jae 𓆩♡𓆪 @psychodeliccs - Tumblr Blog

anything you want

art cred to @/maggot83682214

you’ve been in love with your best friend from high school, but buried all of your feelings to keep your friendship safe. enjin doesn’t realize his own until someone else starts looking your way, and he’ll do anything to be the only one in your heart.

tags ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ modern/college au, frat!jin, fem!reader, best friends to lovers, she fell first he fell harder, jealous and possessive enjin, barely there zodyl and reader (two scenes at the start to push the story forward), mentions of recreational drug use and drinking, swearing, plot with porn, virgin!reader, first time p in v sex, oral (f receiving), implied size difference, mating presses, whole lotta praising, talking you through it, enjin’s a down bad softie!! he's also a biter, and uses a lot of pet names, possible dacryphilia if you squint, kind of proof read but i blacked out halfway through, not beta read

wc ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ 10.3k

a/n ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ did i hear someone say more frat!jin…? I AM HERE TO PROVIDE! i’m not the most comfortable with writing smut, but i wanted to give it a shot. i hope it turned out alright, and i do wanna try writing it more, so be patient with me since it’s a bit rough :,) ya girl needs practice lol. not the happiest with this one but i must feed you all with more of my agenda… xx

It’s the most picture perfect Saturday morning in August—the sun coming in all warm and golden through the kitchen windows, the air still cool before it turns gross and sticky later, and birds singing like they’re only there to romanticize the start of the semester. The first week of classes is over, no assignments due and no responsibilities pulling at you yet. Everything is so quiet and calm. So peaceful.

You should be in bed. Still asleep. Rotting peacefully all warm n’ cozy under your comforter.

But no.

You’re in Enjin’s kitchen at the ass crack of dawn making this dumbass hangover remedies.

The blender kicks on and he groans from the table behind you like he’s on life support. “Does that thing know how to be quiet?”

“Enjin.” Could he be any more dramatic? “It's a blender.”

“Okay? They need to invent quieter ones.”

He went too hard at his frat’s opening party last night. Gris had to physically drag his barely functioning body home earlier this morning, and not even twenty minutes later he was calling you whining and all pathetic, “Please come help me, ma'…”

Were you shocked by the condition he was in? Not even a little. If anything, this is tame for an early-semester hangover. You’ve seen him way worse, like, foaming at the mouth and nonverbal. You’re surprised he hadn’t died from alcohol poisoning along the way.

Did you start bitching at him the second you walked through the door? Obviously. And did he have the nerve to squint at you and go, “Baby, can you not? My head is literally splitting,” like you’re the villain here? Yes. Which only made you double down, because the audacity of catching an attitude while you’re voluntarily providing emergency services before your internal alarm clock went off is, quite frankly, insane.

But you still got to work anyway.

You set the smoothie down in front of him, then slide over the plate of eggs and toast you made. It looks wholesome sitting next to the half-drunk Gatorade he’s been nursing since he woke up.

He stares at the plate, poking at the eggs and breaking the yolk. “I kinda thought you’d bring McDonald’s or something…”

You smack him upside the head and point at the food. Enjin glares at you, yet takes a bite anyway. He can whine all he wants, but he’s the one who begged you to come over—not to mention your breakfast clears a McGriddle by a mile.

Sitting across from him with your arms crossed, you yawn. You were up late too—just not stumbling around his frat house. You stayed in, binge-watching shows to reset your brain after getting handed all your new classes this week.

Enjin had something to say about that too, complaining about how your attendance at his frat was so important to him. But that’s when all the crazies come out, and there was no way you were dealing with blackout freshmen puking on your shoes.

It was bad enough you’re stuck taking care of an almost-puking Enjin as it is.

He's talking, nearly spitting pieces of egg at you.

“Ew, gross—don’t talk with your mouth full. I know your mom taught you better than that.”

He ignores the jab and picks up a piece of toast, holding it out toward you. “You’re going to make a good wife someday, you’ve already had plenty of practice with me.”

You snort. “I don’t play wife with you, I’m basically your maid.”

“Maid, wife. Same difference.”

“You’re such a dick, you know that?”

Your eyes drift past him to the wall behind the kitchen table. The photos are still taped up unevenly with peeling corners—pictures of his frat brothers, old high school friends, random blurry party shots. Then there are the ones of you two.

Prom. Graduation. One from the first time you ever hung out outside of school—both of you younger, awkward, not quite this version of yourselves yet.

You’ve been best friends since high school. He was new, and you were assigned to show him around. He wasn’t all that different back then—still sassy and observant—but he was quieter, less sure of himself, and you were the first person who made the place feel less foreign for him.

Sometimes you think it was fate that shoved you into each other’s lives that day, because without it, you probably would’ve stayed in completely separate circles. You don’t think you would’ve chosen each other on purpose.

As much as you can’t stand him some days, you’re inseparable. He’s—corny as it sounds—your person. And if anyone asked him, he’d say you’re his too. Zero hesitation.

And if things weren’t already stereotypical enough as is, you’d definitely had feelings for him at one point—because who wouldn’t have? Enjin’s always been a hot shot. Even as a teenager he's had that thing about him. It wasn’t exactly earth shattering and shocking that you developed a crush.

You had a boyfriend when the two of you first met (sadly your first and only one, actually), which ended a bit after you and Enjin became inseparable. He said it was because of how close you were. At the time it felt crazy dramatic, but looking back, you get it. When you’re young, any attractive guy with that kind of presence feels like competition.

Especially one who seems to understand you better than your own boyfriend does.

And once that fell apart, you fell. Head over your damn heels. He’s cute and funny, makes you feel important and treats you like you're his girl—just not officially. Princess treatment before it was even a joke between you two—to this day you’re spoiled absolutely rotten. It wasn’t exactly hard to grow heart eyes.

But first and foremost, you were his best friend. That was the foundation, and always had been. And over time, that really did become enough.

It took a little while to settle into that reality, sure. But as you both grew up and matured, you realized something important—you didn’t want to risk losing your person over feelings that might complicate everything. Being his homegirl, his ride or die, the one he calls first—that meant more than anything ever could.

~

One month later…

“Excuse me.”

You turn at the voice behind you.

It’s some guy you’re pretty sure you haven’t noticed in this lecture before—and you feel like you would’ve remembered him. He’s got this blank, almost drained expression—like he hasn’t slept in weeks, which is pretty impressive considering it’s only the second week of the semester. There are faint streaks of grey in his hair too. Damn, how old is this guy?

