Lowkey wanna see an isekai fic for gachiakuta x fem reader who has that peak humor personality that you could only get from the early kubzscouts videos more specifically the yansim era were he's just casually insulting everybody in the most wild ways and saying these crazy ass hypotheticals and gets scared or angry (in the funny way not angry angry) by the most bs things that could possibly happen and is just lowkey kinda dumb. Like she could look at a code for a good ten minutes like 1342 turn around while trying to repeat it so she doesn't forget and immediately say some bs like 1546 as the code 😭 maybe she could be a supporter or sm idk 😭
Omggg would you ever make a part 2 for the enjin “come home with me” fic? I loveddd your writing :))
Almost In Love
Enjin x reader | A part two to Come Home With Me, but can be read as a stand alone. Thank you for the request !! Please enjoy <3
Warnings: 18+ only, sexual content, smoking, swearing, reader is a woman in this one.
Description: The reader has come home, but is it really working out?
Your cheek is on Enjin’s bare chest, drool spilling out of the corner of your mouth and painting over his tattoos. He tries to keep his breath slow and subtle so he can feel the heat escaping your lips, blowing through the short hairs on his body. Every time you exhale, a nearly silent whistle slips between your front teeth, serenading him.
One of his hands comes up to rest on the back of your head and he tangles his fingers in your hair as he contemplates how precious you look, how happy he is to have you in his bed again. Not even sexually, just with him.
“You’re such a good woman,” Enjin whispers.
“Don’t I know it,” you yawn and press your open mouth against his pec.
He raises his brows, then cracks a smirk.
“You’re awake?”
“Clearly.” you sigh, rolling over so your back is against him. “You woke me up with your fawning over me.”
You raise your arms to drag your knuckles along his jawline and look up at him with a tired but teasing eye. The other eye is closed, your lashes glued together with crusted sleep, a sign that you weren’t ready to wake up yet.
“I wasn’t fawning over you,” says Enjin rather proudly. Another of his white lies that he hopes you won’t catch.
“What were you doing then?”
He can tell you’re quickly growing annoyed at him. You’re chewing your bottom lip and you’ve dropped your hands down to pull at the loose threads on the seam of your singlet.
He’s sure you think he’s predictable when he asks, “you got a cigarette?” to avoid your question.
A nod and you take his wrist, pushing his hand into the pocket of your pyjama pants. He finds the packet, and though it’s been flattened by your sleeping position the actual cigarettes are more or less intact. A couple are bent and one looks like it might be tearing at the end, but they should be fine. He pops one of the straight ones in his mouth and puts the packet on his bedside table next to the necklace you took off before you fell asleep. You glare at this, and he returns it to your pocket, but he can’t seem to find a lighter.
“I don’t understand you,” you say after he maintains such a long silence that you get the idea that he won’t be answering your question.
“What? I feel like we understand each other fairly well.”
You scoff and sit up, pinning his stomach under your bum and cradling his torso with your thighs. He makes an attempt, a very concentrated attempt, not to look down at the space between your legs where your shorts are riding up. The edges of your underwear are poking out. They’re an expensive pair he bought you for your birthday last year.
Back then, you’d argued about them, complaining that Enjin was the only one who got a present out of a pair of red, rose-patterned lace undies with a floss-width string up the arse. Reluctantly, he had to go buy you another present to make up for it. A bouquet of roses and the matching bra. The look you gave him when you found the see-through bra amongst the flowers was enough to kill a man, but he only laughed. He let you milk him dry that night and called that your real present.
Once he realises he’s been staring at your underwear for the last thirty seconds, completely lost in his memories, his eyes slick— sorry, flick up to look at your face.
“I just don’t understand how one minute, you’re on your knees begging me to come home with you—”
“—I wasn’t on my knees, exactly—”
It’s probably not the best idea to make a sex joke right now.
“—and the next you’re telling me you aren’t fawning over me. Is it so hard for you to treat me right?” you say, staring at him with a glossy-eyed frown.
