#enjin x reader

[arimari81-70]

How it feels logging onto Tumblr to read fics after joining a new fandom

[mayoeinase]

How it feels to read a fanfic and discover a kink I didn't even know exist

[nyankochan]

♥︎ Heavenly ♥︎

Synopsis: first time going raw and he’s addicted to the feeling

feat: enjin, tamsy, gris, zodyl x fem!afab!reader (individual)

Content: unprotected sex, dirty talk, size kink, rough sex, doggy style/prone bone, manhandling, choking (Tamsy), mean dom!tamsy, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie, pússydrunk men, mating press (Gris), not pulling out, breeding kink, husband!zodyl, husband!gris, marathon sex (Zodyl), I hope is didn’t forget anything and I apologize if I did!

master list -- here w/c -- 3.1k (average 750 each)

♥︎ —enjin

“W-what?!”

Enjin sputters, doing a double take at your request. He wasn’t quite sure if he heard you correctly or if he was mind was just trying to play tricks on him. Because there was no way you could’ve possibly said what you just said. But deep down, he hoped like hell he was right.

“I said that next time we have sex. I don’t want to use a condom,” you repeat. Your boyfriend stiffens, and a deep flush coats his cheeks. Almost as if you just slapped him when making your wicked request. Were you trying to kill him? Based on your sly smile, Enjin is truly beginning to believe that you’re nothing but trouble disguised as a vixen. That’s what it had to be.

“G-goddamn woman,” Enjin exhales shakily. His clothes were suddenly very constricting. He tries to suppress a groan when his cock throbs, pressing uncomfortably against his thigh. “Can’t just go around saying shit like that so casually. You even know what you’re asking—“

“Oh I’m well aware…” You teasingly trace your hand down his chest. “But I said what I said~”

Enjin’s restraint snaps, and he all but pounces on you. His mouth is on yours, hot and desperate. His hands are rough and needy, pulling at your clothes and groping wherever he can while he backs you into the bed. You fumble with his belt, and Enjin quickly kicks off his slacks. You’re just as impatient as he, already trying to pull his cock from his boxers.

“Fuck—wait a min,” Enjin pants, his hot breath against your skin as he grabs your hands. He pins them above your head, and you whimper. “Shit, babe. One sec—need to stretch you out first, and—oh fuck—“ He hisses through his teeth as you roll your hips, pressing your sweet, bare cunt against him.

“Enjin, don’t care about that,” your words slur. You hook your heels around his waist to try to bring him closer, where you’re aching to have him. “Just hurry it up already. Need you inside now.”

Enjin shudders. “Tch. Dammit.” He frees his cock from the waistband of his boxers. You practically salivate at the sight of his length. Thick and an angry red at the tip with pre drooling down the side. It’s like he was suddenly bigger than before. Then again, he was always a shower to begin with.

Fisting himself a few times, Enjin presses his tip against the entrance of your puffy folds, already glistening and wet with your arousal. “Since you won’t let me prep you,” he grunted. Enjin lets a glob of spit fall from his lips. You shiver as it lands on your clit. “Such an inpatient ass brat.”

You gasp as he tries to prod himself forward. The puffy lips of your pussy flutter and try to suck him forward. “Enjin, please!”

“Yeah yeah. Don’t need to beg princess.” Enjin kisses his teeth, letting out a shaky laugh. “It’s all yours anyway.”

The first thick inch of his cock stretches through your walls, and Enjin could nearly cum on the spot. Without the condom restricting him, your cunt feels downright heavenly around him. Was your pussy always this warm and gooey? And oh fuck—you were damn near suffocating his cock with how you clenched around him.

“Holy shit…you’re gonna snap my dick off, squeezin’ me like that,” Enjin groans.

“Ack-Enjin!” You gasp, back bowing off the bed. “S’too much. Y-you’re too—“ When you twist away, Enjin folds one of your legs over his shoulder and urges his hips forward trying to ease the next few inches in. You bite back a squeal when the bulbous head kisses against your cervix.

“Aht. Don’t go tapping out on me now. I ain’t even all the way in yet.” Biting his lower lip, Enjin grips your hips and with a final thrust, sheathes himself the rest of the way. His cock was already throbbing. He was damn near ready to blow his load just from feeling you without the condom alone, which would’ve been embarrassing if it didn’t feel so good.

“Fuck.” Enjin lets out a low moan. He moves slowly, dragging his length back and forth, the thick ridges of the veins running down the side massaging against your quivering walls. You cunt spits out more of your sweet arousal, a ring of messy white coating the base of Enjin’s cock which he shoves back in with a mean snap of his hips. He presses so deep it leaves you gasping. And then he’s moving, each stroke becoming progressively harder and faster than the last.

“You feel so amazing,” Enjin grunts. He sloppily kisses your lips to drink up your squeals when his cockhead bullies against your g-spot, causing you to clench around him as your orgasm rocks through you. And Enjin’s so far gone that his orgasm sneaks up on him. Before he can even think about pulling out, he’s cumming hot, thick ropes of white, making a mess in your cunt.

“Shit.” His hips stutter through the overstimulation, trying to fuck his release deeper, filling you to the brim with him. “Never using a damn rubber again. This pussy’s too addicting.”

♥︎ —tamsy caines

“Hah—shit,” Tamsy’s breathy grunts fill your ears. The sweaty strands of his long hair stick to his forehead as he pumps his cock in and out of your gummy walls. You keen against him, tears brimming against your eyelashes. But Tamsy grabs you wrists, pinning them behind you to hold on for leverage. “Stop squirming,” he hisses.

“But Tamsy~” your words slur, delirious from the way his length continues to stretch and fill you. Your boyfriend has you pinned beneath him, hips pressed flush against your ass. In this position, the stretch of his cock feels impossibly deeper, making your toes curl. And without the condom, his throbbing length seems to nudge all your most sensitive spots. “Y-you’re too…ah…T-too deep.”

At that, Tamsy laughs.

“Too deep?” He wraps a firm arm around your waist while keeping another hand on your wrists. “No, my love. I don’t think I’m deep enough-“

You squeal into the pillows as Tamsy suddenly rams into you hard. It steals your breath when the mushroom tip bullies against your cervix with each deep stroke. Your fluttering walls quiver in response.

He traps you under his body weight. And no matter how much you push and whine against him, your weepy cunt continues to suck him in each time Tamsy ruts into you, letting out an obscene squelch whenever his hips connect.

“T-there we go,” Tamsy pants. Dipping his head into the crook of your neck, his breath tickles against your skin. His hand snakes up your body before wrapping around your throat. He squeezes ever so slightly at first, just enough to make you gasp.

“Just look at how well you’re taking me. Heh. You say it’s too much, but your body betrays you, my love.” Tamsy lets out a low his, scrunching his eyes shut as he stutters, “Your damn cunt’s trying to suck me dry, and every time I fuck against that sweet spot of yours, you tighten just a bit.”

You shake your head, but Tamsy’s hand squeezes tighter around your throat. “S’not true!” You babble, beginning to feel lightheaded. “I’m…ah, fuck. N-no…i-it’s not—“

“No?” Tamsy bemused. His grip tightens—chokes—making you cry out. “Then why are you still making such a fucking mess on my cock, huh?”

Your arousal coats his length in a filthy ring of white. Your weepy cunt damn near gushes around him when his hips snap back in, dripping down onto your thighs and the sheets below. It’s messy where you two connect, your arousal mixing with his precum, smearing down Tamsy’s cock each time his hips snap against yours.

Your puffy lips fluttered around his hard length, your slick release allowing him to slide back in with ease again and again and again.

“F-fuck…Tamsy, I’m gonna—“ you whimper.

“Go on. Cum.”

Eyes rolling back, your release hits you with such force it leaves you gasping. Your clit throbs and your entire body goes slack under Tamsy, who swears under his breath. He buried himself all the way to the hilt inside you when his orgasm hit and it hit hard.

His dick pulsated with each subsequent spurt of cum, his balls throbbing in almost relief to finally be emptying themselves. His hips still as he emptied inside you, pinning you to the mattress, or perhaps it was his strength finally leaving him.

You could feel his release trickle down your ass and thighs, over spilling from your overstimulated cunt. As you try to catch your breath, blinking the stars out your vision, Tamsy shifts ever so slightly. His lips press against the back of your throat, more gentle than he had been all night.

“Sorry for my roughness,” he murmurs. “Are you alright, angel?”

“I’m fine…just…holy shit…” Your response is met with an impassive sounding hum from Tamsy. You don’t think much of it, only focusing on how your hips ache in a good way, and that you’re exhausted.

“Good.” Suddenly, Tamsy flips you on to your back side. You blink up at him in surprise, taking in his flushed face and noticed the way his long hair had fallen out of its usual style and the strands stuck messily against his sweaty face. The thick head of his cock prods against your entrance once more, twitching to attention in his palm as he guides himself through your walls once more.

Already, he was hard again.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Tamsy says a bit breathlessly, his vision somewhat glassy. “You don’t have to do anything. Just take all of me.”

♥︎—gris rubion

“L-love, w-wait a minute.”

Gris’s breath hitches and then a low moan leaves his lips when you sink down on his cock—without a condom. He swears, trying and failing to keep his hips from bucking upwards in attempts to sheath himself deeper into your womb. You steady yourself by placing your hands on his shoulder, gritting your teeth as you take him further inch by inch.

“W-wait!” Gris gasps. He finally pulls himself together and grips your waist to stall your movements. “I’m n-not wearing any protection.” His Adam’s Apple bobs with a nervous swallow. Fuck. Did your pussy always feel this snug? You weren’t even seated all the way, still struggling to get his cockhead to breach past your gooey walls.

“So?” You reply. You roll your hips, grinding against Gris’s pelvis. He hisses, hands firm as they try to stop you.

“So, if we’re not careful, you could get pregnant, and—“

“So?”

Gris gawks at you. He tries to sputter out some half assed excuse, but you could see right through them. After all, you felt the way his cock grew harder at your words. It’s girthy base swelling try and mold your cunt into its shape. The stretch was delicious.

“You wanted to be a dad, right?”

“Y-yes.” Gris swallows. His fingers twitch, itching to grab you. “B-but we said that it would be better to wait—“

“Well, I changed my mind.”

“A-are you sure? D-don’t just say this on my account.”

“Not at all,” you interrupt, pulling him down by his collar so your lips brush. “I want a baby, Gris. Please?”

Gris kisses you before you could finish your sentence. In the same breath, he grabs your hips and slams you down on his cock until your pelvis hits his. The scream is lodged in your throat, stopped by the kiss.

“Well, if that’s what my wife wants,” he chuckles breathlessly. “Who am I to deny her request?”

Gris flips you on to your backside. You gasp in surprise. Grabbing the nearby pillow, he settles it underneath your hips. But his gentlemanly behavior is short lived, because once he ensures you’re comfortable, he has you folded in half the next second.

“Ack-Gris!” Tears clung to your eyelashes and your stomach constricted in delicious pleasure as Gris pushed your legs further against your chest into a mating press. Your husband groans, dipping his head into his valley of your breast.

Any slight breath and you could feel him nudging impossibly deeper. His cock stretched you to the brim, pressing against your womb for your lover to feel. Your pussy struggled to adjust to the girth, trying to suck him further than what was even possible. The stretch of him burned, the veins on his length dragging along your walls.

“Shit—“ Gris swears. “You want me…to fill this pussy up…” He kisses your cheek which was streaked with tears. “You want that, right? Want me to pump you full of my cum? Fuck a baby into you?”

“Y-yes!” You gasp. “P-please. W-wanna make y-you a daddy.”

“Make me a daddy, huh?”

Fuck, did he like the sound of that.

The weight of Gris’s body pressed you into the mattress as he pumps his cock in and out of your cunt. His hips almost frantically rut against yours, trying to drag his weepy cock as deep as he could through your plush walls. The thickness of his length and the blunt tip of his cock head worked in tandem to have you seeing stars as he stretched you out in all the best ways.

Gris groans. “S-shit. G-gonna cum, Princess. Gonna—fuck—make you a mommy.”

He squeezed your hips, driving himself deep as he cums thick ropes into your womb. The intensity rocks his body. His hips stutter forward, causing him to sink to his forearms. You let out a low moan.

The uncomfortable position has your abdomen constricting with pleasure. Your cunt throbs, the hot globs of Gris’s release leaking out your hole when he pulls out. There is a dull ache in your thighs, though you don’t hate it.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Gris asks, kissing your cheeks. One of his hands caress down your body, squeezing where he’d been a bit too rough. He’s gentle when he touches you.

“I’m fine,” you pant.

“Then, you’re good to go for another round?”

“H-huh?”

Gris grins. “Obviously, we have to make sure it sticks.” He wraps your legs around his waist, his grip tight on your thighs. “So you aren’t leaving the bed until I’m sure you’re knocked up.”

♥︎— zodyl typhon

Zodyl was mean.

You told him as much, and multiple times at that, babbling incoherently as tears licked your cheeks. Not that your whines or insults deterred him from drilling into you. Or from you cumming for the nth time.

“Hmm, tell me, what number was that?” Zodyl mused. You’re gasping underneath him, your pussy quivering and sloppily leaking your own release, making such a mess on his cock and the sheets. “I seem to have lost count.”

“A-ah..Zodyl please..” you’re overstimulated, legs trembling around his waist. Your swollen clit throbbed, it puffy from Zodyl teasing it with that wicked tongue of his earlier. “C-can’t cum anymore…y-you’re gonna break me.”

“Break you?” Zodyl laughed. “Please, you’re far more resilient than that, my love.” He pulls out his throbbing length, intentionally dragging it against your sensitive walls. His own cum leaks from the head, having just stuffed you with another load. Though he didn't seem the least bit exhausted. “After all," Zodyl continues, "I’ve trained this pussy to take me.”

Zodyl flips you onto your hands and knees. Your arms wobble and bend, causing your back to arch even deeper. A low whine leaves your lips when Zodyl sheathes himself to the hilt, pressing against your cervix. He bites back a groan. He could feel himself throb, his already sensitive cock spitting out more globs of cum as you squeeze around him.

But Zodyl continues to push through his own overstimulation, intent on drawing out your own pleasure.

“Shit…there you go…” the man chuckles. “And look. You’re just eagerly sucking me back in.”

You fist the sheets. It’s as if your body is hypnotized by the stretch and feel of his cock, even more so without the condom. Your hips move against your will, trying to snap back against his to take more. Zodyl slaps your ass for doing so.

“Did I give you permission to move?”

“M’sorry,” you babble. “I-it’s jus’…f-feels so-ah.”

“Use your words,” Zodyl tsks. He takes a fistful of your hair, his fingers digging into your scalp. “You know I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

He tugs harder, making you moan. “Please, Zodyl! Fuck—move. N-need…need to cum.”

Zodyl shoves your face into the pillows.

“Now you need to cum after just telling me you couldn’t?” An amused grin tugs at his lips. “But who am I to deny my wife’s request? I wouldn’t be fulfilling my husband duties otherwise.”

Gripping your hips, he begins to fuck back into you with the same, relentless pace, giving you little time to adjust to his size. The thick girth of his shaft threatens to split you open. The blunt head of his veiny length reaches the deepest parts of your womb. His heavy, aching balls nudge against your clit as he ruts against your ass, rough and needy.

Each time, there is an obscene squelch where you both connect. The sound is filthy and equally messy, your thighs slick with your own arousal and Zodyl’s cum aiding his frenzied thrusts against your ass. And fuck if Zodyl wasn't addicted to the feeling of you. His grip is bruising as he frantically chases his release, sweat clinging to his hair and pulling the strands from their usual slicked back style.

One of his thumbs finds your clit, teasing it with that slow, fluttering touch of his that makes your toes curl. Tears cling to your eyelashes as each punishing stroke kisses against your cervix, stringing you along until the pressure of your release winds so tightly that it snaps. You cry out Zodyl's name as you cream around him, your body going slack against the bedsheets.

As your cunt squeezes around him, Zodyl lets out a low moan. His thrusts grow sloppy and unrhythmic before he pins you to the mattress with his weight. His hips still as he fills you to the brim, making your eyes roll back.

“Fuck, good girl,” Zodyl groans in your ear. His lips press against the back of your neck, making you shiver.

“Y-you’re so mean,” you whimper. “I can’t feel my legs.”

“Hmm, you say that, but you got several orgasms thanks to this “mean” man.” Zodyl gathers you into his arms and carries you to the bathroom, setting you on the edge of the tub. He turns the handle to run the water. Before he leaves to go back to your shared room to grab you fresh clothes, he gives you a smug grin.

“And I’m not doing my due diligence as your husband if I don’t leave your legs shaking.”

[blkkizzat]

❝ HIS CINDERELLA CAUSE I MAKE IT FIT ! ❞              ⤷ Enjin x Fallen Spherite!Reader

>>>>>> Apparently Enjin has all the 'luck' when it comes to finding Spherites in No Man's Land. This time he's found you—a stuck-up Spherite noble—cast out with the trash. You're prissy, needy and an overall pain in his ass. Definitely not his type—but that slutty pussy sure is. ♡

>>>>>> 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢 𝟏𝟖+ for filthy enjin smut. enjin & reader are delulu & down bad. big dick!enjin. size queen!reader. bimbo!reader. sex under the influence. public sex. breeding. bjs. enjin is overall diabolical. but there's also a bit of plot too with some romance/fluff/humor. no spoilers for anime/manga. >>>>>> 𝐰𝐜: 13.1k

𝐚𝐧: major special shoutouts to @honeybunnnnie my trash daddy partner in crime, who beta'd for me and gave me lots of good lil' gems I incorporated here. we share one horny brain cell when it comes to this man and the amount of headcanons we have made based on this that I didn't even include is INSANE lmfao.

You aren’t Enjin’s type. 

That much is certain the moment he stumbles upon you after being called to check out a disturbance in No Man’s Land. Scanning the terrain of garbage, Enjin wonders if he’s hallucinating.

Still high from the night before—or maybe there’s a leak in his full face?

Either way he had to be tripping absolute balls right now because what the hell else could explain the giant kaiju-like plushie with bunny ears, wide beady eyes, and jagged teeth ripping apart trash beasts in the distance like they were wet paper towels?

But blazed or not, Enjin still has a job to do. Umbreaker sweeps him across the trash dunes in a speedy blur, but by the time he arrives he is already too late and the show is over. 

All that’s left is you: a young woman passed out in a pile of demolished trash beast remains and other junk. The giant kaiju-like plushie—now inanimate and no bigger than a hand—lay beside you tethered to your person by a keyring. 

Happening upon another giver in No Man’s Land wasn’t out of the ordinary, sure, but if Enjin thought he was high from seeing your jinki in action he had to be damn near in the clouds once he recognized your clothes.  

Similar to when Enjin discovered Rudo, he could immediately tell by your dress you are a Spherite. But unlike the threadbare attire of the scrappy tribesmen teen, yours practically screams wealth. They are the finest clothes Enjin has ever laid eyes on. Appearing as if they are woven from gold itself, despite the fresh layer of grime that settled on them.

You aren’t just any ol’ Spherite—you’re a Spherite noblewoman.

Keh, interesting. 

With a shake of his head Enjin scoops you up, heading back to HQ. They aren’t gonna believe this…

Enjin digs out a backup mask from his satchel—clearly not made for your face, because it slides right off. With an annoyed sigh, he holds it in place himself. Guess that’s his job now… at least until you wake up.

Although Enjin soon discovers a pattern of how unnecessarily difficult Spherites can be upon arriving to the Abyss—as the first thing you do upon waking in Enjin’s arms is to slap the everloving dogshit out of him. 

Fuck, you have a mean right hand. 

Enjin tongues a tooth to make sure it’s still there. 

“Let me go this instant, you filthy kidnapping degenerate! I demand you to take me home!” You cry out. 

Tears fog up the mask on your face as you clearly mistook Enjin for some kind of criminal with his ‘full face’ on. Enjin sighs, tightening his grip on you and taking the not-so-painless beating you’re dishing out until you reach the nearest city. 

The very second you both are in a habitable area for breathing, Enjin unceremoniously dumps you to the ground. He catches the mask, yet he leaves you to fall straight on your ass. The fall shocks you but Enjin’s sure what’s really got you stunned is the strange bustling city surrounding you.

Removing his fullface, Enjin crouches down to eye-level with you. Overwhelmed and overstimulated by the foreign place, your eyes dart around helplessly. You’re frantic, looking everywhere for some sort of bearing of where you are and avoiding the man in front of you.

Yet Enjin just waits, clicking his tongue and rocking back on his heels, for you to quiet your hysterics enough for him to get a word in.

When your eyes, still wide with panic, finally meet, he has the nerve to raise a brow—like you’re the one being dramatic and not the guy who literally kidnapped you.

“So, as you may have noticed by now…this ain’t the Sphere,” Enjin says, balancing a cigarette between his lips. 

You look at him skeptically—he says it like it’s nothing, while your world is actively falling apart. What is he even talking about?!

“I know this ain’t the welcome wagon you posh Spherites are used to but…”

Enjin pauses, exhaling smoke to the sky. Your gaze follows up, widening once you see the oddly shaped dome covering the city, a strange yellow fog in the atmosphere.

“....welcome to the Abyss, Girlie. Name’s Enjin.” 

Blankly staring at Enjin, you say nothing. The both of you in a mini stare down. Although you’re the first to give by suddenly bursting into sobs.

Rolling his eyes, a thought briefly flashes in Enjin's head that he should have just left you for the raiders. Hell, he could still leave you now—you’re calling way too much attention to yourself.

However, Enjin also figures that with you all but swimming in luxury on the Sphere, you probably thought of the Pit—your so-called Hell, or its inhabitants as mere fairytale.

Enjin’s inkling is confirmed when you calm down enough to piece together that your now ex-husband had hired a bunch of shady tribesmen to kidnap and dispose of you—all to collect your inheritance. 

