Enjin's been an ass all day and now it's time to fix that cocky attitude
MINORS DON'T INTERACT
Kinks: Brat / Brat Taming (Reversed Roles), Femdom, Power Struggle / Switching, Rough Sex / Primal Play, Teasing / Taunting / Mocking, Choking / Breath Play (light), Ownership / Possessive Language, Size Difference / Strength Kink, Exhibitionism / Humiliation, Creampie / Breeding Vibe, Aftercare + Sweet Dom/Sub Reconnection
He’s been a pain in your ass all day.
It started at breakfast. You shuffled into the kitchen still half-asleep, eyes bleary and steps sluggish like a zombie, oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder. You’d barely crossed the threshold when Enjin pushed past you without warning—broad chest brushing deliberately against your back, one tattooed hand grazing the curve of your hip just a little too slow, too intentional, as he reached the counter first.
You grumbled under your breath, shooting him a sleepy glare.
He just turned and flashed you that typical that infuriatingly smug grin, dimples carving deep into his cheeks, golden eyes sparkling with pure mischief. “Mornin’, trouble.”
You sighed, telling yourself your mood would improve the second you had some coffee in you—until Tomme spoke up from the table, voice apologetic. “Uh… sorry, Bunny. Enjin took the last of it.”
Your head snapped toward the blond Cleaner. Sure enough, he was leaning against the counter, casually sipping from a full mug like he hadn’t just committed a cardinal sin. You scowled at him hard.
Enjin simply shrugged, completely unbothered, and took another slow, pointed sip. Steam curled up around his face as that infuriating grin widened. “You snooze, you lose, trouble.”
Asshole.
Tomme tried to make amends, already moving to grab fresh grounds. “I can make a new pot real quick—” “Don’t bother,” you muttered, irritation souring your stomach. You weren’t in the mood for caffeine anymore. Not when Enjin looked so damn pleased with himself, like he could already tell exactly how worked up he was making you.
Later on, after a pleasant lunch with Riyo, you found yourself in the workshop helping Follo and Gris count and document supplies. The room hummed with the quiet bustle of other supporters moving between shelves and crates, but your focus stayed on the task at hand—until Gris’s low voice cut through the noise.
“Grab the spare filter cartridges from the top shelf for me, sweetheart?” he asked, already jotting notes on his clipboard while Follo sorted through a nearby box.
You nodded and crossed to the tall metal shelving unit, stretching up onto your tiptoes as far as your small frame would allow. Your fingers brushed uselessly against the edge of the top shelf where the box had been shoved just out of reach. “Come on…” you muttered, hopping once in frustration, the hem of your shirt riding up a little as you strained.
A warm, solid presence pressed right up behind you—too close, too familiar. Enjin’s chest brushed your back, one tattooed arm sliding easily over your shoulder as he reached up without even trying. His fingers closed around the box you’d been fighting for, and for a second his body pinned you gently against the shelves, heat radiating through his shirt and into your skin. “Need a hand, trouble?” His voice was low and lazy, breath ghosting hot against your ear, that lazy, troublemaker smirk practically audible in every syllable.
Before you could snatch it from him, Enjin stepped back just enough to dangle the box high above your head, well out of reach, shaking it teasingly between his fingers.
You spun around, cheeks already burning. “Enjin—give it back, you asshole.”
He grinned wider, dimples carving deep, holding it even higher as you jumped once, twice, swatting at his wrist. You could feel every set of eyes in the room flick your way—Follo’s golden gaze lingering on the way your body moved, Gris raising one scarred brow from his clipboard, the rest of the supporters pausing their tasks to watch and whisper.
“What’s wrong, princess?” Enjin drawled, voice dripping with mock innocence as he twirled the box just out of reach again. “Too short to reach? C’mon, jump a little higher. I know you can do it.”
Your face flamed hotter. You lunged forward, grabbing at his arm, but he just lifted it higher, laughing low and warm while he stepped back out of your range.