Okay, he doesn’t look old. Just like he’s lived three lives already and none of them went smoothly. Here’s to a fourth?

“Do you have this week’s notes?” he asks. His voice is nice, low and deep. Pretty, even. It just sounds like he’s running on a dead battery.

“Yeah,” you tap your laptop. “They’re all on here though.” He nods once. “That’s fine.”

There’s a pause. He’s still looking at you.

“So… Do you want me to email them to you, or…?”

He nods again and gestures toward your laptop.

You hesitate for half a second—because, hello, stranger—but hand it over anyway.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in class before,” you say, attempting small talk while he types in his email. He doesn’t look up. “I’m always in the back. I moved up a few seats because someone kept taking mine.”

“This late in?” You let out a small laugh. “Swear some people don’t understand seating rules.”

“There are seating rules?”

“Um… yeah. Like, once you pick your seat the first week, everyone just collectively agrees that’s your spot.”

He finishes typing and hands the laptop back to you. You’re still not sure what to make of him. You glance at the email he sent it to. “Zodyl… cool name.”

“Thank you.”

You try to introduce yourself in return, but he cuts you off, “I know.”

You’re spent thinking about that interaction for the rest of the day. You’ve met some interesting people before, but he’s definitely up there.

Later that evening, sprawled out on your floor and staring at the ceiling while Enjin lounges on your bed—you’re rambling, replaying every second of it while he half listens, tossing in comments whenever he feels like it.

“He kind of looks like a bug,” you say, sitting up suddenly. “Wait. What if he is a bug and just hasn’t figured out human interaction yet?”

Enjin hums. “Sounds like you’re bug-phobic.”

“I am not! I can be accepting of bug people. He seems nice enough. Just… super weird.”

“Maybe he thought you were pretty. Made him nervous.”

“He did not seem into me—”

“Nah, he wanted a piece of that and short-circuited.”

You smack his leg. “Shut up. Quit being an ass.”

“I’m serious!” He kicks that same hand, “Guys get weird when they’re into someone.”

He’s not overly concerned about this Zodyl guy, but you forming connections with random men has always made him cautious.

Enjin knows how guys are. He is one—and you’re his girl to look out for.

“Zodyl…” He finally looks up from his phone to glance at you on the floor. “Isn’t he the one who hangs out with that super wacked-out group?”

You scoff. “Aren’t you one to talk.”

“I think he’s a narc. Actually—no. Maybe not. Pretty sure one of his friends is on drugs.”

“Can you be nice for, like, two seconds?”

“Says the girl who just called him a bug. Guess we’re both hypocrites.”

~

When you walk into class again, Zodyl is sitting in the seat next to yours. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you drop your bag down and pull your chair out, just sits there facing forward like a creepy NPC in a horror game.

You've started unpacking your things when he speaks. “Thank you for your help.”

“With…?”

“Lending me your notes.”

“Oh.” You remember. “Yeah, no worries. I’m glad I’m not taking them for nothing.”

“I didn’t steal anyone’s seat.” Zodyl looks at your confused expression for a brief second before facing forward again. “The seating rules.” He adds, a strand of hair falling near his nose in a way that feels cinematic. “No one had been sitting here. I didn’t take a seat.”

You can’t help but laugh. “I mean, I wasn’t filing a complaint.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was inconsiderate.”

The professor starts shuffling papers at the front, and students are settling in. “Do you care if I stay here?” he asks.

You look at him properly this time. Okay, maybe he doesn’t seem as strange up close. “Not at all,” you say, smiling. “Mi casa es su casa.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” You wave it off. “You’re welcome to sit there, Zodyl.”

After class, he hands you a piece of paper. You take it, looking confused as you glance down at it and back up at him.

He gestures toward sheet in your hand. “Your number.”

You blink. “My phone number?”

Passing you a pen as confirmation, you think he could’ve passed you his phone instead—but sure. This works too.

“If I need more help. You do well with this subject.”

“Yeah, of course!” You beam at the compliment. “Always happy to be of assistance.” You think, just for the faintest moment, there may be the slight chance of the smallest smile on his face. Or you’re crazy.

As he’s going to leave, “I like your sweater. Purple is a nice color on you.”

Later that afternoon, you burst into Enjin’s apartment without knocking. “Zodyl asked for my phone number. Well, sort of. He didn’t really ask—”

Enjin barely reacts to the intrusion—you do this all the time—mid-sip of his beer.

“Bug-man?” He asks, eyeing you as you pace around his kitchen.

“Yes, bug-man,” you’re practically doing laps around the room. “But he’s not actually that scary up close.”

“He was up close?”

“He moved to the seat next to mine. And then asked if it was okay that he stayed there.” Pause. “It was kind of cute.”

“So now bugs are cute?”

You grab an apple off his counter and throw it at him. “Shut up, Jin’. I’m trying to tell you what happened.”

Enjin holds his free hand up in mock surrender. “My bad, mama. Continue.”

Your pacing begins again, along with the rambling. “He kept staring at me. Like, a lot. At first it was uncomfortable. Full eye contact, no blinking. I thought he was glitching.”

“Some people pay extra for that kind of attention.”

“What did I tell you about shutting up? Anyway, he asked for my number. Said it was for ‘help with class,’ but then he complimented my sweater.”

Putting your hands on your hips, you grin at Enjin, all teeth and bright eyes. “So now I’m kind of flattered by the staring. Maybe you were right. Maybe he does think I’m cute.”

Enjin tilts his head, “Of course he thinks you’re cute,” a beer is tossed to you. “I’ve been saying that. Took someone long enough to catch up.”

He gestures his can towards you. “Just don’t let him steal my spotlight.”

Which, unfortunately, after a few weeks, kind of started happening.

You were talking to Zodyl more. In class, obviously—but outside of it too. Sure, sometimes it was about lecture stuff—he did need help here and there. But he’d also start talking about projects he was working on, random ideas, or things he was building.

You still made time for Enjin, it would’ve been crazy not to. The routine included being at his place constantly, or he was at yours, or you were out somewhere with the group, or at one of his parties. You saw him pretty much every day.

But now, sometimes your phone would buzz and you’d glance down mid-conversation. Or you’d cut yourself off to respond to a text. Or you’d casually bring up bug-man (the nickname stuck).

It wasn’t that you had a new guy friend. You’ve always had them. You and Enjin share a huge friend group—you’re close with Gris, with Follo, with August and Corvus—even the dweeb kids Zanka and Rudo that Enjin somehow adopted during his fraternity service hours at the high school. You being friends with other guys has never been new, never been weird, and never been a problem.