Yeah, not your fault.  Enjin thinks and cuts you a break. 

For your own sake, Enjin somehow convinces you to come back to Cleaner HQ with him. He can’t return you to the Sphere himself—but he knows another Spherite who’s trying to make their way back. That small glimmer of hope is enough to lift your spirits, just barely. This time, you follow him willingly—though you still cry the entire way to HQ.

Shame how prone to hysterics you are, otherwise Enjin actually thinks you’re pretty hot. Noting how the expensive silk of your dress clings so damn well to your every curve. He’d sell your clothes while you were near the shopping district—but unlike Rudo, he doubts he could talk you out of them. 

At least—not yet.

But that thought is drastically short lived as Enjin spends more time in your presence. Sure, you could have gotten along. You could’ve even been Enjin’s type. Yet there’s one glaring problem: 

You’re an annoying, needy-ass brat.  

Besides looks, you tick off nearly every one of his dealbreakers. You’re ditzy, dependent and whiny. Basically Enjin’s nightmare.

Plus your snobby little ass never once thanked nor apologized to him over the following weeks.

Not after he saved you.

Not after he brought you back to HQ where you were welcomed with skeptical, yet open arms—as a new, very reluctant (you had no other options really) recruit in-training.

And you certainly never thanked Enjin, even after all his shit luck, when he was assigned to be your teacher and look after your haughty ass. You have the most indignant pout on your face when Corvus announces that since Enjin found you, you're Enjin’s problem.

“You have to be kidding me? I’m stuck with Trashy Poppins here!?”

“Yo, Trashy—what!?” The reference doesn’t land with Enjin but he knows it isn’t good.

Semiu nods curtly in agreement of the pairing, amused that Enjin finally has someone to keep him on his toes as she ushers you off to get settled in.

The fuck?! 

Lamenting being stuck is supposed to be Enjin’s line. Enjin had figured the logical move was to pair you with Zanka—the closest thing to nobility among the Cleaners—and let you bond with Rudo, a fellow Spherite, even if he was a tribesman.

But it doesn’t take long to realize neither boy can handle a grown ass woman like you. One flutter of your lashes and they’re useless saps—like the big sister he never had, you could soothe Rudo’s worst moods with a mere head pat. 

While Zanka, older and appreciating your more ‘robust’ qualities, trips over his own tongue trying to talk to you.

Both ready to do anything just to earn a few sweet coos—unless someone steps in.

It had to be Enjin. He was the only one who could ‘resist’ your charms.

Still, Enjin’s got his work cut out for him when it comes to you—especially training you for combat and figuring out how the hell you’re supposed to use that so-ugly-it’s-almost-cute vital instrument.

He tries not to judge. Really, he does. Jinki are personal—he knows that better than anyone. But still…the fact that you even have one? That’s wild.

A Spherite? A noble Spherite, no less—the same pompous assholes who treat the Abyss like a dumping ground—actually caring enough about something to pump it full of anima?

Yeah, that’s impressive, he’ll give you that. What wasn’t though was the name you gave the lil thing: Bubu.

Tsk. Wack as hell. Vital instruments deserve names with some bite. Something like—Umbreaker.

Still, credit where it’s due—you’re picking things up faster than expected. 

However, that doesn’t spare him from your nonstop bitching, though. The complaints come daily: the strange smells your hair absorbs, the absence of your sacred skincare routines, not being able to take a 30 minute shower, and how everything down here always tastes just a little off.

But the most absurd? The cherry blossoms.

You complain the most about not being able to frolic in your lush, petal-covered garden full of rows of cherry blossoms. Enjin’s never even seen a damn tree like that, let alone the acres of grass and flowers you describe like some bedtime fairytale. You haughtily anoint yourself as a floral herbalist, an expert when it comes to your pretty little flowers.

It’s shit like that on top of everything else that irks Enjin when it comes to you.

And yet?

Enjin thinks the most irritating thing about you is the fact that he can’t seem to stay away from you. 

Sure, you’re annoying as fuck—but in spite of his own objections, Enjin keeps finding ways to keep your time occupied. He makes up excuses to train you longer and drags you along on missions that are solely meant for him. 

Moreover, since you can never keep that pretty little mouth shut, anyone you meet clocks you as a Spherite within seconds—which means you need Enjin’s constant protection, whether you like it or not.

Enjin ends up spending less time drinking or chasing women, finding a far more amusing pastime instead—the way your face twists in indignation every time the Ground doesn’t live up to your so-called “noble standards.” 

He gets a kick out of it, really. Agitating you on purpose, just to watch you squirm.

“Goddamnit, Enjin! Watch it!” 

You’d shriek every time your short skirt went flying from a sudden gust of wind he’d whip up with Umbreaker. Enjin saves that lil trick for No Man’s Land when the others’ backs are turned.

“That’s Enjin-sensei to you, Princess.” 

“Choke—slowly, Trashy Poppins.”

You’d lunge for his mask like you actually meant to rip it off, but at 6 '3, Enjin’s tall enough that you never have a chance at reaching it. It’s all worth it too—Enjin’s already got every pastel scrap of lace you own burned into memory, each one tucked away like a reward for getting under your skin.

It’s a little sadistic, sure—the way he taunts you nonstop, delighting in soiling that polished image of yours to grind you into the dirt of the ground right along with him. 

There’s a fire in your eyes every time Enjin dubs you as “Your Royal Trash Princess”—or just “TP” if he’s feeling lazy. You never fail to rise to his bait, eager to prove yourself—and prove him wrong.

Enjin feels he’s owed a bit of amusement for all his troubles.

Doesn’t mean anything.

Yet the more Enjin pushes, the harder it is to ignore that your bratty spark isn’t just an attitude problem. It’s energy. Real, raw passion. The kind that could actually cultivate anima. He sees it best when you’re snapping at him, flushed and defiant, too stubborn to back down.

It’s trouble to be sure, but fuck if Enjin doesn’t love coaxing it out of you.

All it took this time to get you going was him doubting your so-called knowledge of plants and remedies— “what kinda ‘floral herbalist’ hasn’t toked one?”  

So now here you are, in the HQ lounge, about to smoke your first joint as a ‘pre-game’ to the happy hour Corvus organized for all the Cleaners.

You and Enjin sit shoulder to shoulder on a worn, black quilted-leather sofa that’s seen better days. The cushions creak as you nervously smooth your skirt and settle in, unhooking your jinki—Bubu—from your belt to set her gently on the table.

Enjin rolls a few joints with unhurried precision—like he’s got all the time in the world, and watching you squirm is part of the ritual.

“Bet ya didn’t have anything like this in your lil’ garden, eh TP?” Enjin quips, breaking the silence.

Nose already upturned, your face scrunches as Enjin tosses an extra bud from his stash into your open palms. You hated the nickname ‘TP’ most of all, too easily mistaken for ‘toilet paper’ and Enjin knows that.

You shoot Enjin a dirty look before letting your focus drift back to the brittle sprig in your hands—the first real plant you’ve touched since becoming a Ground-dweller.

You think you actually recognize it. 

Back on the Sphere, your family was among the wealthiest, and your garden was massive. You took pride in your green thumb—like Delmon, whose garden you’ve been meaning to ask about. You want to help, if only to see what kind of plants can survive in conditions this toxic. But Enjin never gives you the space—always hovering, always cutting in before you can finish a full conversation.

You brush off those thoughts but your frown stays as your fingers trace the bud’s dry veins. Even for a dehydrated sample, it feels wrong—brittle in a way that hints of sickness. 

“Hmm. We had something like this—I think. But it’s just another weed.” You say shrugging.

“Heh,” Enjin smirks at your cluelessness, “Would you believe me if I told you ‘weed’ is exactly what we call it, Princess?”

You roll your eyes at the inordinately simple name. It probably has a proper scientific designation—but expecting Enjin to know it? Please.

“We always uprooted them—weeds are unsightly in gardens, you know. A weed, let alone one sick as this, would definitely be pruned right away so as to not syphon nutrients from the other plant life.”

“HAH?!”  

Mid-seal on his joint, Enjin stops cold, staring at you like you just dared to commit some sort of sacrilege before exhaling a theatrical sigh, shaking his head in pure betrayal.

He can’t believe Spherities are probably pissing away the dankest shit ever cultivated. The thought was maddening.

When Enjin’s eyes do meet yours again, there's no amusement as he takes a rather chastising tone with you.

“Princess, for your own good, never repeat that in front of anyone down here…I mean it.”

You huff, but Enjin doesn’t blink—just starts sealing the joint again, eyes never leaving you as his tongue drags slowly across the edge of the paper.

You squirm, and that’s all the reward he needs. 

“See somethin’ you like?” Enjin drawls, holding the finished joint out toward you like it’s a gift—and not a trap with your name written all over it.

Turning on teacher mode, Enjin decides to school you.

“I know we mostly have ‘reggie’ down here, but still, it’s worth its weight in gold for its purposes. Not just for fun ya know—chronic pain, nausea, anxiety—gives a bit of relief from the ailments of Abyss-living you Spherites have so graciously bestowed on us.”

From his pocket, Enjin produces a lighter, shoulders curling as he bows into the flame to set it alight.

Your eyes flick over the sinewy stretch of Enjin arms, the way his jacket strains across his shoulders—reminding you just how solid Enjin really is beneath all that shapeless fabric. Built like a weapon, hiding in plain sight.

You watch as his ringed fingers lift the joint to his lips. Drawing in a slow, steady breath, Enjin sinks back into the sofa like gravity’s got a tighter hold on him than usual. Smoke pools in his chest before slipping out in a long, deliberate exhale.

His gaze follows it, distant—like he’s chewing on thoughts far heavier than anything you said… but somehow still set off by it.

“That’s the problem with you Spherites….you don’t see things the way they are—you see things the way you are.” 

Enjin chuffs at his own words, closing his eyes to let his high settle. Not even completely stoned yet and he’s already spouting off pseudo philosophical one-liners.

“Everything else is collateral, amirite?”

Ouch.

Toeing at the floor, you sulk in silence. Wounded from the verbal licks Enjin just dealt you. Mulling over his words in silence though, you know it isn’t that simple. Horticulture can be complicated even in the most ideal conditions. Just because a plant is viable doesn’t mean it belongs in every garden—some plants are just incompatible.

However…

You sit silently, your teeth worrying your bottom lip as you study the brittle bud in your palm.

…that doesn’t make it worthless.

Instead of exploring any potential use, you tossed the so-called "weed" out—just like everything else the Sphere deemed useless. Not even considering how valuable it could be. You can see why Enjin wouldn't want you repeating that mistake. Enough people already looked at you with disdain as it is. 

Sure there’s a lot of things you miss about it, mostly superficial things that had to do with vanity, but overall life up there was super sterile and dull. You’d never say it out loud but you are glad you fell, it was hard on the ground but it was liberating.

Sighing, you quietly concede. You hate anytime Enjin actually has a point though. It’s the worst thing imaginable—for your pride and for his already unbearable ego.

Cracking an eye open, Enjin curses under his breath. Switching tactics, he decides to replace the long look on his Trash Princess’s face. Annoyance would do just fine. Besides, there was no need for you to pout over it, you actually had a shot at redemption here… heh, the kind that might just work out in his favor, too.

“Y’knowwwww, we’re always learnin’ better ways to grow things down here, faster too...”

Enjin moves so quietly, you don’t realize how close he is until you turn—and he’s right in your face, barely a breath away. Swiping his ringed thumb across your cheek, Enjin’s touch is surprisingly tender. However his expression is entirely obnoxious, full of amusement from how fast your pouty little face flusters.

“...could be a nice little hobby that would do alotta good…and if anyone could figure out how to grow this shit properly down here—”

Enjin plucks at the heat of your warm cheeks, pinching just enough to tease and drag the moment into something more lighthearted.

“—I do believe it could be you—Trash Princess.”

Your eyes catch something deeper than just teasing in his golden gaze—but before you can dwell on it, instinct kicks in. You jerk back, swatting his hand away, shoving whatever that was out of your mind.

Enjin just laughs, unbothered, as you glare at him.

“And why can’t you get Delmon to do it?” you counter, arms folding across your chest. By now, you’ve learned Enjin usually has an angle for everything.

Right on the mark, for a beat, Enjin actually pauses. He hadn’t expected you to bring up the obvious—Delmon, the gentle giant practically martyred to the idea of saving what’s left of the Abyss. But Enjin’s roguish grin slips back into place, spreading wider as he leans in, unapologetically invading your space.

“Why? Well...’cause I asked you, Princess. The ol’lug has enough on his plate as it is. You can handle it alone, can’t ya?”

Truthfully, even knowing your interest in Delmon never strays beyond roots and soil, it still irks every time Enjin catches sight of you with him. You look every bit the noble—graceful, composed, eyes soft and curious as you gaze up at Delmon, eager to learn. It grates on Enjin more than he’d admit, knowing he’s never once gotten that look, despite monopolizing most of your time.

“Ya know—unless, your skillset just ain’t up t’par?” Enjin finishes with a shrug.

Wholly unconvinced, you see this for the bait it is from a mile away. Nevertheless, you can’t deny that you are eager to get even the tiniest bit of normalcy back in your life from your old hobbies. Planting something, anything, would be nice—even if it ends up being contraband for Enjin. Although you still aren’t quite sure why you can’t consult Delmon. 

“Ugh! Fine!”

You fall back onto the sofa and Enjin follows, his arm settling behind you, practically draped around your shoulders. You don’t even flinch. He takes another slow hit, smoke curling toward the ceiling, but this time there’s a wicked glint in his eye as he watches you. Deciding he’s babysat the joint long enough, he leans in with a lazy smirk and holds it out to you.

“Enjin—your eyes!” You blurt out, disregarding his invitation. “Is that just from smoking!? I can’t go to happy hour looking like some kinda zombie!”

Enjin sputters mid-laugh, coughing as wisps of smoke leak from the corners of his smart ass grin.

“Eh, well duh. Why else would they get so red when I smoke?”

Enjin coughs out a few more chuckles. You roll your eyes.

“I don’t know, Trashy Poppins…I didn't make the connection since the air quality down here is 80% pollution! You could have anything.”

While Enjin is amused by your sass, the joint continues to burn down. Each second unsmoked is wasting precious bud. Leaning in, his voice drops to a low purr—the kind that makes your stomach flip.

Heh, time to pull out the big guns.

“Aht-aht-aht, c’mon now, Princess, you know the golden rule…”

You sigh, thinking you need that happy hour drink more than ever right now.

“You’re not serious.”

But you know he is, and of course you remember the silly motto Enjin makes an unspoken rule for his team. Although he mostly just uses it to get you to do something you’ll usually regret later.  You sigh, knowing you’ll never make it to happy hour until you appease the big man-child in front of you.

Enjin’s golden eyes shine with even more mischief than before and together like some damn mantra, you both repeat:

“...it’s not peer pressure—it’s just your turn.”

Resigned, you click your tongue, swiping at the joint in his hands. But Enjin is much faster as he pulls back with infuriating speed. You glower at him, snark locked and loaded.

“Nah, actually I’ll help you out since it’s your first time, Princess.”

Innuendo coils around his words, heat radiating off him as you tense under his gaze. You don’t want to argue with him though, the sooner you smoked, the sooner you both could be at happy hour.

“Open.” 

Enjin’s fingers graze the corner of your mouth as he holds the joint to your peach-glossed lips, eyes darkening when you part them obediently for him.

“Now breathe it in, nice and slow…deeper. Yeah, that’s it—hold it. Don’t let go until I say—good girl.”

You want to scoff at him, but you can’t—not with tears stinging your eyes and smoke burning its way down your lungs. By the time Enjin gives you the nod to exhale, you’re already choking, coughing it all back up in ragged plumes.

Yeah, this was nowhere in hell as easy as Enjin made it look.

The buzz rises in your head almost instantly, an airy haze creeping into your consciousness.

“See? Not a terrible cherry pop, eh?”

The glare you throw at Enjin is more of a squint. Still recovering from the fire tearing down your throat, your coughs earn you a few heavy-handed smacks on the back from Enjin. If it’s out of comfort or mockery, you can't tell. 

Everything in the room is spinning and becoming more distant, like a daydream.

“Easy there, breathe—it’ll hit easier when ya figure out how to grow it right, Princess. The dank shit won’t burn this hard.”

You want to bite back that even if you do figure out how to grow the damn ‘weed’ plant, you’d never touch it again. But the sudden heaviness seeping into your limbs drags you down, tilting your head on the axis of equilibrium.

“I think, no—I know, I need to lay down.”

Not waiting for permission, you flop down onto the worn cushions beneath you, curling up awkwardly with your head leaning against the armrest and your legs dangling off the seat at an angle. 

Enjin doesn’t miss a beat though—he scoops your legs into his lap, tugging off your boots so you can be comfortable.

Leaning back, perfectly at ease, Enjin holds the joint in one hand while the other rests on your stocking-covered shin, giving it a casual, reassuring pat. The way your arm drapes over your face tells him everything—yeah, you’ve got the spins.

“Keh, you’ll make it, Princess. Just let it all ride out.”

You’d make it alright, but not to happy hour anytime soon. Enjin supposes he might’ve let you take a bigger hit than you were ready for. 

Whoops.

Silence stretches in the aftermath but it’s not uncomfortable. Enjin takes a few more lazy tokes, one golden eye cracked open just enough to watch you, taking stock of your state. 

It’s in moments like this—rare ones, when you’re quiet—that he remembers just how fucking smoking hot you are.

Especially in that Cleaner uniform. Man, God bless August.

The eccentric tailor took special care in designing it thanks to a sudden burst of inspiration—August even convinced Enjin to allow him to keep some of the trim from your Spherite clothes that he repurposes. The outcome of your uniform is shinier, more fitted and much sluttier than standard issue. 

You took to it immediately, without much fuss and actually complimenting August. That was August’s gift though—whipping up pieces to suit even the finickiest of tastes—and Enjin had to admit, the man did his big one. 

But the real surprise wasn’t the craftsmanship. It was you—his oh-so-prim little Trash Princess—strutting around in something so damn naughty. Dressed up like a treat that Enjin can’t help but eat up with his eyes.

And whaddya know? Enjin has the munchies bad right now.

Left to his own devices, Enjin takes his time devouring the sight in front of him. His gaze lingers down the length of your legs sprawled across his lap, to the soft, exposed flesh of your thighs—spilling over the edge of your stockings just enough to make his jaw clench.

Fuck, they look so soft. He can't help but wonder how they'd feel locked around his head as his eyes climb to the next indulgence—your crop top. Rucked up to your ribs, the thin white cotton hugs just beneath your tits. Shit, the way your cute little nips poke through the fabric makes his mouth twitch with the urge to say ‘hi’ right back—with his tongue.

Is it hotter in here, or—?

Leering at you for too long is a surefire way for Enjin to pop a boner. Enjin knows he’s not alone in that either. That uniform of yours turns heads in every city you pass through. Consequently, Enjin has split more skulls because of idiots trying to hit on you or cop a feel than he ever has for anyone trying to snatch a Spherite.

Not that he’s jealous or nothing.

Nah. Just doing his job. Watching out for you. Plenty of unscrupulous assholes out there willing to pounce on a clueless little thing like you.

However, right now, Enjin’s just as unscrupulous—‘watching out’ only for a flash of your panties as each restless wiggle sinks you deeper into the lumpy cushions, bunching your skirt higher and teasing him with a glimpse of skimpy lace.

Man, just a little more and he’d know exactly which pair you picked today.

Sobering up a bit more, you sigh at your inability to get comfortable when you could feel the very springs in the sofa. Stretching, you straighten your leg suddenly and—

“Yo! Watch the feets, girl!”  

Though there’s amusement in his voice as he jolts upright, tatted hands grabbing your ankle before you’re able to land another blow.

“Ah, sorry—” You mutter sheepishly, reeling back your foot. “I didn’t mean to kick Umbreaker.”

For what it’s worth, the apology comes quickly—you’ve learned better than to mess with a man’s jinki, especially Enjin’s. You've nearly tripped more times than you can count over that bulky extension of himself that he always keeps within reach.

You know it’s serious too when he doesn’t even bother with the stupid nicknames he usually calls you. Nevertheless, you’re left puzzled when Enjin’s laughter comes out loud and sharp. 

“...that wasn’t Umbreaker, Princess.”

Huh? What does he mean that isn’t— 

You freeze. 

Carefully peeking out from under your arm, your reddened eyes squint down the length of your body and onto his. When the realization does set in of what exactly you kicked, it smacks you harder than any hit of ganja ever could.

“O…oh…—OH MY GAWD!”

Immediately springing upright, your vertigo swirls with how fast you’re scrambling to your knees as you gawk.

Time passes for what seems like a solid minute or two and neither of you speak. 

You’re staring at the crotch of Enjin’s baggy pants and Enjin is staring at you.

“Heh.”

The devious look on Enjin’s face right now could shame the devil himself. Yet you’re still in utter disbelief.

There’s no way that’s his dick!

Still, your brain won’t stop running the numbers—high girl math with clumsy calculations drawn from the fleeting brush of your toes against the long, thick mass hidden beneath the fabric of his baggy pants. Enjin’s words ring in your mind like a gong—‘that wasn’t Umbreaker…’

“You’re burnin’ a hole through my dick, Princess—”

Enjin’s voice unfurls seductively, like the smoke curling from his lips.

“—keep starin’ like that and I’m gonna think you wanna see it.”

Your eyes meet his dead-on. 

“I do.”

“Yeah, I’m sure yo—wait, come again?!”

Enjin’s grip goes slack, the joint slipping from his fingers. He was halfway to some sassy quip, ready to taunt your denial—but your delivery is so honest, with no teasing or angle to play off, he doesn’t know what to do with it.

The embers hiss against his thigh before he even registers he dropped it.

