy was desperately trying to hide his grimace beneath his mask the entire time.
And thank God he did, because if Delmon noticed he’d been staring at you the entire time, he’d never hear the end of it.
It was tough. A barrage of Trash Beasts and three lousy Raiders that put up a decent fight and managed to knock little Zanka out of the water, but overall, they all managed. It was at the end, when the cavern they’d crawled into ended up crumbling in on itself.
Tamsy came in handy here because the yarn he deftly wrapped around his distaff every morning with gritted teeth could hoist the Cleaners up easily. He spun it round and round every fucking morning imagining how beautiful the blue would look against your flesh. He was bored. He could’ve dropped someone.
He could’ve dropped you.
And he tried.
Follo slipped below you and, in a panic, grabbed onto your leg. You tried to reach for him, but it resulted in a tumble over the ledge. Follo managed to scrabble up and attempted to reach for you as the rocks fell and shook.
And then a rock fell past him and smashed into your fingers before he could wrap his hand around your arm.
“Tamsy!”
He looked down from the top.
Then, he held in a sigh and muscled his way down there after everyone was wound up. He managed to retrieve Follo with a simple snug of yarn around his arm that pulled him upwards.
Follo, however, was in hysterics. “I pulled ‘em! I pulled them! You have to go and–”
Tamsy narrowed his gaze at the wailing teenager. “Who is–”
Follo shouted your name in anguish, tears brimming at his lash line. He was writhing in the rope, attempting to flee. Tamsy supposed his plan was to jump down and die after you like some sort of sad hero.
So, in an attempt to play Good Samaritan, Tamsy followed you down into the hole.
It took him a while to find you, really. You’d crawled away from the sun to avoid being hit by anything. You looked horrible as well. Fingers bent awkwardly and purpling, your leg was twisted, welts that will bruise, a cut in your forehead, and still somehow awake and alert.
“Don’t struggle,” he implored. He rushed over to your side with a long rope of blue in his hands. He tied one of your entire arms against his tightly, and you stammered in shock. “This will hurt.”
You barely heard any of his reassuring words through the pain.
Next, the rope looped around your good ankle, your thigh, your waist, anything to keep you flush on him. If he was going to do this, he needed to make a show. This wasn’t his doing. This would be an accident.
“Hold onto me.”
And you did. Your grip wasn’t strong, but it was enough.
He considered it.
And he hesitated.
The string was already looped around your neck.
To die in his strings.
How romantic.
All he had to do was pull. All he had to do was pull. Pull and wait until your face faded in colour. Then he’d return to a shit show. And it would be perfect. He could snap your pretty neck here, and put you out of your misery. Because he’s a nice guy, and he cares.
He can take a stray metal shrapnel lying on the cave floor and drive it through your throat.
He can make all of your pain go away.
But he hesitated.
A mild dilemma.
A misstep in his plan.
Fuck.
Your arms tightened around him. He felt everything. Your fluttering heart beat, your irregular breathing, the way you melted so perfectly into a pool of flesh and bone against him. Those metal bands wrote songs about this terrible fucking feeling.
Tamsy still remembers what happened when they eventually got you and the five others injured during the ordeal into the medical wing. Follo and you were the most dire — sprains and breaks, bruises and welts. Gris and Zanka were tended to, and that batty old hag Enjin received a broken nose after the scuffle.
For points, Tamsy remained patient until you all eventually woke up. Follo from the next bed over was so relieved you made it, guilt stirring heavy in his gut at the entire fiasco.
Tamsy had eventually gotten to you, whispering once, “it's a relief to see you awake.” Because you have beautiful eyes, but he omitted that.
“Thank you,” you murmur. It was just you two for the moment. He was hoping by acting extremely relieved and ignoring the fact he could very well suffocate you with a pillow you’d forget about his hesitation from your rescue.
“How are you now?”
You adjusted yourself to sit up. “Exhausted.” You exhaled through the pain. “I’ve been better.”
“Still snarky as ever,” he commented. “That means you’re recovering.” He reached forward to fix your blankets, gingerly avoiding the tube in your arm. Why he did that, he had no idea.
“Thank you,” you repeated. “For coming back down for me.”
Ew.
“I wasn’t going to just leave you there,” he lied with a teasing grin on his lips. He leaned down to prod at your forehead gently and brush at your muzzled eyebrow. “Get some sleep.”
You had other plans. Tamsy was very rarely caught off guard, but the minute you turned your head to plant your lips onto his wrist he practically froze on the spot. As embarrassing as it was feeling blood rush up his neck, he was quick to act.
He pinched your cheek before making his exit.
Tamsy realised saving you had been a mistake. For a while he was just a pretty face to gawk at in the dining hall, but now he saved your life, and you owed him big time.
One kiss turned into two, into three, into four, until one night he felt your lips on his cheek where the sensitive scarred skin crossed his face. It was only downhill from there. Tamsy would return that night to his room contemplating scrubbing his face fifteen times or not at all. It was a matter of pride and a deep seeded hatred pooling in his stomach.
Had he just disposed of you, none of this would be happening.
And now he can't, because you provide him a feeling he’s never felt before. Not in this sort of way. Not in the way that makes him feel like he’s bigger, he’s better, he’s worth something.
And that’s a disgusting, pitiful thought.
He turns the radio clock off. Better silence than unwanted noise.
Ugh.
He’ll just have to pull through. He can do that. He’s good at improvising. He’ll just play along for however long it takes to grow out of this feeling in his stomach. Like moths. Like a thousand insects wriggling beneath his skin.
He peels himself off the floor and gets ready just in the knick of time. Back in the briefing room, next to Delmon, pretending he doesn’t want to blow his brains out against the wall. All day the same thing, all day the boring chats, pretending to read through some sheet, giving Corvus a nod and ignoring the way he gets stared at.
Then, in the dining hall for dinner. He’s not even hungry. He’s preoccupied, and disgusted, and frankly, he wants to march into your room and rip your pretty face to shreds.
So pretty, and perfect, and smart, and kind and patient and charming and funny and–
He almost bends his fork.
Delmon is yelling in one ear to Follo on the other side of the table. He looks engaged in the conversation, but he winces every time Delmon opens his mouth.
There’s a gentle tap on his shoulder as you slide into the seat next to him. “You look stressed.”
He is. He can't even offer you a glance or he might vomit directly into your lap. “I’m fine.” He picks idly at his food — potatoes and overcooked meat. He notices you don’t even have a plate.
He can feel your heel bouncing nervously beneath the table.
“D’you wanna get out of here?” you ask sheepishly. “There’s a restaurant I wanted to try out in the city.” Then, you bop him on the shoulder. “It has noodles.”
Tamsy almost chokes on his own saliva.
“A date?!”
He leaps up from the table to clasp a hand over Delmon’s mouth as he practically dances in his seat in excitement.
He’s still loud, but his words are muffled.
“Keep your voice down!” Tamsy sneers through his teeth. Spare him the humiliation. His cheeks are burning as is.
“Me and my wife’s first date was at a noodle place!” Tamsy tries his best but Delmon pushes through the gaps in his fingers.
“Enough, please!” Tamsy cries out.
Delmon, somehow, lowers his voice. “Of course he’ll go with you.” He slides Tamsy’s plate out of his reach. Not as if he was eating it anyway.
You stare at him.
He stares back. He wants to drive his fork through your eyes.
Pretty.
He manages to suppress his sneer. “Yes, I’ll come along.”
“Great.” You raise a finger at Delmon before he can cheer and disrupt the entire hall. You grab Tamsy by the wrist and pull him along out of the room.
Gris takes your spot and Enjin follows him on the other end.
Enjin murmurs while picking at his steak, watching you both skittishly leave, “they fuckin’?”
Follo goes bright red and Delmon lets out a hefty laugh.
Gris snorts. “Probably.”
He should not have gone out for noodles with you, either. It’s like every time you asked him to do something he just became an obedient puppet with you pulling at the large blue strings of his instrument. And it sucked as much as it was intriguing.
The night was wildly uneventful, though the restaurant was nice. Good food, and again, he was more entertained by your face than anything else the entire night.
He doesn’t look to his left where you walk alongside him. There’s a gentle click of your shoes — he’ll take those too, eventually. Another keepsake. Maybe clothes next, and then makeup, your comb, toothbrush, and then you can share the bed with him.
It takes everything in him not to puke.
And then, he smiles nicely in the hallway back at HQ. “Thank you for bringing me along.”
“Oh, that’s alright,” you respond. You still look sheepish. “Thanks for coming.” You clear your throat. “I had fun. You’re, uh… good company.”
Awkward.
You both wait for the elevator. It’s empty when it shows up.
When you step in, you awkwardly reach for the silver ‘4’ button while he taps ‘5.’
And then he stares.
He stares for a long time out of the corner of his eye. You’re talking about something but he’s barely focusing on what you’re saying. Blah blah blah, I’m so pretty, I’m so perfect, don’t you just want to lay me down on your sheets and–
“You okay?”
Oh.
You’re touching his hair again. So gentle and soft. You look tired, but your fingers curl around one of the blond sections of his hair above his ear.
This sucks.
A lot.
This is not a problem he wants to be stuck in. This is painful. This is a new sensation for him. A pretty thing touching him. Wanting to touch him. Complimenting him, tugging lightly at his hair, threatening to tug out the hair tie holding half of it away from his face.
“By the way, remember that one night after the party you helped me out? Did I leave my shoes with you? I can’t find them, and–”
In response to your question, and with the way his hair falls over his shoulders when you fling his hair tie at him with a wide grin on your face, he leans down slightly to press his lips to the corner of your mouth.
One sneaky turn of your head and his lips are on yours.
It’s quick, barely even longer than a second before you pull back with a snicker.
It’s like he’s a teenager all over again the way he almost giggles back. Instead, he looks flustered and dizzy.
It’s a good look on him.
The elevator door opens to his floor. You usher him out with wild eyes and a playful push to his chest.
“Good night,” you whisper as the doors close.
Mhm.
Great night.
He stumbles to bed, slips out of his uncomfortable clothes and tries not to scream into his pillow or throw a fist through the window.
And then the nightly cycle repeats.
He pulls your heels out from under his bed. His mouth trembles before he sighs.
This is the worst.
This obsession will go away eventually. The churning in his stomach like insects. His thudding heart and the lingering heat on his mouth.
♰ note: hi yes i’m back and alive, thoroughly resurrected by a gachiakuta and gachiakuta men hyperfixation. c:
sypnosis: enjin makes smoking cigarettes look so hot & you want to try them for yourself, but he doesn't make it easy.
wc: 1.8k
content/trigger warning(s): 18+. sexual tension and intimacy, but no actual penetration. gender-neutral reader. ditzy/b/himbo (implied)!reader. chubby!reader. (idc how you feel about this dynamic, argue w ya mama heaux.) sub!reader. dom!enjin. pre-established relationship. praise. drug usage (cigarettes). usage of the words “bunny” and “pup”. tongue piercing!enjin agenda. implied corruption kink. smoke shotgunning. ꒷꒦
you've noticed that enjin disappears for about thirty minutes to an hour at a time, before dinner or after every mission. at first, you figured it was a meeting with corvus to debrief about the mission, but after seeing the boss take part in the meal with enjin still nowhere to be found, your curiosity got the better of you.
it didn’t take you long to find him, following the bitter aroma of smoldering cigarette smoke until you turned a corner into the rec room to find your hulking, tatted boyfriend lounging in a busted leather armchair. he looked heavenly, to say the least. his hair was no longer spiked upward; instead, it fell over his eyes, suggesting that he had just showered the gel from his locks. gone was his cleaner uniform, replaced by an oversized black shirt whose collar sagged just enough to show the slant of his collarbone and tatted chest, as well as gray cargo pants that showed his defined thighs despite their loose fit. he was reclined back in the chair with his head against the backrest, his long, strong arms slack over both of the armrests, his thighs spread wide and inviting, and “umbreaker” resting on the eroding windowsill beside him, with its neighbor being a lit cigarette spiraling smoke in his large, inked hands.
you still hadn't knocked or revealed your presence, but as he drew his cigarette closer to his full lips, his distinctively tattooed neck swiveled leisurely to the right, and his slitted, honey-gold eyes locked on your figure in the doorway. although neither of you uttered a word, you straightened up slightly as you suddenly realized that he had honed in on your presence, like a wolf noticing a dumb bunny lurking outside of its den.
maintaining perfect eye contact that pinned you in place, his lips parted, slowly exhaling as smoke curled past his lips like a sigh. the only light in the room is the burn of the ember, the faint illumination of the dwindling fire in the deteriorating fireplace, and enjin’s eyes that seemed to glow dimly in the light of the blaze. his lips parted again, a silver piercing embedded in wet muscle glistening for mere moments as his tongue dragged lasciviously across his bottom lip.
“you’re staring.” you could feel it in your bones—his voice, deep and rough from nicotine, no doubt, was resonating off the walls and into your very being.
his casual drawl made your knees weak, your digits gripping the doorway subtly for support as you shifted where you stood. before you knew it, your lips parted and the next thing you knew, you were murmuring—
“can I try?”
faintly, in the dimly lit room, you could see his eyebrow quirk upward, lips pursing around the cigarette to take another drag. he let out a low, raspy laugh that trembled his body and caused the chair to creak under his weight.
“this shit ain’t candy, ya know that, baby?” he grins, wolfish and smug, as the cigarette dangles between his pearly teeth and smoke billows from his nose in a plume of warm smoke, like a dragon who never needed to roar.
you pushed off of the doorway, fists balling at your sides in indignation as a frown formed on your lips—akin to an adorable pout in his eyes. you knew what it was that he was smoking, though the idea of a cigarette being candy did spark a bit of intrigue in your simple little mind.
“i’m serious, enji.” you huffed, standing firm in your stance to let him know that you weren’t messing around.
still, that amused smirk had yet to leave his (stupidly handsome) smug face as his intense gaze drank you in. he’s quiet for a moment, but you can tell by the way his gaze lingers over your frame that the gears in his mind are churning.
“aight.” he grunted, adjusting in his chair so that he was sitting upright. his thighs still remained spread as one of his large hands patted his lap as if calling over a cute lil’ pet—you.
“be a good pup and come sit up ‘ere.”
almost autonomously, you obeyed, as though it had been hardwired into your system to follow enjin’s every will and command. you nestled sideways in his lap, feet dangling, and your soft thighs spilling over his muscled ones as his broad hand settled on your thick waist—warm, firm, and grounding. enjin sat comfortably, his presence radiating warmth and confidence. the soft glow of the low light accentuated his features, highlighting the chiseled jawline and the way his eyes sparkled with mischief.
you could feel the heat emanating from him, a magnetic force that made your heart race. the close proximity was intoxicating; every breath he took seemed to resonate within you, sending shivers down your spine. you glanced up at him, your cheeks warming as you caught his gaze. there was something undeniably alluring about the way he looked at you with the cigarette dangling between his lips, as if he could see right through to your very soul like an incubus ready to eat you alive.
he doesn’t say anything right away—just takes another nice, slow drag, eyes never leaving yours. the tip of the cigarette glows like a flickering ember caught in the dark. you swallow, eyes wide and doe-like in a way that he adores, anticipation making you squirm despite his large palm holding you steady.
his free hand captures the cigarette between two fingers, drawing it away from his lips as the hand around your waist creeps up your body until it’s resting on the underside of your jaw, cupping your cheeks between his big, calloused fingers.
“Open.”
you obey blindly, lips parting and jaw falling slack, but enjin scoffs, eyes rolling as his fingers tighten until they squish your cheeks, shaking your head slightly in his grasp.
“you want this or not, pup? i know you can open wider than that. *c’mon”—just like last night, yeah? open wider.”
with a needy whine, you're complying again, wriggling in his lap so much that he has to use his cigarette-clasped hand to steady you by draping his forearm over your plump thighs.