Through those eyes, Enjin rewatches the last few years of your shared lives. There’s a romance in them that he’s unused to. He’s grown so accustomed to the anger and resentment usually directed at him, and the nonchalant, egotistical attitude he usually directs at you, or at women more broadly.
“Hey,” he begins softly as he sits up and you slide down into his lap, “babe, I’m trying my best to treat you the way you’re supposed to be treated.”
He gets the sudden feeling that he’s burning Rome before he even manages to build it.
“Why won’t you just admit it then? Why do you have to backtrack every time you’re almost in love with me?” you squint at him, so full of anger that he can feel it pulsing through you, yet your voice hasn’t raised at all.
“Do we have to argue?” he practically whines.
Underneath you, he starts rocking his hips and grips your waist to make you bounce. When you close your eyes he can’t tell whether it’s in submission to the movement, or retaliation. You’re breathing heavily which might be a good sign, and your pants feel as though they’re getting hotter on top of his bulge which is definitely a good sign.
But then your eyes open, looking away as if they can’t stand the sight of him. You push yourself off him, standing up beside the bed and rubbing your eyes free of sleep. A few of your things are scattered around the room: a handbag, toothbrush, some condoms he can tell you regret bringing, a suitcase of clothes. All of them pre-move-in items you managed to throw into the van as you excitedly left the town house ready to go home. So much for that. So much for this.
“I don’t want to have sex with you, Enjin,” you spit.
“Why were you in my bed, then?” he says without thinking.
“I came here for the kid,” you say firmly.
“Then stay and meet him,” he responds.
You scoff, grab your things, and storm out the door. Enjin follows only seconds later, his long stride carrying him much faster than yours does. His hands are in his pockets and his back arched as he tries to look at ease while racing through the hallways after you. The beat of Tamsy’s obnoxious music and the fight erupting between two overeager teenagers somewhere close by competes with the drum of his heart in his ears.
When you reach the reception area, he’s finally caught up to you. His hand grabs your wrist as yours grabs the door handle. You turn to him and a scowl rips across your face. He can feel Semiu’s gaze on his back.
“You, uh, forgot your necklace,” Enjin tells you.
With a sigh, you pull your shirt and hair away from your skin and let him fasten the chain around your neck. You don’t let go of the handle. He takes his sweet time, and when it’s done, you open the door.
“Please… Please don’t do this to me again,” he whispers, “please don’t walk out of here. I can’t take it.”
You pause, look up at the sky, and shake your head. He curves his neck to get a glance outside and sees the black clouds of his good fortune rolling into town. He’s starting to like the rain.
“Enjin,” you start, “I think we need to stop having sex. It seems to be the only thing you care about, other than smoking.”
“Okay.”
Letting go of the door, you turn around and disappear into the building. He watches you go, his shoulders tense and his chest so tight he might need to go see Eishia for some healing.
Behind the reception desk, Semiu adjusts her glasses and clears her throat. Enjin doesn’t want to hear whatever it is she has to say, but he has an inkling that she won’t let him get away without an earful.
“All of these theatrics could be avoided if you would just be honest with her. Stop with your lies. She needs to know you love her, you dumb womaniser.”
In which Enjin runs into an old fling at the bar who doesn't remember him. He jogs her memory.
Warning: 18+ sexual content, MDNI, pet names, panty stuff, semi-public sex, swearing, Enj is big, (accusations of) masochism/sadism, unprotected, swearing, squirting, some oral stuff etc.
Dancing in a dress so tight that it’s shelving your cheeks and boobs, you hear someone call your name over the music. A body slots into the space behind you; pressing against your back, tossing a chin over your shoulder, and tonguing your neck. You trust that he’s probably familiar to you, seeing as he knows your name, and grind on the bulge already starting to form in this person’s pants.
“Do I know you?” you ask, taking a long whiff to savour his musky, tobacco scent.
“Come o~on,” he coos, “don’t do me like that.”
You angle your head to get a good look at him. Blond hair, tattooed body all the way from his undercut to his fingertips which are tracing circles on your belly. Now that you think about it, you do recognise him. At the very least, you definitely recognise that back of his. A vision of your nails digging into the ink flashes through your mind.