“Tch.” Cursing under his breath, he flicks it aside—it’s all roach anyway—and tries to pull himself back together.

You’re fucking with him. Yeah. That’s it. 

Smug again, Enjin leans into the bit you started.

“Ha ha…right. I know my stuck up lil’ Trash Princess isn’t asking to give me a dick inspection…”

Enjin adjusts his pants in a casual sweep that doesn’t fool either of you. He’s not brushing off the remaining flakes of ash—he’s palming his restless cock that jumped at the idea of you actually wanting to see it.

But both you and Enjin would quickly discover, despite your snobby Spherite upbringing, you lose any type of filter and sense of couth while high—blurting out your thoughts unabashedly. 

“I said I wanted to see it, Trashy Poppins. Or m’not gonna believe you’re actually that big.”

You fold your arms, huffing stubbornly.

There was no way an unbearably annoying man like Enjin was slanging actual horse cock! 

He had to be the one fucking with you here.

Well, wait, no—a cocky, stupidly sexy man having a big dick actually tracks, now that you think about it.

But still—you need to verify. For science, if nothing else. 

Yeah. Science.

Enjin blinks, taking stock of you—kneeling close, your tits straining like they’re about to burst free, and your skirt rides so high on your thighs this time, he swears one more millimeter and he’d see your panties for real. 

“C’mon now…”

Your sickly sweet coos needle at Enjin’s spine.

“...as if you aren’t always upskirting me just to see my panties.”

Shit. You knew it was intentional?

“At least you can show me your undies for a change. If you’re really that big, then I’ll be able to tell.”

The spark alight in your eyes is a challenge to Enjin, who loves pushing your limits. Now he needs to know how far you’ll go. Even if he’s completely unprepared for this turn of events, he’s sure as fuck not gonna be the one backing down first.

“S’that right, Princess? Well, I haven’t even seen yours today so—”

Enjin doesn’t even get the chance to finish before you’re lifting your skirt and spreading your knees wider. You stare up at the ceiling, the popcorn squares suddenly appearing super interesting to you. Enjin’s eyes however immediately zero-in on the pink lace stretched tight across your pussy.

Christ.

With a much closer view, Enjin picks up all the little details he usually misses—like how the hem digs into your soft curves or how the material is thin enough to see the split of your chubby lil pussy lips pressed underneath. 

Goddamn, are you intentionally buying them a size too small? 

Or is your pussy print just that fat?

Enjin gulps, mouth dry. 

His attention caught like a hook to your cunt, everything else is unimportant—including the irony of how he was just teasing you for the very same thing—it’s all utterly lost on him. His priorities shifting rapidly the longer he ogles you.

After a minute, giving him quite frankly more of his fill than he deserves, you let your skirt drop back into place. The alluring spell of your fatma breaks when your  knees snap shut and Enjin is yanked back to a world that doesn’t exist between the apex of your doughy thighs. 

All of his lecherous starring is worth it though—if only to be able to throw his own saying back at him for once.

“Now, how’s it go again? It’s not peer pressu—”

“—Yeah, yeah, I got it, Princess—My turn.” 

Enjin relents, cutting you off with a twisted grin as he shakes his head.

“Ya don’t gotta break my arm to see my dick, babe. Just makin’ sure you’re sure. Don’t need you runnin’ off telling Semiu I flashed ya.”

Semiu is already on Enjin’s ass for teasing you as much as he does. Something about him being ‘too grown’ not to ‘nut up’ and ‘come to terms with his reality’, but Enjin was never listening for long, zoning out as soon as a new lecture was underway. 

However, if your prissy ass really wants to see his dick that bad, of course he’d oblige. Hell, Enjin would get another kick outta watching your horror when you realize for real just how much he’s packing. It had been a minute since he'd seen that look on a woman.

For being as hot and charming as he is, Enjin didn’t get nearly as much play as he should’ve. He isn’t a virgin by any means, but too many women take one glance at his size and back off expeditiously.  

Life on the ground meant hustling to survive for most. Nobody could afford to be laid up for days just because Enjin’s wrecking ball of a cock tore through their walls, rendering them unable to walk—let alone go to work.

Yet with a clink, that all changes as the leather strap of his belt and gear slides free. Enjin lifts his hips enough to shove his pants down past his thighs and there it is—short red boxer briefs with a black waistband, the fabric stretched thin over the obscenely long, thick outline of his dick resting along his thigh.

Simply put, your jaw drops. There’s a static-like silence buzzing in your mind as you process the monstrous mass of phallic muscle before you.

You’ve never seen a dick that huge in your entire life. 

Clocking your shock, Enjin’s chest puffs like he’s just been crowned a king in the room.

“Relax, Princess…” he drawls, smugness saturating every word.

“I ain’t even all the way hard yet.”

Bullshit! 

Your eyes pingpong between his face and his cock before landing on the obvious conclusion—no overthinking this time.

“What are you waiting for then? Get hard.”

Enjin actually chokes for real this time, still not used to how blunt his demure lil’ Trash Princess gets when she’s high. He manages to laugh regardless once he finds his breath as he sure as hell doesn’t hate this new side of you.

“Hah?! It doesn’t work like that ya know…”

Enjin lies right through his fucking teeth. 

Just hearing that vulgar command from your prissy lil’ lips has his blood surging south, his cock swelling at rapid speed. Already on go, his dickprint thickens, straining against the fabric until threads stretch thin to form almost obscenely over him like second skin.

Yet unlike his past hookups you don’t flinch at the sight of him getting even bigger. 

There’s more than enough incredulousness on your face for sure, but Enjin half expected you to backpedal for the sake of your pussy’s self-preservation and book it out the door. Instead, the look you’re giving his dick is more akin to awe than fear.

Truly, though—you are in awe.

Men weren’t like this on the Sphere. Well, your husband certainly wasn’t.

Older than you by over a decade, your husband’s stamina was so poor he never lasted long. His size, his endurance, and his dismissive comments about your sexual appetite being perversely unbecoming for a lady of your station had you wondering if something was wrong with you this entire time—if you expected too much from sex.

But when your eyes drift back to Enjin—catching the thick vein running along his length, visible even through the fabric—you know better now. 

It was never you.

The realization brings a surge of boldness. Your gaze trails the pulse of his cock down to the wet patch blooming at the tip—so much pre spilling it seeps through the fabric. 

Enjin inhales sharply through his nose. He knows he’s proven his size, but your silence and the way you’re eyeing his cock like some kind of museum exhibit is starting to get to him. 

Enjin doesn’t want to back down as he impatiently waits for your final verdict of approval. But if you keep staring at him like that, with those big pretty eyes of yours, he’s going to come in his pants, untouched, like some fucking cuck.

“Well, Princess? Big enough for ya?”

You don’t even hear Enjin, too lost in your own thoughts. Your body, buzzed and reckless, has a mind of its own though. Reaching out, your hand leaves your lap to trace the thick ridges of his cock, mapping its shape through his briefs. 

“Oh, shiiii—” Enjin hisses. 

His lip catches between his teeth as all thoughts vanish the moment your delicate little fingers start stroking him.

“Argh—fuck. Can’t jus’ go grabbing a man’s dick like that ya know.”

Yet Enjin does nothing to stop you as your touch grows bolder. Your palm flattens around his girth—too thick for even your whole hand to wrap around, even through his boxers.

How would someone even get something that monstrous inside them!?

Encircling his leaky cockhead, you giggle as your index finger slowly tap-tap-taps the mess he’s made there, amused at how many of the small, sticky suds you can gather on your finger through the material.

Enjin’s own laugh is strangled. This can’t be real.

“Heh… fuck… you really tryna kill me, huh, Princess? Fuckin’ tease…”

You’re unfazed by Enjin’s provocations – too mesmerized by the obscenely large cock in front of you that has you squirming uncomfortably as your own panties turn swampy with heat. 

“May I?”

Meeting Enjin’s gaze, your polite innocence is accented by a wide-eyed pout that’s far too sweet for the filthy implications of your request. Like you’re nicely asking permission to play with your favorite toy—except you don’t even wait for him to give it,fingers impatiently snapping the edges of his waistband like some cockhungry slut. 

“Uh…” Enjin blanks while his dick is practically screaming at him to respond—even a damned head nod would suffice. Yet his brain blue-screens as it registers that look—the normally innocent, curiosity filled look that he's been craving since he found you in No Man's Land—now twisted into something debased and filthy.  And best of all?

Meant just for him.

Enjin’s so fucking hard right now it’s painful—and hell, if you’re planning to do something about that, he’s not about to stop you.

“Keh. Do you, boo.”

Enjin manspreads, giving you full access. You eagerly pull down his shorts just enough to release his cock, and it springs free, thick and heavy. 

Good God, he’s a big boy! 

Although you knew that, seeing the monster in all of its unleashed glory was an entirely different experience. Enjin’s dick bobs back to curve towards his abs, a shiny pubic piercing shining at his base under its shadow.

Panting, your previously dormant inner size queen activates. You have to swallow down the bucket of saliva collecting on your tongue before you choke—you can’t help but salivate at the thought of what a huge cock like this tastes like… what it feels like. 

You’re pretty sure it could break you in two, and surprisingly, the thought excites you.

Lowering yourself on all fours, the first tentative lick you give Enjin’s length has his toes curling as he grips the sofa, ripping a chunk clean off the decaying material. 

You moan out a depraved 'ahhh' once you reach the top, a little smile playing on your lips as you tongue down the hole at his tip.  Greedily, you lap up all the little dribbles of pre beading at the tip and flowing out.

“W-Woaaah—ugh. FUCK!”

Enjin’s hand flies into your hair as he clears his throat. Sure, your mouthwatering stares made a blowie likely, but diving in this shamelessly? It’s enough to make him feel like he’s losing his damn mind.

You grip his base—an insurance policy to keep him from cumming—while your other hand cups his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze. His thigh jolts beneath you and you simper at how sensitive he is despite his massive size.

“T-There’s no way in hell they taught your prissy ass how to be this much of a slut up there.”

Pouting, you release his balls to cradle his cockhead against your puffed up cheek, uncaring of the amount of pre seeping across your jaw. 

“D-Do…do you hate it? My hus—um, ex said it was a turn off. H-he'd say I have 'the depravity of a slums streetwalker.”

Staring up at Enjin, your eyes are clouded with lust, yet edged with worry—like he’d threatened to rip something precious away.  But it’s only his cock you’re coddling tighter against your cheek, your lips parting just enough to chase the beads of pre that drip close to your mouth.

If you weren’t gripping Enjin’s base so hard he definitely would have blown a load all over your face. Fuck, if the thought isn’t tempting to him though – he doesn’t think you’d even mind in this state.  

Goddamn, you’re so much sluttier than Enjin could have ever imagined. 

And he’d imagined it plenty. 

Especially on nights Enjin stumbled back to HQ drunk and alone, having closed down the bar with Corvus and Gris. Left to sate his own booze-fueled boner, he’d shamelessly rut into his pillow. Yet, no matter where his perversions strayed, every faceless fantasy in the dark insisted on transmuting into you. 

You seriously think he couldn’t match your freak? 

Oh, sweetheart, you have no fucking idea.

“Hate it?” 

Enjin holds back the growl building at the back of his throat. There’s a torrent of thoughts swirling with his high all at once—all coming to settle right back into his dick. 

“Never. Show me who you really are, Princess—n’ I’ll give it right back to ya tenfold—that’s a promise.”

If you weren’t already trembling with arousal—finally free to let your freak flag fly—you might’ve shied away. Enjin’s easy acceptance of you stirs something deeper, something messy that you usually ignore before it can settle. Now, with his scent thick on your face and tongue, you’re not thinking at all—aching with the urge to all but inhale his cock.

You merely nod, flashing Enjin a coy smile before stretching your plush lips to wrap around him. Slowly, you swallow down his girth, mouth hot with suction so deliciously moist Enjin’s hips jerk up. You gag, but his firm grip on your roots keeps your head in place, forcing his length to breach your throat.

“That’s it, baby…open up f-f’er me—g-good fucking girl, Princess…”

Tears prick at your eyes as his cock pounds back of your throat. The stretch is brutal—but some desperate part of you craves more of his filthy praise. What you can’t take with your mouth, your hands make up for—stroking every thick inch your lips can’t swallow.

“Shiiiit, girl! You’re a pro at this.”

If you ask Enjin later, he’d probably call you a throat goat, however most of your “experience” came from the smutty paperbacks high-society wives hid in corsets and swapped under tea tables—not actual practice. You don’t really know what you are doing. You’re just following the book's explicit instructions. 

Still, Enjin doesn’t seem to mind being your test dummy. 

On the contrary, Enjin is more than happy to let you do your thing and he does just that. Although, the longer your head bobs along his cock, the more your skirt rides up—until it finally flips over your hips, giving him a perfect view of the cheeky lace framing your ass.

Enjin groans, gripping your ass with bruising force before sliding his fingers down to palm your pussy over your panties—fuck, you’re already dripping for him.

“Hah—uppity cunt gets this sloppy just from a lil’ dick sucking, eh?”

Enjin laughs, yet the gravel rattling in his voice betrays him. No one has ever fearlessly tried to deepthroat him and actually fucking enjoyed it. 

Unable to respond with your mouth, too busy still trying to do the impossible and fit more inside your throat, your hips respond instead—wiggling desperately against his fingers, begging for more of his touch. 

Enjin doesn’t hesitate. Slipping a tatted finger into your panties, he drags it through your folds, marveling at how wet and scorching you are. Pushing into your core, your walls clamp down, fluttering around his digit.

Oh fuck, even his fingers are big! 

A second ringed finger follows – the rough, callous fingers of a man who's seen too many fights scrape so good against all your gooey spots. Lewd squelches echo from your pussy as your throat tightens around him in tandem. The sounds, the squeeze, the heat—all of it is driving him crazy.

Shit he’s gonna cum for real this time. 

To his credit, Enjin tries to warn you—tries to pull you off before it’s too late. 

He doesn’t wanna risk pissing you off and having you refuse to ever do this again. Enjin still wants to fool around more;, he wants to fuck you. It’s that thought—your pretty pussy lips splitting open to swallow him instead—that has him busting his hot seed down your throat in thick, hot pulses.

“HAHH—FUHH!”

Releasing your hair, Enjin half expects you to pull away, furious he hadn’t warned you.  Instead, your nails dig into his thigh, steadying yourself. You moan around him, the vibrations rippling through his sensitive cock while you work him for every last drop, his hips jerking beneath you.

Only when you’re certain you’ve drained him do you pull back, swollen lips coming off his cock with a wet pop. 

“Allll go-neee S-Sheee? HAhhhhh~♡”

Tits jiggling as you heave for air, you present your tongue to Enjin as proof you’ve swallowed all of him. Every. Filthy. Drop.

“Oh fuck me… you’re a nasty lil’ Trash Princess, aren’t you?”

You can’t help but agree—your throat’s wrecked and your pussy’s aching to be used just as thoroughly. Enjin’s fingers aren’t inside you any more, although they are still on your pussy, running through your folds absentmindedly.  

“Ngh—n-eed m-more,” you slur.

All your decorum was lost to the wind the moment you asked to see his dick—you don’t even care that it’s Enjin of all people that you just gave head to. Suddenly, the obnoxious pain in your ass seems like your only deliverance. Right now, you're more frustrated that you've spent so much time bickering with him when you could have been fucking him.

You much prefer his moans to anything else coming out of his mouth.

You need him to get hard again—immediately!

Enjin, mind mushy with release, takes another joint out to light. As much as he wants to return the favor after that kind of sloppy top, the man needs a minute.  His high has his whole body tingling from the post release sensitivity.

But you can’t wait any longer. It’s been god knows how long since you’ve had a proper orgasm and those were only from your own small, fumbling fingers. Throat achy and raw, you quiver at the masochistic thought of how his cock is going to absolutely obliterate your pussy.

You slide your panties down before flinging off your jacket and top.  Taking a seat on Enjin's lap, you're now clad in just your bra, your skirt that's bunched up at your hips, and thigh highs. Grabbing his cock, you give his soggy, half-hard girth a few encouraging pumps.

Your pussy is already slobbering, a viscous string of syrupy slick drips down from your slit to land on his cockhead, connecting you to him as you line him up. 

Feeling your fingers around his length, Enjin's eyes fly open, balancing the joint between his lips as he quickly shrugs off his own jacket, checking the pockets.

“Woah, woah. Slow your roll there sweetheart—you’re skipping a few steps.”

You aren’t listening though, not giving a fuck what Enjin is talking about as you cry out, grinding your clit against his fat tip, before running it back through your folds.

Enjin grits his teeth, coughing out smoke as he holds the joint in one hand and your hips in the other. You’re being a brat again, not listening to a single word he’s saying. 

“Gotta find my rubbers…also gotta stretch you out better, Princess—you’re gonna split in two if I don’t.”

You whimper, petulant and needy. You press his cockhead against your entrance, swiveling your hips like you’re going to recklessly sink down on him at any second.

“Huh? Rubbers?” You shake your head in confusion, pouting. “m’Ennnnjiiiiin…I can’t wait that long—puh-leaseee don’t make me wait s’long, Enjiiiiin. I can take it, promiseee!”

The way you sweetly coo his name is shattering any sense of self-control Enjin has left. The urge to submit you to the ultimate corruption surges hot through his veins, but Enjin knows how big he is and while he did want to break you, he didn’t want to hurt you in the process. You are absolutely nuts to want to ride him with so little prep—now, on top of everything else, you apparently wanted him to fuck you raw.

Wait—did you just ask what rubbers were? Did you not have condoms on the Sphere?

But any lingering concerns dissipate the second you start fighting to get his tip inside you.

“Too s-slow!” You groan.

Fear is the last thing on your mind—evident in the way you impale yourself on him, defiant even against the impossible stretch. Your pussy is tight around the swollen head of his cock, strangling it as your nails dig into his shoulders. You grind in slow, desperate circles. Tears roll down your cheeks as you bite them to keep from crying out, your body fighting against every inch.

Enjin watches with a dark glint in his eyes – you trying so hard for him makes him want to flip you over and fuck you into the cushions. But he’d let you have it at your own pace…for now. 

Releasing your hip, Enjin spits into his palm, rubbing his slick fingers over your clit in slow steady circles. 

“Such a hard-headed girl—c’mere…”

Enjin takes a long drag from the joint, balancing it between his fingers as he grabs the back of your neck. His lips crash into yours before you can think.

You gasp and Enjin takes the opportunity to exhale the smoke deep into your lungs, taking the harshest of the hit himself. You're left with only the smooth, earthy flavor warming your chest before it melts through your limbs.

But it’s the way he kisses you after that really knocks the ground out from under you. His tongue pushes past your lips, tangling with yours—hungry, messy, like he wants to steal the little air you have left until you’re only breathing him in.

Your arms wrap around his neck, hands buried in his soft buzzed undercut, anchoring yourself. You moan into his mouth and he swallows it greedily, teeth nipping your lower lip before diving right back in. All the while, his thumb keeps grinding into your clit, faster now, like he’s keeping rhythm with the pulse that’s beating under your skin.

Why does it feel this good? How is he doing this to your body? S’not fair! 

Not realizing you could feel this good from a kiss, you're unraveling in real time. Your mind goes blank with every pulse, every word, every inch. You’re not even fully seated yet, but you can already feel the blunt head of his cock grinding against your cervix, the pressure building with each centimeter you drop. You never imagined you could feel this full—like he might actually breach your womb.

The thought alone has you trembling, unstable, your aching thighs giving out, causing you to slide down a bit too fast. The thick veins along his length rake across your g-spot and your body snaps. A sharp, helpless spasm rocks you as your breath catches and a small, unexpected orgasm rolls through you.

Enjin pulls back just enough to let you breathe, though your body doesn’t stop shivering, lost in a blur of pleasure and pain.

“Eh... did you just cum, Princess?”

The question is rhetorical, full of smug amusement, as he can feel the increasing wetness leaking down his cock, making it all the easier for you to slide down.    

Teasing your earlobe, Enjin’s tongue dips in to flick at the shell of it, making you clench.

“HA! Good fucking girl! A lil’ more and I bet she’ll be a real squirter f’er me.”

Enjin beams, proud of his Trash Princess. No woman had ever taken him this deep—not even close. Enjin hadn’t expected you to be any different. And yet…when Enjin looks down, he releases a groan deep from his gut.

The sight alone almost has Enjin nutting in you -- your drooling cunt spread so wide around his girth, sitting almost at his base. A thought flashes briefly – it's kinda like he’s a virgin again. Parts of his dick had never experienced this kind of molten heat so maybe, in a sense, he is? Enjin didn’t fucking care if he was though, as he ain’t about to be with the way your pretty pussy is giving way like it’s made for him. 

“Run that back.”

Enjin takes the final drag, pinching the smoldering end of the joint between his fingers before flicking it aside. He leans in again, slower this time. There’s no rush in how his mouth seals over yours. The second shotgun is less about the smoke and more about the feel of you—your lips parting for him, your breath syncing to his, and the small whimper you make as he sucks slowly on your tongue.

The haze spreads between you both, thick and warm. Simultaneously, his knuckles tease your clit, a soft schlick sound filling the space between you from you getting wetter by the second. By the strength of some unknown force, you finally bottom out, immediately collapsing into his neck. 

You both moan. Enjin feels you quivering from the inside out and you feel him everywhere—shifting your guts into your ribs. 

“I…I did it.”

Your smile blooms soft against his inked skin, lips grazing the spot where you can feel his own pulse hammering wildly.

Enjin’s in no state to congratulate you on your impressive feat. Completely sheathed in you raw, coring out your gummy walls into the shape of his dick—something in his brain chemistry fizzles. Like a bit of pussy juice, acting as a catalyst, slipped into his dick and traveled straight to his prefrontal cortex to corrode all of his previous thoughts about you. The result is clear.