“atta bun’. good fuckin’ job, baby.” he growls lowly, voice clouded with hunger as he leans in close—too close—with a devilish grin curling his lips. before your dumb lil’ brain could even process what was happening, his warm lips met yours, exhaling smoke right into your gaping maw.
it’s slow and deliberate, as he feeds the smoke into your mouth until your lungs are burning and your head spins. startled, you begin to pull away, but enjin is quicker. his large palm moved from your jaw to cup the back of your head instead, pressing you into him firmly while his other arm encircled your waist, effectively coiling around you like a serpent would to its prey.
panicked, your hand seeks purchase on his tricep, your nails digging into his sleeve as pathetic whimpers and mewls emit from your drooling lips, which enjin silences by pressing his tongue against yours, the cool steel of his piercing making you shudder on his lap. he forces more toxic fumes into you, flooding your senses, warm and heady between your lips, and you take it—greedy, needy, trying oh so hard to be good for him.
but just as soon as he’s started—he’s pulling away, his eyes satisfied and half-lidded, a thin string of drool connecting your panting brims to his smirking ones. you try to hold the smoke like you’ve seen him and semiu do so many times before. your lashes flutter, thighs twitch, and your chest rises—but it stutters. he hears you wheeze, the makings of a cough brewing in your throat, but he raises a finger, wagging it back and forth in front of your blissed-out face as his other rubs soothing circles between your shoulder blades.
“ah, ah. breathe, bunny. don’t cough; just exhale f’me, kay?” he chides, gentle as if he were teaching a child how to blow bubbles.
you blink, regaining your senses as your mind scrambles to execute the instructions it’s been given. your lips pucker and your lungs relax, breath expelling the smoke from your mouth like a baby dragon discovering it can breathe fire—and then you cough, just once.
and enjin just sits there, observing you like a madman admiring his own masterpiece, a wide grin spreading on his lips before he barks out a laugh.
“ahaha! that’s my baby! look at you, just like a natural! ” he praises, proud—overjoyed even—pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek that makes you whine amidst your subtle daze.
he notices, using the arm that’s wrapped around you to ground you, jostling you gently to get your bleary eyes to focus on him. despite his obvious glee, a flash of concern shines behind those bright hues of his, eyes scouring your visage to make sure he didn’t just accidentally suffocate you or anything.
“y’good, bun? answer me, pretty.”
“mmm.” you giggle, a smile spreading on your lips that causes his own to return. “m’head feels all weird an’ floaty.”
he raises the cigarette to his lips for one last drag, cackling once more, “yeah? wonder what that’s like—haven’t felt that shit in ages.” he taps the ash off with a flick.
noticing the drag, your breath comes in quick, shallow puffs—chest rising and falling as they blink up at him, pupils blown, lips parted and shiny with the echo of the last hit. you’re clinging now—small fists balling at the front of his shirt, knuckles soft, arms trembling just slightly.
and your eyes?
completely drunk on him.
“another, enji?” you breathe. “pleaaase.”
enjin raises an eyebrow—doesn’t say anything right away, watching you beg. he wasn’t expecting you to squirm in his lap and claw at him like a needy kitten vying for its owner’s attention. it catches him off guard—briefly. then his hand is cradling your jaw again, painted thumb tracing just over your wet, swelling bottom lip. his voice is low, smooth, and dark.
“it’s gonna fuck you up, you know that, baby?”
you nod—giddy and eager.
“mhmm!”
“y’still want it?”
“i wan’ you.”
he stares at you, unblinking, pausing as if he were having an internal debate about whether or not this is a good idea. your lips are still parted, wet and flushed, tongue lolling across your bottom lip as though still savoring the taste and the memory of his lips against yours. your lashes are heavy, your pupils are blown wide, your cheeks are warm and flushed, and you’ve got this dopey, dazed smile on your face, like you’ve damn near forgotten your own name.
“alright,” he hums, leaning into you once more, and this time, you meet him halfway.
“open up, baby.”
ⓒ vampiie — all rights reserved. please do not repost my work outside of tumblr, modify, or translate my work in any form. please do not share my work on tiktok or any other site.
A/N. fav positions of the gachiakuta guys! Oh this was FUNNNN. they got me man. Guess who my fav issss, hihi Take these lil horny thoughts I got^^ xoxo
❥ Jabber ● COWGIRLᝰ.ᐟ
He loves when you take the reigns. Especially when you ride him, bouncing those tits just right for him to catch the nipples in his mouth, rolling them between his teeth.
"F-fuck, ma'. Gonna make me cum reallll good," he rasps out, thighs already red from constantly smacking against his, skin slick with sweat. His hands hover, half-gripping, half-hovering over your hips, letting you do your addicting bounces and decide the pace while he shamelessly moans right into your tits.
If he's feeling bold, he'll grab your waist, rutting hard up into you as you grind, hips meeting with wet, messy smacks, "Shiiiit!— nasty fuckin' hips ya' got, bad fuckin' girl, wanna milk me dry, h-hahhh?" he groans, teeth grazing your shoulder as he presses you into him. Every heavy bounce, every slick slip and slide of your cunt around him causes his base to swell with cum, threatening to spurt out any moment now.
He leans back just enough to watch your tits jiggle, flicking them occasionally with his slender fingers, spanking your ass here and there. His groans punctuated with filthy praise, "Yeahhhh, milk yer' fuckin' dick, ma'. Ridin' me so goddamn goooood."
And he adores it when you get filthy with him, the way you lean down, shoving your hand around his throat, squeezing just enough to make his eyes roll back as you bounce faster, your spit straight into his open mouth, strings of saliva dripping down onto his tongue while he moans like a slut for it.
His hips buck up hard, sloppily, every thrust wetter than the last, "Fuckkk," he whines now, throat bobbing, "keep on choking me, m' fuckin' yours— hnngh! Fuckin' use me, ma'."
You giggle as a fat glob of spit pushes past your lips again, letting it drip down onto his lips and chin, watching him lick it up greedily without shame.
You squeeze harder at his throat, his pulse fluttering against your palm as his moans grow high and and whiny, sound of your cunt squelching around him damn near deafening, each bounce slick, obscene thwack thwack thwacks that have his eyes rolling.
"Really, baby? Gonna cum f' me?" you sneer, hips grinding down, draaagging your swollen clit across his pelvis until sparks shoot up your vision.
He nods furiously, giggling through his moans, "F-fuck yeah— gonna fuckin' cum," he babbles, fingers clutching your ass cheeks tight, grinding you against him like he can fuse you to his cock, mouth open and messy, drool at the corner mixing with your spit.
"Better take it allll, ma'."
❥ Enjin ● REVERSE COWGIRL & 69ᝰ.ᐟ
He can't bring himself to choose between the two. No way.
On one hand, he looooves the way your ass bounces up and down on him, how every grind spreads him deep inside, tip kissing your cervix, every slick drag of your walls making him shiver.
And after a long day at the cleaners, he collapses on the bed, cigarette dangling from his mouth, eyes half-hidden by his blonde hair brushing just above his sharp gaze.
"Mhmmm, keep bouncin' that pretty ass, baby," he muses, one heavy hand slapping your cheeks with a playful smack, sending heat straight through your spine. His grin is wide, cock thick and slick, still buried to the hilt in you, and you turn your head, lips caged between your teeth, grinding even harder just to hear his praise.
Your nails scrape down his thighs as you push yourself back down harder, and he laughs breathlessly, smacking your ass again, this time with a mean strike, sting blooming sharp, "Can't get enough, huh? Pussy's sloppy as hell, makin' a fuckin' mess on me."
squelch squelch squelch— your cunt's coating his cock and dripping down his balls as he dips his fingers into the slick mess pooling at the base, drags them up your ass crack, pressing against your puckering hole just to hear you whine.
"Ohhh, you like that, cutie?" He's teasing, filthy grin stretching across his handsome face, "Nasty little thing. Bet you'd take me there too, wouldn't ya? Takin' this dick anywhere I fuckin' want."
His head falls back at your wild nod, elbow covering his eyes as he groans, thick thighs twitching, balls slapping with every thrust, "C'mon, get off— gonna paint that ass, pretty."
Aaaaand he can't get enough of 69 either.
"Nuh uhhh, no runnin, c'mere," he drags you down into him, lips teasing your shiny folds while one hand spreads your ass, fingers sliding between slick cheeks to rub over your buttony clit.
His twitching cockhead presses perfectly into your mouth, and he groans as you eagerly suck on it, tongue gliding over his leaking slit, "This is what heaven's like. Yeahhhh, js' need ur ass and this greedy lil' cunny."
Your walls pulse around his poking tongue, grinding reflexively against his face as he chuckles, amused, kneading a hand into your ass cheek to guide your movements.
"So fuckin' tasty," he mumbles into your folds, holding your hips tight. "Allll mine, baby. Keep ridin' my face, you greedy girl. Can't get enough of ya'."
SMACK!
It's loud, damn near drowning out the loud and messy sluuurps of his mouth, sharp eyes watching your cheeks jiggle perfectly, and you cry out around him, drool, spit and sweat dripping between you.
His hips shift just enough that your weeping pussy draaaags over his filthy tongue as he hums low, teeth grazing your clit, while his fingers work your hole open.
Every sloppy, wet gag of your mouth around him makes him twitch in your throat, groaning raggedly into your cunt. His hands grip your hips, tilting you just right so you can feel his fingers scraping deep while your head bobs, juices coating your lips and tongue.
"W-wanna taste it all, baby. Quit slackin' and cum already."
this fool just loves any position that shows off your pretty ass.
❥ Corvus ● STANDINGᝰ.ᐟ
He doesn't even hesitate, strong hands wrapping around your thighs, lifting you swiftly, and before you can protest, he's already splitting you open onto his swollen girth.
Your breath catches, muffled moans against his mouth as he crushes you with kiss in stark contrast to his mean thrusts, Too big… oh, too big!," you squeak against his lips.
"Shhhh," he hisses, commanding voice making your toes curl, his thumb brushing your jaw as he rocks you up and down with one strong arm now, teeth grazing your lips. "Js' hold on tight f' me, darlin'. Yeah, like that."
You're so full, stretched impossibly around his cock, every thrust dragging a gasp from your scratchy throat, his heavy hands gripping your ass, squeezing as flesh spills deliciously from the sides.
He shifts again, wicked fingers pressing hard into your cheeks, scraping against that sweet spot that has your vision blurring. And you're gushing around him instantly, slick spraying his cock, obscenely wet flap flap falps with each of his brutal snaps making your head spin.
Whimpers after whimpers spill from you, unable to catch your breath, and he just chuckles meanly, placing a mocking kiss to your cheek, "Gonna fuck you sooo hard, baby— plug that needy lil' pussy up."
And each slam drives you harder into him, causing you to shriek, arms clawing at his biceps as your nails dig in, but all you can do is moan, body shaking as he pistons you, your head lolling around.
"Good girlllll," he praises, pressing his forehead to yours between bruising thrusts, "Keep those sweet sounds up, angel. Let me hear everything, aight?"
You can't do anything else because your mouth just won't stay shut, broken moans spilling and catching in hiccupped sobs, drool sliding past your swollen lips.
He buries his face in your neck again, teeth grazing teasingly, feasting on your mindless cries, lapping up drool that runs down the corner of your mouth with a pleased hum.
"Doin so well for me, princess."
His strong thighs pound the air, your body jolting in his hold, tits bouncing against his chest every time he slams you down to the base. Then he spreaaaads your cheeks wider with meaty hands, tilting his head to watch you stretch, his pupils blown wide as he gawks at the thick bulge pressing through your tummy every time he bottoms out.
"Just keep on lookin' pretty f' me."
❥ Gris ● MATING PRESSᝰ.ᐟ
He actually says he loves missionary, but all it takes is one thrust, oneeee teenie tiny feel of your clingy walls around his veiny girth, and he's already shoving you into a mean, bone-deep mating press.
Your legs dangle over his shoulders, hands clawing painfully at his meaty thighs but he doesn't even notice. They're just there for leverage as he pounds his girthy inches into you.
His cock drags relentlessly over your weeping walls, and your cries get lost under his deep groans, "O-oh baby, so f-fuckin' good," he rasps, voice damn near cracking as his eyes flutter shut in concentration, "Gonna pound this sweet pussy reallll good, give my baby some sweet lovin', yeah?"
He's so obviously gone, mind blank as his body rocks forward, watching your crying cunny splurt out juices as his cock spreads you apart. And he doesn't even notice until your nth orgasm hits, gush splattering across his pelvis again and again.
His grin's savage and deliriously happy, "Fuckkkk," he drawls between panting breaths, eyes glued to your stuffed cunny, "would. you. look. at. thaaaat." He rams so viciously at every word, groaning through the obscene slap slap slaps of his meaty thighs against yours.
His fingers dig into the back of your thighs, forcing further into you, thumbs pressing into the tender flesh as he oggles at your grimacing face.
"Good girlllll," he praises, utterly obsessed with the mess you're making for him, "Good fuckin' girl, cummin' all over me— thaaaat's it, darlin'."
You break into a high-pitched whine, too fucked out to form words as tears streak down your cheeks, drool slicking your chin, and still, he doesn't let up. Instead, he leans over, heavy pound pressing onto your shaking body, pressing his sweaty forehead to yours. His hips shoot impossibly deep, every thrust scraping your g-spot.
"You're killin' me, baby," spitting the word into your open mouth before licking it back up, his hands crush into your hips, forcing your legs to dangle over over his broad shoulders with every sloppy stroke of his.
Body jerking again, another orgasm tearing through you before the last one even completely fades. Your cunt gushes again, squeezing him hard, coating him until his cock shines in the low light. He groans at the sight, jaw dropping, eyes rolling back for a second as he ruts harder.
"Greedy girl just can't get enough, huh?," his voice damn near breaks, but his grin stays wide, dumb, almost, "Just keeps fuckin' squirtin' f' me."
And he hisses through his teeth as your hands claw into his fat, sweaty biceps, grinding down harder, "My gorgeous fuckin' pussy. C'mon, say it."
Your head wobbles weakly, but the word manage to slip out regardless, "Yours— nghhhh!— m' yours!—"
"Now that's my girl."
❥ Tamsy ● DOGGYᝰ.ᐟ
You can't even count how many times you came already by the time he pinned you down tight by his Tokushin-made restraints, your wrists looped behind your back, firm string snaking across your tummy, ankles trapped so you can't move.
Your body's sore and shaky from his relentless thrusts, hips bobbing helplessly as his thick cock slides in and out, in and out— girth soaked in your slick. Drool dribbles down your chin and onto the damp pillow, muffled cries pressed into the sheets.
The culprit leans low, his hands heavy on your ass, kneading the flesh and making your already tender skin flare red. "Soooo pretty like this, princess. Ya' loveeeee when I smack ya like—" He drives forward,making you jolt around like some helpless little doll, hips smacking the sheets under his force, your legs twitching, already trembling from overstimulation, but he doesn't seem to care, "—This, h-hahhhh?"
You can't answer, voice too gone and throat raw from crying out too many times. Tamsy just chuckles, satisfied, gripping your ass with both hands, his thumbs pressing into the reddened flesh meanly as his cock hammers even deeper. Every thrust drags you along with it, body rocking uselessly.
"Already gone dumb on me, huh? Whoops, my bad," voice thick with amusement, he smacks one cheek again, making you squirm uselessly, moans strangled, and then pounds into your wet pussy again, sliding your body in rhythm with his push by the strings snaked around your tummy, pulling them so tight your flesh gushes from the sides.
Sobbing into the sheets, you're shaking, and he just laughs, hips snapping like a goddamn whip.
"Srings got my poor girl all tied up. And look at youuuu, gushing like a fuckin' fountain," His hair is loose, spilling down in wild waves, strands tickling along your bare spine with every thrust, "Dumb lil' brat thought she could play with me? Nahhh, I'll fuck the attitude riiight outta ya."
You shriek helplessly, and he groans with low bass, bending low until his sweaty chest presses to your trembling back, his teeth grazing your shoulder, then biting down, a mark to match the bruises blooming on your ass.
"Thought you're a tough girl, huh? Thought you could run that sloppy mouth?"
Your lips quiver, words breaking into sobs as his hips knock his tip right to your cervix, cock splitting you open in wet and messy thrust, the lewd sound of your pussy clapping back against him filling the room.
His hands shift, one sliding up to wrap around your throat, fingers pressing deep, cutting your cry into a choked whimper. His other yanks the strings tight around your tummy, dragging you back so hard onto his evil thrusts you can feel him in your stomach, gurgling on your own spit.
Note✒: I'm kinda into biting so actually this could come out pretty freaky (as it should duh) GUYS I GOT CARRIED AWAY.
☕︎kofi
Warnings: MDNI, Nsfw, fem!reader, needy jabber, marking, lots of bites, sliiiight blood kink, p in v, cockwarming, you match his freak kind of.