“Oh, yeah. What’s your name again?” you say and reach over the back of his head to tangle your fingers in his hair while the two of you continue to sway together.
“As if you don’t remember,” he scoffs.
Whatever. He clearly doesn’t think it’s possible to be that forgettable, so it must’ve been good sex. Men are often bad judges of their own character, but the heat bubbling between your thighs trusts him. You’ll just have to avoid his name for the rest of the night.
He takes you back to his room upstairs. There are very faint impressions of places you may or may not have previously had sex in littered all through the walk up. This time, though, he just shuts his bedroom door and guides you to his mattress as vanilla as pound cake.
His wide hands help to pull off your shoes. Then, he drags those same hands up the outsides of your legs as he dots the inside with hot kisses, suctioning here and there to leave marks for tomorrow.
When he reaches the edge of your skirt, he moves his hands over your knees and spreads them apart. Eagerly, he watches as your dress hikes up, bunching around your waist. You’ve got this white seamless thong on, which covers only the essential parts, and the wetter you get, the more it seems to just melt into transparency. He can see your fat lips waiting for him on the other side.
“Isn’t she just gorgeous?” he sighs almost wistfully as he pokes two fingers into the tip of your hole through the fabric, making you kick with need. “I’ve missed her.”
“Well, she barely remembers you. Think you could jog her memory?” you say.
Hot, heavy breaths erupt from your lungs and out your mouth as he removes his fingers from you. They’re coated in your fluid, and he takes a sniff, noting that it smells tangy and mildly floral. Then, he puts his fingers into his mouth and sucks them loudly until he can’t taste you anymore.
He pulls your thong off, taking another long sniff before pocketing it for supposed safe-keeping. You’re sure he’s gonna use it to get himself off later and just the thought of it makes your thighs swing shut with a lewd slap! that garners his full attention.
“Come on, hot stuff,” he hums, pushing one hand between the meat of your thighs and stamping his thumb onto your clit, “open up f’me.”
Again, he spreads your legs, this time holding them in place so your pussy lips part as well. You’re so gummy inside, so wet, so… pulsating as your walls grab at the air.
It’s obvious you want him in there, and he’ll gladly indulge, especially considering how tight his pants are getting. He slides them down, tossing them and his boxers onto the floor. His dick bounces out, but even fully hard, it weighs itself down. That’s how big he is.
Fuck. He’s bigger than anyone else you’ve had. Memories of past experiences with this guy start to become clearer. Mainly, the pain of the morning after being more or less torn apart by his monster cock. More enjoyably, the thrill of being fucked into oblivion by the best dick you’ve ever had. No wonder he thought you’d remember his name.
He tries to get back on the bed to line his tip up with your entrance, but you escape his grasp and use your foot to hold him away.
“Shirt,” you mutter, “take it off. Wanna see your ink. Feel your back.”
Grinning like a fiend, he complies and abandons his shirt with the rest of his clothes. You trace the red swirls on his chest first, wetting your lips as you consider the pain he would’ve felt as the tattoo gun went over some particularly sensitive spots. Then, you touch his naval tattoo. Damn, that would’ve hurt so, so bad. You bite down on your lower lip as your hands draw upwards to his shoulders and onto his bulging back muscles.
To make it fair, he drags your dress over your head and unbuckles your bra. Your boobs fall out unceremoniously, but he drools at the sight of them, closing in and leaving a mark on one of them before continuing on his mission down south.
He knows he should prep you, but he, unlike yourself, remembers how fast you came last time when he just went straight in. And how you moaned when he called you a masochist — he’ll have to do that again tonight if you handle him well.
The head of his cock slobbers over your hole. It’s no doubt too big to fit in there, but between your slick and his pre, it’ll work itself out.
With a sense of urgency, he starts to roll his hips into you, his hands moving to your sides to coax you open. As the tip pops through, you let out a grunt and he breathes himself through a shaky sigh. Now, your walls do most of the work. Clenching, embracing, pulling his cock in as he revels in the rhythmic pulses of your desire.