“Enjin, I swear. I’m going to fucking strangle you.”
The room went suddenly, uncomfortably silent. Enjin’s smirk only sharpened, golden eyes gleaming as he looked down at you. “In front of everyone, trouble? Kinky.”
You stopped dead in your tracks, hands fisted at your sides, trembling with a mix of embarrassment and pure rage. Your face burned redder than Riyo’s hair.
Enjin’s expression flickered for half a second—like maybe he’d finally pushed you too far—until a large hand landed on his shoulder. He turned to find Gris standing there, calm and steady as always. “Enough, Enjin,” Gris said, voice low and even. He plucked the box from Enjin’s hand without effort and handed it to you with a gentle nod. “Leave her alone.”
Enjin rolled his eyes, but that smirk settled right back onto his face as he shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered toward the door. You ducked behind Gris for safety, sticking your tongue out at the blond’s retreating back like a petty little brat.
The final nail in the coffin came that evening.
You stepped out of the bathroom still damp from the shower, towel twisted loosely around your wet hair as you padded toward your dresser. The day had already left you raw and simmering—every smirk, every deliberate brush of Enjin’s body, every stolen sip of coffee and dangling box still burned under your skin. You just wanted to slip into something soft and comfortable, crawl into bed, and maybe touch yourself to take the edge off before you actually strangled the blond asshole.
Fingers flipping through the neatly folded pile of panties, you hunted for those worn-in, cotton baby-blue full briefs that always felt like a hug after a long shift. Your hand paused when you brushed something stiff and out of place tucked between the soft fabric.
A folded piece of paper.
You pulled it free, unfolding it with a growing scowl. The handwriting was unmistakable—lazy, messy scrawl that somehow still managed to look smug.
Hey trouble. Stole those cute baby-blue panties for some jack-off material. Will return them when I’m done. P.S. They’ll be clean this time, promise.
Your fingers tightened until the paper crumpled in your fist. Heat flooded your face, equal parts fury and something dangerously close to arousal. That fucking asshole had the nerve to root through your drawer, steal your favorite pair, and then leave a goddamn receipt like it was funny.
The towel hit the floor with a wet slap.
You yanked on the first clean clothes your hands found—a loose jumper that covered you enough before you were storming out of your room. Bare feet slapped against the hallway floor, heart pounding and every step only stoked the fire higher.
Now he was going to pay.
The door to Enjin’s room clicks shut behind you with a hard, final sound that still feels like a challenge. He’s already lounging there in nothing but a black tank and low-slung sweats, long gray coat tossed over the chair, the hem of his shirt riding up to show the sharp cut of his hips and the dark swirl of tattoos disappearing beneath the waistband. A half-smoked cigarette dangles from his lips, yellow eyes half-lidded in that lazy, that infuriatingly smug way that always makes your cunt clench before he’s even touched you.
“Long day, trouble?” he drawls, smoke curling slow and lazy toward the ceiling. “You look like you wanna bite something.”
You don’t answer with words.
You kick the door the rest of the way shut, stalk over, and swing a leg over his hips before he can finish his next lazy inhale. The mattress dips under your knees as you settle your weight right on the thick, half-hard line of his cock through the thin fabric. Enjin’s brows lift, surprised for half a second—then that grin splits wide, dimples carving deep.
“Well shit,” he chuckles, low and smoky. “Maybe I should annoy you more often, huh?”
You don’t give him time to tease. You snatch the cigarette from his mouth, stub it out on the ashtray he keeps on the nightstand, and shove both hands flat against his chest, pinning him down. His tattoos flex under your palms as he lets you—actually lets you—push him flat to the mattress.
“Tonight you’re gonna shut up and take it for how annoying you’ve been today, Enjin.”
His laugh is rough, delighted, vibrating straight up into your core. “Is that so, princess?”
“Yeah,” you mutter, already rocking your hips slow and deliberate, grinding your soaked panties against the growing hardness beneath you. “It is.”