C'mon, it wasn't your fault, I mean he came to your room all bloody and bricked up like a madman, ranting about the amazing guy he had fought. And damn he was hot with blood plastered all over his face, the outline of his arousal was unmistakable, messy dreadlocks swinging around as he sat near you. His smell was intoxicating, you took it in, inhaling hard.
"Hey there, you listenin' to me?" He ranted noticing you're totally distracted, well how could you not? Part of his clothes were even torn apart, showing his amber skin his bracelets clinking. he waved to your face "earth callin' helloo?" He smiles widely as you finally look at him. He leaned close "Am I that distracting?"
And with that you leaned in hiding your face in his neck, taking a big whiff, his hands resting on your shoulders chuckling at your behaviour. He wasn't expecting you to do what you did. You let your lips run onto his skin, where his neck meets his shoulder, his smell mixed to the blood made you roll your eyes. You felt the urge and you couldn't stop it.
Your lips parted, your mouth slowly opening while he just held you. And whatever he was about to say just died in his throat. The feeling of his skin under the pressure and the dull iron taste on your tongue, your teeth sinking in not hard enough to pierce through but hard enough to leave a mark.
After suckling on it slightly and placing a kiss against it, you pulled away and looked up at him. His eyes were glowing in the dark of your room, his expression twitched before turning into a wide smirk "Ooh man, you're straight up crazy girl–" he shivered while his grip on your shoulders his eyes rolling back so much his pink irises were swallowed up by the white.
You looked back at the mark you left and couldn't hold back a crooked smile, his hands sneaked up to your face, holding your cheeks looking at you now after he took a big breath "Aw ma, I'm no longer responsible for what I'm gonna do" he murmured biting down on his lower lip. "Huh-" before you could let anything out, you found yourself pinned to the bed you were previously sitting on, surrounded by the pillows.
We could say that you were a pillow princess as much as he was submissive when he felt like being degraded badly. But tonight wasn't the case, no, you ignited something in him with that move and he was ready to return the favor. He licked his dry lips, you could feel him yearning, his bulge pressing against your thigh. Your hips were moving on their own, up to rub against him, you were teasing him.
"Oh you're gonna get it" he leans in fast no time for you to process his mouth was already all over your skin, his teeth finding your pulse spot and sinking in with just the right amount of strength. His slightly pointed canines managed to pierce through slightly, just a light bruise it hurt so good it made you shiver, a soft groan leaving your lips.
He moaned at the taste of your blood on his tongue, he left a nice red mark on your neck, there's no way makeup can hide this one, you thought. He let his warm tongue slide along the bruise. Your hips moved towards his now, heavy breathing filled the room and without you noticing clothes were discarded. And he was now so deep into your guts you had to bite down your lower lip to hold it together.
Well, his plans were a little different than expected, he was not moving. Instead, he grinned down at you and leaned in to let his teeth sink into your shoulder now, making you shiver, trying to move your hips desperately to find some friction. "Jabb please..." you whined out pulling at his arm.
The pain made it all so hot. "Be patient ma, imma take care of that too" You let out a sound you didn't know you could, his pointy pearly whites just felt right through your skin, his lips brushing against it, tongue pressing onto the bruise. Warmth and pain made you tremble, giving you goosebumps. "Jay..." you jerk your hips against his, his cock sliding slightly against your walls. You swear you could see stars.
"Yeah?" He smiled against your skin and dragged his lips along your chest now, he pulled your legs up, having your knees lock perfectly to his shoulders, your thighs pressed against his chest. He leaned in and let his lips kiss them, sucking on the soft skin, a moan leaving your lips, your cheeks heated, head spinning.
A yelp escaped you as he bit there too after leaving a couple more red and purple marks. That spot was so much more sensitive, while he happily lapped at the little drops of blood rippling down, placing a kiss to each bitemark he left, you felt your pussy clench like crazy around him, his cock twitching and he couldn't stop the roll of his hips, he kept rolling his hips, his tip kissing your cervix, but no thrusting.
He was driving you crazy, you felt an orgasm approaching while he moved to your other thigh, you gripped his arm "me too–" you murmured, jerking your hips against him. He pulled away, the slight shade of red on his lips glistening, "Hm as you wish ma" he pulled up and pressed a kiss to your lips. The taste of his blood mixed to yours made your eyes roll back.
You broke the kiss, breathless going immediately for his neck, biting onto his skin, swirling your tongue onto it. He grunts and a low rumble in his chest, his hips move slightly, trying to bury himself deeper, his lower abdomen pressing onto your clit harshly as he pushes furiously. While you moved to his shoulder like a ritual biting down, feeling the irony taste and licking onto the marks. All this messy moving and humping, feeling each other's teeth sink.
In no time you felt yourself coming around his cock, while he let his tongue press on to your pulse point, "holy shit..." he growls against your ear, his hands gripping your waist so hard, adding more bruises to hide. Your walls quivering and clenching around him, got him rolling his eye back as he felt you biting down onto his clavicle now. He twitches into you "fuck- I'm so damn close."
You started leaving some hickeys, red spots all over his chest, but suddenly he grabbed your hands and pinned them down, leaning over you and folding you in half, legs hanging from his shoulders. "Goddamnit I can't hold back no more" he groaned as he started moving inside you making you moan at the sudden friction. He pumped his fat cock into you making you sing. He attacked your chest, biting and sucking on your hardened buds, which pulled some more whines out of you.
You felt yourself near a second climax in such short time you felt almost ashamed. "Shit– Jay..." you called out, skin slapping sounds became shameless as he started rutting into you, making your breasts bounce and your whole body jolt, the bed creaking under your two tangled bodies. His cock is dragging along every right spot, hitting your cervix and slightly grazing your g-spot. Squelching sounds filling the room, his dreadlocks falling over you like a curtain, while he sucked onto your soft mounds leaving red marks all over, marking his territory just like you did.
"Just wait for me ma" he murmured noticing you were close again. His feral thrusts making you cry out in pleasure. His cock formed a bulge onto your lower belly making you arch your back taking all of him gladly and pushing your hips towards his as you came moaning his name desperately, his thrusts faltered, he buried himself as deep as he could and spilled inside you as soon as you let loose from the last bitemark you left, hot ropes filling you to the brim.
Didn't even know he had that much inside him "Holy shit mamas, gotta do this all fucking night" he exhales licking his lips. "Such... a freak" You were still out of breath but absolutely ready to go, you had plenty of time before the next mission.
Note: smut!, #needthatneedthatneedthat, potential spoilers for the manga, texted my friends about these things, didn’t check for typos 🙂↕️ (here u go Jade and Grace 🫰🫰🫰)
Gris Rubion:
- soft top but will be bottom
- your pleasure is his pleasure
- talks his partner through it “need me to slow down?”
- big dick energy
- 7.5 inches, curves slightly to the left with a prominent vein tracing up one side. real sensitive
- secretly likes seeing his partner struggle taking his dick
- sweetheart all around, especially after sex
- generally private about his relationship
- not one to get jealous easily
- likes doing it after hard missions— makes him feel closer to you
Enjin:
- this man’s definitely a little toxic and a lot to deal with
- won’t cheat BUT likes to rile you up with stuff that borders on it
- leans too close to people when getting the intel, saves someone and holds them for a moment too long cuz he likes that you’ll be mean later (cuz he’s an asshole)
- utterly yours if you can deal with his attitude
- leaning towards a power bottom, he wants someone to take control but definitely enjoys being rough too
- switches it up, gets bored of positions easily (mating press is his favorite)
- shower sex type of guy so he can do it against a wall and it’s all slippery cuz it makes him work for it
- goes crazy when his partner sweet talks him (like a literal dog)
- is obsessed with his partner’s body, his favorite thing to do is worship it, calls you cupcake ironically and unironically
- asks to cockwarm before missions (yes please!)
- spells his name out with each roll of his hips when fucking missionary
Jabber Wonger:
- likes a mean partner doesn’t like a softie
- oral fixation, give him head and scrap ur teeth against his shaft and he’s cumming instantly
- serious enemies to lovers with him
- needs someone to smack some sense into him he doesn’t play nice (literally)
- a switch it just depends on the day
- tries to grind against you if he gets you under him during a fight
- loves overstimulation to the point of pain (the burn gets him off)
- when on top he uses one of his toxins to amplify the sensations for you
- doesn’t like soft sex because of his stamina
- big on agoraphilia
- hate sex! loves you as his enemy more than as an ally
- gets a boner when his partner’s angry, choke him and you’ll never hear the end of it
- won’t stop until he’s seeing stars, crying, and shooting blanks
- laughs during sex
- loudest moaner I mean seriously
Arkha Corvus
- similar to Gris
- soft dom
- worries he’s too big for you “is it too much?” and lots of “you’re doing so good, hun”
- this man will stay with his face between your legs until you force him off (a munch if you will)
- gets waves of baby fever and it ends with you two going at it like bunnies
- office sex, likes you bent over his desk, uses his eye to make sure nobody’s coming
- big on manhandling, size difference, and close contact
- reverse cowgirl so he can trace your spine and hold your waist
- enjoys how big he is compared to you
- makes you coffee after sex
- likes holding his partner during sex, one arm always around their waist
- lots of grunts and groans
Tamsy Caines:
- mean bottom like condescending mean (likes mirror sex so you’re forced to see how weak you look beneath him)
- coos at you like a baby if you struggle taking him inside, slips in a little “you’re pathetic” if his partner gets tired
- what he doesn’t have in girth he makes up for in length
- four frenum piercings down his shaft, says he’s getting his fifth soon
- can break like an egg if you play your cards right (it isn’t hard)
- tug him hair and he’ll cry for you 9/10 times
- high pitched moans
- this man can ARCH his back
- whimpers if you show you’re even a little bit as obsessive as he is
- possessive to the point of insanity
- will fuck you into the mattress like he hates you and then say it’s because he loves you so much after
- traces the curves and dips of your body like you were sculpted from marble just for him (he seriously believes you were made for him)
- likes to fuck you with punk heavy metal music blasting cuz he thinks it “sets the mood” but he means well…probably
- little hint of sadistic tendencies, leaves bite marks just because
- BONDAGE I mean seriously. Tokushin? Ik that’s right (but he’s the one tied up not you heh)
August Stilza:
- this is just self indulgent
- goggles stay ON during sex
- makes you threads for everything but don’t ask for specifics cuz he won’t listen
- knows you better than anyone and says it’s because of your “swag” that he could read you so well
- kinda odd in all aspects especially with the positions he wants to try (like who wants to 69 while standing?)
- gets a kick out of you in his threads no matter how many times he sees it
- I mean seriously this dude gets jealous if you mention liking another designer, he’ll coops himself up in his workshop
- makes you threads so flashy that everything else dulls in comparison
- definition of flamboyant
- likes to have sex in the clothes he’s made his partner— says it “improves his creative flow yo” (#needthat)
- quiet in bed compared to his normal level of exuberance. Watches his dick go in…and then out.
- soft winces, sighs, and breathy moans that have his head falling back onto the pillows (I’m gonna nut)
- doesn’t care if he’s on bottom or on top, just loves grabbing onto you, specifically squeezing your hips or chest
- thigh fixation (will definitely make threads that emphasis them)
Enjin likes his women naughty, frisky. When you push him on the bed and take charge, straddle him and wrap your hand confidently around his girth. With a teasing glint in your eyes, you slowly rub the head of his cock between your messy folds, gathering your slick before lowering yourself on his cock and letting him sink inside your dripping pussy.
“Oh fuck yeah—“ he groans with hands on your hips, pressing you down all the way.
As you begin to bounce on his cock, the pleasure overwhelms and incites you to a faster, steadier pace. With moans falling down your glossy lips, Enjin loves to just fold his tattooed arms behind his head and enjoy the view. Seeing you take what’s yours, he’s thrilled to witness the furrow of your brows and hear the squelching and slapping sounds that echo in the room. Even better is when you lean back a little, one hand supporting your figure and the other rubbing your clit at the same time. It drives him absolutely insane to see you pleasure yourself while using him to get yourself off.
“That’s it, baby. Take what’s yours,“ he provokes and thrusts into you.
To see you squirting on him and cry out in bliss forces him to chase his own high and keep fucking— harshly, overstimulating you before reaching his own climax and painting your walls with his release. He also likes to cum on your face and tits, preferably face as that innocent smile you wear despite having his cum all over your pretty face makes him desperate for a second round.
JABBER
Jabber, though a bit of a masochist, gets easily lost in the pleasure and manhandles you how he pleases. He’s rough and loves when you can take him without whining.
He likes to slap your ass hard and leave teeth marks on your shoulders, tits, throat— he likes to choke you and see your eyes roll in the back of your head while he fucks you deep and hard. He’ll grasp a fistful of your hair while slamming into you from behind, forcing your back against him so he can grope your breasts and bite your neck while thrusting into you. His grip on you is bruising, fingers digging into your skin in whatever position you find yourself in with him.
He also wants you to hurt him just the same. While you sit on top of him with his dick inside your pussy, squeezing him good, hands wrapped around his throat, his tongue almost lolls out as the pleasure mixed with pain is exactly his kind of drug. It doesn’t matter whether he cums in your pussy, face, tits, belly or back as long as there’s enough pain to make you both cum.
ZODYL
Loves control, the dominance he has over you. Wants to put you in your place— on your hands and knees, ass up, as if offering yourself to him and begging to get your pussy fucked. Wetting his fingers in his mouth, he merely spends a moment to prep you before shoving his cock in you. Hearing your cries incites him to get more rough, merciless enough to fuck you so hard and deep that the headboard of the bed rattles against the wall. Manhandling you how he pleases, preferably on your back to see the lewd sight of you still willingly spreading your legs for him despite the ruthless treatment. As he pins you down by the wrists and slams into you hard, the impact he has on you drives him mad with desire for more— your tits bounce back and forth, sweat glimmers on your skin, on your forehead and temple as you scream in despair, walls clenching as you cum on his cock for the umpteenth time— loving being treated like an object.
Prefers to cum inside you and make you his, to see your body squirm and writhe in bliss as he empties his release in you, white threads of hot cum filling your fluttering, used pussy. Pussy that belongs to him.
• SUMMARY: Enjin wants you — really, really, really badly. But you’re one hell of an elusive woman, and he’s not the first man to fall under your spell. Led by you like a dog on a leash, he finally gets his chance with you after the accidental injury you cause him.
• CONTAINS: maneater!cleaner!reader, reader ragebating Enjin, love/hate relationship, reader dresses and behaves in a feminine fashion, she/her pronouns and reader being called a woman, desperate Enjin, pussy inspections, just the tip trope that turns into full sex, switch Enjin, wet dreams, talk about bad sex experiences for reader, riding+prone bone+headlock, light choking, unprotected sex, tears licking, the author has only watched anime up to the 15th episode (possible spoilers), injuries, there’s some plot and fluff, bad jokes. WORD COUNT: 11,9k.
• NOTE: This is my first story for Gachiakuta. Definitely was not meant to be this long in the first intention, but I fell in love with Enjin badly, like he did himself with reader’s allure. Despite how hot he might be, I think I adore his character the most 💕. I promise I will catch up with manga soon, and until then, I’m hoping I kept Enjin at least somewhat in character. Divider is by @/cursed-carmine. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
“You’re really cut from a different cloth…”
Enjin’s voice redirects your focus from rolling the lipstick between your fingers onto him. Lazily draped over the common room’s sofa, legs crossed as if you are ready to conquer more than just the makeup you surely tricked some bastard into getting for you — that stuff isn’t easy to find. You're smart enough to use a few words to have a guy whipping out his wallet. And he likes smart chicks — until they’re annoying like you’re easily earning the title.
In any case, he despises the fact some dude is getting what he can only dream of, no matter how much he’s sweating blood for the cause of earning your favor.
“What could you possibly mean, Enjin?” you answer casually, serving him a disinterested look already. No one should be fooled by it, as he knows it’s just a deceiving calm before the storm. What has begun as him chasing a pretty lady, initially unaware of her viciousness, has been turned — involuntarily to him— into the game of push and pull.
Involuntarily, if he weren’t giving you advantage voluntarily, unable to stay away from the source of excitement you bring. Flaunting yourself when you can, but withdrawing yourself away from him the second he think he’s about to get it. Entertaining his flirting attempts, but never turning them into more. Not to mention, teasing him so relentlessly he could believe you’ve been sent to punish and humiliate him; especially when it’s his honorary job to be a jerk.