“Mmh~ deeper,” you moan and arch your back as he increases the pressure. “Dee~ee~per!”
At that, he slams the rest of himself into you. The cock is so huge that it not only feels as though it just hit and bounced off of your womb, but its girth also seems to completely fill all the space available in your opening.
“Ah~ ahh~”
“That feel good, sexy?” he asks and your head lolls back and forth in a dazed nod.
You’re humping to try to get him to move while rubbing your clit into the darker blond hair at the base of his cock. Anything for some friction.
Accordingly, he starts to move — it’s genuinely painful — borderline more painful than pleasurable. But that’s what makes it so good. The top of your hole pinches around his dick, seeming to attempt to pull him further in and push him out at once. Inside, your walls constrict in time with your pants, and he maintains an unrhythmical pace to keep you from getting used to him.
“Sto- stop doin’ that,” you whine.
“Doin’ what?” he asks facetiously.
Again, you kick. It’s clear that you’re trying to kick him, but he just chuckles. You can’t get the right angle with his body between your legs, and his cock securing you in place.
“Alright, you freak,” he says between laughs, “you want this soft?” You shake your head, and he hums. “So, you want this rough, then?”
A smile breaks across your face and he gets the idea, hoisting you up off the bed so that you’re balancing on his dick with the weight of your whole body. This makes you slide down his length, and you grunt at the pain of being skewered.
His hands hook under your ass and he slaps one cheek, making you squeak and jump. A grunt slips through his teeth.
Using this momentum, he bounces you on his cock. There’s a squelch when you first slam down which feels like bubbles rolling between his wood and your gummy inner walls. When you get thrown back up, almost coming off the tip, your translucent juices have coated him like a sticky layer of wax. As you come back down, both of you throw your heads back. He, because you’re so tight that he’s being strangled down there; and you, because he’s just too much.
You find the edge of his undercut again, play with his hair while his head becomes stuffed in the middle of your boobs. He breathes slowly, meticulously committing every lust-laced feeling and every irresistible scent to memory. Your salted caramel body lotion, your vanilla and ylang-ylang perfume. It’s an expensive scent to maintain here on the Ground, yet he’s never known you to smell any different.
Just for a moment, he wonders how you make your money. But the thought leaves his mind when your nails rake down his back to deeply that he’s sure they’ve drawn blood. Simultaneously, you drop back down onto him, letting out a long, unintelligible moan.
“More,” you order, “faster.”
Again, he complies, eager to make you come undone. The quicker pace causes drool to gather at the sides of your mouth and spill over, down your chin. He’s pounding you down, rutting into you; making a mess of his sheets while you make a mess of his back. Then, he stops. Cold turkey.
“Ah~ wh-why? Nooo,” you whine, melting down into him.
“Say my name, baby,” he says.
Kissing the top of your left boob, he starts up again. Real slow. Your face contorts into a pained frown as your hips roll.
“Faster~ Fast again~ please, fast!”
“My name,” he repeats, ignoring you.
“Can’t,” you huff.
You wrap your arms around him and pull him closer. Your boobs go flat against his front as you more or less twerk on him. The plap! plap! plap! of your glistening skin against his is better than the music was in the bar.
“You that dumbed out on my dick you’ve forgotten my name, huh baby?”
“I told you~ah!” He bucks into you, just once, then returns to his lazed pace. “I didn’t — fuck — remember before, handsome.”
He stops once more. You whine. Loudly. Loud enough that anyone in the hall could hear it.
“You really don’t remember?”
“Nuh-uh.”
A chuckle, “fuuck. It’s Enjin, baby. En. Jin. Say it for me?”
“Enjin~” you muse, “go faster, Enjin!”
At the sound of his name from your sweet, plump, slobbery lips, he groans. His pace becomes something demonic, something it hasn’t been yet. You barely have time to figure out what to do with your hands when he shoves you back down into the bed. He fixes this dilemma for you, jailing your wrists in his own hands as he prints his open mouth all over your neck. He pumps into you again and again, grunting each time your eyes roll behind their lids and your back cranes to bring him further into you.