You peel your shirt off in one rough motion and toss it somewhere behind you. His yellow eyes drop immediately to your tits, tongue dragging slow over his lower lip like he’s already imagining his mouth on them. You don’t let him. You grab his wrists and shove them up over his head, leaning your full weight down so your breasts brush his chest.
“Hands stay there,” you order, voice low. “Or I stop.”
Enjin’s grin doesn’t even flicker. “Yes ma’am.” The words drip with mockery, but his cock twitches hard against your cunt anyway. He keeps his arms stretched above his head like a good boy—tattooed fingers loosely curled into the pillow, eyes locked on yours with pure wicked amusement.
You shove his tank up and off, dragging your nails down the hard planes of his stomach until his abs tense and a low hiss slips between his teeth. You hook your fingers into the waistband of his sweats and yank them down just far enough for his thick cock to spring free—already flushed dark, leaking at the tip, veins standing out like they’re begging for attention.
You wrap your hand around him, stroking once, slow and tight from base to head, thumb smearing the bead of pre-cum over the swollen tip. Enjin’s hips jerk up instinctively. You squeeze harder at the base, stopping him cold.
“Stay still,” you warn.
He laughs again—breathier this time—but he obeys, sinking back into the mattress with a lazy roll of his shoulders. “Fuck, you’re hot when you’re mean.”
You don’t answer. You just shove your own soaked panties to the side, line him up, and sink down in one slow, brutal drop.
The stretch punches the air out of both of you. He’s thick—always so fucking thick—and the way he fills you to the hilt in one go makes your walls flutter and clench around him like they’re trying to milk him already. You brace both hands on his chest and start moving—rolling your hips in deep, filthy circles, grinding your clit against his pelvis on every downstroke.
Enjin’s head tips back, throat bared, a low groan rumbling out of him. His fingers twitch above his head like he wants to grab your hips so bad it hurts, but he keeps them there. For now.
“Shit—look at you,” Enjin rasps, voice rough and wrecked with pleasure. His golden eyes are glued to where you’re taking him, watching the way your pussy stretches around his girth on every downstroke. “Riding me like you own this cock. That’s my greedy girl…”
“I do own this fucking cock,” you snap back, voice breathy but fierce. You slam your hips down harder, grinding your clit against his pelvis on the next drop.
He lets out a low, broken groan as you snap your hips faster, riding him like you’re trying to prove a point. The wet slap of skin meeting skin echoes through the room—filthy, rhythmic, obscene—your slick dripping down the thick length of his cock with every grind, coating his shaft and soaking his heavy balls until the sheets beneath him are a ruined mess.
You can feel every throb of him inside you, hot and insistent, stretching you so full it borders on too much. Your pace is brutal, thighs burning, but you keep pushing—rising up until just the fat head catches at your entrance, then slamming back down, taking him to the hilt again and again.
A frustrated huff slips out of you as exhaustion starts to creep in. Your knees ache, hips protesting with every punishing lift, but you refuse to slow. Enjin just watches you through half-lidded golden eyes, that signature shit-eating smirk curling slow and lazy across his face.
“Aw, getting tired already, princess?” he drawls, voice rough with pleasure but dripping with that infuriating amusement.
You pout hard, cheeks burning, and slam your hips down with extra force—burying him so deep his head tips back into the pillows on a broken groan. Your hand flies up to cover his mouth, palm pressing firm against those smirking lips.
“Sh-shut up,” you gasp, voice shaky but stubborn.
He chuckles against your skin—low, warm, and entirely too pleased with himself. Then the bastard licks a slow, deliberate stripe across your palm, tongue dragging hot and wet just to be a complete menace. His yellow eyes sparkle with wicked delight when you shiver on top of him, cunt clenching hard around his throbbing cock in spite of yourself.
You scowl harder as you ride faster, chasing the angle that makes his cock drag perfectly over that spot inside you. Your tits bounce with every slam. Enjin’s eyes are glued to them, tongue caught between his teeth like he’s dying to suck on them but refusing to break the rules you set.