Enjin doesn’t give a fuck if you are a snobby, annoying, needy lil’ brat who never let him get away with shit and bitches at him constantly—the furtherest thing from his type.

Because honestly?

Motherfuck a bullshit-ass type. Your slutty ass pussy is fuckin’ perfect. 

For the first time, Enjin realizes he might be in love with you. 

How could he even look at another woman after this?

One thing if for certain—Enjin is going to make damn sure you never have the desire to even look at another man.

Both his hands trail up your hips, groping and squeezing the plump curves of your ass before settling at your waist. His blunt black nails dig into your skin to pull you back from his neck.

Enjin whistles, admiring the stagnant stream of spittle lingering on your chin. Look at you—cockdrunk just from sitting on him. 

Enjin doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look more beautiful.

“Enjiiiiiin,” you whimper, not being able to hold yourself up. 

But your cries for him only inflame the predatory smirk on his lips, your honeyed cunt hugging his cock so beautifully. 

“Makes sense you fell from heaven, huh Princess?” 

Whether you're ready or not, Enjin forcibly winds you on his cock in slow circles. Your clit brushes up against the well placed pubic ring like a reward for being the first to experience it.

“—cause this pussy’s a fuckin’ angel.”

Your eyes are already lodged in your skull so you can’t even roll them at his cheesy line. But if your pussy is an angel, then Enjin's dick is most definitely a demon—his sinful cock tearing through your insides and condemning you straight to hell.

Moaning loudly, your body moves on autopilot—chasing more friction from the rhythm Enjin set. Good thing everyone was at happy hour or you would for sure be attracting some major attention now.

Although, to be honest you probably wouldn’t notice anyway. You don’t even notice when your bra falls away, your tits spilling out just so Enjin could watch them jiggle in his face. You only register its disappearance once his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, his tongue finally saying it’s ‘hello’.

“Shiiiiit!”

Your hips stutter, then stall when Enjin tugs at your sensitive bud with his teeth.

“Hey…I know my Trash Princess ain’t tappin’ out just yet.” 

SMACK!

Enjin brings a heavy palm down on your ass and your pussy clenches tighter around him. Enjin relishes the way your plush curves mold to his hands, each smack adding to the wet, messy sounds between you. You’ve already leaked enough on his lap to stain the sofa beneath you.

“Nah, ya just got on the ride, baby. Giddy-up.”

SMACK!

“NNNGH!” You weakly glare daggers at him. 

Any softness on Enjin’s face has since been replaced by something far more mischievous. If you thought he was obnoxious before—you’re about to learn he’s a full-blown menace inside of pussy.

Wobbling, you gather together what little resolve you have left to roll your hips forward. 

“HAAH! S’too biiiiiig,” you whine but your body can’t stop.

The juices saturated between you grant enough momentum to finally get a good, smooth bounce going.

“Fuck—that’s it, ride it like it’s yours, baby.” Enjin encourages you.

The way you cream harder every time he calls you 'baby' doesn't go unnoticed.

“Oh? You like me talking sweet to the pussy, baby girl?—Or do you just like being my filthy lil’ trash slut, hm Princess?”

Gritting your teeth, you grab on to Enjin’s shirt like reins, pulling him closer to you. 

“Y-You’re…gonna—ahshiiiit—hafta f-fuck m’better than thisss…if you want m-me to be your ‘baby girl’—Trash Daddy.”

Unfortunately, your sass falls flat—you can barely keep your head from lulling to the side. But Enjin’s thoroughly entertained nonetheless—he’ll take ‘Trash Daddy’ over ‘Trashy Poppins’ any day.

“Bet.”

Electricity runs through Enjin. He’s all charged up—now it’s his turn to unleash.

Your brow furrows from the noise Enjin makes—you’re not sure if he just laughed or snarled. But it's the only warning you get. 

Sliding down the sofa a bit, adjusting himself for stability, Enjin spreads his legs, planting his feet firmly on the floor as he bullies his cock up into you like he's breaking in his own personal fleshlight.

All you can do is go slack, falling forward on his chest. His grip bruising your hips, not allowing you to run from the way his blunt cockhead plows into your womb like a battering ram. 

The couch beneath you groans, its frame creaking under the strain. The wood and leather protest like the entire thing might fall apart at any moment.

“Enjinnnnn, m’slowwww dowwwnnn!” 

Your cries only fuel his frenzy and Enjin knows from the way you’re gushing on him you can take it.

Fuck—this sweet lil’ pussy is just so good for him. Imagine if he never met you. 

If you never—

Enjin cuts the thought off cold. 

Moving before you can blink—your world flips. One second he’s pummeling up into you, the next you’re on your back. 

Enjin peels away his shirt, muscles flexing as he looms over you. His hands curl around your ankles to keep them pinned overhead. A single bead of sweat catches your bleary eyes as it slides down his bare chest, gliding over firm muscle. The bold ink patterns seem to come alive on his skin. He looks so fucking sexy right now and you can’t help but to shamelessly ogle him.

Yet, there’s something much too serious and somber about Enjin’s current demeanor. You’ve been staring at him far too long to go unnoticed. The highly expressive, sassy powerhouse is rarely this silent. He should be teasing you right now, asking some smartass shit like if you’re ‘enjoying the view’. 

“Enjin?”

Your sweet voice hits his ears and instantly you have his attention again. Enjin flashes you a pearly white smile.

“Heh, enjoy the break, Princess? You wont get another.”

Ignoring the question in your eyes, Enjin folds you into a mating press, thrusting to the hilt all in one motion. The sound of flesh lewdly slapping against flesh fills the room, as do your cries.

But there’s still something else burning in his eyes. Enjin knows it’s unfair not to be honest with you, but taking out his unspoken feelings on your pretty pussy is the only way he can express himself at the moment. 

Suddenly, there’s a loud creak followed by a decisive snap and two of the sofa’s legs give out. If your sweat and cum weren't like glue on the old leather you’d surely slide off head first. You yell out in alarm, but Enjin doesn’t give a fuck about the damn sofa.

His mood is still soured by the thought that wouldn’t be shaken away until he confronted it—

If you never fell.

But you did. He found you—and now that Enjin has you under him like this, he needs to fuck the point he’s concluded into you:

If Rudo ever finds a way to the Sphere, Enjin will personally travel there and see to your ex-husband himself. 

Hell, he might even rail you in front of him a few times—show him what a real man could do. Maybe even a real…husband?

If the sounds of sloshing fluids and skin slapping skin weren't ringing so loudly in your ears that it drowned out everything else, you would have thought Enjin had lost his mind with the way he was cackling above you.  He sounds completely deranged, laughing at the idea of him finally wanting to settle down all while continuing to pound you deeper into the broken sofa.

But despite being high off weed and your pussy, Enjin’s mind has never been more clear—he wants to lock you down.

“Hah… P-Princess, can ya feel me in your tummy? Right…” Enjin’s golden eyes lock on the ever-so-slightly distended bulge from the monstrous intrusion in your guts.

“....right, here.” 

Throwing your legs over his shoulders, his large hands splay across your sweat sheened belly. You’re squirming under the heat of Enjin sandwiching your guts between his palm and his cock. Its all far too much—you’re too full, unable to really focus on what Enjin’s saying.

“Ahh, E-Enj—m’ c-cum, g-gonna mmm…” you hiccup, swallowing your tears.

Your nails rake down his arm to ground yourself but your body is thrumming too hard, adrift in the rush rolling through every one of your wired nerves. Your tits bounce obscenely every time your velvety walls devour his cock back down to the base. Enjin’s pubic piercing bucking against your clit has you clutching onto his dick like you were about to break it off.

You feel so fucking good. Enjin desperately needs to feel you creaming on his cock, and you would be soon if your kitten nails raking down his arms– adding more red to his already inked skin– were any indication. 

“That’s it, Princess, hah—fuck, baby, I got you. Squirt for your Trash Daddy.”

As if on command, the knot inside you coils to its breaking point, prickling every nerve, releasing a warm rush of fluids. Your body tingling in ecstasy, you quickly tumble over your peak, eyes blinded by speckles of brightness as you cum.

Yet Enjin hasn't slowed, his continuous pounding forcing more of your cum and squirt to gush out of you—the melody of his now drenched balls colliding with your wet ass only growing loude

“Fuck, that’s it. Pussy cryin’ like she wants my cum, Princess…” 

You’re barely conscious from all the pleasure, eyes rolling back into your head. 

“She’s jealous that slutty throat of yours got all my cum, now it’s her turn to swallow, isn’t that right?”

It’s a rather roundabout way for Enjin to ask if he can nut inside you, but then again, he wasn’t really asking. The thought of breeding you makes him feral. 

“Ahh—f’nnghhhh!”

Non-verbal and fucked dumb, you’d probably agree to anything right now. You’re an utter mess–pussy stretched beyond anything you thought possible, face sticky with slobber rolling down to pool in the folds of your neck. 

“O’course it is…gonna dump all these trash babies into my princess’ sweet lil’ cunt.”

Although you are super turned on by the thought of Enjin breeding you, there's no way you have any idea how serious Enjin is about putting a baby in you. How could you? You don’t even realize the love confession his cock is professing to you.

“FUHHHH—take it!”

Enjin pumps thick ropes of his cum into your tummy as his body thrashes on top of yours. The primal intensity has you vibrating as another orgasm rips through your overstimulated and overworked pussy. Filled the brim, his spunk overflows, sploshing out of your pussy as he rocks his hips, urging his seed deeper to plant right in your womb.

In the afterglow, the two of you lie off-kilter in a tangled heap on the broken sofa. There’s blood rushing to your head— not the worst place for it, you think, all things considered. Enjin’s weight is heavy, his chest heaving into yours, warm and sticky as he wraps you in his arms. 

Just as you feel you both might drift off like this, Enjin stirs. Flinching, you whimper as Enjin wills himself up, his cock sliding out of your pussy with a squelchy suctioning noise. Your knees part for him with zero resistance as he inspects his handiwork, peeling apart your battered pussy lips to reveal your dug out slit. 

“Whewww,” Enjin whistles at the sight of the thick creampie glistening in your core. “All this cum your cute pussy pulled outta me—you’d think she was my jinki.”

Sober, you likely would have slapped him for referring to your pussy as his vital instrument. But ecstasy clouds your logic, so high off endorphins and other substances, you only giggle. It is kinda funny you suppose.

“Yeah—squirtin’ on command like that. Definitely an attack type.”

Spread open, the thick plug of spunk froths out of you. But Enjin simply tuts, pushing it right back in, not wanting to waste a single drop.

“Yeah, how about that, ’mma duel wielder! Yup, definitely gotta name ‘er now—what you thinkin’ I should call her, princess?”

Enjin sees the way your pretty cunny is twitching, and in his pussy drunk mind, it's an approval. The spasms that still quake through you are like tremors of Morse Code—your slutty pussy agreeing with him, begging for more. Flipping you over on your belly, Enjin is more than happy to fulfill any request of his new vital instrument.

“Got it! Cumbringer! The Umbreaker and The Cumbringer. Nice ring to ‘em, dont’cha think?”

Cumbringer!?

Later, you would definitely regret being so thoroughly fucked out of your mind you didn’t put a stop to this. Enjin is most definitely going to be insufferably proud of himself for the next 3-6 business weeks. He’d lord this over you and tease you with not-so-subtle hints around the rest of the cleaners. 

Yet, as Enjin is swabbing his huge cock through your folds, you feel the ache of loss in your core, wanting to be filled again and you can’t seem to find the fucks to care—you just needed more of his dick, like…now.

Pleased with your compliance, Enjin thumbs the dips at the small of your back, perching your ass up so your back arches real nice.

“Trash Daddy’s gonna take real good care of Cumbringer from now on, too. Make ‘er live up to the name.”

When Enjin pushes into you again, the new angle has him bullying against your g-spot with even more intensity than before. Seeing the way you jolt, he holds back from going as deep this time to directly abuse the spot. Slick runs down your legs and despite how slippery the ruined leather cushions are beneath you, Enjin still holds you firm as his cock sloshes through your ruined pussy.

“Say, how much anima you think is in my nut, Princess?”

You don’t respond but Enjin, proving to have the stamina of a beast, feels like he should give you at least two more doses just to be sure.

⛓

Fading in and out of a euphoric stupor, you’re unsure how much time passes. Absolutely cockdrunk, at some point, you’d simply just surrendered. Your pussy clearly has zero complaints about being a jinki for Enjin’s cock and you are too dumb once you get a lil dick to stop him.

Somehow, you’ve ended up folded over the wide coffee table. It’s unstable beneath you, but Enjin doesn’t seem to care what he breaks when he’s fucking you. He only moved from the sofa when the back of it finally broke.

Straining, you think you hear voices but everything feels so far away and fuzzy. The room gets darker and you realize Enjin’s thrown his coat over you. Still sheathed deep inside you, Enjin’s cock plants lazy kisses to your womb as he speaks rather casually to someone.

Hmm, did he get a call? Is that Semiu?

Semiu is likely calling, wondering why you both haven’t shown up to happy hour yet—shit. There’s no way you’re making it in this condition; your limbs are toast. You can’t even move the weight of Enjin's bulky jacket off of you, the heavy material trapping you in the humidity of your own breath and sweat. But in a way, the warmth is comforting. Your cheek resting against the wood, you allow the tent of muggy heat and his cock moving languidly inside you to lull you into complacency— in your delirium, everything feels like a nice dream.

Yet Enjin is fully alert, a shit eating grin on his face as he stares down Semiu and Gris who had just walked in on Enjin shamelessly beating your doonies down. Enjin only spared your modesty by covering you up, but he has no qualms with either Gris or Semiu seeing him in all his glory and doesn’t even bother pulling out of you.

A fact that is painfully clear as he pats the pockets of his jacket draped over you for his cigs—he might as well smoke if he’s giving you a break.

“I win,” Semiu turns to Gris, hand out expectantly.

Semiu’s cool expression never changes but there is amusement in her eyes as Gris fishes into his pockets and places a stack of bills into her hand.

“Tsk, damn…” Gris shakes his head, although he’s not shocked. 

The two of you are down so horrendously bad for each other that this should have happened long ago as far as everyone else was concerned. The tension has been at an unbearable level for those around you, the way the two of you picked at each other non-stop like a kid’s first crush.

Alas, you’re an airhead and Enjin is so stubborn he’s delusional. So the older Cleaner members couldn’t help, but place bets on when and where you and Enjin would finally slip between the sheets. Its a shame that you weren't in one of your beds right now--in between actual sheets--instead of the lounge becoming collateral damage.

“You know, after all the game you talked about winning your money back at poker tonight, Bro said you were a no-show because you knew you were gonna lose…” Gris eyes the boneless, quivering lump that is you under Enjin’s jacket. 

Enjin really did a number on you. Your nonsensical babbles pouting for Enjin to ‘make sure to tell Semiu to bring you back some fries from the bar’ obviously means you have no idea that they are actually in the room.

“But it looks like you have your ‘ace in the hole' for an entirely different game.”

Enjin chortles. His hips stutter forward a bit too hard and you squeak in protest, he just hushes you.

“Awe, so you came back all this way to check-up on us? How sweet,” Enjin says sarcastically, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“Hardly. Rudo accidentally chugged an entire beer he thought was soda—then proceeded to throw it all up over Zanka,” Semiu says flatly. 

Enjin attempts to hold back his laughter as Semiu continues with a sigh. She explains thatGris helped carry Rudo back, promptly putting his little blacked out ass to bed. Zanka locked himself in the bathroom immediately upon returning.

“Although they're sure to be occupied for the rest of the night, since the kids are back in the building you need to wrap this shit up Enjin—she looks like she could use the break anyway.”

Semiu casts a sympathetic look your way. She did warn you about Enjin though, so he was your mess to deal with now. 

“Sure thing,” Enjin says, patting your form underneath his coat, “I’ve trained my new jinki well enough for tonight.” 

Semiu takes one look at the absolutely diabolical grin on Enjin’s face and decides she's already had enough of his shit for the night.

She sighs again. “Just hurry it up, alright?”

Enjin gives Semiu a cheeky salute. Yet the second her back is turned, Enjin mimes a dramatic chef’s kiss to the air for Gris. Enjin’s eyes roll back like he’s just had the best meal of his life. 

Gris snorts, shooting him a wink and a thumbs-up for a ‘job well done’ like a proud teammate before heading out of the room as well.

“One more thing.”

Semiu pauses in the doorway, hands resting on the double doors, surveying the crime scene-like state of the lounge. The sofa is toast, the coffee table’s on life support, and there's a growing puddle under you, spilling over to slowly drip off its edge onto the floor.

“If you’re just going to recklessly rawdog her, at least get her on the pill. Alice can sort that out tomorrow—right after you replace every piece of furniture you’ve both annihilated.”

Enjin simply shrugs, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“I suppose…we can stop by Alice’s too.” 

Semiu just rolls her eyes, only to wrinkle her nose as a wave of stale air wafts by.

“And for the love of god—crack a window. Smells like fresh ass in here.”

Once the doors finally click shut, Enjin rips his jacket off of you and smiles. You’re still blissed out in lalaland while your pussy, Cumbringer, is clenching around him like she has one more go left in her.

Grabbing your arm, he pulls you up. Still sheathed inside you, he sits back on his knees, bringing you with him, your back pressed against his chest.

“Mmmm—*yawns* Was that Semiu on the call, Enj?”

Call? Oh, heh.

“Ha, yeah baby girl, just Semiu on the line,” Enjin lies too easily. 

It’s for your own benefit though–no need to ruin your bliss with anything silly like embarrassment or shame from being walked-in on. Hell, unless Semiu says something, Enjin might be able to get away with not ever telling you.

“She said they ran outta fries though. I’ll get ya some later, yeah? Jus’ need Cumbringer to clock in one more time, Princess...”

Enjin rocks his hips with yours in a slow wave and your pout melts, no longer caring about the fries. Your head tips back onto his shoulder as he wraps his arms around you.

“Ah, mmmm, b-but—ngnh!  She mentioned something about hotdogs and getting pills tomorrow? Is that a mission?”

Enjin hums to keep from laughing as he turns your face towards him. He smirks devilishly against your lips.

Distracting you with sweet chaste kisses, Enjin rubs gentle circles over your womb. You’re gonna be so fucking hot waddling around HQ in your slutty ass uniform, tits leaking and belly full with his brats. 

The only pill he’d get from Alice would be a fertility pill.

“Nothing my slutty baby girl or my Cumbringer gotta worry about, Princess. Leave everything t’me.”

𝐚𝐧: ahh tysm for reading, especially if you are new to my writing. enjin brain rot is lethal. i needed to get this outta my system! jjk girlies forgive me for straying from my wip list and kinktober lol. definitely down to write more of him. i have a p2 and another enjin story (an AU) idea. but i have to focus on my jjk kinktober now! ♡

also, in case anyone is wondering—yes, reader's jinki is a labubu and yes, enjin just guilt tripped reader into growing him his own personal stash djhscjhdfj. banner: mash up of official manga + rororogi mogera 'last mall' doujin panels.

[kumasakka]

𝝑𝑒 ⏜ ︵ biceps at your service 𓈒

　　A quiet groan leaves his lips as he pressed his cheek deeper into the pillow, voice muffled through the cushions.

It tingles. But it feels so so good — the rhythmic tap of your fingers before you begin to drag your fingertips across his bare back, feeling the little scars and brushing over the bruises with soft reverence.

His back muscles are tensing, arms wrapped around the pillow, biceps flexing ever so slightly, jaw clenching as he tries to cover his own whimpers.

“Feels s’good.” a shudder runs down his spine.

“Hmm? What was that, pretty boy?” a teasing hum.

You are making yourself comfortable on the back of his hip, leaning right over him and letting your hands roam around — before kneading the well built muscles.

The feeling of them makes you incredibly giddy, all happy to be the only one who gets to see him so bare.

“All yours, continue.”

Instead of heading his plead, you do the opposite and halt mid movement — he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Please continue.” he corrects himself.

“Good.” you whisper and do as he pleases, beginning to scratch harshly.

“Shit—”

The unforgiving, red marks vividly appear as you run your fingernails across his back. The contour beneath his skin, the breadth of his shoulders, the full shape of his back. And the way his muscles stretch and tighten as his hands curl around the fabrics of the pillow.

You fucking love it, bite your lower lips while leaning forward and massage his shoulder. Your shadow falls over him as you loom right inches above him, one hand trailing down to his biceps to squeeze it lightly.

“Wish this could go on forever, you’re too good f’me.” he buries his face deeper into the pillow.

He could feel your palm dragging over the hard, defined parts of his spine. Then it wanders down, fingertips dipping into the curve of his lower back and it tingles comfortably. He relishes in the way your touch seems to linger on the hard, corded muscles, tracing little maps.

As soon as you pressed a little harder against it, dipping right between the curve — he subconsciously arches his back.

“Fuck—ah…” he whimpers.

“Your reactions are adorable.” you coo.

“—Shut up.”

© 2026 kumasakka — do not plagiarize , copy , modify , translate our work ⸝⸝

divider source — @cursed-carmine ⸝⸝

author’s note — guilty as charged I really love biceps and back muscles haha and btw I have no knowledge about anatomy just so u guys know ⸝⸝

taglist — @solarisstarrsolomonsbeloved , @staygoldsquatchling02 , @megumismyhusband , @angelhaezy , @totallybakedcake , @koiromii , @irethepotato , @arisu79 , @kyo-mii , @digikiiz , @solarisstarrsolomonsbeloved , @magpieka , @riuvy , @lulucidal , @cosmorainpuddle , @arwawawa2 ⸝⸝

[slutla]

EVALUATION CAME EARLY !

ft. enjin, gris, zanka, tamsy, jabber, corvus.