Yup, so far you’ve been exceeding anyone else about being a pain in his ass. And Enjin — he is constantly forced to question what he could be possibly lacking, if you’re not falling straight into his arms… or lap. He’s handsome, tall, funny, charming, knows how to make someone feel special, and is definitely capable of appreciating a good woman.
“I see you put your claws on another guy. Is it a nice shade, at least?” Speaking condescendingly, he plops himself next to you and throws a casual arm across the space behind your head. Your eyes narrow, knowing he’s playing it cool as his shoulder brushes yours and there’s no apologies.
Inwardly, he’s already locating a shop that would sell better lipstick he could get for you.
“It’s decent,” you smile, turning your head to be gazing at him with slow blinks. Fluttering your lashes so he’s not able to look away, right before you’d throw him into another spiral of restlessness. He digs in, eyeing your pretty features up and down. Would you notice if he moved his face an inch closer? “Why, you jealous?” you taunt.
He snickers, as if unable to find such notion possible. Jealousy implies some sort of care about a chosen person. It’s not that he likes more than your body… even if he vies for your attention, trying to prove what a better guy he’d be. Not could — would be. Just ridiculous of him, who’s anxious at the though of lying his heart in someone else’s hands, or who thinks he’s stronger than a petty emotion envy is. It must have been that masculine need to compete, not a crush or anything…
He’s literally twenty-eight!
“Sweetheart, I could be many things you want me to be, but jealous ain’t one of them,” he grins, trying to sell you his confidence.
You don’t buy it. “Possessive, then?” It’s you who moves closer first, until he has to press his head really snugly to the furniture’s back. He tries his best to look at your lips, as if reciprocating the flirt and not getting all sweaty with a stressed heart. How does one woman make him fumble this much?
“Nope,” he pops his lips at the p letter to accentuate his conviction. “Though, I could see why some folk would be mad over you…” he says lowly. He winks and draws away.
You relax in your seat too. You’ll have to see if someone can repair the common room’s couch again. It’s nice, if you ignore the holes in the green fabric. Many things around are falling apart in general, and they barely fill any space of the yellow-wallled room as well; but it’s home sweet home. “Glad to know you don’t mind me seeing other men…” here you go, provoking him properly and swiftly.
As suspected, his head yanks up with offense, staring at you with “don’t you dare”, thinking he’d hate the idea; he puts on another nonchalant mask when he realizes he exposed himself a second later. “Wipe that smirk off. I don’t care what you’re doing with other guys. I have plenty of eyes on me too, you know.” He puffs out his chest a little.
“Oh, I know,” you flirt, not meaning it much, even if he gives you a look of interest at your sweet tone. However, you still didn’t expect him to last so long. Most men become aggressive or leave after you’ve kept them hanging in suspense for months. But Enjin? He’s damn hooked, desperate to finally lay his hands on you, he just keeps playing your game like moth drawn to the flame you are. At this point, he might even attempt to kiss you all softly until you’re swooning for him too — gross romanticism, if he must.
One thing is sure in his horny brain: you know how to frustrate the man. He can never tell if you're playing hard to get or are hard to get. You certainly enjoy spilling cruelties on his emotions and ego for your own enjoyment, as if you’re some sort of sadist.
“Good. Keep it mind. Maybe you’ll be the one to be jealous the next time you see me with some hot lady in the nearest settlement,” he says proudly, tapping his fingers behind your head.
“We should get a double date while we’re at that, cause I’d probably be with some hunk myself,” your smirk widens, with you enjoying the way his mouth open in protest too fast to call it nonchalance.
Enjin groans and hits the couch with his head dramatically.
“Must you keep doing that?”
“Doing what?” You pop the lipstick open and close it to make him more agitated with the sound of plastic. His eyelid twitches.
“Not letting the man have even a tiny bit of you and all.” He’s the man in question. Talking about himself in the third person makes things less embarrassing. “It makes me wonder, what do I have to do to earn a chance with you?”
What does the mantra go like? Enjin doesn't chase — he attracts. Well, he always chased women, but they also have been coming to him on their own! With you, he does the chase solely himself; probably until his poor body will collapse from exhaustion, apparently. He wants to believe it makes him a virile guy who knows what he wants, who will be this lion king to pull the best woman around and crow about it, but who is he kidding…
You’ve been the one throwing curveballs. And it’s not some longlasting banter, if it’s an entire war on his pride, sanity, and confidence — or even masculinity.
“You were trying to earn a chance with me?” Your obviously feigned innocence pulls an even louder groan out of him, making you laugh.
It’s fun to tease people, see them stress over his words or get shy, but when he’s being subjected to it, especially by you… he just wants to strangle you. He almost pities everyone else he had ever taunted, finding himself in their shoes. Or rather, he has it much worse than they had it with him — you’re this spider crushing a cheap player’s ego. He’s supposed to be the one beguiling the other side, like he used to do so with women.
“Come on. I’ve heard that juicy gossip in the Canvas Town. Apparently, you putting men to their knees is every Friday’s special,” his tone turns more serious, which to you, is rather theatrical when you can’t care much. He hates both you chasing other men — it is jealousy like you said — and being another one on your list to check and abandon.
Demanding some payoff, he finally allows himself to play with your hair, gathering it to the side. When you let him expose your neck (surely a deliberate and well-thought move from your side), seeing your skin has his mouth water at the idea of putting his lips here. Staring intensely, he imagines leaving a nasty hickey on there, one that would deter other men away from approaching you until it healed.
“Being a cleaner is stressful. A girl must relax somehow. You do something about that too, I’ve been told by Semiu,” you reply apathetically to his possessiveness. Men use women all the time — you cannot be much worse. No one gets genuinely hurt, at least.
He snickers dryly, puffing out an air of astonishment. It’s nearly amusement by how ridiculous you sound to him. “You find using men relaxing?”
When you shrug, he’s reminded that he is still there, regardless of your misbehavior towards his gender. He’s just another fool for you to play with, but, fit for a fool, he likes to believe he’s doing better than the rest and there’s something awaiting him at the end of the rainbow. He’s still there, so isn’t that a sign he’s keeping you interested? You didn’t get bored so far, which counts for something — he has to be a worthy opponent.
“I guess it’s fair. Men do that with women all the time,” he comes up with the answer he’d expect to hear from you. Earning some brownie points, right as he drapes some of your hair further down your neck, almost cupping your entire throat with his hand.
Your pulse is steady under his fingertips. He hates that.
“Oh? So you are agreeing with me, not defending your sex? Or are you just trying to flatter me?” your inquiry is uttered with a lilted sound — you would have seen through him. Enjin is a tougher opponent in comparison to other men in your long past with them, yet you know how to disarm him nonetheless.
“Would that even change things for you,” he deflects brusquely. He’s finally acting on those impulsive demands of his body, unnerved — pressing his lips on your nape, spreading a kinder type of kiss first to see some shivers such delicate touch would have caused.
“Mm… eager,” you murmur, tilting your head back. No shivers.
Even though you’re letting him smooch you, he’s not sure if he’s doing you good — you giggle and shit, but it’s more you having fun than arousal. You might as well getting him hopeful for no reason, knowing you.
He looks up at you, still attached to your neck. You’re grinning down at him, not much rattled by his skilled mouth.
He doesn’t even bother to try again and takes some distance; he dramatically slumps his body until his head is hanging off the couch, and rubs his face. Good luck there’s no one in the room to witness his loss. “You’re so cold. Are you really into men?” he speaks more into the air, refusing to face you again. He doesn't need to hear your victory. Or entertaining the paranoia he’s not your type. That would be tragic.
“I am. I just am not sure I should let you get this ahead. You're trying to fuck me,” you say in a clipped voice. “I’m not interested in becoming a bed warmer for you.”
Which is hypocritical, considering you do fuck men for pleasure, often having him willing to do anything for more promised. However, you have a good reason to avoid hitting his bed specifically — sleeping between Cleaners sounds like a terrible idea. Besides, you think Enjin has enough ego without being able to touch you, one you don’t wish to reward. Secretly, or not so secretly, you hate men like him — all suave. You only respect him for who he is as a Cleaner and a friend, recognizing his importance to the symbiosis of everyone around.
He pouts, moving his lower lip to the front, again looking at you with something naughty. “Ah, but how do you know I don't want a date instead?”
“A date that would serve as a foreplay, you mean?” you chuckle.
He grumbles about you being coy under his nose and pulls you close, squeezing you so close to his big chest you feel your bones creaking. You make a sour face at his cologne overwhelming your nostrils. “Oh, come on, don’t be shy! You’ll have plenty of fun with me!” he laughs wolfishly, the sound’s vibrations purring between your huddled bodies.
Struggling to breathe and free yourself from the boa arms, you defend yourself verbally, “I’m pretty sure I’m not being shy.” You finally place enough strength on his shoulders to push yourself away, until you can inhale and fix your tousled hair. “You don’t know what I could do to you,” you tease too, still breathlessly. You smile; in that enticing way where your eyes sparkle, your eyelids lower into the bedroom look, and you’re meeting him from below your lashes. Once again, providing material for his mind to imagine beautiful things, but not being willing to materialize any of his dirty fantasies.
He spreads his legs wider to get more comfortable, needing to adjust himself. He imagines you on your knees between them, licking him up — oh, but you probably wouldn’t go there, and if you would, it’d be to pull out the most mortifying and slutty reactions from him. If anything, it’d be him being used by you. He doesn’t even go down there, being submissive or whatever, and yet…
As embarrassing he finds it, he probably would grant you some space for becoming your toy. Screw it, at this point, he’d take anything that’s equivalent to sexual. “Well, you can always fuck me instead. You probably would call it as that anyway, yeah? Taking charge and all?” He mocks, more self-deprecatingly about that he’s actually acknowledging the possibility. “So I guess this dick is all yours.” He motions his hand over his crotch.
“You mean the one between your legs, or yourself?” you grin slyly.
Not you calling him dick too. “Ugh, smartass woman… I guess both.”
This is what liking women smarter than him costs him.
One of the innumerable issues with you is that you wear work clothes that refuse to pronounce your real body shape. Yeah, your skin catching dust from the polluted zone is definitely yucky, but you’re going to get yourself washed after anyway. He’s seen you with your bust and ass out only once, in a tiny neon-pink dress reserved for going out to the colorful Canvas Town — unfortunately, as hard the sight had gotten him, it was as quickly ruined with you hanging on some man’s shoulder.
Enjin, regardless of his discontentment with your long jeans skirt and trashy-cheetah-print hoodie, is still a horny prick. You covering yourself only gets him excited about there has to be underneath — his mind tries to come up with the idea of what you could look like bare and on your fours, drawing the hottest visions to his mind.
Where he’d like to lay his hands on the most. How your body curves and fills the contours. Where his hands would rest the most comfortably when fucking you. What’s slappable, what’s grippable. Anything x you naked.
Of course, the fate had it that he are to be paired with you for the next cleaning. In fact, you make quite a good duo when you place your tension aside — not that you need to hear that from his lips.
It’s you you walking side by side by him through the trash-desert, whistling to yourself and swinging your vital instrument back and forth, while he tries to not side-ogle your body like a creep. As long as he doesn't angle his head excessively, the gas mask shall expose none… “So, you had a good sleep today?” he asks with a yawn.
You look up at him, already forming a taunting smile. Naturally, your face is covered by the mask, but he can gauge that expression with the expertise that was forced into him for the sake of surviving this one special woman. “Are you trying a new pickup line? It’s quite lame, to be honest.”
He shakes his head with exasperation. He’ll go gray prematurely because of you. Is chasing you even worth it at this point? Maybe he's just stubborn; no, he has to be. He hates annoying women, and yet, here he is. “No, I actually care about you being rested. Insane, I know. A man who’s into you also wants you rested.”
“So I can keep up with him in bed?”
“No!” he raises his voice out of frustration, then curses under his nose at the blunder — he’s ought to alert some beasts if he’s loud. It’s a loss of cool aura in front of you too. You just know how to provoke him, more than the brats around the HQ do. It's straight eight in the morning, too early to be baited by you. “No,” he tries again, quiet this time. “Because he’s being nice.” He forces a smile underneath his mask, barely keeping his sanity.
As your eye wrinkles keep up in mischief, he thinks that maybe you’re not done playing with his nerves. Thankfully, your answer comes out relatively normal. “Oh, then, it was good. Thanks for asking. You slept well too?”
“Yeah,” he throws casually, scratching the back of his head. Yeah, if he were to exclude the vivid dreams about you, or waking up with a boner in the middle of the night, lamenting you’re not there to take care of it. But you definitely shouldn’t know that — that’s giving you a loaded gun for free. “As much as those tiny beds allow. I’m a big guy, vertically and horizontally.” He flexes his arm under his trench coat, hoping to impress you.
You’re better than being bought by muscles, and worse as a human being. “I’ve seen taller,” you just had to drop the bomb, stopping him in tracks amid the sandy storm.
Enjin tries to keep his cool. He tells himself to remain calm, staring at his shoes. He acknowledges the fact there’s always a taller man; obviously, that’s logical. However, you didn’t need to make him sound short, especially when he takes pride in his broadness — playing the role of a peacock flaunting and spreading his feathers for you, his potential mate. He’s been hoping you find him tall enough!
“Excuse me?! If I’m barely fitting a standard bed, I think that’s tall enough!” he throws his hands and Umbreaker into the air dramatically, until the latter opens as dramatically. Forget being nonchalant. He gets efficient enough excuses to be emotional around you.
You stop your stroll, turning around to meet him with innocence. “Oh, but I didn’t say you’re not tall enough. Just stating the fact there are men taller than you, to highlight you still have it light compared to their struggle…” you chide him, smirking sideways.
He realizes how he allowed you to provoke him again. You didn’t even call him short directly; he fell for that because you know where to dig at his ego’s spectrum. “But… that applies to everything…” he says quietly to himself, itching to yell at you until you say sorry.
You’re stealing his job. He’s supposed to be taunting people. He’s supposed to be flirting with you, and you are supposed to be giggling all prettily at him, saying how great Enjin is.
You’re making him lose his mind instead. The worst gamble he took in his entire life is trying to win you over.
He makes a decision in order to save his mental health. “Wait here. I need a cigarette,” he grumbles.
You hit the sand with your instrument. “Huh? You crazy? You can’t take your mask off here.” He won’t kick the bucket if he will be fast enough with smoking, although, ending up with a sick lung isn’t a fun idea to spend your free time with.
“Oh, you’re worrying about me all of a sudden?” he scoffs. “I’ll smoke in the car. Put the filter on.”
“Must you? I just wanna get done with our job!” You give him pleading eyes through the windows of your mask — in the soft way he knows other men would fold under. It gets his knees week also.
Fortunately, he’s still capable of recognizing his own shortcomings. There’s leftover crumbs of this quality, ones he plans to use when he’s being violently abused by your mindgames.
“Well, your fault, darling. You pissed me off again,” he says almost cockily, unable to believe he didn't give in under pressure.
Until you take on revenge, fussy that you were denied for once by him. “Tsk. Then go on, leave me waiting. Though let me tell you — you smoking is funny. Cigarettes already are a poison, but smoking them when you're already being slowly poisoned by trash… it’s just you giving a helping hand to the process of killing yourself.”
His umbrella almost snaps under the grip on the handle.
“No, you’ve got this, Enjin. She’s just showing she’s at you,” he thinks.
“The doll is being worried about my health. I’m charmed,” he exaggerates with a hand on his chest. “Yeah, I guess you need to pick your vice. And some damn cigarette is the least I deserve for risking my life everyday. Or for dealing with annoying kids… or women,” he says the last in a petty way, and turns his back around to walk away back to the car.
“Whatever. I’ll stay here and try to not be eaten by a trash beast,” you bark back at him, grumpily. Your eyes scavenge for any moving things in the dusty, beige-rock horizon.
“You do you!” he calls chirpily from behind his shoulder. Hearing you complain a bit has him feeling smug, tasting the victory on his tongue. Finally, for once in his predicament, you’re not having things go your ways. His walk is full of swagger, with Enjin thinking about how one cigarette might turn into two or three. He’s eager to keep you waiting and all; he’s resting easy at the notion you can defend yourself until he’s back.