You glare down at him, chest heaving, lips parted on a shaky breath. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”
Enjin just murmurs a lazy “uh-huh” against your palm, the sound muffled and smug, nodding slow like he’s agreeing with the weather report instead of the way you’re currently trying to ride him into the mattress. His golden eyes stay half-lidded, that wicked, self-satisfied smirk still twitching at the corners of his mouth even with your hand clamped over it.
You shift your weight, knees digging harder into the sheets, and slide your free hand up to wrap around his throat. Your fingers barely meet around the thick column of muscle—nowhere near enough to really squeeze—but you press anyway, thumb and fingertips digging in just enough to feel his pulse jump under your touch. The size of him under your palm makes heat flare low in your belly, a fresh rush of slick coating his cock where it’s buried deep inside you.
Enjin’s chuckle vibrates straight against your fingers, low and warm and entirely too amused. His lashes flutter, golden eyes going a little hazy at the light pressure, but the smirk only widens, dimples carving deep as he rocks his hips up once—slow, deliberate—dragging his thick length along your fluttering walls like he’s daring you to do something about it.
You push your hands harder against him—one still clamped over his mouth, the other tightening around his throat in a wordless threat—as you focus every ounce of energy back on your own pleasure. Your hips snap down faster, bouncing harder and deeper. The wet, filthy slap of your ass meeting his hips fills the room, your slick dripping messily down his thick shaft and soaking his balls with every frantic grind.
Your head tips back, lips parted on a broken moan, eyes rolling toward the back of your skull as your lashes flutter wildly. Fuck—he feels so good like this, stretching you open, throbbing hot and heavy inside your clenching cunt. You’re close. Really fucking close. The coil in your belly winds tighter with every brutal drop of your hips, pleasure spiking sharp and electric up your spine—
When his control finally snaps.
One second he’s still letting you use him, golden eyes hazy and that smirk still twitching under your palm. The next, his tattooed hands lock around your waist like iron bands, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips hard enough to bruise. A low, rough growl rumbles against your fingers as he yanks you down flush against him, burying himself to the hilt in one savage thrust that punches the air straight out of your lungs.
“You really thought you could put me in my place, trouble?” he growls, voice low and dark and delighted. “Cute. Real fucking cute.”
He doesn’t give you a second to protest. He hooks your knees over his elbows, folds you in half, and starts fucking you like he’s been waiting to ruin you the entire time you were on top. Deep, brutal thrusts that punch the air out of your lungs and make the bedframe slam against the wall. Every snap of his hips drives his cock so deep you swear you feel it in your throat.
“That’s really fucking cute,” he laughs—low, filthy, and entirely too pleased with himself—leaning in until his forehead presses hot against yours. “Thinking you could boss me around? Nah, princess. I’m gonna remind you exactly where you’re always on the bottom.”
You try to snap something bratty back—“Fuck y—” but the words fracture into a broken, desperate moan the second he grinds his cock deep against your clit on the next thrust. He doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t tease anymore. He just rails you—hard, fast, relentless—tattooed chest gleaming with sweat, spiky blond hair a wrecked mess, that wicked dimpled grin never leaving his face even as he fucks you stupid.
Tears blur your vision, spilling hot and messy down your flushed cheeks as Enjin’s thick cock drags perfectly over every sensitive spot inside you with every brutal snap of his hips. The wet, filthy slap of skin on skin fills the room, your soaked cunt squelching obscenely around him while he folds you deeper, knees pressed to your chest, ankles hooked uselessly by your ears.
“I’m sorry—’m sorry, Enjin!” The words crack out of you in a broken sob, voice wrecked and high and trembling as another punishing thrust punches the air from your lungs.