Enjin picks you up with ease, unsheathing himself from you while ignoring your horny little cries, then flips you onto your stomach. Grabbing your hips again, he pulls your ass up, then spreads your cheeks to give himself a good view of your puckered hole, where your fluid has dripped down and coated.
“Such a pretty hole,” Enjin coos, “does it want a kiss?”
“Noo~ Not there, Enjin!” you whine, blindly flailing your arms behind to shoo him away.
He sighs, “fi~ine. Next time, then.”
What he does do is lower his face and stick his tongue out before licking from your clit to your pussy hole. You squeal in delight, tears welling in your eyes. He returns to your clit to give it a kiss and a suck to rival those that bruised your neck.
“Oh my fuck, Enjin. In me. Now. Please~ Please Enjin~”
“Yeah? You want me back inside, do you, pretty girl?” he grins against your folds and you flinch at the coldness of his teeth.
“Please, please! I want you to make me hurt re~eal bad, Jinnie~”
That nickname does something to him. He’s not sure what, but definitely something. He replaces his mouth with his cock, meanly beating the tip against your clit until you’re actually crying for him to just put it in and trying to grab at it to make that happen. You’re so cute.
Enjin doesn’t keep you waiting too long, though. Eventually, he pushes past that stubborn, too-tight entryway, smiling sadistically when you splutter out his name:
“Enj-aahh-jinn~ah!”
He plants a kiss on your lower back, right above your crack, heeding your prior warning about your ass. But he doesn’t give you enough time to get used to his size again, almost immediately slamming the rest of himself into you, pounding against your cervix so hard that you shriek. It’s a pain like nothing else.
As he pulls himself back, you feel the way his cock rubs against your g-spot, and words barely seem real to you anymore.
“Ah~ ahh~ Jin~ ahhhh~”
“What is it, huh?” he teases.
He’s trying to act all composed, but he’s hardly holding it together himself. You’re squeezing the life out of his cock with your velvety walls, and he’s absolutely soaked with your arousal. There’s a knot behind his naval tattoo that he won’t be able to hold much longer.
“Again~ngh, one — ah — more~ah.”
“Yeah, alright, my sexy little masochist.”
Replicating his last movement, he plunges deep inside, smacking against your cervix.
“Ahhhhhhh~! Fuuuuu~”
The pain is unbearable. You snap first, squirting all over him and his sheets. It takes a few more pumps, each one bullying your cervix and scraping your g-spot, but it’s really the way your liquid streams down his thighs that gets him.
“Shiiit,” he moans.
Knowing he’s not wearing a condom, Enjin has the sense to at least try to pull out, but you buck back, keeping him firmly in place. His warm, gooey cum fights to find space inside your pussy with his fat dick. With a couple weak humps, he secures his load inside and drops down on top of you, his chest against your back.
His cock slides out slowly, resting between your thighs. Both of your fluids are everywhere. All over your bodies, and his bed, and you recall that he doesn’t have an en suite. Only a shared showering space. Fuck.
“Another round?” you ask, wanting to avoid the shared shower at all costs.
“Yeah,” Enjin replies breathlessly, “you’re on top this time.”
Warnings: 18+ only, sexual content, smoking, swearing
Description: Enjin wants the reader to come home and it's so very hard to say no to that face.
(read part two here!)
Everyone locks themselves indoors when rain is forecasted, terrified of getting acid burns or falling ill from contamination. That’s how Enjin knows you’ll be at home.
He glances up from under his Umbreaker, the sole reason he’s able to walk outside without worrying, and he takes in your rather unappealing town house. The roof is still attached, though supported by a layer of rusted tin you scavenged from the edge of No Man’s Land. Boards are nailed to the frame of the first-storey window, your way of protecting against the Attackers who broke in once. Above the door, there’s a set of Komainu spray-painted on as an extra layer of security, an old gift from Gob which still hasn’t worn off.