Though, he’s worried he might start missing you again, and stuck with his thoughts alone, he’ll think about you bouncing on his dick in the car, the car bumping along the rhythm of you two, and—
He hears your scream, right as he’s about to climb the mound the car was parked on for a better chance to find it later amid the storm. “Enjin, help me!”
One thing about you is that you don’t ever have it bad enough with trash beasts to be screaming so helplessly — it’s only in his head, when he pretends you’re creaming on his cock.
Wielding his umbrella, he quickly turns around, forgetting about the smoke break, as he’s ready to protect his object of desire — a precious Cleaner companion too, he’d dare say. “Girl, what’s wrong?!”
He scans the area, looking for the source of danger. It’s weird, he didn’t hear any rustle of beasts… and now, he sees nothing. No you or the beast. “Huh? What the hell…”
You take advantage of his distraction to sneak into your car and hide the cigarettes, in order to frustrate him some more. You don't plan to spend entire day here because an emotional dude wants his cigs. You open the door, hoping to work in earned time.
In the same moment, he turns around towards the car again with lingering confusion, searching for something in another direction.
With the height the door is placed at, you end up hitting something.
Then you hear a thump, something heavy falling on the sand moving under its weight. Your eyes widen in terror when you see him knocked out.
“Enjin, no!” you jump off the mound, crouching down next to the unconscious man. “Why were you just standing there!”
As he doesn't wake up, you shake on his shoulder. Sure, you hit him pretty hard, you carry some strength, but you would have thought he’s more sturdy. “Enjin, you frog-looking bastard!” You sit down on the sand next to him, all resigned. There’s no bleeding or crack in his skull, so he must have been hit with the force of your swing instead.
The beasts that soon finds you, you have to defeat on your own. Then drag this big inconvenience to the car and drive back to the headquarters on your own.
You didn’t expect Enjin to ever be capable of causing you to feel something like honest guilt. Really, everything that has taken place in the zone was no more than an accident, as even your cigarette thievery wasn’t meant to hurt him. The fuel is added when you think about how he was ready to protect you, with no hesitation to jump in to help you.
You added to poor Eishia’s worries too. She thought you killed the man everyone depends on.
You’ve been out of his space ever since bringing him back, and now are standing in front of the hospital room, trying to cherry-pick any anger in Enjin’s voice after he finally woke up.
“Ouch, ow, can't you be more careful, kiddo…” he’s complaining about something to Rudo already foaming in his mouth.
“I brought you food! I’m adjusting your pillow too! You asked me to! That’s just ungrateful!”
“Hey, I was just saying—”
You knock on the open door, willing to interrupt a possible volcano eruption. “Hey, Enjin. I’m glad you’re awake,” you greet humbly for yourself.
To your surprise, or lack thereof when you know him well, he’s immediately quieter, straightening his body on the bed too, as if no pain was ever bothering him. Wearing on nonchalance to not lose your respect. A head concussion? Nah, he had it worse in the past. It's merely a bit of headache. He might be butthurt about you trying to deprive him of his cigarettes, though. “Yeah, yea. You can go, Rudo. I’ll be fine, kiddo.”
“Hey! You told me you want me to—” Rudo’s mouth is being covered, not letting the boy take away his chance of being with you alone.
“I did. But the new help’s here, exempting you of work,” he nods over at you. Rudo makes a disgruntled noise and leaves, not without spilling few insults. Enjin has wasted his time, but at least he doesn’t have to look after the older guy.
“How are you feeling?” you ask placidly, no tease or hidden intention for the sake of your regret. When he eyes you with suspicion, you move closer and sit on the edge of his bed, conceiving the need for an earnest talk.
His pupils dilate at the sight of you, regardless of him having been a bit mad at you. He tries to express his dissatisfaction at what happened with pursed lips, only to feel more like a child desperate for attention. Eishia filled him on why was his head brutalized by you, but somehow, he’s feeling petty about the idea of being mad at you. Special treatment he’s been brewing from his little crush.
“As good as a man with a head concussion can feel. All of this because you tried to hide my cigarettes. And here I thought you were in genuine danger…” he sounds whiny already. Not without giving you tiny glances about whether his trick works on you. You just look so caring and it gets to his head, and he’ll be lying to say he’s not irritated by being defeated by something as stupid as you hitting him with a car door, enough to need some TLC.
Except, you're not that easy. “What happened to your bravado?”
Right. He’s supposed to be tough in front of you, not a spineless loser. Even if you have made your point a long time ago — usual tactics do nothing to impress you, especially if it’s forced masculinity or platitudes. “It’s right there alright. I’m fine. I’ll be fine,” he shrugs his shoulders too insistently on being chill, only to wince at his headache going down his spine under the movement.
“Oh ho,” you shake your head with pitying smile. You shouldn’t be so soft, in his opinion — he doesn’t like his feelings being touched. “You can tell me if something is wrong, you know. It’s my fault you’re here. I didn’t mean to have you injured, but…” you speak in a tone meant to be comforting. You even place your hand on his bicep, rubbing his instantly tightening muscles.
Only exciting him. Fantasizing about your hands on him is one thing. It’s a minuscule part of the issue, when your rare softness is working its way into his heart.
Oh no. You’re going to be all sentimental — you looking at him with worry and regret of a puppy, as if aware you did something wrong is the manifestation of it — and he won't know how to deal with that.
He quickly opens his mouth, also adjusting his body after it tingled from your touch. “Don’t try to apolo—” “I’m sorry,” you interrupt, solemnly. “Seriously. That was stupid of me.”
“You just had to…” he sighs deeply, rubbing his temple. Now that you two are here, he’ll have to be frank with you just to move on. “I know you didn’t want to hurt me. I'm just a bit pissed at you, but I doubt you’re that cruel to hit me deliberately, despite what you’re doing to me.”
Your tense shoulders relax, relieved he’s not considering killing you for your prank went wrong. “Oh? And what am I doing to you?” you tease, more so to lift his spirits than irritate.
“Don’t get me started,” he laughs off nervously, peeking at your hand on him.
Right as it moves up to his shoulder. You scooch closer to begin massaging him, the least you can do — as if able to tell he needs it. It feels so good on his stressed body, a groan leaves his lips and he wants to close his eyes. “Chin up. At least I won’t find the strength in me to torment you when you’re in this state,” you remark humorously.
He’d disagree. Not with the way your hands skillfully knead his muscles and make him further descend into being your fool. Your attention is on him, you smell nice with whatever perfume you were gifted, and your pretty face is right there for his tired eyes — literally a sight for sore eyes. But he’ll digress — you’re actually being innocent with your touch for once. It’s only the body knows what it wants.
“Yeah? You’ll hand-feed me too?” he mocks with a small grin.
“I just might. Whatever the patient needs,” you mention, digging your fingertips into his muscles until he winces at the knot being undone.
He gets hit with the realization you mean your words, feeling responsible for him. “… Don’t. I need to maintain my reputation.”
“Suit yourself.”
Eventually, he relaxes his heart tremors enough to close his eyes and submit himself to your soothing touch. He even manages to not make it weird, just therapeutic for his body and soul.
Then he suddenly remembers, his eyes snapping open, directed with accusation at you. “You called me a frog looking bastard!”
“Huh?” you play dumb. You didn’t know he was still lingering in consciousness when you said that at the time. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did!” He sits up straight, stopping your motion. He gives you a stink eye. Your insults was so abysmal, of course he memorized it even through the fog of his mind.
“Enjin, you must have been hallucinating after you hit your head,” you pat his shoulder patronizingly.
There's no way he’ll settle at that version. He has to defend his handsome looks. “Is it my big, tired eyes? Because women love it—”
You laugh, then switch to scolding when he visibly winces from pain. “Calm your tits. Let’s focus on you getting better first. Eishia might have fixed most of your head trouble, but you still need a good day of rest.”
“Great, now you’re being maternal,” he grumbles. He’d like to prove you wrong, but in battle of wits, you’ll dim his enthusiasm anyway — so he turns on his side, away from you, sulky.
Silence follows. Regardless of his mood, you place your hand on his shoulder again. “Seriously, Enjin, is there something I can do to make up for almost cracking your skull?”
He perks up, looking at you over his shoulder with interest. Oh, there’s many things he’d love to receive. Being cracked instead of his skull, for example. But he has enough decorum and decency to refuse to be the nasty man who uses your body by weaponizing your guilt. “Nah. Don’t mention it.” He lies down again, wrapping himself snugly in a blanket.
But you see it; the way he tenses under your touch and it definitely isn’t discomfort. You have always noticed his desperation and thirst for you, you simply didn’t act on that need of his.
Today, feeling guilty and mostly worried, you actually feel like doing something about it… although, it’s not really the sense of being indebted that has you considering doing more. It’s an excuse to have some fun, on another level of tormenting him for your indulgence. You’ve been worried about crossing the lines your job would have drawn; except, they were long tarnished when you didn’t put a clear stop to his chase months ago.
You’ve been craving him for quite a while now. So you ask again, implying your true intention with a lower tone. “Are you sure?”
His head whips up immediately, turning to look at you. “Huh? Yeah.” He nods rapidly, more so to ground himself in his certainty.
“Hm…” your hand wanders up his tattooed neck and he gulps, eyes full of surprise at your unexpected eagerness. Every nerve awakens with your touch, sending pleasure coding to his brain. “But I can make you feel better.”
He’s sitting up fully, glad his blanket pools around his growing need. “WHA— no, no, wait. I don’t want you to forcing yourself for my sake. I’m not that much of a bastard to take advantage of you,” his protest is anxious, coming from the need to protect you. He scratches the back of his head, observing your hand for any more suspicious move, wondering why you don’t seem uncomfortable — are you seriously being into the perks of doing more with him, or are being a good actress? He would have though all that happened for the past months was no more than a game to you.
“Who said you’d be taking advantage of me?” you purr. When he looks at you as if you just have told him cigarettes were banned, unable to comprehend the idea of you finally doing something to him V O L U N T A R I L Y, you roll your eyes with a mocking disappointment. Wanting to light up the bulb in his head, you add, “What if I want you too?”
“You- you do?” he forces out with gaping eyes. Perhaps, you’re leading him on again. Why the change? Although, he doubts you’re gullible enough to offer yourself out of pity — you must want him somewhere. No forgiving type you are.
You click your tongue at his slowness. “Well, of course, I wouldn’t let you sleep with me or anything.” No, that would be allowing him to win a jackpot. “But, hopefully the sight of my body should make you feel better?” You play with a Choker around his neck, slipping your fingers under until you hit the dip between his collarbones. He gulps.
Enjin of course would have preferred if he could outright fuck you, further motivated by your ongoing touch. But at this stage of your game, he’d take anything and it’d still be much more than he ever could have bargained for.
The sole obstacle in his way is his pride. It’s not as if you don’t know how desperate he is, but he still wants to maintain some illusion of control in front of you two. Besides, he remembers how you reacted to him denying you your request in the desert — your frustration was delightful to witness. “I don’t need that. I can ask any woman to do that for me. There’s like ten of them in my phone.”
But you don’t play bullshit, challenging him with suddenly cutting his supply of your touch. You stand up from his bed. “Should we call them now? I can call one for you. Tell her poor Enjin needs to see some nice tits to get better.”
“I—” his face flushes. What you describe sounds on brand for character; he’s simply not used to women putting his lust bluntly. Nor does he want to lose the chance to see you naked FOR ONCE.
Who is he trying to fool, playing coy and unavailable? He’s conscious about the fact he’d regret saying no. “How much?” he mumbles through his lips.
“Hm?” You raise your brow.
“How much would you let me get away with?” he repeats, louder.
“You can look… you can touch… just no trying to shove your dick in me,” you bat your lashes at him.
As expected. He rubs his brow, foggily calculating the consequences of lying in bed with you. There’s many coming to his mind, actually, but he’s thinking with his dick. “Well, the least we can do is move over to my room…” He looks around. The ugly hospital hall’s beds are empty, thought you never know when someone might storm in.
Not to mention, he’d be revolved and angry in case someone sees what’s meant for his eyes only — in his non-humble opinion.
“Go on. I allowed you that much, didn’t I?” you smile coquettishly under him. You’ve been ready to be on top and give him a little show, but he insisted on being above you, promising his head will be fine as long as he’s not too vigorous. Though with the music he decided to blast in another bland and empty bedroom of the headquarters, supposedly to set a good mood, a headache is promised.
His big arms are trapping you by the sides of your head, on his own bed. Your legs rest on the side of his as he’s kneeling between yours, getting him horny at how close your groins are.
Although, staring at you, your body spread for him like a gift and beautifying his plain bedsheets, being allowed to finally have some taste… he’s nervous, not dominating you with his energy or any of such. It’s too good to be true to have you here, nor does he need to fall even more fixated with you. For a man with some buildup experience, he’s not sure where he should begin with ‘unwrapping’ you. Any move could be read as wrong by you.
It’s too hot in this room.
“I know… I’m just… not taking your reward for granted.” His spacious palms hesitantly move to the button of your jeans skirt, unzipping it after — he manages to do it last second before you’d have to help him, shunning the same. You watching out for any slip up definitely didn’t make it easier.
He sees the black lacy panties peeking underneath the zipline and his cock throbs in his pants. To get such nice ones, a small bow to make it pretty and all, he doesn’t doubt your ability you encouraged some man in the town to buy them for you. Just this layer between him and your pussy, he’s already panting like a desperate dog. “Okay, now…”
You’re being nice to him, lifting your hips for him, silently observing his actions. The lower the skirt leaves, the more it opens the view on your thighs and hips. The moment the clothing is gone, he’s immediately gripping them — fuck him, they rest so good in his hands. “You might just be a goddess, sent to torment me…” he remarks quietly, pitying himself. You're soft too, using whatever lotion bottle you found after people from the above dropped it down still half-filled.
He ogles you shamelessly, burning the image of you, as well as the palpable feeling, on his mind. He omits your pussy, wanting to leave the dessert for the end.
“I take it you like it?” you chuckle, wiggling your body a bit on purpose.
“That’s an understatement…” he pinches your thigh a little to see your flesh plumped, until you're serving him a pout from the tiny pain he springs into life.
“Be gentle with me. That body is important,” you tease.
He scoffs. “Wouldn’t I know that...” You and your hunt on men… “Lift your arms for me, darling.”
You obey. The moment your hoodie is paired with the skirt on the floor, he inhales sharply through his teeth.
There was no bra all along, so he’s drooling at the sight of your breasts hitting his vision immediately. His eyes could fall out of his sockets. “Really?”
“I’m comfy.” You just don’t like wearing one around the headquarters, finding it bothersome to cage your breasts for the majority of work already.
He’s on you immediately, fondling the jiggly between his fingers, cupping them entirely. Gawking at them, all starved and willing to pounce on you the millisecond you allow.
You'd love to bully him over that, but his fingers roll your nipples between them, the honey in his eyes darkening when your buds poke back at him. You shiver, annoyed when he grins at your sensitive vulnerability shown. “Finally something else than leading me on, huh?” he taunts smugly.
“I can feel your boner against my leg, Enjin,” you bite back, grinning as he scrunches his nose in irritation — of course, you’re terribly right. You still can't believe you’re letting him this far, so some taunting is due.
Deciding he wants to explore more possibilities of your reaction, and most importantly, needing your pussy for dear life, he grabs the band of your panties. There’s an itch to be a brute and rip off your panties, something he knows other women would find hot, and then… but you’d hate him for that. No waste is allowed and that jazz. “Screw that, you’re right. I’m hopeless with you and you feast on that shit. Satisfied?” he sighs.
So to calm himself, he glides your underwear down your legs, on a slower side to see if you’ll collect some anticipation in you as well.
You both fix your gazes at each other, not willing to break the condensing tension with divided eye-contact. You’re watching him intensely, noting every desperation for your enjoyment. He’s throbbing harder under being scrutinized, and yet, he can still your breath hitch to have some power over you. Good — you’re not immune to his touch.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this…” Of course you do. You made the wait happen. He needs for it to be said for the sake of releasing the intoxication you’ve been inculcating in his mind and loins. It’s invigorating.
“Only you get the pain of it, huh?” you rest your hands over his knees twitching occasionally.
Once your panties are good and your pussy is there for his display, he stops moving to take a deep breath in, shiver spreading down his whole body at this visage finally given to him. You’re the vision to haunt him forever especially down here.