What was new was that this guy was clearly into you.

And, again, Enjin knows how guys are. Enjin is guys. Mr. Easy. Mr. I-know-exactly-what-they’re-thinking-because-I’m-thinking-it-too. So yeah, it made him stressed. Not because he thought you couldn’t handle yourself—but because he knew how quickly things could flip. He didn’t like the idea of you getting played, used, or fed some bullshit.

You were his to look out for.

At first he didn’t pay much attention to Zodyl. But now? His guard was fully up, because if anyone was going to rescue you from a bad situation, it was him.

He crashed out a little when you skipped your weekly fast-food movie night to study with that… thing. You hadn’t missed one since you started them as teenagers. Sick? He’d just show up at yours. Busy? You’d make it work.

But no. Here comes the cockroach, interrupting tradition.

It didn’t help that Zodyl knew who he was, too. Which, okay—fair. Enjin was known campus-wide for more than a few reasons. That wasn’t the shocking part. What was shocking was how much he knew.

“Okay, so he’s a narc who hangs out with a druggie and now he’s a stalker,” Enjin said at one point, throwing his hands up after you casually mention something Zodyl knew about him that felt way too specific. “How the hell does he know about my lucky umbrella?”

You sigh, rubbing your forehead. “First of all, he’s not a druggie and his name is Jabber—”

“The fuck kind of name is Jabber? That’s not helping his case.”

“—Second of all,” you continue over him, “you carry that umbrella everywhere. Even when it’s sunny. Zodyl is just observant.”

“Why am I being observed?” Enjin demands. “And how does he know it’s lucky!”

He didn’t like Zodyl. Not at all. And technically, he didn’t even know him. Even if Zodyl somehow knew too much about him.

One time, Enjin spotted him in passing on the way to class. Decided to be mature about it for you. If this guy was going to be in your life, the least he could do was be polite.

He waved. Gave him his best smile, pearly white canines flashing in greeting. “Hey, man!”

Zodyl didn’t even look at him.

But Enjin had always been your number one complication when it came to men. Either he scared them off—because being best friends with a hot, confident guy is intimidating (see: your last boyfriend)—or he attracted the wrong ones. The kind who only got close to you because they wanted proximity to him.

Zodyl was neither. He didn’t seem repelled by Enjin, and he didn’t seem particularly interested in knowing him personally either. No weird fan behavior. Outside of, okay, maybe some mildly stalker-ish observational habits.

It was a nice change of pace—having someone who seems interested in you and not because of who you’re friends with. Even if Zodyl was kind of weird, and you could never fully get a read on what was going on in his head.

Enjin stayed cordial. For the most part. He’d toss in a comment here and there when you brought Zodyl up—nothing too serious, just enough to let you know he had opinions—but he never outright fought you on it. Unless it was something justified, like ditching movie night. That was so different.

Even with all his side-eyes and sarcastic remarks, he knows you’re an adult. He knows you’re not naïve. If anything, he knows you too well to think you’d let yourself get played without noticing.

That doesn’t mean he stops thinking about it.

Or worrying about it.

~

Follo squints at you, Semiu, and Tomme as you push your way into the kitchen. “What are you three supposed to be?”

It’s Halloween, aka the biggest party of the semester. The house is so packed you can barely see the floor, just a blur of shoes and spilled drinks and strobe lights.

“We’re kiss, marry, kill,” Semiu says, lifting the plastic knife she’s been carrying around all night.

“That’s basic.”

Her eyes narrow at him. “And what are you?”

Follo taps the crooked paper plumbob taped to a headband on his head. “I’m a Sim.”

You laugh. “Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

Semiu turns to Gris, who’s leaning against the counter with fake blood smeared across his shirt. “And you’re… bloody Adam Sandler?”

“I didn’t have time to get a costume, and the blood is from Corvus fighting for his life with Party City vampire gel. At least I’m not dressed as a prisoner.” Gris nods toward Enjin, who’s standing there in an orange jumpsuit. He just smirks. “It was either Ghostface or this, and I wanted to get handcuffed.”

Semiu clicks her tongue. “Of course you do.”

Tomme glances over her shoulder. “Tamsy’s somewhere in the living room as an angel.” You’re still laughing at everyone, all the shots in your system from the pre-game making things way funnier than they are. “So we’re all just Pinterest stereotypes tonight, let’s call it even.”

You make your way over to Enjin’s side—like you always do—and hold your hand out for his drink. He passes it without question. Your first instinct is to chug, then just as quickly you gag. “Ew, what the hell is in this?”

“A lot,” he takes the cup back. “We all brought different alcohol and just mixed it together. August added grenadine though, so it’s pretty much a cocktail.”

“That’s not a cocktail. I feel like I just drank water straight from Chernobyl.”

He laughs and throws his arm around you, pulling you into his side. In a house this packed, being next to him is the best place. He’s your designated safe spot.

“Are you supposed to be ‘kiss’?” he asks, poking one of the lipstick marks Semiu left on your cheek.

“Well I’m not wearing a veil or holding a knife, am I?”

“Do I get one?” Enjin puckers his lips dramatically, and you slap your hand over his mouth. “Go find someone to put you in handcuffs so I don’t have to deal with you.”

“I tried, there are no cop girls here. Very disappointing.”

“Should’ve gone with Ghostface. You would’ve gotten laid faster.”

Gris leans over Enjin’s shoulder, eyeing you. “So. Where’s your boyfriend?” Heat flushes your face. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Enjin feels something hot twist in his chest. He couldn’t even get thirty minutes of standing next to you without that thing getting brought up. “He doesn’t seem like the party type anyway,” Enjin’s jaw clenches, voice tight.

“Yeah, but I asked if he wanted to come anyway. He wasn’t interested.”

Thank fucking God, he thinks.

And then, like clockwork, your phone lights up.

Every ounce of relief he had evaporates the second he sees the name on your screen.

“He can’t get enough of you, huh?” Follo throws in.

Enjin is actually going to punch someone.

You look down at your phone, and your lips curve softly. Your face lights up in a way that makes something in him snap. Before he even thinks about it, he snatches the phone out of your hand and lifts it above your head.

“Enjin!” you shout, jumping for it. “Give it back!”

“Get off your phone,” he holds it higher as you try to climb him. “Live in the moment.” The messages are still open. He sees the photos you sent earlier—your costume and a selfie of your trio.

zodyl !!