+ completely (un)necessary ‘n highly scientific breakdown of what’s actually going on down there (dick hcs)

warnings. 18+, mdni, literally whole post is tmi abt cock n balls. unrealistic descriptions of dicks. pubic hair. cum. wrote this 4 funsies. lots of bias in tamsy part srry. unedited ‘n messy writing. everyone is aged up ‘n is an adult ok. scents. gn! reader.

ENJIN — It isn’t thick but it’s Long. Definitely long. Pretty ‘n uncut. It’s a little curved, with veins on the underside. The sheer length alone has you cryin’ on it. He teases you about it, that sly, cocky smirk on his face. He knows he’s packing. He’s a shower and a grower, and oftentimes you can see the print through his sweats. Tan’ish colored tip, and he oozes out runny pre. He tastes kinda salty and he’s hairy, with a blonde happy trail. His balls are fat, round and he cum’s in ropes. Sticky, milky cum. Doesn’t really smell like anything. Prob has tats on it, maybe a piercing if you catch my drift.

GRIS — THICK. The grith is insane, stretches you out. 6-7 inches. It’s a little darker at the base, and also uncut. Angry red/pinkish tinted tip, leaky so so leaky. He gets hard and suddenly his boxers have a big wet patch on ‘em. He’s hairy, but not like jungle hairy, keeps his hair trimmed. He’s doesn’t have a taste but i feel like he’d have a musky scent. He takes good care of himself.

ZANKA — Long ‘n skinny, still manages to prod right at your cervix. Circumcised. Doesn’t have many veins, just the one running down his shaft but it’s enough to catch your eye. His tip’s pink ‘n flushed ‘n impossibly cute, and he’s soo sensitive. Tries to act like he isn’t, but just a little rub or lick to his tip, even a kiss and his slit’s already droolin’. No hair—feel like he’d wax, and if there’s any, it’s barely visible, thin and light. Probably tastes a little salty, though somehow with sweet undertones that throw you off. He’s well-groomed, duh. It’s legit Zanka.

TAMSY — Just like the rest of his appearance, his dick is also angelic ‘n really really pretty <33. Prettiest dick ever. Trust. A grower and he’s circumcised. His balls are so heavy ‘n round ‘n soft, they’re super sensitive. His cock curves a little, and his tip is a really pale pink, and when there’s pre on the tip, it’s shiny ‘n resembles a licked lollipop. He’s not that hairy, deff has hair but it’s blonde and thin, not super visible. Probably tastes salty sometimes, cause there is no way he’s not sweating under all those heavy ass layers of clothes.

JABBER — HUGE. He’s hung and big and massive. Uncut. A shower and a grower. Legit, gets bigger inside of you. Has a couple veins runnin’ down his cock, and he cums buckets. Big, fat breeder balls. His tip is crazy, round ‘n bulbous, and a bit darker than his actual skin tone. He’s hairy, like real hairy ‘n the hair is darker in color and kinda coils/curls. Might, have a piercing just ‘cause he likes pain ‘n just ‘cause I said so. He’s kinda gross ‘n probably tastes bitter. (still swallowing <3)

CORVUS — One look at this man ‘n you can just tell it’s big. He’s a shower. Circumcised. Really pretty, it’s curved to the right ‘n a couple veins. Cums in spurts and he’s thick, but not too thick to hurt. Feels sooo good when he’s inside ‘n he definitely knows how to use it. Minimal hair, and he tastes sweet, doesn’t have a particular scent. Well groomed and takes good care of himself.

[maaaari0]

Rudo as your baby 𖹭

content — sfw, fluff, mother!reader.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

★ Rudo never received a mother’s affection — there was never a female figure in his life. He grew up only with his adoptive father and, after losing him, was thrown to the surface. You, Enjin’s girlfriend and a Giver, were patrolling with him when you spotted the boy amidst the rubble. Since you started supervising him, you didn’t expect your feelings for the boy to grow so much.

"Can we keep him?"

"He should join the Cleaners soon. The kid has talent," Enjin replied, resting his arms on the bedroom balcony railing before bringing the cigarette to his mouth.

"No… not like that."

"I’m not understanding you, woman," he said, raising an eyebrow. "You want to adopt him, is that it?"

You didn’t answer, but somehow, Enjin knew the answer. He just sighed. "My God..."

★ Rudo was amazed when you ran your hand over his head for the first time. The boy’s eyes widened, freezing for a moment, until his stiff expression began to soften. Rudo closed his eyes, hugging you cautiously, still waiting for any sign of rejection. Since you didn’t pull away, he stayed there, burying his head in your chest.

"Hey, love, did you see…" Enjin’s voice echoed in the room, but you quickly interrupted him, bringing a finger to your lips in a silent request. The blond stopped, giving a small smile when he saw Rudo snuggled in your arms. "I’ll come back later," he whispered, before leaving the room.

★ The first time he called you “mom” was an accident. You were putting him to sleep, and he was drowsy. The word just slipped out. A heavy silence filled the room, followed by deep embarrassment from Rudo. However, you just smiled, stroked his face, and said, "It’s okay. You can call me that if you want."

He never repeated it and his cheeks burned with shame whenever he remembered.

★ Rudo became your “shadow.” He doesn’t just watch you; he internalizes a fierce instinct to protect you. On missions, he’s always one step ahead, checking the surroundings, even though he knows that, as your apprentice, he should stay behind. If anyone dares to raise their voice at you, Rudo appears immediately by your side, spitting insults like a rabid dog. He doesn’t care what they think of him afterwards. All that matters is defending you.

"Say that about her again and I’ll break all your teeth, you piece of shit!" You hold the boy back before he attacks the person, seeing his short arms and legs flail wildly. "Let me kill him!"

"Calm down, Rudo. It’s okay." You then place a little kiss on the top of the boy’s head, making him stop at once. Rudo fell silent, drawing surprised looks from the others.

★ Rudo is still tormented by nightmares. There are nights when he silently appears at your bedroom door, wrapped in a teddy bear blanket, unable to sleep. You say nothing; you just make room for him to lie down beside you. Enjin grumbles, opening his eyes when he sees Rudo settling in between you. He arches an eyebrow, blinking sleepily. You hug Rudo, keeping him snuggled against your chest. Enjin says nothing and goes back to sleep, too tired to fight that brat for his girlfriend’s attention.

★ Rudo is used to having nothing, so when you give him simple things — a plate of hot food, a clean shirt, or something old for him to restore — he freezes, not knowing how to react. Little by little, you teach him that there’s nothing wrong with accepting kindness. He begins to keep these gifts with an almost religious care, like relics he values so much.

★ Rudo gets very worried when you get hurt. If you’re attacked in front of him, he’s likely to go berserk and start acting completely irrationally. Afterwards, in the infirmary, he sits on the chair next to your bed, his scarlet eyes showing immense anguish and concern. He touches your hand, his little face crestfallen.

"Get better soon…" he murmurs, small tears beginning to sting at the corners of his eyes.

★ Rudo misses you whenever you don’t go on missions together. When he returns, he makes sure to tell you everything in detail, every little thing he experienced. He’s still learning to express himself and, for some reason, he finds it easier to do so when he’s with you. Maybe it’s because of your patience, or the fact that you never judge him, unlike some others. With you, he feels truly safe.

★ Rudo always smiles when you praise him (he’s still learning). He gets all stirred up, with cheeks slightly flushed. One of his biggest goals was to make friends, and having you as his first friend was like a huge achievement.

"Will we stay together forever?" he asked, his big eyes shining with hope.

"Yes, forever," you answered, laughing softly as you clapped his hands together.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

★ Since he fell from the sky, he had never felt so whole. You made him feel welcomed, wanted. And deep down, in his heart, Rudo cherished the hope of one day repaying all your kindness.

[softpillowprincess]

ᯓ˚✗୨୧ — tobacco & mint [18+]

ᢉ𐭩Enjin x f!Reader

.｡.:*☆ wc ≈ 16.5k | beta read | proof read

SYNOPSIS Enjin didn’t know you were hiding all that under your somewhat baggy cleaner‘s uniform until one day August gets a new whiff of inspiration to cook you up the possibly hottest uniform among the cleaners yet.

CONTENT nsfw / fluff / sexual tension / porn with plot / resolved sexual tension / mutual pining / slow burn / friends to lovers / coworkers to lovers / service top!enjin / praise kink / submissive reader / cursing / oral f!receiving / fingering / sadist!enjin if you squint

WARNINGS nsfw / weed / usage of she/her pronouns / mdni

PT2 >>> detergent & sweets

Enjin was a simple man with simple needs. 

A couple cigarettes. The rush of tearing a trash beast apart piece by piece. The relief of a joint right after. Hitting up his favorite local spots at the end of a workday, surrounding himself with gorgeous women who couldn’t deny the fact that he, too, was quite the specimen himself. 

Simple. 

Once you joined the Cleaners, he’d been ecstatic to finally share the burden that was being in your twenties while babysitting a bunch of brain-wrecked teenagers. 

For the first time in a while, he had room to breathe—time to indulge, and not just in stolen moments.

He could prep joints at night for the next day. Take long baths. Hook up with strangers. Stumble back home high out of his mind at bonkers hours in the morning.

He wasn’t above sharing his pleasures, either. He’d invite his adult coworkers to go out with him from time to time.

Gris usually took him up on it if his day had been particularly rough—especially after some heavy trash-beast ass-kicking.

Semiu, on the other hand, decided on a whim whether she felt like tagging along or not.

As for Zanka, Enjin was already looking forward to the day he’d be old enough to become a potential drinking buddy. Fingers crossed.

He’d even invited you along a couple of times as well, only to learn—pretty quickly—that you were more of a domestic soul. You liked taking care of yourself in your room during your spare time, doing chores, sticking to your own quiet routines and little rituals.

You spent a good chunk of your time tending to your vital instrument. Other than that, you just… existed among the residents. Easy. Steady. Reliable.

He exhaled slowly, letting the tensions of the day roll off him as his thoughts drifted towards the night ahead, an unlit cigarette sitting between his lips. The places he might go, the people he might see, the things he might do. 

His steps echoed through the atmosphere of low humming halls. It was easy to slip into autopilot, leave monotone routine behind—as monotone as his job could get, really— and trade it all for the simple pleasures waiting outside. 

Enjin had already clocked out in his head. Cigarette, street air, somewhere loud—he was halfway there when August’s voice tore through the hall.

“IT’S DONE! HAHA! I DID IT!”

Enjin stopped. Clicked his tongue. Figures. Nothing out of the ordinary. He put his foot in front of the other. 

Then August yelled your name.

The lighter stayed in Enjin’s pocket. Instinctively, he turned back around to watch the scene unfold in front of him. 

You appeared like you always did — clothes draping over you like they were just a size too big, hair half-tamed (much like you).

Mildly tired, mildly irritated, yet entirely unbothered by the chaos that was August himself. He leaned back against the doorframe behind him, eyes following the way you yanked the fabric out of August’s hands. 

“On my fucking life,” you groaned. “Why’re you yelling? M’right here.” 

“Wow, you’re so fun and energized,” Enjin chimed in, as sarcastic as he was relaxed.

You shot him a look — flat, unimpressed. He grinned anyway, like he’d just won a prize, or something. “You asked for a new uniform?” 

“Not really,”—you held the clothes up to get an impression—“he just said he’d make me one ‘cause he felt inspired, so I let him.”

He couldn’t help but notice the fabric of the new uniform— or rather, the lack thereof.

Enjin then realized, distantly, that he’d never really thought about what you looked like under your layers of much too oversized clothes.

The sweaters swallowed you whole, the pants hung low and loose, and somewhere along the line his brain had filed you away as safe. Familiar.

Not something to think about.

“August,” you said, turning the scraps of fabric over in your hands, brows knitting together, “are you sure this is for me? This is so not what I’d usually wear.”

Enjin almost agreed out loud. Almost. It didn’t match you—not the way he knew you, anyway.

You were all soft edges and practical comfort, huge sleeves and borrowed pants, a presence that blended into the space instead of demanding it. This thing looked like it wanted to be noticed. 

He should’ve written it off right there, should’ve sided with you and moved on. Instead, he found himself staring a second longer than necessary, curiosity gnawing at him in a way that felt unfamiliar. He wanted—unexpectedly—to see it on you.

Wanted to know what August had seen that he hadn’t. The thought settled in his chest, stubborn, yet not entirely unwelcome.

Enjin was a simple man.

“Are you doubting the gear genius?” He teasingly tilted his head.

“Yeah? How dare you?” August scoffed.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m not doubting anyone. I’m just saying—this doesn’t really look like something I’d wear.”

August waved you off, already vibrating with confidence. “Just try it on.”

You hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Give me a minute.”

And just like you’d seemed to appear out of nowhere, you were gone again the very next second. The door to your room clicked shut.

Enjin didn’t realize he’d been watching until August lightly elbowed his side, muttering to himself about unique stitching, unmatched genius, and a true artistic vision needing proper time to take shape.

Adjusting his weight against the doorframe, Enjin finally lit the cigarette that had been resting between his lips.

Huh, weird.

He’d seen people change before—hell, had undressed people before, had just been about to go out and find someone to undress again. None of this should have registered.

And yet.

Seconds ticked by, and his mind counted them anyway.

He took a drag. Exhaled. Then did it again. The burned-down bud at the tip of the cigarette fell to the floor in what felt like slow motion.

He shifted again, cigarette now between his fingers, trying to convince himself that now could be the time follow through with his original plan: go out, fool around, return at some ridiculous hour. No obligations. No reason to stick around. 

So why weren’t his feet moving? 

His gaze drifted toward your closed door. For the briefest moment, he imagined what it might look like. Immediately, he shook his head. He really never thought of you this way. 

And yet.

The thought lingered. The thought of you—any way other than your usual comforting, gentle, easy self—refused to disappear. He heard the soft shuffle and toss of clothing behind the door until all that remained was quiet nothing.

He couldn’t lie to himself. He was curious. Whatever pleasures waited outside weren’t going anywhere, and he was entertained enough right where he was—so why force it?

There was no rush. No harm in sticking around a little longer. If nothing else, it gave him an excuse to annoy you about it later.

Another drag. Another exhale. The cigarette was now less than half its original length. A few more inches fell to the floor, slow, unimportant, meaningless.

The lock of your door clicked. And it mattered so much, for some reason.

Enjin’s head tilted, cigarette now forgotten between his lips. He imagined your last couple motions behind that door— a careful tug at a new hem, flatting a creased surface of the fabric, adjusting the fit and drape of certain places. Your hands moving along yourself in a familiar fashion. 

Your hands moving along yourself.

And that was new. In spite of all the trouble he usually got up to, he’d never thought of you as a woman before. Not once. 

Then, you stepped out. 

The uniform fit differently than he expected. On its own, it wasn’t flashy, or anything, but it conformed to your shape in a way that made it undeniable. Attention-seeking. And you…

You made it look effortless.

The seams traced your lines perfectly, moving and folding with you in one fluid motion as if the fabric had been waiting for you.

The uniform was stripped down, tight, and sharp. The skirt hugged your hips, short enough to catch the eye without feeling ridiculous. It was tasteful. 

The top clung to your torso in a way that left neither room for more fabric, nor for imagination. 

Over it, the cropped jacket—Cleaners’ emblem bold across the back—fit snugly, following your every movement without losing its structure. 

And the boots—chunky, scuffed, ready for anything—grounded you in a way that made the whole thing feel both dangerous and effortless.

And what shouldn’t have mattered suddenly mattered so much. Because, fuck… you were hot.

Every little shift you made—a tilt of your head, a small tug at the hem, the way the fabric moved with you—kept catching his attention. He bit the inside of his cheek. Ain’t no way you’d been burying all that under those layers. 

And yet.

Something in him knew better. Your figure fit the style of the uniform perfectly. Natural. Balanced. Built in all the right places. That shouldn’t matter. And still, it did. His pulse ticked a little faster, and he kind of hated that he noticed.

What he was most shocked to have to face was the fact that you were pretty much exactly what he imagined whenever he thought of an ideal type. 

His lungs tightened. Not from desire—at least, not fully. Fascination, awareness, intrigue—all tangled together. The version of you he’d filed away as “safe, familiar” no longer fit. Something was… different.

You glanced at him, eyebrows raised, waiting for judgment. Approval. Anything.

He exhaled slowly, smoke he’d forgotten in his lungs curling upwards past his curious eyes. “Fits,” he said, voice low and casual, as though he was trying to convince himself he hadn’t been holding his breath for the past couple seconds.

You blinked, then tilted your head to look down at yourself. “Yeah… I guess so.”

Neither of you moved. The hall felt quieter, smaller, like any sudden movement could cause him to bump into you. August had gone silent as well, half inspecting his work, half sensing the shift in the air without caring to pinpoint the energy. 

Whether or not you had realized it, that was up for debate.

Enjin took another long drag. Exhaled. Hoping the smoke would create a barrier between him and your form.

It was then, that he realized it wasn’t just the uniform that mattered. It was the subtle shift in you, the way you carried yourself differently, the unfamiliar side of you quietly asserting itself—and him noticing, no pretending otherwise. 

Your back straightened, chest lifted ever so slightly—oh, fuck—and the natural sway of your hips whenever you shifted your weight had him chasing after his own breath. 

“Honestly,” you spoke, smoothing the fabric of your skirt over your hips, “I thought this would be uncomfortable, but… it’s really not. I do actually like it.” 

“TOLD YA! I’M A GENIUS!” August screamed, dancing with wild pride. 

Enjin couldn’t help but simply stare. An involuntary smirk grazed his features. “Yeah… you are a genius.” 

He was a simple man with simple needs.

─────────୨ৎ─────────

By the time the last trash beast went down, you’d forgotten what it felt like to wear anything else.

Given the nature of your fighting, bruises were inevitable—something you hadn’t even considered when you first received the outfit. Now, black-and-blue marks bloomed along your legs, stretching from mid-thigh all the way down.

It was a sight quite familiar to you, the difference being that—with your new uniform— it was visible to everyone around you as well.

You were going to have to do something about that. 

The adrenaline hadn’t quite worn off yet. Your limbs buzzed from all the movement, body feeling hot and fuzzy. You shifted your weight from one leg to the other in pursuit of some sort of relief for each limb. 

And in spite of all your movements, the pieces of clothing hadn’t shifted in any unwanted way. No hems to adjust, no creases to smooth over. Nothing. The uniform didn’t just cling to your body—it practically felt molded to your physique.

You hadn’t had to think about it once during the fight, which, honestly, was the highest compliment you could pay to the resident “gear genius” who had so carefully tailored it to your needs.

You glanced over at Enjin, who seemed to be in a similar state as you. Chest heaving, skin dusted with the thinnest layer of sweat and grime.

He leaned back slightly, the ever-present teasing grin tugging at his lips—a feature that somehow only grew more pronounced after a good fight at the edge of the No Man’s Lands.

He put most of his weight onto his dear umbrella as his gaze flickered towards your form. You caught it flicking down for a split second—a questioning twitch in his lip, a curious squint of his eye—and then back up. 

“Don’t start,” you said, already anticipating a comment about the state of your legs.

“Wasn’t gonna,” he replied easily, his hands up in defense and then catching Umbreaker just in time before it fell over. Then, after a beat, “You took quite a hit back there, though.”

“Well,” you looked down to properly inspect the spots this time. The bruises blossomed mostly in the areas around and on your knees, though your shins weren’t exempt of the hues of color. Frankly, it looked like it usually did. “Comes with the job.” 

“Huh,” his gaze flickered down again, lingering long enough for you to take note of it. “You always bruise like that?” 

“Pretty much?” You responded, putting one leg behind the other, as if it was going to do anything to hide it. “Legs usually take the worst of it.” 

“Figures.” he responded, lifting a joint to his lips—his habitual celebration joint, as you’ve come to learn about him.

His attention to your legs lingered just a second longer than you’d expected it to, before focusing on lighting the end of the blunt with his lighter. 

“You know,” he teased as the fire finally caught, then dropping his lighter back in his pocket, “the amount you bruise in a day feels like the amount I take in like, what, two weeks?” 

“Wow, you’re so cool for that,” you shot back—unimpressed, sarcastic. “Is this your way of telling me to be more careful?” 

“Nah,” he smirked, taking a drag of his joint and exhaling the smoke, a relaxed groan escaping along with it. “You handle yourself just fine.” 

That earned him a look. “High praise.” 

“Don’t get used to it.” he retorted, a challenging expression adorning his sharp features.

“Aw, why not?” You finally took a moment to stretch. 

Hands pressed together, you reached overhead, trying to ease the tension built up in your back during the fight. Even as you moved, you couldn’t help but notice the hem of your top riding up just slightly—enough to follow your motion comfortably, never restrictive, never bothersome.

It was honestly impressive. 

When your arms dropped back to your sides, you caught the faintest flicker of movement out of the corner of your eye—and for a moment, it felt like Enjin’s gaze was still following you. Just for a heartbeat, though.

“What’s up with you today?”

“Huh?” A cloud of smoke tore through his lips. “What do you mean?”

“You’re, like, looking at me all the time,” you said, resting a hand on your hip. “What’s up with that?”

“I’m not.” He scoffed, taking another drag, huffing little smoke circles and watching them disappear into the air.

You rolled your eyes. “You are, though.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You totally are.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, shooting you a hopelessly charming smile, eyes shamelessly flicking down and back up your figure. “Maybe a bit.”

Unfortunately for you, his charms didn’t leave you entirely unaffected.

You couldn’t help it. Anyone with working eyes knew exactly that Enjin was the unfortunate epitome of attraction. 

The sharp line of his jaw catching the light as he tilted his head, the way smoke curled lazily from his lips, forming all sorts of organic shapes before vanishing into the air. 

The collar of his shirt revealing the ink nestled underneath his skin, curving alongside his neck, giving him this edge that somehow fit that permanent teasing expression he always wore.

You shook your head slightly, trying to tell yourself it didn’t mean anything. But your pulse had its own opinion, quickening with the small, easy awareness of him in front of you. 