Just as he raises his hand to knock, the door opens inwards, and you lean against the wall with your arms crossed. Your face is as blank as it can be, which is still rather expressive as your eyebrows sit so low that your lashes are grazing them, and your bottom lip is sucked into your mouth as if to prevent you from spitting at him.
“Hey,” he says and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his basketball shorts, resting his vital instrument between his waist and elbow.
You can probably tell how meek he’s pretending to be, but he thinks that’s part of the charm. That’s how he catches you in his mousetrap.
“What do you want?” You squint at him.
“It’s raining, I needed somewhere to crash,” he whines like a pup.
Your eyes dart to the Umbreaker, then to the clouds above the city that look as though they’ll never part. A knowing sigh slips out from between your lips, but you step out of the way.
Enjin enters with his chest spread broadly towards you. That grin of his sits smug under ravenous golden eyes which sweep down your face to your collarbone. He can feel a drop of sweat (or possibly — but hopefully not — rain) hot on his forehead.
“Don’t look at me,” you hiss.
He raises his hands in surrender, but the grin doesn’t so much as falter. After strolling all-too-casually into your lounge room, Enjin sits down on the leather chaise and occupies himself by flipping through a magazine. A question, or a statement, I suppose — I thought this would be one of them sexy ones — gets stuck in his throat as he tries his best not to anger you any further.
All the way on the other side of the room, you’re searching the wine rack, skipping past the nice stuff you’ve had since forever and only glancing at a few bottles he knows he bought you. You decide on something new, something that hasn’t had enough time to age. You slide it out of the rack and pour two glasses on the bar table, handing one to him and downing yours in one go. As you refill, he takes a sip. It’s too sweet for him. He’s sure you knew that.
“We aren’t having sex, you know that, right?”
Those eyes look up at you from all the way over there, staring like they never lost sight of you in the first place.
“That’s fine,” Enjin says.
“That’s not what you came here for, then?” you ask.
“Not really.” He shrugs, and he regrets it instantly when he sees the way you clench your jaw.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You’re squinting at him again.
“I just… I came here for something else, but wasn’t opposed to the possibility of that happening,” he explains honestly.
As much as he’s sure you’d deny it, he tries to be honest with you. At least, he tries about the important things. The little things, he’s known to be more flexible about. The odd white lie has saved your relationship, or whatever it is you’ve got going on, more than once without your knowledge. But honesty is his natural instinct and you know that. So, he isn’t surprised that you grunt in disgust but don’t make any movements to leave or kick him out.
“You told me you needed somewhere to crash,” you remind him, “but you’ve just said you ‘came here for something else.’”
The white lie. He glances away, his cheeks slightly pink. You’ve caught him.
“The truth, Enjin, or you’re outta here.”
In the interest of buying time, Enjin asks you for a cigarette. Though you don’t smoke, you’ve always got a pack in your pocket, even now. You toss him one. He catches it and lights it using the flame from a candle on your coffee table. The window at the back of your house, the one that looks at the concrete wall of your neighbour’s house, is slightly ajar — not enough to let the rain through. He stands by it so the smoke has somewhere to go.
“I want you to move back home,” he says, staring out the window at absolutely nothing.
Your mouth opens to start to protest, but he cuts you off.
“Not for me,” he argues and turns to lock eyes with you.
“For who, then?” you ask.
“There’s this kid, a Sphereite, and you’re really good with kids, so I thought—”
“You’re really good with kids, too.”
In a single step he leaps over the coffee table and takes your hands in his, the cigarette sitting between his lips as he blows the smoke away from your face. He hates begging, so he was hoping it wouldn’t get to this point.
“I can’t be the only one.”
“I believe in you,” you smile weakly. You pet his cheek, but catch yourself and stop. “Besides, there’s Semiu and the boss to help you.”
“You’re so stubborn,” he says.
“I have to be. You’re hard to say no to.”