You look pretty.

Have fun tonight.

His grip tightens around your phone. For a split second he considers smashing it. Instead, he locks the screen and shoves it into his pocket. “No more phone tonight.”

“Whatever,” you shrug him off, visibly annoyed. “What is your problem?”

He doesn’t answer.

“C’mon,” you grab Semiu and Tomme’s hands. “I wanna dance.”

You drag them away to the group of people that are dancing in the living room, but never leaving Enjin’s line of sight. He never let you at parties.

Listen, you haven’t had a boyfriend since high school. You’ve never really shown much interest in dating either. So the idea of you actually having something with this guy?

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Leaning back and watching you dance, Enjin decides to actually look at you. Like, really look at you. Figure out what it is that’s suddenly pulling Zodyl’s attention your way.

He starts with your face. Glitter highlight catching the lights, eyeshadow sparkling every time you turn your head. That loose, drunk smile painted in lipstick that matches the kiss prints on your cheeks and collarbones. Your hair falling in messy pieces around your face, swaying as you move.

Then lower.

The lace bra strap peeking out from under your little red dress, the fabric hugging you just right to leave very little to the imagination. His eyes trace the dip of your back. Your eyes. Your hair. Your neck. Your lips.

Your tits and ass.

You.

Oh.

Oh shit.

When did you get this hot?

He suddenly becomes hyper-aware of how you stand out from everyone else in the room.

You’re the most attractive girl at this party. And not in a “she’s my best friend so I’m obligated to think that” kind of way.

It’s a “I’ve suddenly opened my eyes and realized my best friend would be more than capable of getting my dick hard” kind of way.

He’s never thought you were ugly, of course he’s always known you’re pretty.

It’s just—back in high school, you were so dorky. In his head, that’s kind of where you stayed. His silly best bud.

When you’ve known someone that long, they sort of freeze in your mind. You stop updating the image. So he’s always seen you as that teenage girl he met freshman year.

He realizes you’re not that girl anymore. You’re grown. You’ve been grown.

Fuck, when did that happen?

Had you always gotten this kind of attention looking like this, and he just never clocked it? How did he, of all slutty men, miss your glaring sex appeal?

Is that why all of his past lovers got so angered by you? Because you—who’s objectively funny, smart, and clearly very attractive—were his girl best friend?

He always brushed it off as jealousy over the attention. And yeah, sure, he gave you a lot of it. Now he’s starting to think that wasn’t it. They weren’t just annoyed, they were threatened. Just as bad as the guys who saw him with you.

You were competition.

And if he were in their shoes? He’d feel insecure standing next to you too.

Now, knowing there are guys looking at you like that, something fires up under his skin. It doesn’t feel protective anymore, not like it usually does.

It feels territorial.

You’re his girl. You’ve always been his girl—and now there are other men looking at you?

Absolutely not.

That doesn’t work for him. That’s never been how this goes.

~

It becomes Enjin’s number one mission to steer Zodyl away from you. Or better yet, steal you back. Not that you’d actually been taken from him, but his ego took a hit that night, and something in him shifted. There’s this new awareness when he looks at you—and he doesn’t know what to do with it except act.

Operation: Kill The Roach.

After the party, he’s insufferable. Groaning every time your phone lights up. Rolling his eyes when you answer a call. Going dead silent the second Zodyl’s name gets mentioned. Any hint of him in your sentence and Enjin’s already bitching.

“I dunno babe, I just get bad vibes. Like, he ate birds as a kid or somethin’…”

“Birds?!”

You’re over it. Completely.

What used to be light teasing turns into actual arguments. Every time you say you’re going to hang out with Zodyl, it’s a fight. Every. Single. Time. He argues like it’s his job. You can see the jealousy plain as day—it’s written all over him—but what you don’t understand is why it showed up out of nowhere. He was fine before!

You try reassuring him. Tell him he’ll always be your best friend. Which, apparently, is the worst possible thing you could say. Nothing lands right anymore. You don’t even know what he wants from you at this point.

You and Enjin argue sometimes. That’s normal. But it’s never been like this between the two of you.

After one particularly nasty fight, you’re sitting on his bed, laptop open, trying to focus on a paper. He’s right beside you, silent. You can practically feel the heat radiating off him—the tension is suffocating.

You’re too tired to deal with it anymore.

“Hey.”

You don’t even look at him. “Don’t start again.”

“Do you think I’m hot?”

That makes you turn. “Come again?”

He’s staring at you like he’s dead serious. “I asked if you think I’m hot. Sexy. Attractive. Whatever.”

“I mean, yeah. Who doesn’t?” You squint at him. “Isn’t that what gets you pussy?” Snorting a little. “Definitely not your personality.”

“Okay…” His jaw tightens. “Do you think I’m hotter than Zodyl?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Pretty straightforward question, ma.”

“It’s not though?” He was being insane.

“Who’s more attractive? Me or him?”

“Dude, where is all of this coming from?”

“I’m not dude.”

“Okay, Enjin. Get your panties out of a twist.” You roll your eyes and scoff at his attitude, turning back to your laptop.

He shuts it mid-citation.

You barely have time to react before he moves in, bracing his arms on either side of you and popping your personal space bubble. You fall back slightly onto the pillow behind you, catching yourself on your elbows.

“Stop avoiding the question.” His eyes are locked on yours, and this doesn’t feel like your usual play-fighting.

“I—”

“Swear to God, if you dodge it again.”

“I don’t know!” You’re flustered now, fully. He’s not backing off. You swallow. “I guess I haven’t really thought about it?”

“Then think about it.”

You hesitate.

Sure, Zodyl is attractive. In his weird, bug-adjacent way. Handsome. Broody. That whole mysterious thing that works on people if you ignore the super off-putting energy.

But Enjin is… Enjin.

He has a reputation for a reason—anyone with functioning eyesight would say he’s sexy. You’ve also seen the parts no one else gets to. The real personality under the persona. You watched him grow into the man he is today.

And he’s one hell of a man.

“Um… you?” It comes out sounding like a question.

He’s way too close. “Why’d you say it like that? You lyin’ to me?”

“No.” You push at his forehead with one finger, trying to create space. “I just had to think about it.”

“Do you need to be convinced?”

A squeak slips out, “Convinced…?”

Your face is burning. He doesn’t even fully know what he meant by that, but you’re flushed and breathing shallow and looking at him like that, and his mouth is running ahead of his brain.

One of his hands lands on the headboard behind you—leaning in to where you can feel his breath on your cheek. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I can convince you.”