He doesn't miss the way your thighs tremble over his, as if waiting for something or someone to sink their fangs into you properly. He has to oblige.
Your hand trails his knee, brushing over his pants to let him know it’s all very much real.
He prays for himself. “And I really can…?” Getting hurt by you was definitely worth it, considering everything that’s playing out right now. Wet dreams coming true. You’re naked as the way you were born like you’re some nymph, while he’s still fully in his clothes and it doesn’t even feel like having control over you.
“Yeah, Enjin, you can.” He doesn’t waste time after the reminder still keeping him on the Ground. His fingers brush between your folds, zeroing in on the way they part for him. What he’d do to be able to rub his cock here, surely big enough to be taking up all the space here.
You squirm from the inevitable pleasure, angling your hips into a better position.
“Mm, how’s the view?”
Enjin doesn’t look away from your cunt for even a second. He taps his finger on your clit next, watching as it twitches, as if he’s some expert on your body. Sparking small sensitivity in you, you’re suddenly acutely aware of the ache growing in your groin. You whimper, drawing out a satisfied sigh from him. “She’s pretty. You’re pretty…” he comments dreamily.
“Thank you— she?” you ask with both sense of being flattered and amusement.
“Your pussy. I bet she tastes sweet too,” he groans at the thought.
That man. It’s amazing his dirty tongue doesn’t turn off when he’s anxious; though, that’s what the horny does. Now your head is filled with thoughts of what destruction he’d bring with his tongue once you let him between your legs. Perhaps that’s the plan for another day…
“I do. I’m scared I wouldn’t be able to pull you away from me,” you tease.
“And I bet you're right on the money,” he smiles knowingly at you in the peripheral vision.
Your body tremors when he then spits on your hole to see it glisten, before he’s spreading your vulva with two fingers. “Damn…” he could taste how tightly you’d wrap around him. How much you’d soak his cock. “I know you said no fucking… but I can use my finger, right? Just to see what you feel like…” he pleads, eyes darting at you with a need.
You weight your option, staring at his huge hand fitting well between your legs. Those fingers would fill you so nicely, wouldn’t they? It’s no more than your feeding curiosity, you try to tell yourself. You end up nodding, not without your stomach clenching at the thought of him breaching your hole beyond previously highlighted line.
“Bless you,” he says with gratitude. He pushes his index finger inside along with his saliva, feeling the way your walls immediately trap around him in a suffocating fashion. He can tell you’ve been wet already, and he’s right, as his spit fuses with your slick into juices being rushed back and forth. Enjin memorizes the grip of your hole to replay in his head later; your tiny gasp at the stretch as well. “Ugh, so tight too… can’t even hate you properly with a body like this.
Can’t even imagine what it’d be like to have you warming my cock instead.”
He feels it — you instantly clamping on his digit shallowly thrusting. You moan too, unable to repel the dizzying thought of being split by him. His throat tightens, as he’s half-considering asking you for more. You haven’t pushed him away so far, and your pussy cooperates with his strokes.
He feels like a jerk asking for it, yet no guilt hits him when his bulge pulses and demands in his boxers. “Aren’t you curious too…?” he suggest lowly. He curls his finger, wiggling around to find some nice spot that would have you reconsider every limitations you have placed on him.
“E-Enjin…” you whine a little, puffing out air at the small sparks of pleasure he’s stirring. “You know we shouldn’t…”
Oh, he knows it for sure — Cleaners’ conflict of interests and all. But just a small dip inside shouldn’t hurt, right? “We don’t have to fuck. Simply check our compatibility,” he jokes, regardless of staring at you with what he’d consider way outside what his pride would allow. Any traces of nonchalance are entirely wiped. “Just the tip, I promise.”
Your mind conjectures the image in your head, ghosts your hole with it too — you believe just the tip would be a lot with what he’s hiding in his pants. And you find yourself drooling at the fantasy, any inhibitions are being spontaneously thaw out. “But really just the tip?” the hesitation in your voice is just a decoration.
“Really,” he says, biting his lip until it goes white. Now more confident, he moves his hip to the front so he can grind his bulge against you and coax you into agreeing. The friction has you moaning, not to mention the size, with you crumpling his bedsheets under your hands. “You see what you’re doing to me?”
You certainly feel it. You nod.
Then he takes it one step further, moving his red shirt over his head, which soon joins your clothes. Your mouth goes dry at the image of his muscular torso, painted in black and red lines of his tattoo. He has you right there, feeling good about himself in front of you for once.
“Alright, alright…” The sparkle in his eyes at your yes has you bout to regret your choice.
The coil snaps. Wasting no time, he’s shoving his pants and boxers down with nearly an inhuman speed, revealing anything you have ever dreamed of in the man.
He is huge. His clothes often turn his body shapeless, and while he has some nice waist on him, his cock remains big. Standing up and resting against his abdomen, leaking fat beads of pre-cum from the furious red of the tip about to grace your body. He tries not to smile at your stare.
“Scared?”
“You think I can’t take it?” You want to take every inch, no drama or complaining.
“We’ll see about that,” he smirks, hoping for a bit of struggle for the ego stroking value.
Back between your legs, he spreads them with those also huge hands, before pushing a finger into you again.
“You said just the tip,” you whine at the repeated stretch, holding onto his thigh. Your long nails scratch him on purpose, watching goosebumps awake.
“I know I did, pretty girl. But I have to stretch you a bit or you might get hurt.” This one is not an excuse served by him; though it does give him a perfect opportunity to fondle you for extended period of time, by other hand over your hips.
Though you foolishly want to challenge yourself and prove him wrong, you still appreciate him being considerate. You’re certainly not complaining, as just his hand on you is wonderful. You let a pretty mewl pass your lips. Those he wanted to kiss forever.
Hoping asking for a kiss is no worse than anything else happening at the moment, he lowers his face until his forehead and nose bump yours. There’s no stopping, but adding another finger inside — you want to cry from how full it has you already. You both gasp at his cock laying itself over your thigh in this angle — you almost from the terror, he from the contact.
He’s pretty in this proximity; he thinks you’re even prettier. He doesn't look away, nor do you, ghosting his face by ventilating breath in an upbeat manner. It’s you who kisses first, softly at the start, then twisting it into heated after the months of denial of your own desire for him.
Both of you bite at each other's lips, shoving your tongues in as far as they can go. He overwhelms you a bit more, pressing your head into the pillow with his lips moving to the sides as if to swallow you entirely, leaving the track of saliva all over your face. He's skillful, having you whimper into his mouth; you’re delicious, you have him groaning for more, especially when he grinds himself into your leg.
But on the other sides of things, he remains mindful with you, not jamming his digit like a brute who thinks it’ll have you screaming in anything else other than pain. It’s hard to stay indifferent, nor do you want to be ungrateful when he’s working hard for your pleasure.
Resurfacing for breath, he keeps his forehead while fucking you on his fingers, with a deep stare. You’re licking your swollen lips and he think he’s the luckiest man alive, as he is the stupidest to be here.
“No complaints for once, vixen?” he laughs lightly, handsomely raspy.
“Well, yeah… you're being tender and that’s already something.” You smile and tilt your head, comfortably dizzy at the tingles between your thighs.
His brows furrow in worry at what you’re implying. “You’re saying other men are being too rough with you?”
You tense up a little. “I mean, some think just pounding a woman away is a way to go. Rough is nice, but not when they lack any sensuality or carefulness.”
He closes his eyes, trying to not let irritation get to him in the best moment of his life. The idea of some douchebag being inconsiderate with you or other ladies is disgusting. He’s not saying he’s a saint and perfect guy — by any chance — and likes being surrounded by hot chicks a whole bunch, while also being emotionally repressed, but he does try to make everyone’s experience worth the attention they give him.
Seeing the dilemma, you soothe it. “Don't worry. This is why I don't let most men do more than buy me a drink. Despite what you think, I don't sleep around that much. And if I do and something goes wrong, most men don’t see my fist coming.”
He raises his brow. A femme fatale and… although, he assumes it's mostly about playing men, not fucking them unless you think they are tasty enough. You enjoy the psychological aspects of things first and foremost, and you don’t lack in intelligence to gain something without having to let some man into your pants’ way.
You’re not totally fair towards these folks, though it’s now evident some for sure deserve it. And in times like this, you have to survive somehow.
Then, among his judgments of you, it’s this selfish relief painting itself. That not many men can touch you in general is great, but especially when this neatly like he does is rare.
“That’s good to know. If you need any man beaten up, you know where to find me.”
You laugh, dispersing any heavy energy, and raising his heart with a cute melody. When he places his thumb on your clit with enough pressure, it’s rewarded with a highest moan so far. You’re gorgeous when you're relaxed like this, it has him warm in a lightness he doesn't like.
“Thanks. Still, I can show you how to please me,” you tease to raise a reaction, rolling your hips under his fingers hastening their thrusts. They're so deep into your guts.
“Huh? But I know how to touch a woman?” he scoffs.
“But do you know how to touch me?”
“Why? You come with some sort of manufacture instructions or som—”
When your knee kicks at his thigh, he winces and shuts up about trying to one up you. “Anything you say. I know, I’m being pathetic, but at this point, I’ll take anything you’re willing to give.” He speaks in that “what’s even my life?” tone. He pulls out his fingers, despite wanting to redo his work at your disappointed noise, looking at the wetness coating it. Without much hesitation, he puts them in his mouth and licks, looking you straight in the eye.
Your stomach twists, enamored with his handsomeness being amplified by that dirty move. You throw in a disgusted look to be yourself.
“I was right.”
“Huh?”
“You’re delicious,” he grins at you and leans away slightly. “You ready for more? I feel like you barely survived my fingers,” he moves his hands down to stroke himself, sighing — he’s grown so neglected, the sensitivity is a bitch.
“As if.”
“Mhm, I guess you do have to stay alive to take my cock...”
“So foul-mouthed for what…”
“No more back talk,” Enjin, holding himself, pushes your legs apart some more with his other hand. None of you is able to hide your anticipation, breathing heavily in the room drowned in fast music beat.
Able to admit it to himself, he’s scared of what he’s about to do — of how good it'll feel, as once he gets the taste of you on him, he might never experience something akin to that bliss again. If you’ll ruin other women for him, he’ll blame you for the rest of his life.
“You better hold tight, sweetheart…” he warns, not knowing what’s about to hit him.
“Hold?” You’re suddenly pushing him onto his back, drawing out a surprised gasp from him.
“So that’s how’re playing. I didn’t expect any less from you,” he smiles wryly, immediately landing his hands on your hips after you straddle his lap, frozen in the air. Another loss for him, but at least the view is out of this world — he’ll jerk off to your body memory for days after.
“Can’t have you thinking you’ll get more than this…” you mock, grabbing his leaking dick; he hisses. Even your hand on him feels phenomenal.
Fixing your form above him, you lower your body until it’s his blunt head at your entrance. You mewl quietly, as it's still pulling you apart no matter how prepped you might be.
And Enjin is losing his mind already. His tip is most sensitive, so just the shallow depth is killing him when you're squeezing him as if begging to push in further. He strangles your hips. “Fuck…!” his curse comes out thickly.
He’s girthy, and now that you experienced it first hand, you can engrave that fact into your mind. “You don't deserve all that…” you whine.
“D-don’t deserve what?” he asks pussy-dumbly. His legs start to shake more than yours are from the strain of hanging above him.
“Being so big. You're too egotistical for that,” your own voice falters too. You should be now removing yourself from his body, but the need to sink down onto him fully keeps you in place.
“Hm, that’s the closest to a compliment from you, so I’ll take it…” he laughs through you squeezing the soul out of him. Before you’d decide to pull away, he navigates his hand to your back, playing with your ass, weighing it in his grip — he loves it too.
You stay like this for a few seconds, before you offer him a communicative look. “We should…” you start quietly, but don’t move.
“Yeah, you should,” he agrees with disappointment, even if he’s staring at you with all the hope he could muster.
As if you could stop now. Too late, and none of you is thinking straight. Knowing what the both of you need, you're shoving your hips down.
When Enjin notices the slight movement at first, he tries to stop in yours and his name. “Wait—”, but he’s already deep in your guts before he could throw you off. His head throws back so hard it sends a spell of pain, quickly forgotten by focusing his senses on you warming his cock entirely. “Holy fuck… that’s a murder attempt…”
You’re barely holding up on top of him, hanging with your mouth open in a silent shock — there’s nasty sting on your hole, after you overestimated taking his size. Right as he think he accidentally broke you, or that you broke yourself on him, you raise your hips and lower them again, too aroused to let some pain stop you. “I really hate you, Enjin,” you finally say, all high-pitched. “You think too highly of yourself to my tastes.”
The words barely translate themselves in his pussy-addled head, but once he remembers to breathe again, he’s helping you to fuck yourself on him, making indents on your ass. He needs that fast and rough desperately. “Yeah? Imagine what I had to go through because of you. All these months of torture…”
You circle your hips, angling his cock in you that he almost bites his tongue off. There’s no way in hell you’d let him do as he pleases, and he begrudgingly has to admit he loves it.
He finishes his thought. “I guess they were worth it, in the end. Though, you better ruin me properly while you're at it…” he mocks, just to provoke you, despite the fact he’s seeing stars and his cock wants to spill inside you already.
You pull out entirely he nearly makes a shameful whine at the loss, then moans like a whore when you take him back entirely in one, sharp thrust. You're no better, crying out as he hits your cervix.
It’s a whole fight at this point — him trying to control the pace, while you're torturing him with different types of tactics. Then you put your hands on your breasts, fondling them and pulling on your nipples with coos of breath at the sensation.
“H-hey, go easy on this guy…” he lets go of your hips to hold at the bars of his bed, basically shaking under you. He should be scared of you and your pussy, in fact.
“You told me to show you all I have,” you laugh breathlessly through the way he’s stretching you, keeping up a faster tempo now that you’ve adjusted to his size. You cry out as you occasionally graze your sweet post, one hand falling down to hold yourself with his thigh.
“I bit more than I could chew, sweetie. Spare me,” he complains at himself, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Has there been something he didn’t know about himself? He’s not fussy about being below you as much as he’d have assumed he would.
For a moment, he lets you do everything on your own. It’s no break just because he’s lying and taking it — the friction is unbearable, you’re sucking him inside with every thrust, and you're so wet it tickles at his sensitivity. He tries to enjoy the view of your tits bouncing, your ass bracketing his hips, and the most beautiful look of your face both having fun and being lost in pleasure with lips gasping for air. Your eye-contact doesn’t falter, pulling him in with obsessive need to make sure those sweet meetings will keep happening, as long as he keeps letting you use him.
The sound of your song itself could make him burst right here.
That would be the course of action if you don’t then throw the line reminding him of his lame position, so in character for you but clearly digging at him, “I expected a little more from you, Enjin,” you pout.
He’s moving despite his legs have been growing limp.
You feel the shift in his energy the moment the groans he leaves is far more aggressive than you have ever heard from him, but then you're made to feel it when he’s shoving you face down into the mattress, knocking your legs apart too.
“You had your fun. Now it’s time to settle a score. And yes, it is very personal.”
You feebly turn your head to the side, watching as he lays his tattooed body over yours entirely, squashing you down and putting faith in your Cleaner’s strength to handle him.
“What the fuck, Enjin…” you flail your legs under him. You try to push him away from you so you can reestablish your prior command, but he’s leashing his arms under you to lock you in place. With his cock nestled between your asscheeks and grazing your sensitive slit, one goes under your tits, the other one under your neck and Choker till you have to lift your head, locking you in his grip entirely.
“You bitch—”
“You’ll take it anyway,” he says cockily, on a sterner note, and shuts you up by thrusting back into you in one, wet glide.
Taking matters into his own hands, everything is made much more intense in this position. His weight is stealing your breath, his dick is reaching everywhere, especially with the gravity shoving him inside; every push is met with his balls grinding and slapping at your clit. Enjin is being brisk from the start, hitting your thighs with his every half-second.
Your throat is turning sore from how loud he’s turning you. “What the…” your lashes catch moisture. “Enjin… you’re gonna kill me…” you say desperately through the loop on your neck restricting your talk. Your Choker is digging into your throat additionally.