That makes him chuckle and your flat smile breaks into a toothy one as you revel in the moment. He can tell you’ve missed this, because he’s missed it too. As his palms run over your biceps, you take the cigarette from his mouth and your fingertips graze his bottom lip.
“Come home,” he whispers as he kisses your hand and blows the last breath of smoke into it.
“No,” you murmur, shaking your head.
You put the cigarette out in a porcelain dish left on a footstool you’ve been using more for stacking homeless items than for its intended purpose.
Tobacco stinks of sex. Or maybe sex stinks of tobacco. You both think this, and you both wonder whether it’s because Enjin always stinks of tobacco. Either way, the scent of cigarettes always gets the both of you horny, and seeing you always makes him need a cigarette.
“Why not?” he says quietly.
He touches your stomach, feels the folds of skin and flesh, searches for those scars you got back when you still worked together. When you start to lick at the ink on his neck he wonders whether he ought to take the choice away from you. Should he just grab the Umbreaker right now and carry you home through the rain?
Nah, better not. You hate tyrants.
“Because you’re gonna do— mm— just what you did last time,” you reply in a gentle croon as your licks turn into bites.
Every wavering breath Enjin lets out reeks of pure lust. His nose melts into your hair as he savours the thought of all the marks you’re leaving on his body. Meanwhile, his hands wrap under your shorts and he lifts you up onto the bar table and reluctantly pushes you away from him.
The look on your face is absolutely wild. Pupils dilated, jaw slack, tongue forced against the inner wall of your cheek. He’s only ever seen it a few times before: when you hadn’t eaten in four days because you got lost in No Man’s Land, and the morning after you shared a bed for the first time. To call it hunger would be to underestimate it. It was something far more encompassing. Far more possessive, like a parasite.
Enjin grins again. A winner’s grin. His eyebrows are curved in, his nose wrinkled, his dimples on full display. You’re still so angry at him, but you’re coming home with him. He just knows.
“What’d I do last time, babe?” he utters.
You flush red when he calls you that name, but you’re reluctant to give in, so you tell him: “You went out with other girls to make me jealous.”
“Did I?”
“And you only assigned me to missions with you.”
“That almost rings a bell.”
“And you never did your paperwork.”
“Never do.”
“So Semiu made me do it all.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And when I told you I was gonna move out… Well, do you remember what you said?” you ask him.
Enjin considers the question for a moment. But he already knows the answer.
“Something about fucking?” he responds teasingly.
“You said,” you start and jam your pointer finger into his sternum, “that I’d come crawling back the second I needed ‘a good fucking!’”
He cackles, actually cackles, when he hears you repeat the words he said to you all those months ago. Of course, he was wrong. You were about as headstrong as the most determined mule anywhere on the ground. Once he said it to you, he practically ensured that you’d never, ever go back to him yourself. It was always going to end up this way, with him begging you to come back to him.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to you,” Enjin says as he rests his large hands on your knees. “Please forgive me and come home?”
A sigh slips out as you cross your legs around him.
“Whatever.”
You lean your head into his chest and close your eyes, sniffing the thick scent of tobacco still lingering on his clothes and pressed into his very skin. He kisses the top of your head.
You guys know what would be cool for another Gachiakuta x character based reader? Sally Face! She or they could be from a small town like nockfell and the events of the game still happen just closer together and by the time that sal is 20-22 or whatever all the events have happened the only difference is that sal didn't get put in the electric chair an had escaped and eventually found by the cleaners the vital instrument could be sals guitar since in game he would play it with Larry but in the fic it could be a gift from Larry or sm but it could work like it does in game the Soundwaves from the guitar cords would destroy the trash beasts and they could have even found some old Nirvana songs and sanity falls along with other metal bands that sal! Reader could listen to in their/her bedroom and it annoys the hell out of tamsy. And Amo could be like our new version or just remind us of Megan or soda my poor babies 😭and riyo reminds us of ash and maybe rudo just a tamer version of Travis without the slurs and all that(I love Travis and genuinely think he deserved better Kenneth was a shitty father and him and his sisters need to be adopted by me I would definitely take good care of them 😤)