But no. This guy was more than likely carrying a choker filled to the brim with booty calls. There was no reason for him to be paying you that kind of attention, especially since he usually didn’t.

Something you’d always been painfully aware of, to your dismay.

“Whatever,” you muttered, more to yourself than him. “Can you drive?” 

“Why?” he grinned. “‘Cause your legs are busted?” 

“You’re so funny today,” you mustered the most obnoxious fake-laugh you were capable of. “No, genius. I’m asking, because you’re high.”

“That would certainly be a valid concern,”—he took another taunting drag—“if you weren’t talking to me right now.” 

“Silly me,”you said, not-so-subtle sarcasm yet to unlace from your voice. “No, but really.” 

You walked past him toward the off-roader, unable to hide the little bounce in your step—half from the lingering adrenaline still coursing through your veins, half from the excitement you felt at the prospect of returning back to your base—home.

Heavy steps followed you until you both slid into the vehicle, him in the driver’s seat.

“I’ve done wilder things stoned,” he scoffed, playfully rolling his eyes as he inserted the key into the ignition.

“Like what?” You asked, getting comfortable in your seat. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“You’re so insufferable sometimes.” you sighed, shooting him a displeased look. “Just focus on the road.”

He smiled, eyes meeting yours as if to admit guilt. “No promises.” 

His fingers moved quickly over the keys, firing up the engine before shifting gears and getting the car rolling.

“Buckle up, princess,” he said. “Just ‘cause your legs are bruised doesn’t mean I’ll be slowing down any time soon.” 

The little nickname definitely didn’t go unnoticed by you—as well as the double innuendo, which wasn’t out of the ordinary for him—though you felt too something to really comment on it.

“Don’t you worry about my legs,” you shot back, trying for a casual tone. “Not like I’m made of sugar or something.”

He smirked to himself, taking a last long drag of the joint before flicking it out the window. “Good to know.”

You caught him muttering something under his breath—more to himself than to you—but decided to let it slide. Your pulse still hadn’t quite settled—whether that was from the fight or due to certain body-modded men within your vicinity was something you chose not to worry about— and honestly, you didn’t really feel like picking fights, anyway. 

The motor rumbled beneath you as the off-roader stumbled over the uneven ground of the No Man’s Land, gradually leaving the chaos behind. The road began to flatten with each passing mile, though the ride already felt surprisingly smooth—especially considering it was Enjin behind the wheel right now.

You kept your hands folded in your lap. Your gaze kept wandering between the trash-ridden landscape — a rather unpleasant sight — and, of course, him — an admittedly rather pleasant side. 

Despite every warning you’d given yourself, despite every attempt to keep your guard up, he slipped past it effortlessly. He didn’t need your consent to get under your skin—and you couldn’t really help letting him, either. He was just good at getting people’s guard down—at least among the Cleaners.

Or maybe it was just you. 

Your gaze drifted back to him, more often than you cared to admit. His side profile looked sharper and even more defined against the warm rays of a setting sun kissing his dirt-ridden skin. 

It was honestly a bit annoying how attractive he was. 

You mentally traced the patterns of the tattoos disappearing beneath the nick of his shirt, wondering about the way they might continue. Your focus drifted towards the flex of his strong hands on the wheel, covered in similar shapes—how did they curl under his sleeves?

You shifted in your seat, throwing one leg over the other, and felt the faint sting of bruises along the length of your legs. Nothing severe, but enough to remind you that your fight hadn’t been gentle. 

You flexed them subtly under the skirt of your uniform, partly to stretch, partly out of curiosity, playing a quiet game of “how long before it hurts too much”. Of course, it never got to that point. It’s just some light bruising. 

He glanced at you then, out of the corner of his eye, and his smirk widened just slightly, like he knew about the silly game you were playing in your head to entertain yourself. A small quirk of his eyebrow, a tilt of the head—it was enough to make your chest tighten, though you pretended (miserably) to focus on your legs instead.

“So,” he said, voice casual but teasing, “you planning on sitting there looking broody all the way back, or are we gonna talk?”

You let out a soft breath, shoulders sinking into the seat. “I’ll be honest… I’m kind of tired.”

“I was wondering when you’d say that.” His tone softened, the teasing thinning out. “You can sleep, if you wanna. I’ll wake your ass at HQ.”

“Mm,” you hummed, eyelids already heavier than you’d realized. “Sounds good.”

“I’ll wake you up good,” he added lightly. “Get Delmon to hose you down.”

One eye cracked open. “Okay. I’m not sleeping.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m kidding.” A pause. Then, softer, more genuine: “I’ll wake you up real gentle. Promise. Get some rest.”

The hum of the engine filled the space between you. The road stretched ahead, steady and uneventful.

You shifted slightly, adjusting against the seat, legs stretching out a little more carefully this time. Your head tipped back. The exhaustion wasn’t dramatic — just the slow kind that settled into your bones after a long day.

You felt it before you saw it — his hand adjusting the climate dial so the air wouldn’t blow directly at you. The smallest thing. Almost nothing.

But not nothing.

Your eyes fluttered closed.

The last thing you registered was the faint sound of him muttering under his breath — something about how easily you wear yourself out — and the way the vehicle seemed to move just a little smoother than before.

You were asleep before you even realized it.

─────────୨ৎ─────────

The common area was louder than usual—music bleeding from a battered speaker, empty bottles clustering along the tables, the air thick with smoke and laughter. Someone had dragged out a deck of cards, another group arguing loudly over rules that changed every five minutes.

Enjin fit right into it.

He leaned back in his chair, one arm slung over the backrest, a drink balanced loosely in his hand as he laughed along with the others. Easy. Relaxed. This was familiar territory—post-mission chaos, shared exhaustion, celebration for still being alive. The kind of environment he absolutely thrived in.

His eyes roamed the room in a moment that was supposed to be all about appreciating his weird, little family.

And then, they stopped. 

You hadn’t made any sort of announcement. No dramatic pause, no random attempt at drawing attention. You just slipped into the room like you always did— quiet, familiar, reliable. 

His gaze flickered down before he could stop himself. 

The uniform sat on you as disgustingly well as it always did. Skirt hugged you too well, top accentuated your physique, jacket hung loose over your shoulders, sleeves slinging in the air.

He had just gotten somewhat used to seeing you this way. It was supposed to be safe. It should have been safe.

You chose trouble today. 

It wasn’t the uniform that threw him off.

It was what you added. 

Dark fabric hugged your legs beneath the skirt, reaching high enough to erase the bruises he knew were there. Practical. Sensible.

That, somehow, made it worse.

He knew why you were wearing them. A part of him basked in the fact that he was probably the only person here that knew why you were wearing them, that this was your attempt at hiding your bruises. And, somehow, knowing what it looked like underneath made it that much more… intimate? 

Not to mention the way that the plush of your legs perfectly spilled over the hem of the fabric, which was the best part about these types of socks, anyway.

But this was you. Cozy, unchanging, reliable you.

With a single addition to your work attire, you’d managed to take it from blurring the lines of professionalism to… well, overstepping them entirely. At least, in his eyes.

He couldn’t tell if he minded or not. Or he just couldn’t admit the truth to himself. 

The card game, the drink in his hand, the music running in the background—all of it faded as he took his sweet time observing you.

He eased back into the loveseat he was occupying, spreading his long legs like he owned the space, as if waiting for you was the most natural thing in the world.

You greeted a few people, checked on the kids at the children’s table, but never seemed to settle in one spot.

And so, he called your name before he could stop himself. 

Your head snapped toward him, eyes locking with his as you made your way to the poker table.

“Hey there,” you greeted, arms loosely crossed.

“Hi,” he replied, flashing that infuriating grin. “Sit down. We could use another player.” He shifted over, leaving just enough space for you to slide in, and you did—probably closer than you’d expected—after greeting everyone at the table.

His hand draped over the back of the two-seater, half-encasing your frame. His legs stretched, one brushing the side of your thigh, claiming the space with casual confidence, yet leaving enough for you.

“So… what are we playing?” you asked, voice light, like you were trying not to notice the proximity.

“It’s called Bluffing,” he said, eyes flicking toward you briefly. “Basically, the deck is evenly split among the four of us and we have to place cards in order of Ace to King facedown. The catch: You won’t always have the right card at the right turn.” 

“Ah,” you murmured as you took the drink from his hand and sipped, the weight of his gaze lingering on you. “So—you’re gonna have to bluff.”

“Right,” he replied, brow quirking just slightly. “You can place in multiples, though. If you gotta place an Ace and you have two on your hand, you can place both.”

“I see,” you replied, voice casual and airy. “How do you win? Or lose?”

“Oh, yeah—anyone can call a bluff at any point. If you’re right, the person who bluffed gets the entire pile on the table. If you’re wrong, you need to take the pile,” he responded. “Whoever has no cards left wins. You’ll get the hang of it.”

He leaned back slightly, letting his arm drape lazily over the loveseat, the movement deliberate, stretching closer to you without touching… yet. The proximity was ridiculous, and he knew it, and of course, so did you. 

He could feel the subtle brush of your leg against his, hear the faint shift as you adjusted your seat, the way your hand lingered on the drink he’d gotten himself.

His mind did a quick double-take, because… damn. You smelled good. Closer than he’d ever been, and now it was impossible to ignore.

Enjin reached for the full deck on the table, shuffling it, before he split the cards evenly between the four of you, movements smooth and practiced. Cards slid across the table in neat stacks.

“Alright,” he said, glancing around. “Who’s got the Ace of Hearts?”

Everyone checked their hand.

A beat.

“I do.”

His eyes flicked up immediately.

Of course you did.

“Then—you start.”

He leaned back, watching from the corner of his eye as you looked down at your cards. You took just a second too long. Your lips pressed together, like you were holding back a smile.

That was new.

You placed a card face-down.

“Ace of Hearts.”

He didn’t even hesitate.

“Bluff.”

The word came easy. Calm. Certain.

Bro snorted. “Already?”

You turned toward him slowly. “You don’t even know what I put down.”

He tilted his head, studying you openly now. “Don’t need to.”

It wasn’t about the card.

It was the way you sat a little straighter. The way your fingers lingered on the edge of the card a fraction too long. The almost imperceptible satisfaction in your eyes.

You were asking for it, really.

“Flip it,” Delmon urged.

You held Enjin’s gaze for half a second—a silent challenge—before turning the card over.

Six of Hearts.

Bro burst out laughing.

Enjin didn’t. He just smiled—slow and smug—because… well, there it was.

“I knew it,” he said quietly.

“You didn’t know anything.” You rolled your eyes.

He huffed a low laugh. Then, using the arm that wasn't draped casually behind you, he reached down and lightly poked a spot on your leg he knew was bruised. You yelped, just enough to make him grin wider.

Meanwhile, he couldn't help but savor the fact that he was the only one who knew what your legs looked like beneath the thigh highs. It was his way of telling you that—at least in split second—you belonged to him.

“I know you.”

You muttered something under your breath as you took your card back, clearly annoyed—but not really.

“Alright,” he said, settling back again. “Go on.”

You drew in a breath, adjusted your grip on your cards, and this time when you placed one down, your expression was steady. Almost neutral.

“Ace of Hearts—for real this time.”

He watched you carefully.

No lingering. No spark. No tiny flare of pride.

Just calm.

He held the silence for a second longer than necessary—just to make you feel it.

“Alright. Continue.”

Delmon cracked his knuckles. “Two.”

He placed two cards down in a neat stack. No hesitation. No theatrics.

Bro eyed him briefly, but didn’t bite.

“Three,” Bro said next, tossing one card onto the pile with a lazy flick of his wrist.

Stil, no one called anything.

Then it was Enjin’s turn.

He looked down at his hand. The next number was four. 

He just so happened to have two.

A small part of him considered holding one back for the next cycle.

He didn’t.

He slid both cards into the center. Calm. Clean.

“Two fours.”

He didn’t look at Delmon.

He didn’t look at Bro.

He looked at you.

Your fingers were still resting on your cards. But he saw it — that tiny shift in your posture. The way your shoulders squared. The way your eyes flicked to the pile and then back to him.

You were thinking. Good.

He leaned back slightly, arm still draped along the seat behind you.

“You gonna call it?” he asked lightly.

Delmon scoffed. “Here we go.”

Enjin ignored him.

His gaze stayed on you—not challenging. Just steady.

He wasn’t bluffing. But he almost hoped you thought he was.

For the most part, you upheld the eye-contact—eyes flicking towards the cards in his hand from time to time, as if questioning the legitimacy of them. 

“I wanted to,” you murmured, eyes flicking toward him, wary, “but… now that you want me to call it, I won’t.”

Enjin huffed a laugh.

“Fair enough. Your turn.”

You placed your three cards with a smile. “Five.”

Delmon’s brow furrowed as he eyed the pile.

“Bluff,” he finally muttered, leaning forward, elbows now resting on his knees.

You blinked, keeping your expression calm. “Oh?”

Enjin watched from his spot, leaning back slightly, arm still stretched behind you, smirk tugging at his lips. He didn’t need to see your cards to know what was coming.

“You sure about that?” Enjin asked lightly, just loud enough for the table to hear. His voice carried a teasing edge, though he kept his own cards close.

Delmon hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded. “What are the odds of having three fives on your hand? I’m calling it.”

You flipped your first card — five. Then the second — five. And the third… five.

It was true.

Delmon froze, eyes widening as realization hit. “Huh?”

You leaned slightly toward the center of the table, a faint, triumphant smile tugging at your lips, sliding the small pile towards him. “There you go.”

Enjin’s gaze lingered on you, amusement and something warmer flickering in his chest. You weren’t even aware of the way you’d slid closer, your side almost fully pressed against him. 

He felt a soft nudge against his chest — your shoulder lightly stabbing into him. He didn’t move. He could feel the warmth radiating from you, the faint brush of your side against his, and the subtle weight of your presence.

He looked down at you, catching your eyes before you looked away. The next second, you muttered something under your breath, too faint to carry over the pounding bass from the speakers. Enjin might have only noticed because—well—he'd just been looking at your lips anyway.

An idea struck him. 

As if the proximity weren't already enough, he inched closer, letting his body press lightly against yours as he

leaned down, silently signaling that you should repeat yourself.

His arm draped over you more than it did over the seat, head tilted ever so slightly as his gaze locked with

yours, faces just inches apart—a challenge you were doomed to fail. He caught the brief flicker of your eyes

down toward his lap, though you didn't pull back.

He caught your gaze again, right as your pretty lips began to part. “I just asked if we start from ace again,” you spoke, almost in a whisper.

“No,” he replied, voice casual, but he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. “Next is six.”

You fit against him perfectly, your frame settling into the dip of the cushions at his side, curves aligning just so. You seemed comfortable there, either unaware of how close you’d slipped toward him or simply finding it as natural as he did.

Everyone eyes shifted to Delmon now that it was his turn. He placed one card down. “Six.”

Right after, Bro laid down a seven. Supposedly. 

The turn circled back to him. 

Enjin looked at his hand. Not a single eight. It was time to bluff. No big deal.

He slid two cards into the pile, careful, measured. “Eight,” voice calm, almost casual. Not rushed, not nervous—just like always. He let his gaze flick toward you out of the corner of his eye. The way you were watching him, that slight narrowing of your eyes.

“Bluff,” you said, quiet, steady, like it wasn’t a guess—like you already knew.

He froze just for a fraction of a second, more amused than concerned.

“You think so?” he murmured lightly, leaning into the seat a little more. Not defensive. Not worried. Just curious what you’d do.

You held his gaze, unwavering. Calm. Confident.

Enjin exhaled slowly, sliding the pile toward himself. “Alright, fine,” he said under his breath, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “You got me.”

He was just flattered to know you’d watched him so intently.

“Damn,” Bro sighed, hand on the back of his neck. “You guys are really good at this.” 

Enjin hums. “Yeah,” he says. “Something like that.”

Minutes passed, then stretched into what felt like hours. The pile grew steadily, now close to a quarter of the deck, and no one could afford to lose. Yet somehow, bluffs hadn’t been called in forever.

“You’re taking forever,” you groaned, tapping your cards lightly, fidgeting.

“I’m thinking,” he replied evenly, though the tiniest twitch of a smile betrayed him.

“Thinking about what—bluffing?”

“Wanna call it? I dare you.” 

He glanced at his cards, then back at you, then back at his hand, before cautiously sliding a ten onto the ever-growing pile.

“One king.”

It was intense.

“You’ve got to be lying, man!” Delmon exclaimed, eyes fixed on the pile as if staring harder would reveal the truth.

“Okay, call it then. See what happens.” His empty threat earned groans all around—Bro rubbing his forehead in frustration, Delmon gripping his knees like he needed an anchor. And you… still. Too still. Still in a tense way, like you were frozen in time. 

He didn’t know if it was reflex, instinct, or just a quiet urge, but his hand had started tracing lazy shapes along your shoulder. You seemed to relax into it, even if only slightly, and he was quietly glad to be of some comfort.

It also seemed to distract you from the game, which was a bonus.

It was your turn now. The pile demanded an Ace.

You picked a card and slid it onto the pile, voice even, airy. “An Ace.”

His eyes narrowed just slightly. He could tell. 

The way your fingers lingered on the card before letting it go, the tiny pause in your voice, the way your gaze flicked to him and then quickly away—you weren’t enjoying the lie as much as you should have been.

He considered calling it. Just for a moment.

But he couldn’t bring himself to let the pile crash down on you. 

He leaned back just slightly, letting his gaze rest on you for a beat longer than necessary, noting the faint lift of your chest as you exhaled, and the subtle tension easing from your shoulders. Not because he needed to, not because he wanted to punish you—just because he could.

Just because he liked it.

─────────୨ৎ─────────

You played round after round after that, the hours slipping by unnoticed. The table shifted, drinks were replaced, the music grew louder and then blurred into the background.

By the time the night began to thin out, he’d walked you through the halls and left you at your door, talking about nothing and everything at once—recent expeditions, Rudo’s progress, who had handled the trash beasts better on the last mission (obviously you). You said your goodbyes like you hadn’t half-sat in his lap just moments earlier.

And you just couldn’t shake the thought of him. 

His lingering looks.

That honeyed tone to his voice.

The way his words always seemed to push just enough to see what you’d do with them.

You’ve been trying to catch sleep for a couple hours, but the phantom sensation of his finger lazily tracing circles into your shoulder hadn’t faded. Neither had the warmth of his body pressed against yours, or the image of his sharp, calloused hands working the deck.

You groaned into your pillow, kicking your feet against the mattress (which was dumb, because your legs still hadn’t recovered—it hurt really bad).

This was frustrating. 

Even now, your body felt as though it was running just as hot as it had when pressed right against the side of his hard chest. Tingles ran over every bit of skin that touched him. Your thoughts wandered places you usually always tried to keep them from and you were failing miserably tonight. 

His naked, inked skin. 

His strong, broad frame. 

His stupid hot fucking smile. 

The way his hands would feel…

You’d usually always been able to handle him, but something was just different this time. 

This wasn’t the same old big-ego Enjin. It was him threading himself into your thoughts, somehow playing with the pace of your heartbeat, the temperature of your skin, the electric feeling in your stomach.

Sleeping was pointless. You were lucky you had nowhere to be in the morning. 

Maybe you should take a shower. 

You begrudgingly lifted your face from the squished pillow and pushed yourself up, heading to grab a change of clothes before shuffling toward the bathroom. 

By the time you reached it, your resolve had wavered enough that you didn’t even bother shutting the door fully before peeling off your sleep shirt, carelessly throwing it onto your pile of laundry you had yet to find a day to tackle. 

The water felt relieving against your skin. Today felt like the kind of day that justified turning it really hot—which Enjin always hated, since it usually meant a cold, miserable shower for him the next morning. After tonight, you figured he kind of deserved it. 

If he was going to occupy your thoughts, you were claiming the hot water. 

The sensation of the water running down your body seemed to numb the pain in your legs, but it did little to wash away the feeling of his skin pressed against yours—because of course it wouldn’t. This wasn’t a physical sensation, it was him in your head.

You turned the temperature up a notch.

It burned, but it felt good.

Single droplets pierced you like hot needles—a type of pain you actually welcomed. All the tension of the day seemed to wash off your body, disappearing down the drain along with the water.

You could stay here for hours, maybe even fall asleep like this. All your senses felt cut off from the outside world, with no room for any unwanted thoughts. Just the unbearably hot water, close enough to feel endless.

And then, there was a beep.

You froze. You hadn’t taken your choker off yet.

Someone was calling. 

You feared you knew exactly who. 

“Enjin, what the fuck? It’s, like, 1 a.m.!” you whisper-shouted, covering the choker as best you could with your hand, as though that was going to shield you in any way. 

“Huh? It’s almost 3. And I can hear you,” he replied.

“Yeah, I know, we’re in a call!” you said, exasperated.

“No, like… I can hear your shower,” he clarified, a faint chuckle in his tone.

“And you thought it’d be a good idea to call me in the shower?”

“You picked up, didn’t you?” His grin practically radiated through the call.

What you hated most in this moment wasn’t that he called—it was the fact that you were excited about it. 

And the fact that he was right.

“You don’t even know how hot my shower is running right now.” you challenged him, hoping to get him right where you knew it hurt. 

“That’s fucked up,” he laughed, like he wasn’t taking you seriously at all. “Just to tick me off? Or you just felt like showering hot?”

“I don’t have to answer that.” you mumbled, reaching for the shampoo bottle. 

“And that says so much,” he replied. “Why’re you taking a shower in the middle of the night? Didn’t you say you were tired?” 

“I was tired,” you admitted, letting the water cascade over your shoulders. “I just couldn’t fall asleep.” 

“Mm, same,” he replied. “It’s kind of your fault for turning on the shower, though.” 

“Thats on you.” And you regretted these words the moment they escaped your lips.

“What’d I do?”