“Not gonna kill...” he groans, tortured by the way you're even tighter in this position. He laps at your shoulder, leaving an ugly hickey for another man to see and turn away his head from you. “But I will leave you in pieces for sure.”
The promise goes straight to your pussy, having it squeezing harder at him ruining you from the inside. “Fuck… you’re annoying even when I’m fucking you…” he growls in his throat.
Your legs kick at him again, as your hands scratch ahead of you. Enjin clutches your breast, before rubbing your nipple between his thick fingers. Your head slumps over his forearm, unable to take more of stimulation with this level of fight. His cock and hips are relentless, quickly pushing you into something that will leave your muscles weak for a week straight, regardless of his own legs trembling on yours.
“Just like that… finally being a good girl for me…” he mutters a praise into nape he hides his face into. Still, his fingers pry at your mouth, pushing a finger inside you mindlessly begin sucking at. So hot you are.
Enjin picks up his pace into a merciless one, creating a loud echo in the room and drawing your orgasm closer and closer by hitting your clit with his heavy balls; loosening the screws in his poor bed rattling under you and he hitting a tempo of the lively beat he put on in the background. There’s no space not being stretched back and forth inside of you, and you’re crying into the pillow, staying close to the edge of him turning pounding you into painful. The soreness building up is not wasted, as what he’s doing to you is ecstatic to feel.
His own moans are falling straight into your ear, driving you even more mad. “Mercy, Enjin… I’m gonna…”
“You think you can?” he taunts and lifts his head to bite your ear point, tickling the piercing there. He’s about to fill you up nicely himself, feeling himself twitch inside your heat, but he’d like to upkeep some control he established over you.
Still finding some defiance and will in yourself, you make a threat he knows to not downplay. “Deny me and you’re never touching me again,” you mumble into the pillow, snarlingly.
“Can't win against you…” he clicks his tongue, tightening his arm below your neck until your vision is swimming in lightheadness. It’s not as if he could have handled denying himself by doing that to you in the first place, so he submits to the pleasure you're forcing.
“But you’re still gonna take all that I will give you, won’t you, sweetheart? Be nice to me?” he says softly to your ear, soothing your anger.
You nod, desperately. You’ll think about taking something after — as for now, you can’t end your recompensing session without him creaming your pussy. “Please, Enjin, I need it…” you angle your hand awkwardly to the back to pull on his hair like a leash, drawing out a wince.
“Dammit…” he curses quietly at your wanton utterance of his name, hiding his face in you again. He’s glad you can’t see it — you wouldn't let his promiscuous look live down after. “Come on, cum on me, pretty girl. I’ll give it to you.”
One, two, three thrusts later and you're screaming into the pillow, feeling your muscles tighten and throb around him. “Fuck, fuck, Enjin, Enjin, don't stop—” your entire body shaking.
Music to his ears.
“Shh, I’ve got you, lovely. Just ride it out, I’ll help you…” he whispers into your skin, not letting on his grip over you; he only slows down, aiding you in coming down.
“Just a bit more… just a bit…” he grunts. You’re spent and sweaty under him your bodies almost separate, and he feels like he should hurry — not that he can last much longer, his legs turning jelly. He lifts his head from your shoulder and licks at your tears with weird fascination at your rare vulnerability, before kissing you with your salty taste, chasing his climax until he’s bursting his load into you.
His vessels threaten to pop from how enormously his high hits him, emptying everything from his balls with the meanest of peaks. His moans are barely muffled, but you can’t hear much post-orgasm anyway, lazily following his lips, hazy-eyed.
His head collapses on the side of yours, with him relaxing his grip too, desperately trying to circle some air back into his lungs. Enjin groans inwardly at the thought of letting his load spill out, so keeps crushing you. “I think you did it…”
“Hm…?” you barely make a sound, incoherent.
“Ruined me for other women. Ruined women for me. How will I fuck others after that?”
Your vein pulses in annoyance already. “Get off me, you heavy man,” you mumble, regaining blood back in its rightful place.
Enjin sticks his tongue at you, before he’s rolling to the side and forming a starfish from how fucked out he feels — he, the man who fucks. He wasn’t aware a strong orgasm can leave a man unable to walk too — he can't move. “Man…”
“Man indeed…” you agree, turning your sore body onto your back, shivering when his cum runs down your thigh. “I think you made me overdid the thank you part,” you grumble, as if it was his fault.
“I did?” he takes offense, somehow managing to prop himself on his side. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. You did this all with malice and being insufferable.”
“Oh, I can be much more insufferable. Just wait ten minutes,” you smirk.
His eyes widen. “Really?” He’s getting another round with you? Although, maybe he should be worried…
“Why? Was I that bad?” you prod.
“Nah. Best pussy I ever had. Ten out of ten. Type of pussy that—”
You throw a pillow at him. He ruffles your hair, before pulling you close with a content smile.
It doesn’t last long.
“Oh, fuck me!” he suddenly winces. Both of you totally forgot about his injury, and now its debilitating pain was returning with twice strength. You’re sitting up, worried you might have fucked his brains out literally.
The evening after, he’s found walking into the hospital room with a limp in his legs and exhaustion painted all over his face. If Eishia’s temper was different, she’d be screaming at him instead of panicking for him being that careless with a head concussion.
Gris visits him soon post hearing from Eishia, concerned by the sudden degradation in his state. “Woah! Are you doing good, man? Do you need anything?” he asks with worry shortly into entering the room, unaware of the truth.
“Nah. Don’t save me. I'm where I want to be,” Enjin snickers to himself.
After all, he has a date with you this Friday. For the excruciating presence he tends to be in your life, he earned the chance to prove he could be more than your fuck-and-cuddle buddy. Womanizer and maneater is a duo no one has seen coming.
Afternote: Idk if he’s that much of a womanizer, but I’ll pretend he is for the sake of contrasting his character with reader’s…. Hope you had fun reading!
This man is so under appreciated so why not make a headcanon for him.
Fem!Reader
A = Aftercare:
You and Shin tend to take a breather before you check up on each other. Shin likes to be close you after breathing and I mean super close to you. He’s pulling you on top of him and holding you just like that.
B = Body part:
On himself, he likes his hands. It’s his pride cause he knows how much you like them as well. He likes seeing how you tend to get off on them without him doing much.
On you, he honestly has trouble picking. If he had to choose, he likes your hands as well. When your hands struggle to wrap around his dick or when they scratch at his back and shoulders.
C = Cum:
His favorite place cum at is on your face. The moment he’s going to cum he pulls out and turns you over on top of him and does a 69 just to cum on your face. If it’s just a blowjob, he’s more likely to cum in your mouth then anything. Either or, he just likes seeing you covered in his cum.
D = Dirty secret:
He used to use your pillows and jerk off on them. At first he’d just smell it and touch himself but after he just started using them to rub his dick. It became a nightly thing for till he wanted you more. Eventually he asked you out. He washed them after he was done but you were very confused why your pillows were cleaned everyday.
Another secret is that he asked Turkey one day to make a doll that looks like you. He never told him why but Turkey knew why.
E = Experience:
He has no experience. This may be a shocker but he wasn’t interested in sex. He’s a cleaner for the most power man out there. He thinks people would rather scared of him so he didn’t care. Of course he reads up on things though.
F = Favorite position:
Mating Press- There’s something about that position that made him go crazy.
Doggy- It’s a classic but he loves holding on your waist and pounding you into the surface you’re on.
A huge sucker for standing sex especially behind. You’re using your thighs to get him off or him actually going in, he doesn’t care as long as his hands are around your neck.
G = Goofy:
Before he used to be goofy but not badly goofy just a little that makes you chuckle. Only because he was embarrassed but the fact he had no clue on what to do besides inserting at that point.
Now he’s pretty serious. He can crack jokes but it’s mostly sexual jokes.
H = Hair:
Pretty well groomed considering he doesn’t pay attention to that. The carpet does in fact matches the drapes.
I = Intimacy:
Due to how busy you two are, you rarely get a chance to actually savor the moment. It’s mostly quickies
When you do, he’s a sweet heart. Checking in before you move to the next task.
J = Jack off:
Like what was stated in E, he wasn’t interested in sex but after he met you, he started to start jerking off more to the point he used your smell to help him.
He does still jerk out but if you’re both free from work, he’ll want to be around but controls himself for his and your sake.
K = Kink:
Stated in D, he likes to uses your pillow to get himself off.
He also likes being rough with you(choking, hair pulling, etc) as long as you’re ok with it.
He pretty much likes being in control.
L = Location:
Any where private. As long as he’s not disturbed while he’s with you. It’ll mostly be in your room since you’re less likely to be bothered unless it’s Noi looking for Shin.
M = Motivation:
He likes seeing your bloodlust. Seeing you riled up from killing others makes you hot in his eyes.
In bed or in general, hearing you call his name in a whisper in his ear. Hearing you moan his name softly does wonders for him.
N = No:
He doesn’t like being submissive. He likes having control in situations no matter what.
Don’t include others. No matter how close you are with the person.
O = Oral:
He likes both.
The feeling of having you melt in his hands as he slowly eats you out.
Hearing you struggle to push your head down all the way. Hearing your moans as he forces your head down or thrusting in your mouth.
He loves them both.
P = Pace:
Like it was mentioned before, you’re both busy so he’s fast 90% of the time. Those other times, he’s slow and rough but can be sensual and slow too.
Q = Quickie:
He does them almost every week. If he could everyday would be a choice. He likes them cause at least he can be with you.
R = Risk:
No more risk. Never again. Last time you tried to have sex in the car, Noi came out and saw it all. It’s a good thing she forgot but Shin never did.
Or that time you was caught by Ebisu while making out half naked in his room. She yelled out to the entire mansion Shin is dating someone. That’s how everyone knows you two are dating now. Now he does it in your room, which is at the end of the hall, and no one bothers you.
S = Stamina:
Personally, you feel like he was demon reincarnated into a human. He makes having quickies look easy. First he’s all on you next he’s looking perfectly normal.
You on the other hand needs a good breather after him.
If he could, he’d go at least 5 rounds with you if you don’t tap out at least.
T = Toys:
No toys however he did think about getting a fleshlight once but couldn’t bring himself to get one.
U = Unfair:
He doesn’t tease unless you’re in bed but you think he’s a lot. Like when he was working out without his shirt the moment you walk in the door. He says it’s a coincidence but you had doubts.
V = Volume:
He’s pretty low but groans a lot. He also curses in the process but once he’s cumming he gets louder but he covers his mouth to stop himself from yelling out.
W = Wild card:
He finds it cute/hot when he sees you dress like him. He was petty confused why you asked for his mask, chains, and hammer one day but when he saw you with a similar outfit on with his mask on and the chains wrapped around your waist while holding his hammer chasing Ebisu, he ended up walked out with a hard on.
He never questioned why you were chasing Ebisu that day though.
X = X-ray:
He’s pretty big considering his height(He’s 6′5 in his height)
8 inches in size. Pretty girthy too. Slight curve with a slight vein on the side.
Y = Yearning:
In percentage wise, 80% when it comes to you. In general, its 20%.
Z = Zzz:
He takes awhile to sleep. It’s not because you’re on him but more so he has to think about how he ended up getting you.
rockstar eren always treats reader so sweetly in bed but what if one day he's so drunk he starts to degrade her in bed?
answering all these asks with a filthy smut (I'm so sorry)
WC: 4K
Warnings: Somnophilia, unprotected sex, having sex while being recorded, degradation, blow job, basically just eren fucking his FWB while he's drunk (and half-asleep) so he gets very rough and demanding in bed
AN: This takes place after Chapter 11 of The Last Song (so they haven't confessed yet) but you don't have to read the series cause this is just porn.
Eren doesn’t realize this, but he’s much more animalistic in bed when he’s half asleep and drunk out of his mind.
You just discovered that this morning—seven months after your friends-with-benefits relationship with him started. You’ve had sex with him more than you could count, and yet, somehow, he still managed to surprise you.
Let’s take you back to the beginning.
It was your typical Sunday morning, nothing odd about it. Your legs were tangled with his underneath the sheets, your body still nude from the three rounds you did with him last night—one on the kitchen counter, one on the coffee table, and the last one right here in the bedroom.
You had your cheek and your chest pressed against the wall behind your bed frame, your stomach plastered against the headboard, and your knees shaking above the silky sheets as they tried to hold your entire weight, matching his every thrust. He was rough and fast and merciless, driving you further against the wall with your hands bound behind your back with his tie. It was his payback from the time you'd tied him up after the gala. Eren was holding back at first, afraid that he'd hurt you but when you gasped out, "Harder. Fuck me harder, Ren, please," with a sense of urgency that set his heart ablaze, he snapped, growing more ferocious with his thrust and you loved every fucking second of it.
The ticking clock on your wall showed that it was seven past eight in the morning. You and Eren had only been getting two hours of sleep, your bodies still exhausted after your late-night—actually, early-morning—activities. Eren was still sleeping on his stomach with his arms folded underneath your pillow, his face half-buried in it with his lips slightly parted to release his breath. He barely makes any sound or movement when he sleeps, and that morning was no exception. Similar to you, there wasn’t a single layer of cloth covering his body, except for the blanket that draped low over his hips. His backside, shoulders, and upper arms were exposed, wonderfully so, and you took as much time as you wanted to marvel at them. Even when his muscles were relaxed, his body was still a sight to behold.
You were still tired but you forced yourself to wake up. This was the opportunity you had been waiting for and you weren't planning to miss it. It was a rare thing for you to be able to climb down the bed without him realizing it. Usually, even if he was in a deep sleep, he would still notice when you tried to disentangle yourself from him. He would wrap his limbs tighter around your body, groaning in his sleep as a sign of protest when he felt you moving, croaking out, “Stay.”
Cuddling was nice, especially when your, uh… fuck-buddy was this warm. But the thing was, you’d been wanting to take pictures of him sleeping for, well, your personal collection, so to speak. It was endearing, you thought, the way he looked when he was sinking deep in his slumber. The way he seemed so unguarded, his frown disappearing, his face looking youthful, embodying the innocence of a child. His beauty intensified. You wanted to, at least, have a photo of him like this.
So, once you’d dressed in nothing but his sweater, your teeth still tasted like your minty toothpaste from two hours ago, you grabbed your phone and turned on your camera. You took pictures of his face, silently giggling to yourself. “So cute,” you mumbled, satisfied with your close-up shots. Feeling a bit naughty, you decided to step it up a notch. “God, I’m such a pervert for doing this.” But you couldn’t help it. With a slide of your thumb on the screen, you changed it to video mode. “Please, don’t wake up,” you whispered before you pressed the button. It started recording.
You tried to make excuses in your head so you wouldn’t feel too guilty about it. When he goes on tours, this will help me remember him, you told yourself numerous times, no matter how stupid it sounded. God, he’s definitely going to delete this if he finds out.
But you didn’t stop, not now, when you were already this far. Carefully, you sat on your heels right beside his sleeping form. You aimed the camera to his face, reaching out your fingers to carefully brush his long hair to the side. He seemed a bit feminine when his hair wasn’t tied in a bun, but only because he was so beautiful to begin with.
Eren moved lightly in his sleep and you held your breath, praying that he wouldn’t wake up. When he didn’t, you continued further south, recording the way his strands brushed against his neck, the dip between his shoulder blades and—
A set of long fingers curled themselves around your wrist and you lost grip of your phone. As it fell to the bed, Eren flipped himself to his back and yanked you forward until you were sitting on his stomach. “Eren—” Your eyes widened in shock—and horror—when you caught a pair of jade green eyes—still hazy from sleep—staring into yours. “I—I can explain.”
But you didn’t need to as he wouldn’t be able to comprehend your words anyway. He was still half-asleep, terribly so, though his grip around your wrist would speak otherwise. “What are you… doing..?” He husked, sounding almost incoherent from how much he slurred his words.
“Nothing,” you softly replied, casting him a sweet smile. “Go back to sleep, baby.”
And he did. As easy as that, which was both a relief and a surprise. His grip around you loosened until his hand landed back on the bed. He waned back into his dreamland, body relaxing once more.
Heaving a sigh, you thanked the Lord for letting yourself get away with this. You were about to crawl away from him when you noticed one thing.
Eren was hard.