You don’t know what to do with your hands, folding your arms awkwardly across your chest. “Jin’… be honest, are you jealous?”

He jerks back like you slapped him. “Jealous?” The idea is preposterous. What he’s feeling is far deeper than that. “No. I’m not jealous.”

You give a small, unimpressed laugh. “It’s been kind of sounding like it.”

He sits back with a huff, and you’re still half-reclined, heart racing, trying to process whatever the fuck just happened.

“Awh, c’mon. You’ll always be number one in my heart.” There you go, trying to reassure him again. You’re teasing, but the way you phrase it makes something twist in his chest.

Number one. Like there’s a ranking. Like there could be a number two. A number three. Like you could still choose someone else, and he’d just—

No. It doesn’t matter if he’s first or hundredth. There’s no room in your heart for any other man.

He doesn’t even know what he wants out of that. A relationship with you?

A relationship?

With you?

The two of you already have one. Just not the romantic kind—and the ideas never really crossed his mind before.

But now that it has, it won’t leave.

And the more he sits there, the more one thing becomes very clear to him. He wants—no, needs you to be his.

Enjin only ramps it up from there.

He’s working overtime with you now. Picking you up from every single class, whether you ask him to or not. And when you walk out of the one you share with Zodyl, he makes a whole production out of it—grabbing your arm, tugging you into his chest, telling you how much he missed you. Even if he literally saw you twelve hours ago.

Zodyl doesn’t react. No expression. Just a quiet “goodbye,” and he walks off.

Then texts you anyway.

So Enjin starts getting more physical. Not that physical affection was ever weird between you two—it’s always been a thing—but this is different. It’s doubled and bolder. A hand sliding onto your thigh with a squeeze while he drives. Pulling you tighter against him during movie night and pressing kisses to the top of your head. Fingers threading through your hair while you’re trying to focus on homework.

At parties, where he used to just rest a steady hand on your lower back to keep you grounded and near him, is now both hands planted on your hips. Your back flush against his chest, chin resting on your shoulder.

He even starts stripping down when he knows you’re coming over. Shirt gone. Sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Hair loose instead of slicked back—the way he knows you like it. He corners you in the kitchen once while you’re cooking, pressing in close under the excuse of “just grabbing a cup.” Tattooed biceps right by your head as he reaches above you.

Once, knowing you were coming over, he walked out into the living room straight from the shower—still dripping. Water tracked down his chest, droplets falling from the ends of his hair.

He stretched slowly, arms lifting over his head so his muscles flexed and shifted on purpose, towel falling enough to make you nervous he was about to flash you. Then he looked at you like he’d just noticed you were there. “Hey, pretty girl,” cue a very fake yawn, “when’d you get here?”

It’s way more intimate than it’s ever been. Friendly affection got left behind a mile ago.

He’s pulling out every trick he has. And Enjin has magic. He knows exactly how to use his charm, his presence. He’s slutting himself out more than ever before, and he’s laying it on thick.

Maybe too thick. More than he needed to.

Because there’s one thing he doesn’t know.

You used to have feelings for him.

You were still frustrated with him. Still violently annoyed. He was overbearing, dramatic, and utterly impossible lately.

But after that night—after he had you pinned between pillows and freedom, barely any space between you—you couldn’t ignore the feelings that slowly started to resurface.

The energy between you felt different. The way he looked at you wasn’t the same anymore. The way he touched you for sure wasn’t.

You started feeling like that same teenage girl who had the fattest crush on her best friend. The one who read too much into every lingering touch and every half-smile. He was getting you all hot n’ bothered—it was embarrassing. You thought you’d grown out of that.

You’re adults now. You don’t get to have dramatic, delusional fantasies about your best friend suddenly realizing he wants you. That’s middle school shit.

Even if, lately, he’s been acting like he’s fighting for his own damn life every time you’re around.

~

“I wanna go bowling,” Follo announces, taking a drag from the blunt as he lays practically horizontal across the back of the couch. Enjin and Gris have shoved him off at least three times already just to mess with him, but he keeps climbing back up like it’s his assigned seat.

Everyone’s at Enjin’s place for the night. There’s a movie playing in the background that no one’s actually watching, drinks scattered across the coffee table, his favorite cracked ashtray sitting in the middle as a decorative piece.

Follo pushes himself upright—immediately losing balance and sliding off the couch again. “Ow,” he grunts. “Who wants to go bowling?”

“Right now?” Gris looks at him like he’s insane.

“Yeah. Right now.”

“We are not going bowling right now,” Enjin snatches the blunt from his hand. “Maybe this weekend.”

“Can’t this weekend!” August calls out from the floor. “I have a project due!” You sink back further into the armchair. “I can’t either.”

Follo groans dramatically. “You of all people should be able to go. Please?”

“I already have plans. I’m sorry though.” You give him a sympathetic look and he whines at it. Tomme shifts on the floor, propping her chin on your leg as she looks up at you. “What’s got you busy?”

You hesitate for half a second. “Uh… I have a date.”

That gets everyone’s attention.

Gris lets out a low whistle, and Semiu nods approvingly. “You go girl. Your years of celibacy are finally over.” You flip her off playfully. “Shut the fuck up, it’s not like that.”

“Fine,” Follo sighs, still pouting. “You’re excused from bowling, I guess. Congrats that he finally grew a pair.”

“Thank you for approving my time off, Follo.”

Enjin goes completely still where he’s standing. Lips pressed into a thin line. Teeth grinding so hard it looks painful.

“You look mad,” Follo’s still beneath him on the floor. “Be happy for her!”

Enjin shoots him a look that could kill. “You’re too high,” he mutters, planting his foot against Follo’s chest and nudging him back. “Green out. Right now.”

Follo starts dramatically thrashing like Enjin’s actually crushing him, even though he’s barely applying pressure.

He can’t even look at you. He knows if he does, he’s going to say or do something he can’t take back. And he has no idea what that something would even be.

But you’re looking at him.

And Follo’s right. Why can’t he just be happy for you? He’s your best friend. He’s always been your loudest supporter, and your biggest cheerleader. Every win, every milestone, every dumb little achievement—you’ve never had to question whether he’d show up for you.

So why is this so different?

You can’t deny that when Zodyl first asked you out, your instinct was to hesitate. With the way Enjin’s been acting lately, and old feelings creeping back in at the worst possible time—not to mention the possibility that actually dating someone could put space between you and him—you were torn.

Enjin doesn’t look at you for the rest of the night.