Because what were you even going to tell him? That you couldn’t stop thinking about how good he smelled? That you wished his arm had fully encased you? That you actually kind of liked it when he pressed down on your bruises? That just thinking about any of it made your body react in ways you could never, ever admit out loud?

“I just don’t like you.” you muttered, scrubbing shampoo into your hair, trying to keep your voice even.

“I know that’s not true, sweetheart,” he said, his smile as audible as ever through the line.

Again with that pet name.

“I’m just gonna stop talking.” 

“You could also just hang up.” 

“Why don’t you hang up?

“I don’t want to,” he chuckled lowly. “I feel like you don’t really want to stop talking, either.” 

You heard him shuffle on his end of the line—things cluttering and moving around.

“You’re very confident in yourself.” 

“Hang up, then.” 

You didn’t reply. You didn’t hang up, either. 

“Thought so,” he murmured with a faint exhale—was he smoking?—“Wanna come over?”

“What. Now?” 

“Yeah. Or, you know what?” The sound of shifting feet, a quiet grunt. “I’m coming over.” 

Your fingers clenched slightly around the shampoo bottle, as if it was your lifeline. “I’m in the shower!” 

“Well, hurry, my foot’s out the door already.” And the click of his door shutting was, indeed, audible on the other end. 

The moment you felt the shampoo rinse completely from your hair, you stepped out of the shower, grabbing the first towel within reach.

“At least wait, like… two minutes,” you said, tugging it tighter around yourself. “Please.”

“But then I’d have to walk all the way back.”

“Our rooms are next to each other!” you shot back, exasperated.

“Yeah… way too far. Damn, you should lock your door.”

“Are you in my room right now?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, as if that settled everything.

“Just wait—sit down somewhere. I’ll be right out.” you replied hurriedly, dropping the towel after drying yourself off and getting into your giant sleep shirt. 

Shutting the bathroom door behind you and quickly shuffling your way back to your space, you find him splayed out on your bed, staring at the ceiling—or perhaps following the pattern of the smoke as it rose into the air. 

“Well?” he asked, his focus not shifting toward you quite yet. “You gonna keep me waiting?”

You crossed your arms, trying for irritation. “Do I look like I had a choice?”

Then, he spared you a glance, eyeing your frame for a moment. Then two. 

He smiled. “You look good.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Sorry?” you asked.

“You look good.” He met your eyes after letting his attention wander all over you. “Like… really good.”

You shifted on the spot, tugging at the hem of your shirt. “Don’t start with me, Enjin,” you muttered, though a faint warmth had already started spreading through your chest.

“Relax, I’m just messing with you,” he said, propping himself up against the wall. He made space on the mattress, patting the newly free spot as a silent invitation for you to get comfortable.

He brought the blunt to his lips and took a long, unhurried drag. You could practically see the smoke fill his lungs, his chest expanding before he leaned his head back slightly and exhaled, the haze curling lazily toward the ceiling. The sound he made—low, pleased—had no business shooting right through you the way it did.

You took a short breath, grounding yourself, then crossed the room and settled into the space he’d made for you. You leaned back against the pillows, angling your legs carefully so they didn’t tangle with his, even though the mattress dip made closeness unavoidable.

When you glanced over, he wasn’t looking at you anymore.

His gaze had gone distant, unfocused, like he’d drifted somewhere else entirely as the drug settled in. For a moment, you just watched him—his relaxed posture, the faint rise and fall of his chest, the way the smoke still lingered around him.

The thought that he looked kind of ethereal quietly passed your mind. 

Then, with the slightest tilt of his head, his eyes found yours again.

“Wanna try?” he asked, holding the blunt out toward you. You blinked. Once. Twice. 

“What—smoking?” you echoed.

“Yeah.” His smile was lazy, unpressuring. “You don’t have to.”

You hesitated. You’d never really felt the urge before—never saw the appeal. Still, curiosity nudged at you, persistent and annoying.

“…If you teach me?”

Something softened in his expression, just briefly, before a faint smile took over.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

He held it closer, waiting. You took it carefully, immediately aware of how little you knew about what to do with it. You’d seen people smoke before, sure—but holding it yourself felt strangely intimidating. For something so small, it suddenly felt like it carried a lot of weight.

And you were supposed to breathe that in?

“It’s pretty intuitive,” he said, watching you with open amusement. “Just don’t inhale too deeply.”

“That’s your instructions?”

“To be fair,” he chuckled, lifting his hands in lazy defense, “you’re probably gonna start coughing anyway. Just a heads up.”

Your eyes rolled on instinct.

You studied the blunt like it might give you some sort of guidance if you stared long enough. Then you brought it to your lips and took a tentative inhale.

Nothing.

Frowning slightly, you tried again—deeper this time.

Instant regret.

The burn hit fast and sharp, ripping the air straight out of your lungs. You sputtered, coughing hard as smoke escaped in uneven bursts, shoving the blunt back into his hand while you struggled to breathe. You were hunched forward, absolutely wrecked, eyes watering.

Enjin was already laughing beside you, completely unapologetic.

“I told you not too deep,” he said between laughs. “I gave you one instruction.”

You wanted to snap back—had a dozen words lined up—but air still hadn’t fully returned to your lungs, and all you could manage was a glare that only made him grin wider.

“Easy,” he said, laughter still in his voice as he shifted closer. His hand came up to your back, warm and steady, rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades. “Breathe. I’ve got you.”

He guided you gently back against him, your spine settling against his chest.

You coughed again, sharper this time, eyes stinging as you tried to suck in air that didn’t burn. “You—” you rasped, grounding yourself with a hand on his leg. “You’re evil.”

He hummed, clearly entertained. “Yeah, yeah. Deep breaths. In through your nose. Just like that.”

You did as he said, partly out of necessity, partly because the weight of his hand made it easier. The coughing eased little by little, your chest still tight but no longer on fire.

“There you go,” he murmured, closer now, voice lower. “See? Still alive.”

Without really thinking about it, you leaned back, letting your head rest against him for just a second as you caught your breath. “I hate you,” you muttered—though it came out far less convincing than you meant it to.

His thumb traced a lazy line along your shoulder. “Mhm. I can tell.”

You exhaled sharply, shoulders tense. “You absolutely set me up.”

“I warned you,” he said, lifting the blunt past your frame and bringing it back to his lips. “You just didn’t listen.”

That’s when two things hit you at once.

One—you felt it.

Your thoughts began to loosen in a way they never had before. The constant noise in your head softened, blurred, fading into something distant and manageable.

And two—the position you were in.

Your hand resting on his thigh.

Your back pressed flush against his chest.

His arm lazily draped around you, like you just did this all the time. 

It was a dangerous combination. With your thoughts dulled and hazy, you didn’t have the energy to filter your thoughts about how much you actually liked it anymore.

He shifted slightly behind you, just enough that the pressure of his chest against your back deepened, and you felt the subtle weight of his attention resting along the back of your head.

“See?” he murmured, more to himself than you. “Knew you’d feel it.”

You frowned faintly. “Feel what?”

“The quiet,” he said, his finger lightly tapping against your temple. “You stopped fidgeting.”

That caught your attention. You‘d usually try to deny it—but you couldn’t. Your thoughts felt slower. Softer.

He sensed it before you even said anything—the way your breathing evened out, the tension in your shoulders easing, the subtleties of the things you didn’t do—like pulling away, or fighting back.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low, almost cooing. “So calm… seriously, this might be the longest stretch you’ve gone without barking at me.”

“Shush,” you muttered, cheeks warming. “M’not calm. N‘ I don’t bark.”

“Sure, baby,” he said, that word curling around your spine. “Whatever you say.”

And you didn’t even have it in you to fully process the new pet name. 

His hand found the hem of your shirt, tugging it lightly between his fingers, testing the fabric against your skin. Not enough to pull it up, not enough to be overt—definitely enough for you to notice.

You felt the faint brush of his thumb against your side with each little pull, a whisper of contact that made your stomach tighten.

“You’re kind of comfortable.” you muttered, trying for casual as you pulled your hand back—slowly, like you didn’t want to draw attention to it.

“Only kind of?” he asked, voice easy, almost amused. His fingers flexed once against your side, just enough to be intentional. 

“Okay,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “You’re really comfortable.” 

“Mm, sure seems like it,” he let out a soft hum. “You feeling tired?” 

“No,” you replied, letting your words trail just slightly. The warmth of your body pressed into his was dizzying. “M’just very good right now.”

His hand moved lazily along your side, brushing your hip with an absent-minded care that made your stomach twist. “Mm,” he murmured. “Want me to stay?”

You nodded. 

“Okay.” 

The room fell into a quiet that wasn’t uncomfortable, just… present. No teasing, no jokes—just him and you.

Slowly, his fingers traced the curve of your waist, mapping the gentle swell of your sides as if committing every line to memory.

Each movement was bold in intention yet measured, teasing—like he was daring you to react, and you found yourself holding still, caught between hesitation and anticipation.

The warmth of his touch spread through you in ways that weren’t just physical; it was the attention, the quiet focus of him exploring without words.

His hand was no longer just playing—it was present, outlining the frame of you, leaving you aware of every point of contact, every subtle press of skin against fabric.

His other hand slowly lifted, fingers weaving through your hair. With a practiced ease, he swept it over to one side, letting your thick sleep shirt slip just enough to expose your shoulder. The fabric pooled lazily around the curve, leaving your neck bare to the warmth of his gaze.

A content sigh left your lips. 

“You like that?” he whispered, his warm breath brushing along your ear. You already knew he didn’t need an answer—he just wanted to hear it from you.

You complied with a soft hum. 

He took one last slow drag of the blunt, the tip glowing faintly in the dim light. You caught the plume of smoke in your peripheral vision as he exhaled, and it curled lazily over your shoulder, teasing your bare skin.

With a subtle flick of his fingers, he sent the finished blunt spinning onto the floor. You were too caught up in the moment to care, letting the tension in your body unravel under his attention.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this relaxed.

The hand that had been tracing your side drifted lower, slipping past the hem of your shirt. It moved agonizingly slowly, skimming over the soft skin of your bare thigh, his thumb drawing lazy, teasing patterns—just a little too far up, just a little too far in.

Just a little too much to pass off as friendly.

He was giving you just enough—enough to make your skin burn—but never enough to truly satisfy the ache that had built up inside you. The moment felt charged, but it wasn’t as simple as just raw intimacy. 

His breath skimmed the skin of your neck in slow, even intervals. “You’re really soft.” It almost sounded like a question. 

You could feel his attention on you—the hazed focus of his gaze lingering along the line of your neck, the faint feeling of his hair grazing your skin. Then he inched in closer—slow, gentle kisses traced along the length of your neck. And despite all the tension coiled in your body, they weren’t meant to provoke—just soft, unhurried.

He pulled back, resting his head atop your shoulder. 

Part of you was relieved he didn’t take it further. Another part of you screamed at the loss of the feeling. 

“You’re not telling me to stop,” he whispered into your shoulder. 

And, yeah. You weren’t. 

You swallowed, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his sleeve. “Yeah,” you said quietly, words slower than usual, “Should I?”

There was a pause. Not the heavy kind. Just enough to let your words settle.

“Up to you,” he replied easily, his thumb returning to trace an absent-minded line along your side. “I’d be a bit butthurt about it—but, you know. Whatever.”

That made you laugh. 

He stuck to caring strokes and gentle touches.

You drifted off to sleep in his embrace that night. 

─────────୨ৎ─────────

He was a simple man. At least, he’d always thought he was.

Things just failed to feel simple lately. 

Enjin sat at the table, leaning slightly forward as Semiu traced patrol routes on the worn map spread across the surface. Corvus flipped through the mission logs, scribbling notes in the margins with a pencil that had long since lost its eraser.

He answered questions when prompted, offered minor adjustments to the routes, corrected a timing estimate—on the surface, he was engaged.

His thoughts were entirely elsewhere.

They’d gotten stuck with you in your bedroom that night, about a week ago. 

The memory lingered at the edge of his mind, pulling his attention away even as Semiu traced the eastern perimeter—and he was fucked, since he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why she was outlining it in the first place.

The scratch of Semiu’s pencil across the map, the rustle of papers, the muted scribbling of Corvus’s notes—they all faded into the background. 

He could almost feel your warmth, hear the soft sighs you’d given him, see your eyes closing at the subtle pleasure of his touch. 

He understood heat, understood want—the easy kind, the kind you didn’t have to think too hard about. Touch, tension, release. He’d never been precious with it. Never needed to be.

So this—this gentle kind of caution—sat wrong in his chest.

The way his hands slowed before touching you. How instinct kept telling him to pull you closer, but something quieter told him not to rush. Like moving too fast might shatter something he didn’t quite have a name for yet.

That part confused him.

You’d always felt safe. Why did that matter so much right now?

And then that uniform. 

It should’ve been the usual—charming smiles, lingering touches, the spark of attraction he knew how to handle. Instead, it had hit him sideways. Like the sight of you had shifted something into place rather than set it on fire. Pride, maybe. Something that settled instead of burned.

The realization crept up on him slowly, unwelcome in how obvious it suddenly felt.

He wasn’t being gentle because he didn’t want you.

He was being gentle because, somewhere along the way, you’d started to feel precious.

And that thought lingered far longer than he wanted it to.

He absently rubbed the back of his neck as Semiu asked about polluted zones by the border of a No Man’s Land near the eastern perimeter. 

“Uh… yeah, those are clear,” he said, eyes drifting to the empty chair across the table, imagining you slumping into it, hair damp from a shower, in nothing but that huge shirt you’d worn that night.

Corvus glanced up sharply. “You even paying attention, Enjin?”

He blinked, shook his head slightly, and forced a nod. “Yeah, just… thinking ‘bout the deployment,” he muttered, realizing how transparent that sounded.

He’d like to get deployed with you again. 

No. Stop. Not now. 

It wasn’t about him seeing you for the first time when he laid eyes on you that day in the hallway. Something in him had been stirred awake, something that had been dormant for quite some time.

Granted, the way you looked definitely didn’t hurt.

He just hated how smitten he felt about it.

Once he realized you’d fallen asleep, breathing slow and even against his chest, he’d chosen to give you space. He’d tucked you in carefully—too carefully, if you asked him—pulled the blanket up to around your shoulders and all that. Left without waking you.

He took a shower after. Cold.

For once, he didn’t even mind that you’d used up all the hot water. He’d planned on it anyway. 

He just couldn’t believe the way he was treating you.

Enjin wasn’t selfish—just a bit indulgent. A hedonist in the simplest sense. He liked what felt good and had never been shy about reaching for it. 

He wasn’t unfamiliar with want. He knew exactly how far he could’ve gone, how easy it would’ve been to guide you there with him. You would’ve let him. He was sure of that. And he would’ve taken care of you — that wasn’t the issue.

Because, fuck—he wanted to.

So why didn’t he take you?

You hadn’t been tense. You hadn’t been provoking. You’d been safe.

Again, safe. 

He was starting to get fed up with safe. 

He clenched his jaw. It annoyed him, the way he’d held back. Especially considering the things he could’ve done to you—wanted to do to you. Thinking about making you call out his name like it was the only thing you knew how to say anymore—over and over again.

And yet. 

He didn’t. 

He replayed it in his head more times than he cared to admit—the way you’d leaned back into him without thinking. The way your voice had softened. The way you hadn’t told him to stop.

You would’ve let him.

That was the problem.

It wouldn’t have taken much. A slight shift of his hand. Turning your face toward his and closing the distance. You were already pliant in his arms, hazy and warm and trusting.

Trusting.

His jaw tightened again.

Of all the things he could’ve done—wanted to do—he’d chosen restraint.

His mouth had found your neck, yes—but only in the softest way. Slow, measured presses of his lips against your skin. It was the one thing he couldn’t quite stop himself from taking.

Even then, he’d been careful.

And when had he ever been careful?

Enjin didn’t do careful. He did instinct. He did desire. He did taking and giving in the same breath. Going with the flow of things.

This time, something in him had paused.

Not out of uncertainty. Not out of fear that you’d reject him.

Out of something worse.

He didn’t want to cheapen it. 

The thought irritated him more than anything else. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply through his nose.

Even here, surrounded by stained papers, pencils, and scattered mugs, the thought of you was impossible to shake.

Seeing you in your uniform hadn’t started this. It had just made it harder to ignore. The way you carried yourself. The way you focused. The quiet competence. It had sharpened something that had already been there.

When had he become so aware of you? Of the way you looked at him differently lately. Of the way his body reacted to even the smallest shifts in your tone.

He wasn’t used to wanting something slowly.

It was unsettling. 

Because if this was just lust, he would’ve satisfied it already.

And he was only just starting to realize it.

Semiu and Corvus started gathering their things. Somehow, the word dismissed drifted into his awareness, and before he fully realized it, he was up as well, tidying alongside them—hands moving almost automatically, thoughts still elsewhere.

Moments later, he waved them goodbye and stepped out of the briefing room, moving through the low, humming halls.

The day had passed in a blur.

He’d looked for you briefly, only to be told you’d been cooped up in your room all day, finishing reports you had let pile up and procrastinated—you really hated paperwork. 

And he just knew that about you. 

At some point, he’d bumped into Semiu in the common area. She had finished her work for the day early and didn’t really have anything left to do—she figured she’d like to use the evening to enjoy herself, or something along those lines.

Enjin had agreed.

That’s how he found himself in a crowded bar—or club—he wasn’t even sure and it didn’t really matter. He was perched at a table, smoking his blunt—as per usual—while Semiu sipped a drink across from him, seemingly enjoying the light buzz in her system. 

The music did most of the work in drowning out his thoughts. Around him, people were dancing, some were flirting, touching. Others were getting wasted, a couple were fighting. The colorful light pierced through the clouds of smoke all over the place. 

The kind of environment he usually thrived in. 

Usually—

Oh. Semiu was talking to him. 

“…many prank calls. Like, seriously, it pisses me off,” Semiu ranted, leaning back in her chair, fingers tapping impatiently on the table.

“Totally,” he replied, taking a slow drag from his blunt. The smoke curled around his fingers as his gaze drifted over the crowd, half-present, half-lost in thought.

“I’m too nice on the phone. I bet the hell guards don’t get calls like that,” she continued, voice rising slightly with exasperation.

And he tried so hard—genuinely—to listen to his coworker and friend he held so close to his heart. He really, really did.

“Yeah, seems unlikely,” he murmured, blowing the smoke upward and letting it dissipate into the dim light.

“Enjin. What’s up with you today?” Semiu pressed, leaning forward now, her eyes narrowing slightly as she caught the distracted set of his eyes.

“Hm?” He blinked, realizing she’d actually addressed him, fingers flexing absently around the blunt.

“During the briefing, too. You, like, disconnected from the world or something?” Her arms crossed over the table, resting the weight of them on it.

“Nah, I’m good,” he said, a faint grin tugging at his lips, taking another slow inhale. “Why? You worried about little ol’me?”

 “A’ight. Imma take your word for it. For now,” she sighed, shaking her head. “But also only because I’m so fed up by the calls I don’t really have the capacity to listen to you right now.” 

“Honestly,” he said, exhaling the last of the smoke from his lungs before flicking the blunt into the ashtray on the table, “works f’me.”

“You’re welcome, boo.” 

Enjin felt a dip in the seat next to him. 

In his peripheral, a woman, about a head and a half shorter than him. It almost slipped his mind that things like this happened to him more often than not—that he usually waited for them.

“Hey,” she smiled at him, feigning innocence, though they were both well aware of her intentions. “Your name’s Enjin, right?”

Ah. So he’d spoken to her before—somewhere, sometime.

He finally spared her a proper look. She sat upright, legs elegantly crossed, hair cascading over one shoulder like a deliberate portrait. A subtle flush colored her cheeks, softening her features. 

And—usually—she’d be just the type of woman he’d go for.

But today was not a usual day.

“Nope.” He popped the p with unnecessary emphasis. “Name’s Goostaf Hurgenskurk.”

The look on Semiu’s face in his peripheral was priceless—her eyebrows shot up, mouth half-open in a mixture of shock and amusement, like she couldn’t quite decide whether to laugh or glare.

“Oh, sorry,” she stammered, stepping back a little. “Must’ve confused you with someone.”

She turned on her heel and hurried away, leaving him with a faint smirk tugging at his lips. He watched her retreat, letting the brief amusement linger before his thoughts drifted back to… well, everything else.

“So,” Semiu said, raising her glass to her lips, holding his gaze deliberately as she took a slow sip before setting it back on the table. “Goostaf.”

“I don’t even know,” he sighed, running a hand over his face. “I was just trying to think of a weird name.”

“Why, though?” Semiu leaned back, tone soft with genuine curiosity. “She’s pretty. You always let a pretty girl take you home with them, no?”

“You make me sound like a manwhore,” he muttered, a defeated chuckle escaping him.

“Well…” Her voice trailed off, insinuating—just letting the thought hang in the air.

Enjin groaned, letting his head fall back against the chair. “I just don’t feel like it today.”

“I feel like,” she said slowly, tilting her head up, a knowing look slipping into her expression now, “you’re just feeling someone else.”

And—however she figured it out—he knew that she was right.

The thought settled heavier than he expected. He’d been circling it all day, avoiding it, dressing it up as confusion or exhaustion. But now, sitting in the middle of a crowded bar with music pounding around him and with his good friend sitting across him, it finally landed.

Properly.

“Fuck, Semiu,” he groaned, dragging his hands down his face before letting his forehead fall briefly into his palms. The realization hit harder than any drink or drug in the room ever could.

Her brows lifted. “Is that what’s been bothering you all day?”

“Yeah,” he exhaled, sitting back again, staring at the table instead of her. “I just—I haven’t really seen her for a week. We keep missing each other at work,” he rubbed at the back of his neck. “It’s rough.”

“You should just stop ogling her every chance you get and man up,” Semiu said, tapping her fingers lightly on the table, eyes fixed on him with quiet insistence.