He chuckles, low and dark and smoky, the sound vibrating straight through his chest and into yours. His hips never falter—not even for a second—driving into you with that same relentless, punishing rhythm that has your eyes rolling back. Sweat glistens on his tattooed chest, spiky blond hair a complete wreck, that wicked dimpled grin still carved deep into his face like he’s having the time of his fucking life.
“’Course you are, trouble,” he drawls, voice rough and teasing as he leans in closer, forehead pressed hot and damp to yours so you have nowhere to hide from those gleaming golden eyes. “Just needed a little reminder who you belong to, yeah?”
You nod frantically, the motion jerky and desperate, tears still streaming as your walls clamp down around his cock like a vice. Pleasure coils tight and vicious in your belly, racing up fast—too fast—your thighs shaking violently where they’re pinned against your chest. “Yes! Yes—I belong to you! I—I belong to you—fuck—!”
The confession spills out in a shattered string of whimpers, your voice cracking on every word as your cunt flutters and squeezes greedily around him, slick dripping down your ass with every deep, claiming thrust. Enjin’s grin only sharpens, dimples carving deeper, that shit-eating satisfaction rolling off him in waves while he keeps railing you straight toward the edge he’s been dangling just out of reach.
“Fuck yeah you do,” he growls against your lips, hips snapping harder, faster, grinding his pelvis right against your swollen clit on every brutal stroke. “My pretty little trouble. Gonna cum on my cock like a good girl? Or do I need to show you who’s really in charge some more?”
You don’t get the chance to answer. He shifts his angle, hits that perfect spot over and over, and your orgasm crashes into you so hard your vision whites out. Your walls clamp down around him like a vice, cumming hard around his thrusting cock as you shake and sob beneath him.
Enjin groans loud and deep, hips stuttering once, twice—then he buries himself to the root and floods you. Thick, hot ropes of cum pump deep inside your clenching cunt while he grinds through it, milking every last drop, marking you from the inside like he always does.
He stays buried deep even after he finishes, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his brow onto your tits. That lazy, satisfied grin is back in full force.
“There you go, trouble. Get all that meanness out of your system,” he murmurs, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your gasping mouth. “All better?”
You try to glare at him through the post-orgasm haze, but it’s ruined by the way your cunt is still fluttering happily around his softening cock. Enjin just chuckles, low and warm, and nuzzles his face into your neck like he didn’t just wreck you within an inch of your life.
“Love you too, princess.”
He stays right there—still inside you, arms wrapped around your waist, cigarette forgotten on the nightstand—perfectly content to let you catch your breath while he lazily traces patterns over your skin with his tattooed fingers.
A long, quiet beat falls over you in the post-sex haze. Then Enjin shifts, pressing another lazy kiss to your lips before resting his forehead against yours, yellow eyes half-lidded and warm.
“…Sorry, trouble,” he murmurs, voice rough but genuine, the words a little awkward like they don’t fit quite right in his mouth. “I was a real asshole today. Stole your coffee, fucked with you in front of everybody, took your panties like a dick… all of it. I pushed too far.”
You blink up at him, still hazy and floating, but the words land. Something tight in your chest loosens.
He brushes damp hair off your forehead with his thumb, dimples softening just a fraction. “Didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to fight me for it. You’re allowed to be mad. Hell, you should be mad. I earned that ride.” A low chuckle rumbles through his chest. “Even if you didn’t quite get to finish the job.”
You huff a tired little laugh, still breathless, and shove weakly at his chest. “You’re still an asshole.”
“Yeah,” he agrees easily, pressing another lazy kiss to your lips. “But I’m your asshole. And next time I pull that shit, you can tie my hands again and ride me till I cry. Deal?”
You pretend to think about it, then smirk against his mouth. “Deal. But you’re bringing me breakfast in bed tomorrow. First mug of coffee from the pot.”
Enjin groans dramatically, but his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer so you’re tucked against his chest, his softening cock still warm inside you.
“Fair enough, trouble,” he mumbles into your hair, already sounding half-asleep and stupidly content. “Fair enough.”