He stays mostly silent, tossing in a response here and there so he doesn’t completely kill the vibe. But he won’t meet your eyes. Won’t laugh at your jokes. Won’t even brush past you the way he usually does.

Even after everyone leaves and you stay behind to help him clean up—like you do—he acts like you’re not there.

When you’re done, you grab your things and head toward the door. “I’m leaving!” you call out. Your hand is already on the handle when you hear footsteps, quick and uneven.

“Wait.”

He can’t let you walk out like this. You turn. “Yeah?”

Enjin closes the distance in two strides and pins you against the door. One hand on either side of your face, holding you there.

“Are you…” he starts, then stops, thoughts racing faster than he can control. “Are you going to go on that date?”

He’s so close that you can feel his breath. It pulls you straight back to every moment lately where he’s been inches away, touching you like he does. Your heart is pounding so hard you think he can hear it.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because I don’t want you to.”

You should be furious. You should call him controlling. Tell him to get over himself. But instead, you’re just hurt. “Why can’t you be happy for me?”

The question hits him harder than anything else tonight. It loops in his head until only one answer presents itself.

“There’s only room for me.”

“I’ve already told you—”

“No.” His voice is stern. “There’s only room for me.”

“Listen to me,” you plead. “You'll always be my best friend, and that’s never going to change. It’s okay for me to try out a relationship. I won’t leave you behind. I promise.” Your hand lifts to give him a pinky promise, and he pushes it away. “Then try it out with me.”

You freeze. “What?”

“A relationship. Have one with me.”

“Jin’, hey. Like I said, you’re my best friend—”

Those words land wrong just like the others.

Enjin steps back, retreating. “Yeah. You’re right. Sorry, ma’. I overstepped.” As much as he hates to do it, he’ll throw in the towel if you weren’t willing. “Be safe getting home, okay? Have fun this weekend.”

“Stop.”

“It’s late, and I know you like your Saturdays quiet and—”

“Enjin.” Your voice snaps, sharp. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“What are you saying to me? What have you been saying to me?” You step toward him. Every step feels loud. “Do you like me?” You’re right in front of him now, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him down so he has to look at you again. He lets out a half-laugh, half-breath. “Understatement.”

“Since when?”

“I’ve always liked you, baby.”

“When?”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Think it started when you came in talking about that bug—” You tighten your grip. “Sorry. Zodyl. When you told me he was texting you n’ shit.”

“And then it was thing after thing, and I realized you’re my girl. Nobody else’s. You’re my girl in every way, whether you feel the same or not.”

“I don’t—” Your voice wavers. “I don’t understand.”

He sighs, disgruntled. “Well I’ve been trying to show you—”

“Then show me now.” The words make Enjin's heart stop. “I’ll be receptive. Help me understand.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I do,” you push. “Help me understand what you’re feeling.” The way he hesitates makes you frustrated. “Please?”

He surges forward and bites down on your neck—hard. Aggressive enough that you know it’s going to leave a mark. He pulls back just enough to drag his tongue over the indents of his teeth, like he’s making sure it sets.

Your hands fly from his collar to his shoulders with a sharp gasp. It hurts—really fucking bad—but the way he’s kissing over it now makes your stomach twist and heat pool.

“My girl,” he mutters against your skin, words rough between messy kisses and lingering nips. “All mine.” His hand slides up your waist to your collar, tugging it aside so he can press another bite into your shoulder.

“Ngh—Jin’, wait—” you whimper as he does it again.

“Showing you,” he’s completely lost in it. In you. In the act of marking you up. “Showing them.” His hands are gripping you like he thinks you’re about to disappear. Like if he loosens his hold for even a second, you’ll slip through his fingers.

When he finally pulls back, his pupils are blown wide, chest rising and falling too fast. He looks utterly wrecked. “I’ll do anything for you, ma’,” he breathes, voice rough, almost breaking. “So quit lookin’ at other guys and just belong to me. Shit—do I gotta get on my knees and beg?”

This is Enjin. The cocky, arrogant, campus-famous flirt whose ego usually fills the room before he does. And right now he’s undone.

For you.

You rub his shoulders, trying to soothe him, thumb brushing over his cheek, under his eye. “You’re so stupid, you know that?”

He frowns slightly.

“Stupid and blind.” A laugh escapes you as you recall how obvious you were about your feelings when you were younger. “I had the biggest crush on you in high school, I was so down bad.”

“Was?” he hones in on the word.

“Well, yeah,” you tap his cheek. “I had to get over myself if I wanted to stay your friend. And I did. I learned to be okay with that because I knew the chances of you feeling the same were slim to none. I figured I wasn’t your type.”

“My… my type?”

Thinking back now—late nights next to someone else, wondering if you got home safe, if you’d eaten, if you were laughing somewhere without him—he realizes you’ve always been the woman that mattered the most to him. Checking all of his boxes.

“You always teased me. Called me a dork or weird like I was just your annoying little sidekick—” His fingers hook into your belt loops and he yanks you forward before you can finish, lips crashing against yours.

It’s desperate, rough and messy. Nothing like the soft, perfect first kiss with him you imagined when you were sixteen.

Your hands paw at his chest as he kisses you like it’s life or death, like this is the only way he knows how to prove himself worthy for you. With those fresh bite marks burning against your skin, a declaration of his claim on you, you’re living out your childish wet dream of your best friend.

With Enjin.

He pushes you backward and you stumble, falling onto the couch with a breathless laugh that dies the second he follows.

Enjin doesn’t hesitate. He’s on you immediately, bracketing you in, one hand planted by your head while the other grips your waist. He wedges his leg between yours to keep you right where he wants you. “Should’ve realized sooner,” frustration and want tangled together in him. “Could’ve saved us so much time.”

He rolls his hips down just enough to make you gasp, a soft sound slipping out before you can stop it.

“Fuck,” he growls into your mouth. “You’re so hot.”

The compliment goes straight between your legs. The idea of Enjin looking at you like this—wanting you like this—used to feel delusional, so far fetched. And now you’re pinned beneath him while he kisses you stupid.

This is different from anything you’ve ever had. Your kisses with your ex-boyfriend don’t even compare. Those were childish polite pecks.

The way he makes out with you is art. He nips at your bottom lip, drags his tongue along the seam of your mouth until you part for him. His hands slide under your shirt, palms warm against bare skin, fingers splaying like he’s mapping you out because he never got to before.

He’s going to make up for lost time.