“Ogling is a kind of a strong word for it.” 

“She ogles you too.” 

“Yeah, I know,” he let out a short laugh, shaking his head, before letting out a sigh. “I’m losing my mind.”

“No, man,” she said simply. “You’re okay.” A small pause. “Just let her know.”

He looked up at her. “Now?”

She shrugged lightly. “Depends—do you want to tell her now?”

─────────୨ৎ─────────

You. Despised. Paperwork. With. A. Burning. Passion. 

Hours had passed since you’d started, and the stack of reports in front of you had barely shrunk. Every form felt the same as the last, every column and checkbox an endless, mind-numbing loop.

Your pen scratched across the page, filling in numbers, ticking boxes, repeating the same information over and over, trying desperately not to make mistakes. Your eyes ached, your back was stiff, and your brain was screaming for even a single moment of entertainment.

You slammed your pen down. Enough. You needed a break. 

For a moment, you leaned back in your chair. The room was quiet, the night outside slanting through the window casting a cold light on the mess of papers. You hadn’t moved from that spot all day, and it showed.

Boredom clung to you like a second skin. Attention fractured. Thoughts wandered.

You missed everyone. Watching Zanka train Rudo from the corner of the training yard, hearing Semiu’s voice echo from the common area, even the occasional gruff comment from Delmon — all of it made you wish you could be anywhere else right now.

But you’d told everyone to stay out of your room unless it was an emergency. No distractions. No interruptions. You needed to get through the paperwork, and the last thing you wanted was someone leaning over your shoulder asking questions or chatting.

It was definitely what you wanted, though. 

Still, even in the quiet, your thoughts kept drifting. You missed him too.

No. Focus.

You let out a long, tired sigh, shoulders slumping as you rubbed at the ache in your neck. The pen hovered uselessly above the next form.

Your eyes wandered across the room, landing on the stack of completed reports next to you—neat, precise, and utterly soul-crushing. You pushed it away with a flick of your wrist. 

Enough of this.

You’d finish the rest tomorrow. 

You leaned back in your chair, stretching your legs and letting the tension in your body ease slightly. Somewhere in the corner of your mind, you imagined him there—on your bed, attention drifting into nothingness as smoke swirled gently around him, unhurried and soft—and him looking utterly peaceful. Pretty.

A knock at the door froze you mid-stretch.

Your heart skipped. You’d told everyone to stay out unless it was urgent.

Another knock. Louder this time. Your chest tightened. You hesitated, staring at the door, mind racing through every possible scenario.

Slowly, cautiously, you approached and cracked it open. 

To your surprise, it was Enjin. 

And as much as he didn’t look like he was about to deliver bad news, something about him had shifted. The air around him felt different.

No performative expression. No mischief in his eyes. No provoking glint. Something much softer had settled over his sharp features—a contrast that made your chest ache a little.

“Hey,” you said, brows knitting slightly. “Did something happen?”

“No,” he answered simply. His voice was calm. Certain. “Not at all.” A beat. “Can I come in?”

You studied him for a second longer, searching his face for anything you might’ve missed. Finding nothing urgent—just your own curiosity—you stepped aside.

He moved past you without another word. Not brushing against you, not lingering—close enough that you felt the warmth of him as he crossed the threshold. The door clicked shut behind him, the sound louder than it should’ve been.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

He took in your room—the desk crowded with papers, the stack you’d shoved aside, the pen lying abandoned where you’d dropped it. His gaze lingered there briefly before returning to you.

The silence wasn’t awkward.

It was heavy.

And whatever he’d come here to say—you felt like it mattered.

Just that he didn’t say anything. He looked at you, held your gaze as though he had all the time in the world. Like it stood still, right here in this room—with you. 

You caught the faintest dip in his gaze—just slightly, brushing over the lines of your shoulders, the skin underneath the collar of your shirt—the smallest of shifts of his irises—before returning to your eyes.

You felt like you were being… scanned. For something. But you didn’t have the capacity to commit your mind to what that could possibly be, because your focus was on something entirely unrelated. 

The breadth of his shoulders. 

The vivid reds and blacks inked into his skin. 

The loose curl of his hair falling near his temple.

He didn’t say anything. Not with words, at least. But you were beginning to understand.

He stepped toward you, slow and unhurried, closing the space without breaking eye contact—which felt like a bit of a crime in and of itself. It was unbelievably nauseating, made you feel powerless, but in kind of a good way. 

Had he always been so tall? He really towered over you—couldn’t even look at him anymore without folding your head back.

His hand found yours first, fingers curling gently as he drew you in. You could feel sparks at the tips of your own—and it hurt. It hurt so much, because all the tension in your body seemed to come crashing down on you all at once and it hurt so much it felt good, somehow. 

Then, it snaked around your waist, steady, holding you close. You didn’t quite grasp what was actually happening, you just knew you wanted more, but also anticipated possibly throwing up butterflies any second now. 

His body was so unbelievably warm and big—the scope of it so up close was a bit hard to grasp. You feel the outlines of his defined body through his thin sweater and you forgot how to breathe for a second. 

His other hand came up to cup your face, gently—so unbelievably gentle, like your skin might crack under anything more; it almost made you cry. 

His fingers slipped into your hair, careful, slow. His thumb moved back and forth along your cheek, steady and soft. Tender—and you started wondering when you would have ever described him that way. 

You were beginning to understand.

Your initial hesitance vanished into thin air along with the ability to think straight. 

And all the what-ifs and maybes that had been crowding your mind melted away the instant he pressed his lips against yours

The sound of your heart pounding mixed with the ringing in your ears; you were certain you were about to die, if it wasn’t for the way he was squeezing your frame against his, like he promised to catch you if you were going to fall. 

He was slow. Tentative. Testing the waters, as if silently asking for permission you’d already given him a million times over in your head. 

His grip on your waist tightened just slightly, almost accidental—trying so hard to hold back, yet his true immediacy shone through the cracks of his performative reluctance. 

He had been just as desperate to do this to you as you had been to have it happen. 

You felt the butterflies do their thing again—and it was fucked up how easily he’d given them to you, with something as simple as a kiss and a couple touches entirely unraveling you. 

Shivers trickled down your spine at the sensation of him, of it all; his warmth radiating through the fabric of his sweater, his lips moving with your own in a painfully—agonizingly—slow tandem. 

Then he pulled back—no more than an inch—your soft, warm breaths mingling in the small space between you. A lazy, faint smile on his face. 

“Hey,” he exhaled.

A simple word. It didn’t mean anything, really—but it did. And you understood.

“Hi.” Your voice almost ran out. Airy. Barely even there.

His grin widened, before he leaned back in again. Initially soft and merciful touches turned more intense, intentional; a firmer grip on you, a stronger tug on the back of your head, tangling into the strands of your hair at the nape of your neck.

Your body, your mind, your everything seemed to solely focus in on him. There was nothing more important than this, him kissing you senseless and holding onto you like you were going to disappear if he didn’t. 

You felt him grow impatient with each passing moment—pulling your body even closer by the small of your back—and you couldn’t help but notice how large his hand felt there. He angled his head just right to deepen the kiss with natural finesse. He was everywhere—filling all your senses, overwhelming your system in ways you never thought possible.

He smelled of faint hints of tobacco, though he tasted a lot fresher than you’d expected—almost minty in flavour. The mix of cigarettes and mint made for a spicy tingle on your tongue and all you could think about was how it kind of fit the man you were holding onto like a lifeline. 

Your hands found the nape of his neck, feeling up the short hairs of his sharp undercut.

You were trying to catch a thought—any thought—at least a single word—but you hadn’t taken a proper breath in nearly half a minute, and it was definitely starting to affect your ability to think clearly.

That he hoisted you up by the underside of your thighs with controlled ease a moment later—not breaking away from you for even a second—did not help in the slightest. He took a few steps somewhere—before your back met the hard surface of the wall behind you.

Your legs comfortably tangled around his waist as he pinned you against it with his hips, hard. The hand previously on your cheek joined the other on your waist, fingers digging into your side, abandoning any idea of slow and tender.

Your own hands traveled beneath his collar, nails dragging across bare skin and if he didn’t have this tattoo you were sure there’d be deep, red scratches there. 

Groans rippled through him with every drag of your nails, the sound shooting straight through your stomach. It only seemed to provoke him further—pulling you closer by the arch of your back and pressing you against him, his fingers digging in just enough that you knew you’d feel it the next morning.

The kiss turned messy. There was no sense or rhythm to it, only pure instinct and insatiable hunger for the other. No matter how close he was—how deeply his fingers dug into your skin—you still felt like he couldn’t be further away. You wanted him closer, as close as physically possible and more. 

He moved on towards your neck and it was nothing like the faint pecks he’d left there that night a week ago. This was him devouring you, moving right on the edge between pleasure and pain. His kisses stung as he bit them into your skin, likely tainting it with red and blue hues. “You feel so fucking good,” he whispered, basking in the way your body twitched—your sweet gasps nothing short of music to his ears. 

Once he felt like he was done with one place, he’d continue his assault further down along the blank canvas of your skin, leaving only stinging spots behind, before finally returning to your swollen lips, leaving one single, slow and deep kiss. 

“Enjin,” you heaved—the first time you were able to take a long breath in a hot minute. 

“Mm?” He hummed, leaving lazy pecks on your lips, eyes entirely dazed. Sometimes, he’d move it to the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw—just peppering you with gentle kisses, taking his sweet time with it. 

His grip on you told a whole different story.

His huge hands encasing more of you than you could have ever expected, pinning you against him with little to no effort, like your weight meant absolutely nothing to him. And why would it? He was easily two times your size, if not more. 

“I need—“ kiss.  “—more,” another kiss. “Please.” 

He pulled back an inch or two, a faint yet devilish smile adorning his face. “More of what, sweetheart?” 

His head dipped back into the crook of your neck, lips grazing the newly mark-ridden parts of your skin, leaving a couple more soft kisses along their pattern. “More of this?”  

And he was well aware that that was not what you meant. You knew he knew that was not what you had meant—and it was frustrating to no end. The ache between your legs was getting more unbearable by the second. “No—want you to touch me,” you whined. You tried to ease the tension by pulling him closer, shifting your hips against him—every attempt in vain.

He had you pinned securely in place, and there was no adjusting it without his help. Without his permission. “Please, Enjin.”

“I am touching you, baby,” he huffed a breathy laugh, before holding his hand out to you, offering it. “Here. Move it to where you want me, sweetheart.” 

You held his gaze for a moment, weighing your options. It hurt your ego to have to admit this to him in such a degrading way—and still, a part of you felt so cared for. Your pride urged you to save face, but given the position you were in, there wasn’t necessarily much ego left to save. If accepting his offer meant getting the itch scratched you so desperately needed attention for, then it was simply what you had to do.

And so—without breaking the eye contac—you took his hand in your own and first guided it down the like of your body and underneath the hem of your shirt. His brow quirked slightly, eyes darkening as it met the plush of the inside of your legs. 

Ever so slowly, you moved it a couple inches further in and further up, until his fingers finally met the sole layer of fabric separating you from what you’re asking of him. 

The smile that grew on his face was something else. 

He shifted, properly supporting your weight on one leg while keeping you steady with a hand snaked around the small of your back. Then, without hurry, he tugged the fabric aside, running his fingers along your sore, wet folds.

His gaze tilted down to where his hand disappeared beneath the fabric of your shirt. “Damn, baby. You’re soaked,” he let his fingers dip into you for nothing more than a couple inches before running them up and down again—tracing you. Memorizing you. “Fuck, that’s hot.” 

The sounds that left you would have left you feeling quite embarrassed, if you weren’t so distracted right now. The relief of the friction did a lot to sate your desire for a moment—but you could already feel yourself wanting more. 

He seemed to have picked up on it as his fingers moved upwards to solely focus on your wanting and waiting clit. Your eyes shut close at the sudden feeling of him finally giving you what you’d needed, gripping at his shoulders for dear life as if you’d fall if you didn’t and whining his name through broken breaths like a personal mantra.

He hummed. You felt his muscles shift beneath your palms, like his head had tilted upwards—like he was looking at you again. “Yes, pretty girl?” 

“S’really good,” you exhaled, opening your eyes only to see Enjin already fully focused on you through your hazed vision. 

“I know, baby, I know,” he cooed, corner of his lip faintly quirking upwards. “Wasn’t even gonna do this with you,”—he leaned in, eyes falling to your lips before catching them with his in a short kiss—“was gonna come here and tell you how I feel. Wanted to spend more time with you, ask you out on a nice date, do it right this time—but you,” his eyes met your gaze again—this time, more intense. 

His previously tender attention towards your clit turned overwhelming in an instant. The pad of his finger moved a little faster and harder now—each deliberate stroke drawing a sharp, involuntary twitch from your body.

You’d never felt so overstimulated, every sensation heightened to the brink, and yet some reckless part of you was completely, helplessly into it.

Soft whines slipped from your mouth, and if anyone happened to be on the other side of the wall you were pressed against, you were certain they’d be able to hear you.

“Looked up at me all doe eyed like that. Said ‘please’ like that.” His fingers dipped into you without warning, two of them filling you more than two fingers ever should be able to, but, of course, Enjin and his blessed, huge hands, took little to now effort to make you see stars. “This what you wanted , sweetheart?” 

“Mm, yes,” you breathed, pure instinct taking over as you pulled him back in by the nape of his neck.

It drove you insane—the way you felt his jaw shift against your palm, the slow graze of his tongue along your bottom lip, the steady curl of his fingers inside you, again and again and again.

“Mm,”—he separated from you for a moment—“s’just for you, baby,”—before leaning back in. His fingers curled inside you again and again, brushing that sensitive spot that made your insides tighten and your skin burn in ways no one had ever made you feel before. 

He had something about him—some kind of chemistry that felt entirely unique to Enjin. That towering height, those striking features, paired with his addictive charisma that showed in the way he talked to you—in the way he touched you, kissed you.

It wasn’t demanding in a forceful sense. It was unraveling. It was simple. You were willing to hand yourself over completely—without him ever having to ask. Like some sort of spell. 

Without breaking away, his fingers slowly slipped from you ever so slowly, drawing a soft whine from you straight into the kiss. You felt the faint curve of his smile against your lips. Then his hands were on you again, firm and sure as he hoisted you up against him and carried you away from the wall. 

The edge of your desk met the backs of your thighs as he eased you onto it with controlled care, settling you against the surface. You felt the edges and corners of the sheets of paper you’d just been working on minutes ago right beneath you, itching and poking at your skin. 

With one last, teasing bite to your bottom lip, he pulled back from your kiss-swollen lips with a devilish glint in his eyes.

He lifted his fingers to his mouth—the ones previously teasing you beyond measure—and licked them clean of you without breaking his hazy gaze from you. You could tell he was doing it just to mess with you—and it was working unfortunately well. 

Your attention drifted to the thing repeatedly pressing against your inner thigh, and a mix of curiosity and anticipation washed over you. 

Given the size of him—his body, his hands, his limbs—you had expected him to be a certain… size. And in a way, he met those expectations. But to feel the bulge of him so intimately pressed against you made it hit you all at once—now that your bodies were pressed close to flush against one another. 

This man was big. 

Your hand reached towards the hem of his pants, almost instinctively, before his own hand caught yours by the thin of your wrist. Looking back up at him you noticed the corner of his mouth curled upwards. “Not now, pretty girl.” 

Your head tilted in response. “Why not?” 

 “Some other time. Jus’ wanna focus on you today,” he brought your hand within his towards himself, leaving a couple of gentle pecks along the inside of your wrist.

“But what about you?” 

“I’ll enjoy you, baby,” he leaned back in, pausing just an inch before, a devilishly charming smirk resting on him. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it.” 

His lips found yours again, trading a few more heated kisses before drifting to the corner of your mouth, along the line of your jaw, and down to your already tender neck.

He roamed your body with no shame, tracing your every line—from the swell of your chest to the plush of your hips. Groping at your sides and circling your waist with his hands, before pushing you backwards for you to lean against the wall behind you, forcing himself between your legs, casually. 

His hands found their way between them again, collecting the slick on his fingers, before lazily drawing patterns over your pulsing, sore clit, drawing all sorts of sounds and reactions from you as passively pumped his fingers in and out of you every now and then, like it was just second nature to him. 

His kisses trailed downward—past your heaving chest, along the curve of your stomach, across the warmth of your thighs—before his head finally settled between your legs, where he left a mix of teasing love-bites and gentle, lingering pecks on the insides of your thighs.

“You’re very kissable,” he commented from his position on his knees, looking up at you as he guided your legs to rest atop his shoulders. 

The sight was charged—this huge man, both in height and breadth, overwhelming in body mass and bearing the authority of the head of your team, kneeling there in front of you. Something about the commanding way he held himself even in that submissive posture. 

It didn’t make him any less impressive—or any smaller—in your eyes. If anything, the juxtaposition only made him more magnetic.

He looked fucking hot.

His hair all messed up, lips kiss-swollen, mirroring your own, skin covered in a thin layer of sweat, eyes dazed with pleasure and radiating the sheer power he naturally carried. His brow was quirked ever so slightly, a faint, mischievous smile on his face.

“Is that why you bit my neck raw?” you asked, looking down at him through your own daze, fingers grazing through the short strands of his hair, not much bite in your voice despite your words.

He huffed a laugh, and your heart skipped a beat.

“M’about to do much worse than just eat your neck, babygirl,” he said lowly, his hot breath traveling past the thin skin of your inner thighs, his gaze traveling downwards. 

And with that, his tongue dipped through your folds, dragging a slow lick up your heated, pulsing core. Your breath shuddered, your hand gripping at his hair to anchor yourself as he worked you up.

His hands wrapped around your thighs, your feet resting on his shoulders as he pinned you against his face, tongue dragging up and down through your folds and making a point to flick your sensitive, aching clit in the process.

“E–Enjin… ah—s’ so good.”

You felt him suck it into his mouth, toying with it between his lips before letting it go in a wet kiss and continuing his assault. You felt like the meal of a starving man.

He had no shame in the way he was eating you—the sounds he was making, the way he was practically making out with you. What you’d yearned to feel was finally coming true, and your body and mind seemed to sing with the relief he was finally granting you.

He pressed the flat of his tongue against your clit, rhythmically dragging it up and down. His fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs, holding you against him as to leave no room for escape—at least not until he was done with you. 

This man you’d known to be so indulgent in his own pleasure now shifting his focus entirely onto you left an impact that would haunt you for the rest of your life. No one had ever treated you the way he did, touched you the way he had—made you feel the way he was making you feel.

You’d certainly never experienced anyone going down on you of their own free will—let alone seeming to take pleasure in it themselves. 

No man, no less.

And yet, here he was, caging you against him, just in case the pleasure he was giving you became too much to handle—which, judging by the way it was building up, it already was starting to feel that way. He definitely wasn’t letting you go.

The friction drove you crazy, made you feel as though you were floating and falling all at once. You couldn’t decide whether to pull him even closer or push him away, but you knew that everything about him felt so fucking good and something was building up inside of you that only he could unravel.

One of his hands loosened its grip on your thigh, sliding down and around it, before two fingers began pumping into you, curling against the spot Enjin had claimed the moment you had guided his hands between your legs.

“Ah—please don’t stop,” you writhed and you whined, eyes shutting close at the overwhelming feeling of him flooding your senses.

“M’right here, baby,” he breathed against you, before turning his attention back to your puffy clit, fingers deep and curled inside you. 

Pleasure twisted into an intoxicating kind of pain—the rare kind that made you ache to explore it even more. It burned, it stung, sharp and sweet all at once, and yet you knew with absolute certainty that if he stopped right now you would shatter into a million miserable pieces. 

Without warning, he suckled your clit into his mouth again, flicking his tongue over it as his fingers pumped in and out of you with relentless rhythm. Your legs instinctively clamped around his head, trying to shut out the overwhelming sensation, to push him away—to no avail.

Your body reacted on its own, trying to relieve the strain he was putting on you, but your mind wanted nothing more than to keep him as close as humanly possible.

“M‘ gonna… please… s’so much,” you whimpered, forever torn between pulling him closer and trying to escape.

That only seems to edge him on as he raised the intensity, moving harder and faster in every way imaginable and making you see stars and cry his name like a desperate prayer.

“Enjin—fuck, s‘so good, please-” 

Your climax crashed over you, leaving you trembling in the wake of it.

Like the good man he’d proven himself to be, he guided you through it, helping you ride the wave, tracing lazy circles over your clit with his tongue while his fingers moved in slow, languid rhythm. Finally, he pulled back with one last, gentle kiss to your now tender and abused clit. 

He slowly rose to his full height, hands flat on the surface of the table, encasing your pleasure-drained body, your torso leaning half against the wall.

“If I had known you taste this good I’d have done this a lot sooner,” he smiled, catching your lips in a kiss you couldn’t resist if you tried. 

“Mm,” you replied in a haze, returning the pecks he was giving you and tasing yourself on lips tongue. “Can I return the favor?” 

“As much as I’d love to see you try, baby,” he smiles, helping you off the desk as he scoops you into his arms effortlessly, making his way to the bathroom with you. “How about we take a hot shower together and I take you out on a date first?”

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PT2 >>> detergent & sweets

CREDIT WHERE CREDIT IS DUE :3

thanks to my amazing beta readers @zukunyy and @imjusttrashignoreme

thanks to my boyfriend who helped me write a service top because he just can

and thanks to @pixopix for the dividers :3

A/N: AND THANK U GUYS FOR READING <333 I’m planning a part 2 to this because I need me so dom Enjin and I’m actually more of a fan of oral m!receiving anyway sooo yeah that’s gonna happen hopefully :3 again, thanks for reading—I’d appreciate a reblog if you liked it ･:*+.\(( °ω° ))/.:+  if you have any requests you can definitely lmk