His cock was springing back to life like it did every morning but not once had you ever gained enough interest to do something about it. Usually because a) you tend to wake up late so you rushed yourself to the bathroom to get ready for work, or b) Eren already took advantage of you in your sleep by pressing your legs tightly together and sliding his dick between your supple thighs until he came all over your stomach (this would usually end up with you kicking him out of bed in anger and him making you breakfast featuring his signature fluffy scrambled eggs to make up for his indecency).
Right now, though… Right now you wanted to do something about it.
It was a bit frightening, the way you felt so naughty that day. It was like you were possessed because normally, you wouldn’t do such a thing. You wouldn’t place your phone on the nightstand, aiming the camera toward the bed, and press record so you can videotape everything that was going to happen. And knowing the filthy thoughts that swirl inside your head, something bad was definitely going to happen.
It would just be for my collection, you tried to reason with yourself. I’ll let him know about this, and if he hates it, we’ll delete it. No one else has to find out.
Okay, I’m doing this.
You settled yourself between his legs, taking a hold of his length with one hand. You stroked him lightly and he didn’t lift a muscle. You tentatively gave him a lick, waiting for a reaction but it never came. I hope I’m not going to hell for this, you thought as you swirled your tongue around his tip. You had your eyes closed, taking a deep breath through your nose before you went further down on him. You tried to cover everything to his base, almost gagging when you felt him hitting the back of your throat. Eren was big but he felt bigger inside your mouth. Heavy. Giving up, you released his cock with a pop. Right at that moment, a hand landed on your head.
“Don’t stop,” Eren’s voice echoed deeply, and without waiting for you to react, he pushed you down by the back of your skull, lifting his hips at the same time to shove himself up to the hilt.
“Mmph!” Tears were prickling at the corners of your eyes by his third thrust. You choked around him, gasping when he finally released you, coughing a few times with thick ropes of saliva dribbling down your chin.
Eren didn’t waste time. He threw you down to the bed, your face sinking on the softness of your pillow. He tossed the blanket to the side, pushing the hem of your sweater—his sweater—to the middle of your back to expose your behind. “Eren—” Grabbing you by the legs, he yanked you toward him until he had his cock rubbing against the crease of your ass. He curled his fingers around his cock which was still moist from your saliva. “Wanna fuck you,” he slurred, slapping the side of his length against your cheek. You were tensed but he didn’t notice. He barely noticed anything. Right now, he just felt like he was dreaming.
Eren pushed it in, making your breath hitch in your throat, your fingers fisting against the sheets. He was stretching you out in a way that would've been painful if you hadn't been with him a few hours ago.
He didn’t make any sound during the first few thrusts, and you tried to muffle yours by sinking your teeth hard against your lower lip. His moves were out of rhythm, sometimes fast sometimes slow, sometimes deep, sometimes shallow, but that was exactly what drove you insane. He was unpredictable and never gentle. Not like how he usually held you, as he was still too drowsy to care. You wondered if he had always wanted to fuck you like this, to lose control and focus on what made him feel good instead of devoting himself to grant you your pleasure. Because even though he had been rough with you several times before, he was never like this. The thought of it didn't scare you. It only sent more thrill coursing through your veins.
“Tight,” he grunted, his nails sinking into the supple skin of your ass, spreading your cheeks apart. "So fucking tight." He spread his palm and smacked you hard, causing your body to jolt in surprise. The stinging pain felt like a zap of electricity and you loved it. He slapped your ass again, rolling his hips as he did, half-lidded eyes observing the way his cock slid in and out of you as your body shuddered with each spank. When your skin was bruised like a canvas being painted angrily by a deranged artist, he shifted his hands to the curves of your hips, holding you firmly with both hands and leaving no room for you to escape as he plunged himself into you with more force. You were gritting your teeth to contain your moans before, but now your mouth was separated in a silent scream, the tip of his cock hitting your cervix dangerously.
Fuck, he's so deep, you whimpered, your arms shaking as they support your body.
“Your cunt’s so fucking tight, goddamn.” You once thought that he sounded the sexiest when he was buried deep inside you, his mouth shaping filthy words against your ear. That was still true, of course, but now that you got to hear him like this, with this voice sounding ten times hoarser than ever and heavy from sleep, you needed to re-evaluate your statement.
Your thoughts were so occupied with the feelings of his cock rubbing against your walls, that you started to forget you were recording the whole thing. The shyness in you had melted off. Right now, they were only desperation, body aching to find your release.
Eren’s hand found your head and he pushed it down until you have your cheek pressed flat against the sheets. After doing this with him so many times, you already knew what to do. Keeping your upper half glued to the bed, you lifted your hips higher in the air, wanting to meet his every thrust. He thanked you by slapping his palm against your ass cheek again, loving the way your skin turned red in the shape of his hand. “Bounce back,” he said breathily, almost in a whisper as if he was talking to himself, “Bounce back on my fucking dick, baby, come on.”
You complied and he moaned, squeezing your behind with both hands as tightly as he could until you mewled from the sensation. “Harder,” he commanded, spanking you again. “Fucking take that cock like you own it.”
He was never like this. Even in your dirtiest imagination, he wasn’t like this, which was why you didn’t know what to expect. All you knew was that everything he was doing right now turned you on.
When you moaned, his hips snapped harder and you knew, that you had the same power over him. Maybe, just like him, it was time for you to let loose as well. “Let me hear you,” you said between obscene moans, landing your palms on the sheets before you raise your upper half in the air, positioning yourself on all fours. “Tell me—ah—Tell me what you want to do to me.”
The sounds you were making… They were driving him insane. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, gathered it in a messy ponytail before he yanked your head back until your eyes were forced to stay glued to the ceiling. “Wanna fuck you until you're screaming my name,” he growled lowly right against your ear, his other hand squeezing your breast so tightly it was almost painful. "I want to feel your body break open around me." He was still ramming his hips against yours, your spine glued to his chest as he leaned forward. “Wanna fill you up with my cum until I see it dripping all over your thighs.”
He released your breast, moving his left hand to the front of your throat instead while keeping his right one around your hair. “W-what else?” You were getting choked, lightly at first, harder by the second. “Wanna make you my bitch,” he rasped, his nails digging into your skin. “Wanna make you my cumslut.”
You trembled. There was no way he would talk to you like that if he was fully awake. No. He respected you too much. But now that he was still half-dreaming, his mouth ran without a filter. It didn’t help that you both had too much alcohol before bed either, with Eren almost consuming half a bottle of gin himself.
“Yes, please…” You encouraged him, bucking your hips harder as you both moved back and forth. Everything felt so good that you could barely tell the difference whether you were on the verge of cumming or not. It just felt like you were already on the brink from the start. “Ren…”
“Jesus, fuck,” he moaned, shoving your face down to the pillow and holding you firmly by the nape. His hands found your hips again, fucking you deep and raw until your jaw grew slack on your face. “I fucking love it when you call me like that. Again, baby. Do it again.”
“Ren!” His powerful thrust made you cry out his name in a way you had never done before. It was embarrassing how fast you felt the knots in your stomach tautening in response. “Rennie—I’m close—”
“You wanna cum?”
“Yes—“ you sobbed out. “Yes, please—”
“Harder,” he emphasized with a drive of his hips. “Want you to fucking scream it out. Want everyone to hear how desperate you are for my cock.”
“I want to cum!” You’ve lost all sense of control. You were seeing stars behind your eyelids, the knots inside your stomach tightened and unfastened at once. “Please make me cum, Ren, I want it!”
And with his permission, you did, orgasm washing over you at once, your body convulsing in pleasure. “Ah, you’re cumming—” he shuddered, his hips turning erratic at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him. “Fuck, baby, I can feel it—“
Usually, Eren would slow down, letting you ride your orgasm until the tremors left your body but not right now. Not waiting for you to catch your breath, he whirled you around to your back. Eren grabbed you by your legs and spread them as wide as he could, holding your ankles high in the air. He positioned himself on his knees right before you, his thrusts turning shallow and fast—more desperate.
He then pressed your legs together, no gap between your thighs, making you feel even tighter than before. "Shit, you're so—" He tossed his head back as he finished his sentence with a grunt, drowning in rapture. The second he brought his gaze to your face again, you were almost burned by the intensity of it. With one arm hugging your thighs to his chest, he let your heels dangle on one shoulder. “No one could fuck you like this but me, you got that?”
You swallowed, your lungs starting to catch on fire from how breathless you were. “Y-yes.”
“Say it.”
“No one—” you flinched. With the angle he was going, he was grazing the right spot that made your toes curl. “N-no one could fuck me like this but you.”
“You’re mine.” His hand settled on your chest, kneading the soft mound.
“I’m yours—ah!” You yelped when he smacked your breast, but it wasn't from the pain. It was from the thrill of it all. You took a sharp breath when he held it firmly under his hand once more.
“Say it again.”
“I’m yours.”
Another smack and this time, you whimpered. His hand moved to take a hold of your jaw, forcing your mouth open. “Louder.”
“I’m yours!”
He switched position again, now placing your feet on his chest, creating space for harder, deeper penetration. “God, your fucking pussy feels so good.” Eren used you like a sex doll, treated you like a slave and you let him. “So fucking wet for me.” He curved his hips, making sure he hit that spot that made pretty tears fall from your eyes. “Touch yourself.”
Flustered, you did as he said, fondling your breasts with both hands.
“Keep your eyes on me.”
You gulped, squeezing your chest harder as you maintained eye contact. Eren’s gaze traversed your body, the usual adoration in his eyes was gone, replaced by bottomless desire. He supported himself with the heel of his palm resting against your collarbones, picking up his already rapid pace as he tightened his fingers around your throat.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, his voice obscene. “Tell me where you want it.”
“Inside—cum inside me—ah, Ren—”
Your moan of his name encouraged him and he went feral. He pushed your legs apart, your chests glued together as he smashed his lips hard against yours, tongue slipping in to taste the inside of your mouth. “Fuck, so good,” he panted, “You’re so good, baby girl—” Every pound of his hips knocked the air out of your lungs and you whimpered, fingers twisting against the sheets.
Eren cummed with his teeth sinking deep in the juncture between your neck and shoulder, growling like a fucking beast that he was as he muffled his groan. Bruises were forming on your hips, as well as the nasty bites on your neck and breasts. You were both breathing hard, your body cemented completely to the sheets underneath you with his chest resting on top of yours.
“God, baby…” he moaned, still rubbing his cock lazily against your insides. He pulled all the way back, enjoying the way his cum was seeping out of your hole and trickling down to the crease of your ass before it stained the sheets underneath. He then pushed it back in, making you keen as you both were still sensitive from the aftershock of your orgasm. For a moment, you both stayed still in that position, catching your breath.
Eren nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck. “I’m sleepy...”
“Oh, are you now?” You snort, voice laced with amusement as you noted the differences in his behavior.
He nodded. “And hungry.”
“Once you've cummed, you’re always like this.” You tried to push him away by the shoulder. “Can you move?”
“No.”
“You're heavy.”
“I know.”
“Eren, I can’t breathe.” Only then did he shift to lay on his side, cuddling close to you until there wasn’t even an inch separating your spine and his chest. “Good. Now get your dick away from me.”
“No,” he mumbled, pressing his hips against yours and keeping his cock buried deep inside. "Let's stay like this."
“Are you kidding me?” There was no answer. Eren’s breathing turned slow, his cock still faintly throbbing inside you. “Don't go to sleep!”
“Sshh…” He painted a lazy kiss on your nape. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll fuck you the second it gets hard again.”
As tempting as that sounded, you kept trying your best to push him away but he didn’t budge. After a while, you gave up and stayed put.
Now that the room had returned to silence, you noticed your phone was still sitting on your nightstand. You reached out a hand, stretching it as far as possible to grab it. The phone, as expected, was still recording and you felt blood pooling on your face. You tapped your thumb on the screen and the video was saved in your gallery.
Swallowing thickly, you clicked play.
“Wanna make you my cumslut.”
“Oh, Lord,” you covered your face with one hand, still peeking at the video through your fingers.
“Please make me cum, Ren, I want it!”
“Okay, I’m deleting this.” You couldn’t handle it. Watching your body being bent in such an indecent way, hearing your mouth spouting out the words that normally you wouldn’t have the bravery to say—everything was too much. You hesitated, however, as it would probably be the only time he would fuck you like that.
Then a thought appeared.
And you smirked.
***
Eren sleeps till noon, and he only wakes up because he falls off the bed. He doesn’t bother to put on some clothes, simply steals the blanket away and drapes it down his body, all the way from his head down to his feet. The blanket is dragged across the carpeted floor as he makes his way toward the kitchen, hugging the thick fabric around him.
“Morning,” he mumbles, finding you sitting on the kitchen counter with a magazine in one hand and a cup of coffee in another. He still has his eyes squinted, trying to adjust from the sunlight that seeps through the window.
You almost laugh at the way he looks. “Are you still naked?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Can’t find my clothes.”
“You didn’t even bother to look, I’m sure.”
“Yeah, my head hurts. Do you have some aspirin?”
Shaking your head as you chuckle to yourself, you jump down to your feet and reach up to rummage through your top drawers. Eren steals your coffee from the counter, taking a sip as he moves toward the couch. He sticks out his tongue once the taste explodes in his mouth, “Bleh, too sweet.” Placing down the mug on the table, he lies down on his side on the sofa, curling up inside his blanket like a cocoon.
“What are you, a three-year-old?” You mutter as you approach him. "You look like a burrito."
"A sexy burrito?"
"Sure."
“Well, like I said,” he mumbles in a low groan, snuggling against the cushion. “My head hurts. Remind me not to drink too much next time.”
“I’ve got something to cheer you up,” you smirk, settling yourself down on the floor with your back leaning against the foot of your couch. You gather your phone in your hands, skimming through your gallery. Showing your sex tape to him is utterly mortifying, but you know he’s gonna feel much, much worse about it, knowing the nasty things he said in the video.
“Please don’t tell me it’s a dick pic of your ex,” he mutters, looking past your shoulder to catch a glimpse of your phone screen. “The last dick pic I found on your phone still traumatized me to this day.”
“Eren, that was your dick pic.” You roll your eyes.
“Lies. I know what my dick looks like. It's not that hideous. Also, I’ve never sent you any.”
You give him a look. “You really do the stupidest shit when you’re drunk, huh?” Not letting him say another comment, you play the video.
“Wanna make you my bitch,” his voice can be heard through the speakers. Eren’s eyes shoot wide open, sitting up on the couch so fast, he almost tumbles over. “Wanna make you my cumslut.”
“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” he’s panicking, his mouth spitting bullets as he attempts to snatch your phone away from your hands. Suppressing your laughter, you stand up on your feet, moving away from him. “Babe, hold on, what the fuck was that?!”
“That was you this morning,” you grin, turning up the volume.
“Want you to fucking scream it out. Want everyone to hear how desperate you are for my cock.”
“Oh my God.” He places both hands on his head, looking absolutely horrified. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God—”
“Chill, Ren.”
“How in the—why did I—" He almost dislocates his jaw. "I said that?! To you?!”
You’re chortling, having the time of your life. “Yes, you did. You said you wanted to make me your cumslut.”
“Oh my God.” He turns pale, looking like he’s seconds away from throwing up. “Jesus Christ, baby, I can't believe I said that to you. I'm so sorry.”
“Hey, don’t be.” You kneel before him, taking his hands away from his head and acting as serious as you can when you say, “I want to be your cumslut.”
Colors drain out of his face, except crimson that stays permanent on his cheeks. “Please don’t say that ever again.”
You feign disappointment, pouting at him as you bat your eyelashes like a child. “You don’t want me to be your cumslut, Rennie?”
"I—" He lets out a sharp breath, fixing his gaze on the ceiling as he can feel his face catching fire. “I literally can’t look at you right now.”
“Daddy."
"Stop."
"I want to be your cumslut.”
“Shut up.”
“I want to be your little bitch.”
“All right, that’s it.” You’re guffawing when he lifts and tosses your body over his shoulder. “We need to clean that filthy mouth of yours,” he grumbles, making his way to the bathroom.
"I've already showered."
"Don't care." He yanks on your shirt the second you’re placed back on your feet, your protest bouncing against the bathroom tiles before you sigh in defeat. “Do you want to erase the video?” You ask him as he works on your shorts. “I’m sorry I took it without permission. I would be completely okay if you want to erase it.”
“No,” he mumbles, pouting as he turns a shade redder. “Send it to me.”
***
☆ we're baack ☆ @mccuestionabletaste - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