Enjin knows you’ve never done anything like this before. Semiu wasn’t joking about your years of celibacy, and the fact that he’s the one you’re here with right now does something reckless to his ego.

He wants to be the one you remember, the one your body responds to without thinking. The one who teaches you what this is supposed to feel like. He wants it burned into you so deep that no one else even registers—in a way where when you close your eyes, it’s him. When you think about being touched, it’s him. When you imagine wanting someone, it’s him.

He’s not just trying to win—he’s trying to make sure there’s no competition ever again.

A hand slides up your stomach to the underwire of your bra, teasing the edge and making you shiver. His thumb brushes over your nipple, leaving you gasping for air—a silent plea for more. All while his other hand finds the waistband of your pants, tugging impatiently as he kneads your breast. Every touch of his ignites your skin.

Enjin pulls back just enough to look at you, hand still hooked at your waistband, thumb brushing the skin there while his lips trail back down to your neck—slower this time, less frantic.

“Is this okay?” He’s bracing himself for rejection. “If you don’t want this, I’ll stop. We can pretend it never happened.”

“You can go on your date,” he adds, voice rough but steadier than before. “And I’ll stay in my place.”

As much as Enjin doesn’t want you to deny him, he meant it when he said he’ll do anything you ask of him—even though the erection in his pants hurts so bad right now.

“No,” fingers fisting into his hair as you try to pull his lips back onto yours, you thrust your hips up to meet his—desperate for any friction to satiate the pooling between your thighs. “I don’t wanna stop, don’t wanna go—”

In one smooth motion, he’s lifting you up and carrying you straight toward his bedroom. The door barely makes it open before he’s tossing you onto the bed—hands everywhere, guiding you, pressing you down.

He goes for your shirt first, tugging it up and over your head with impatient hands, barely giving you time to catch your breath before he’s working at your pants too.

Enjin sits back to look at you, nearly bare in nothing but your undergarments. Your chest is rising and falling, cheeks pink with swollen, glossy lips—his eyes trace your form, staring at the marks on your neck and shoulder. The expanse of your skin to leave more.

He feels his dick twitch and drool.

Shrugging his shirt off and tossing it aside, the tattoo along his stomach makes his abs stand out every time he moves. That mixed with the view of an imprint of his ever so hard cock beneath his sweats? You’re salivating.

Enjin catches you looking and grins. “Like what you see?”

“I could say the same for you.”

“Is that even a question?” He laughs under his breath. “Fuck yeah I do.”

He leans down, mouth trailing lower, lower, lower—kissing along your stomach, over your hip, until he’s hovering right where you need him the most. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, pressing a slow kiss to the inside of your thigh.

It’s soft, almost sweet. And then he bites again.

You jolt, and he looks up at you with that dangerous half-smirk as a faint red mark begins to bloom. “And this,” he traces his finger in a circle around the mark, “is for only me to see.”

His breath ghosts over your soaked panties, hot and teasing. Your hand presses against his forehead to stop him, and he groans at your touch. “Wait,” your hips twitching up despite yourself. “You don’t have to… I know some guys don’t like—”

Enjin makes a show of pulling the lace down with his teeth. He flicks his tongue along your slit just once, slow enough for you to feel every damn nerve ending scream for more before pulling back with a shit eating grin. “Nah, that ain’t me, mama.”

The second those words leave his mouth has you clenching around nothing.

His tongue drags a filthy stripe from your entrance to your clit, and the second he tastes how wet and sweet you are has him grinding into the bed. “Fuck," he rasps, “look at that. All for me?” His thumb replaces his mouth just long enough to circle slow, maddening patterns while his other hand pins your hips down.

You choke on air when he finally sucks hard on that swollen bud—the vibration of his groan shooting straight through you as one finger sinks inside without warning. “Mine,” Enjin repeats like a prayer between licks, teeth grazing where it makes stars explode behind your closed eyelids.

Your fingers fly to weave through his golden strands of hair—letting out a louder moan than you intended to—before slapping a hand over your mouth to muffle your sounds.

No, he can’t have that.

With his free hand, he pulls yours away to lace your fingers together. “Awh, don’t do that. Let me hear you.”

Rough tongue sending sparks coursing through you, he slips in another finger—curving them just right to hit that spot inside of you and drive you mad. His fingers tighten around yours, holding your hand like a lifeline—and you can see him shaking, straining as he fights the need to just get closer to you.

You’re practically crying from just his mouth and fingers alone—you can’t imagine what it’ll feel like to have him inside of you. “Agh—fuck! Oh, Enjin—”

“That's it,” he’s purring against your clit, “keep sayin’ my name just like that.”

It’s too much—too good. When you unconsciously try to wiggle away from his hold, Enjin tsk’s—grabbing your thigh by his head and pulling you back, pushing your hips down again to keep you in place. “Where are you runnin’ off to?” His eyes are locked on you. “You're stayin’ right here, princess.”

“Please, please—Jin’, please—” You haven’t got the slightest clue what you’re begging for, but you just know you need more.

The obscene sound of you soaking his fingers punches an embarrassing moan from Enjin’s throat. Your back arches off the bed because of it—lips parted around his name—while he watches with pupils blown black.

Enjin’s hips continue to jerk mindlessly, and he swears he’s going to bust his load in his pants from just the taste and sight of you.

“Ngh—Enjin, I think I’m—” Attempting to warn him of your increasing climax, you’re cut off by him pulling away, coming up to kiss you. It’s softer this time—at least compared to his rough, desperate lips earlier. “Not yet.”

Taking off his pants, he finally releases his cock from its hold. You can’t help but gape at it—tip red and angry, drops of precum leaking down. It’s unfairly pretty.

And it’s big.

He reads the slightly fearful look on your face, rubbing soft circles into your hips. “Hey, we’ll take it slow, okay?” Every touch is a silent promise to you—this is Enjin, you’re safe. He’ll always take care of you.

Lining himself up at your entrance, he looks at you for confirmation. This okay?

You swallow, nodding. He smiles, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek as he pushes just the tip in.

“Shit—” You wince in pain with a sharp inhale. Enjin’s lips brush over your temple as he pushes in inch by inch. “Relax, baby. Just breathe, I’ve got you.”

Bottoming out has him moaning, head dropping to the crook of your neck. “You feel so good.”

Every muscle in his body contracts, trying not to move—this is your call, and he’ll wait however long he needs to. Eventually, the pain subsides into a dull ache—but underneath it is something better. When you feel his dick twitch inside of you, it makes your breath hitch.

You tap his shoulder.

“You can move.”

Enjin pulls back ever so slightly, before rocking back into you. “You're shaking,” He nuzzles the curve of your shoulder, inhaling the scent of sweat and your perfume. “You okay?”

The feeling of that first thrust catches you off guard, and you gasp—running your hands down the ink on his chest. “Perfect.” You nod profusely. “Please don’t stop.”

Slowly but surely, his hips start rolling in more shallow movements as he watches your face twist with newfound pleasure. You’re clenching around him so hard it’s taking everything in him to last, which was no easy feat right now. “You’re so tight—”

“You sound like that’s a bad thing…”

That makes him laugh, even though half-way through it he chokes on a groan when you tighten up on him again. “No, baby. Far from a bad thing.”

“You’re so wet,” a kiss, “and grippin’ me like this,” a thrust. “Fuck, ma’—it’s makin’ me lose my damn mind.” He picks up speed, and it feels so good that you are crying now. Big, fat tears beading at your lashes and running down your face.

“Shh, don’t cry baby,” Enjin cooes, catching the drops of salty tears with his tongue—lapping them up as they fall. Your nails claw down his back—so hard he thinks he may be bleeding—but that only turns him on more.

It’s kind of wild—seeing you laying beneath him, eyes glazed over and glossy with tears, moaning his name and crying, all fucked out on his dick. Never in a million years would he have thought he’d be balls deep inside of you—but now he’s cursing himself for not doing this so much sooner.

His cock is hitting nerves that your fingers or toys could never reach, and your back arches into him every time it kisses your cervix. You also couldn’t believe you were having sex with Enjin—silently thanking whatever higher power is up there for finally granting your wish.

“You’re so beautiful.” His hips roll in mind blowing circles. “And you’re so smart, funny, and kind.” Every praise is accompanied with a thrust that knocks sounds you didn’t even know you were capable of from your lips.

“You’re all mine, right?” You babble, nod, whatever. But that’s not what he wants. He takes one hand and grabs your jaw, the other reaching down to circle your clit. The added stimulation along with him hitting all of the right spots in your gummy walls makes your vision blur. “Ngh—yes! Right there—feels so good…”

“Wrong answer, try again.” His thrusts are brutal now, all softness out the window. “Let me hear you say it.” He grips your jaw harder, forcing you to look him in the eye, “I know you can. C’monnn—just use your words, princess.”

“Yours!” You cry out, “M’ yours—all yours, oh!” One particular snap of his hips has you practically screaming—you make a mental note to write an apology letter to his neighbors. “Only wanna be yours, Enjin—”

“Always have been—” You take his face in your hands, “Never loved anyone else—”

Your nails raking down the sweat-slick nape of his neck has him moaning and moving like a damn dog in heat, hips jerking like a live wire’s been shoved up his spine. “I never ever will!”

Your voice is like cupid’s arrow right in his heart. No pussy’s ever had him this drunk on it before—losing all of his self control—but that was just the spell you had on him. Constantly pulling at his heart strings, and shit, he wished he'd always loved you this way.

Maybe he had. Maybe you were right that he was stupid—he never really was very good with feelings. He’ll never make a mistake like that again.

“That’s my good girl, always sayin’ exactly what I want to hear…” He’s trying so hard to hold on. “God—M’ sorry, mama—” Enjin’s hands lock around your thighs, hiking them up until they’re flush with your chest and he’s wearing them like a necklace. “Didn’t mean to make you wait this long.”

You didn’t think it was possible for him to get any deeper—but fuck, he was—the stretch burning so good, and you can practically feel him in your stomach. His thick cock bullies into your tight cunt with little to no mercy, forehead pressed against yours, and your walls flutter around him as the coil in your stomach tightens.

“You gonna cum for me?” He goes faster, harder—he could win an Olympic medal at this point. “Please, baby. Need you to—” The pace of his thumb circling around your clit speeds up, giving you about 30 seconds until you fall apart. “Need you to cum all around my cock—”

Your vision goes white as you snap, orgasm rushing over you in mind blowing waves. You fall forward, this time biting down on his neck—hard enough to bleed and bruise.

“Mine—mine, mine, mine—” If you’re going to be his, then he’s going to be yours. No more Mr. Playboy. You’re not about to let him claim you without claiming him right back. If he wants you locked down, then he’s locking the fuck down too.

“Fuck—yeah baby, just like that…” Enjin’s cumming harder than he thinks he ever has in his life—the feeling of your walls spasming and clenching as you experience your own release, your teeth sinking into his skin, the sound of your cries and chanting right by his ear—it leaves him fucking you rough and filthy through both of your highs.

You think this must be what heaven feels like. If you died right now, you’d be at complete and utter peace with the life you’d lived.

His hips slow, easing your legs gently back down around his sides. You’re utterly wrecked beneath him—flushed and panting, skin glowing with sweat, shimmering almost like the glitter you always dust across your collarbones at parties.

You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

The way your hair fans out on his sheets. The way your lips are swollen and bruised from kissing him. The way your eyes are looking at him right now. He wants to burn the picture of you into his brain forever.

Enjin slowly pulls out and you mewl at the overstimulation, then at the loss of him inside of you. “Was that okay?” His eyes search your face like he’s looking for any sign he messed up.

“More than okay,” you reach up to trace the mark you left on him. It’s dark and gnarly. You wince. “Sorry about that… But was it okay for you, too?”

“Best sex I’ve ever had, baby.”

Enjin drops back onto the bed and pulls you into his chest where you belong. “And don’t apologize. I liked it, was hot as fuck. I feel branded now—might go get it tattooed.”

“You’re gonna get so much shit from the guys.”

“Do I look like I care?”

You run your fingers over the lines of his tattoos, tracing them absentmindedly while he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “We should probably get you cleaned up.”

He’s right, your thighs are sticky from your combined juices now leaking out—but you whine and cling tighter to him. “Nooo. Not yet. In a bit.”

“You’re such a spoiled brat.”

“Your spoiled brat, if I remember correctly.”

“Yeah, my pain in the ass.”

His heartbeat thuds beneath your palm, his hand rubbing slow circles into your back like he’s trying to lull you to sleep. “Got a question for ya’.”

You lift your chin to look at him. “What’s up?”

“You still going on that date this weekend?”

You roll your eyes and pinch his cheeks lightly. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

He grins. “Second question.”

“God, what now?”

“Girlfriend?”

Your heart flutters—the best word that could’ve come out of his mouth. You smile softly and nod.